Chapter Text

Part 1: Draco Dormiens

Chapter 1: Noddfa Ddraig

Mid May, 2007

Hermione adjusted her leather thigh wand holster over her muggle cargo pants. It was always slightly loose on her thick thighs. She needed to add a new hole in it so that it held snug to her leg, but it was yet another thing to do in a long list of even more important things to do.

There was the paperwork that needed filing, the donor cards that had to be owled out, planning the gala fundraiser, poring through the reports on recent illicit activities, watering her plants, going grocery shopping, having a shower…Needless to say, adding in a notch to her wand holster was not top priority. If only she had not charmed the leather to be impervious to magic, she could easily be done with the task, but as it stood, her wand as useless.

Hermione double checked her emergency supplies were correctly stored in her various extended pockets. Standing in front of the cheap mirror in the office ready room, she forced her curls into a tight bun at the base of her head and pulled on a cap. Every time she geared up, she felt like a muggle military officer. All that was missing was a pair of aviator sunglasses. Hermione eyed the bags under her eyes and the smattering of freckles across the brown skin of her cheeks and nose.

Hermione was pushed aside from her quick perusal by her teammate, Lee Jordan. The boisterous Black man had not much changed since their years at Hogwarts. He was always saying the most ridiculous things at inopportune moments. Though, his body had greatly matured. He was tall with thick arms, a trim waist, and an ass that did not quit. His dreadlocks were longer than in school, falling to his midback. Lee kept them tied back during missions, but when the gang were puttering about the office, hosting events, or getting pissed at the pub, he liked to have them down framing his strong face.

“Sorry, Hermione, you’re taking forever,” he said as he quickly tied his hair back into its patented low ponytail.

Hermione couldn’t stay mad at the man, especially when he flashed his white teeth in such an endearing smile. Hermione always thought, in another life, she would have dated Lee. But she did not date co-workers. Lee was also married to Fred, so there was that.

“Where are the others? We have to leave soon,” Hermione said in way of response.

“Just saw Luna head into Rolf’s office. I’m sure they have a very important meeting,” Lee joked.

Hermione laughed with him. While she had qualms about dating co-workers, Luna apparently had no care in the world, even when it came to sleeping with her boss. To each their own.

“And Oliver? Hannah?”

“Present,” Hannah Abbott chimed in, walking through the door.

Hannah was still the kind, pale-skinned, redhead that Hermione remembered from her school days, though she now had a lot more curves on her. Hannah was the team medic. She had worked at St. Mungo’s for years following the war before she wanted a change of scenery. Somehow, she found her way to their ragtag group. She worked with their team on an as-needed basis and filled in at a smaller hospital in Scotland for most of her work week.

Hannah went to her locker and pulled out her own set of military-like gear. Not a care in the world, Hannah stripped down to her boy shorts and sports bra, then started pulling on her clothing.

Neither Hermione nor Lee were fazed. They had all seen each other in various states of undress at that point.

As Hannah changed, the redhead said, “Did you see Luna head into Rolf’s office?”

“Two galleons says we’re late because they’re shagging,” Lee wagered.

“Deal,” Hannah replied.

“You read the brief?” Oliver Wood asked, walking through the door.

Unlike Hannah, he was fully kitted up, he even had his cloak slung over an arm. Oliver was the tallest on the team. He remained on the lean side, though his body was pure muscle. His medium brown hair was short, maybe an inch in length and so was his beard. Oliver was the excursions team lead and always all business. Lee made it his personal job to make the man relax (he rarely succeeded). Oliver was the oldest member of the team, and had been with the organisation for the longest, one of Rolf’s first employees. His only job was to lead and plan excursions, while others, like Hermione, did several jobs at the organization.

“Yes, dad,” Lee responded with a smirk. “We all read the brief. Now, let me ask you a question that really matters: you think Lovegood and Scamander are doing the old horizontal tango in his office right now?” Lee wiggled his eyebrows, then attempted to pull Oliver into a dance.

Oliver batted his hands away. “Stop.”

Lee rolled his eyes.

“I’m excited,” Hermione chimed in. “I haven’t been to Wales in ages and this seems like an interesting one! Besides, it’s been so long since we’ve had a true expedition!”

Hannah, clothed and verifying the contents of her medical kit, responded, “I’ve been enjoying the down time. Susan’s been so pleased to have me around more.”

“Couldn’t wait to get away, myself. Fred has been off on some new invention that is making him not sleep at night—I’ve been losing it,” Lee commented, now seated on one of the benches lining the room.

“What about you, Oliver?” Hannah asked kindly. “How did Daphne take the news you’d be gone for a few days?”

Oliver walked over to the whiteboard and began writing out the important mission details as he spoke. “Oh, Daph’s a trooper. I think she might be looking forward to a few days alone actually…”

“Uh oh!” Lee cut in. “Trouble in paradise!”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Stop meddling, Jordan.”

“It’s Jordan-Weasley. If you’re going to call me by my last name, at least use the right one.”

Oliver continued writing. “Besides, you just said that Fred is driving you mental. So, you’re one to talk.”

Lee shrugged. “Never said I wasn’t a hypocrite.”

The women laughed at Lee.

Oliver pulled out some parchment from one of his extended pockets in his cargo pants. He decisively walked over to each of them, handing them their shifts and assignments for the coming three-day expedition. Hermione skimmed over her responsibilities, noting that she had been given food duty for both dinners. She wouldn’t complain, since she knew Oliver would never change his precious schedule, but she would make a terrible meal which would make Oliver reconsider ever putting her on dinner duty again.

Oliver looked at his watch impatiently. They all wore the same watches: mesh black stainless-steel band, solid black basalt face, charmed to be digital or analog according to the wearer’s preference. Hermione set her own watch to digital, preferring the exact time and had also set hers so that it only lit up when she tapped it.

“Someone owes me two galleons,” Lee trilled to Hannah.

“She’s not late yet.” Hannah glanced at her identical watch. “I still have one minute.” Hannah moved swiftly to the beat-up wooden door and shouted down the hallway, “Luna! Get your ass in here!”

Not so far off, they heard a door open and close. Hannah smirked at Lee. “See.”

Luna bounced into the room, a smile on her face, her waist-length hair absolutely wild. She made her way to her locker (which was covered in unicorn stickers from that one time she went to a muggle mall) and pulled out her own clothing.

As Luna dressed, Hannah gloated. “Ha! Give me my two galleons, Lee!”

Lee grumbled about a conspiracy to see him fail in life. He fumbled through his many extended pockets until he landed on his coin purse and lazily tossed the coins at Hannah.

“Now that everyone is here,” Oliver started, cutting off any further commentary on Luna’s near tardiness, “Has everyone read the brief?”

Everyone migrated to the bench closest to the whiteboard, now entering into serious expedition mode. Luna joined quickly (once her clothing was on) and tied back her long curls into two braids as Oliver summarized the voyage.

“Our first long trip in a while. Wales. An unknown black dragon has been spotted flying with a horde of Greens. Civilian report did not have much to go on and the local Auror office had no further helpful details.”

“Figures. Aurors are useless,” Lee muttered.

“As I was saying,” Oliver continued and pointed at his neat list of important mission details. “Greens don’t generally associate outside of their species—”

Lee fake coughed. “Racist!” he stage-whispered.

“—so we’re not sure what is happening here,” Oliver continued with a glare. Hermione, Hannah, and Luna suppressed their laughter poorly. Oliver soldiered onward, well used to Lee’s antics after working together for four years. “We’ll make contact with the sanctuary, then head out from there following the map I’ve included in your briefs.”

“If the Ministries would just fund more staff, we wouldn’t have to go running all around the continent doing the job of ten sanctuaries at once,” Hermione grumbled. “Seriously, how on earth can two people be expected to run an entire sanctuary? It is ridiculous!”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Hermione. As I was saying. We’ll start at the sanctuary and meet with Mel and Michelle.”

“Love old M and M,” Lee grinned.

Hermione agreed. The lovely lesbian couple had been running the sanctuary on a pittance for the last sixty years. While they were once been young and able-bodied, they were now far less able to keep up with the physical aspects of the job. While they wanted to retire, it was near impossible to find any replacements for them, since the Ministry barely paid them a living wage and they basically could never leave the sanctuary. It was a disgrace really.

Hermione had considered taking over for them many times, but she could not run it alone and she still liked the travel involved in her job and the excitement of working with all manner of magical creatures, not just dragons. Perhaps in ten years she might consider settling down more, but as it stood, she still had a sort of nervous energy that demanded she be out and about facing new and exciting challenges. It was why she quit the Ministry; bureaucracy is where passion goes to die. Plus, the air was so damn stale.

Hermione had never really seen herself as someone who would be working in the field of magical creatures. It was her second least favourite course in school. But she was a bleeding heart and while she still worked in the laws and advocacy branch of Rolf’s company, Society for the Protection of Endangered and Rare and Magical Creatures (SPERMC), she enjoyed actually getting out in the field and making a difference. Bureaucracy, while necessary to change laws, was soul sucking.

“Let’s all remember our dragon protocols,” Oliver continued.

“Do we really have to go over these?” Lee groaned.

“Yes,” Oliver insisted, “It’s been nearly four months since our last encounter with a dragon and I don’t want anyone slipping. Dragons are a class XXXX magical creature. While Green’s are more docile than most, they are still deadly. We all remember the Ilfracombe Incident of 1932. Now, protocols. Lovegood, if you please.”

Luna was halfway through her second braid. “Sure, Oliver.” Luna recalled aloud, “Never look a dragon in the eye. Always show respect. Keep as much distance as possible. If they notice you, stop moving. Do not threaten them. Spells will not work on their skin, so use the aerosols to knock them out. Only throw an aerosol if you can guarantee it will deploy before the dragon has time to attack. Never stand within tail’s reach. Dragons have a limited amount of fire they can breathe in a given amount of time—”

“Fortunately for us,” Hannah muttered.

“And what is the Green’s fire rate?” Oliver quizzed.

Hermione answered that one; “They can create consistent flame for approximately one minute straight. They take about one minute of zero fire breathing to completely recover. Though, their flames are the least intense of the known dragon species, ranking dead last for firepower.”

“Quick recovery, but not a lot of punch,” Lee summarized. “I prefer a hard pounding, even if there are breaks in between.”

“Luna, what else?” Oliver asked, ignoring Lee’s crass joke and the rest of the team’s responding guffaws.

“Dragons are highly possessive. If they have a trove or eggs, get away as quickly as possible. Dragons don’t usually attack without provocation, but they see any move toward them as provocation. Dragons are fiercely protective of their young. They have unknown internal governing structures. Dragons can communicate with one another.”

“And with us,” Lee said.

Oliver crossed his arms. “There’s no proof of that.”

Lee sent him a challenging stare. “Rolf’s own father found an academic article published by Flint Merryweather, dragon psychologist—”

“For the love of—Jordan. Shut up.”

“Jordan-Weasley,” Lee corrected.

She did wonder about dragon’s communication. Hermione had been working on a book—something else that she had absolutely no time for—a compendium of sorts, detailing everything magical folk knew about dragons. She had worked with Charlie Weasley for several months on and off and kept notes from all her expeditions the past three years at SPERMC. Part of her excitement for their trip was simply to add to her compendium. It was very shocking how little was known about dragons at all.

“Did I miss anything, Oliver?” Luna asked, tying off her braids.

“That about covers it. The main thing is always having your gear on. Hopefully you’ll have your cloaks, but it’s boiling this week, not sure why we’re having a bloody heat wave in mid May…If you forget your cloak, make sure you have your hat, for the love of Merlin. If a Green blows fire at you, fetal position. Your gear should keep you safe. Stop, drop, and fetal. Say it with me.”

The team diligently repeated their mantra in bored voices, “Stop, drop, fetal.”

Oliver smiled broadly. Hermione felt that Oliver’s smile was one of his redeeming qualities. The man had a great mind for strategy, but even his attractive face could be overtaken by his seriousness. Whenever he smiled, his face lit up and the severity melted away.

“Who’s ready for three days in the mountains?”

Everyone popped to their feet and began checking their gear and ensuring everything was in place. The team grabbed for their fireproof cloaks. Hermione rolled hers into a bundle and strapped it across her back like a yoga mat—her preferred way of carrying it. Hannah shoved hers, with difficulty, into her extended medical pack which she shrugged onto her shoulders. Luna tossed hers around her shoulders. And Lee and Oliver held their cloaks in one hand.

Oliver handed out their emergency portkeys. They each got two: one to St. Mungo’s and one back to the office. The team was supposed to travel together at all times, but in case anything went awry, portkeys granted them a safe way home. Hermione stuffed hers into her zippered pocket on her left leg. She adjusted her wand holster again—damn thing.

“Righto, team, we ready?”

“Ready,” they all called back in unison.

Sometimes their team synergy freaked Hermione out. Hannah was the newest member to the team, and even after two years, the five of them were a well-oiled unit. They all had their roles, they knew each other intimately, and they even fell into the same speech patterns, as happens when one spends too much time around others. It was how Hermione knew Luna would have to redo her right braid (she always made the sections too uneven) and Hannah would do a little wand twirl before stepping up to the portkey, and Lee would forget his hat (Oliver forced it onto his head) and Hermione would ensure her combat boot laces were fully tied because of the one time she tripped right out the gate.

Oliver pulled out the button that would transport them to Noddfa Ddraig. The team all placed a finger on the button. The button flashed white and they were off, invisible hook pulling behind her navel, a kaleidoscope of colours overwhelming her senses as Hermione and her team spun off to Wales.

*

Noddfa Ddraig was truly spectacular. Nestled in the lush green mountain range in Snowdon, the area was warded against muggles and magical folk alike. It was best for everyone’s safety for human repellent charms to be in place. The only way into Noddfa was through invitation, or if you had previously been there.

Hermione had made the trip three times before. She was lucky enough on all of her previous voyages to have seen several Welsh Greens. It was common for them to entirely blend into the rolling green mountains. With their green scales and generally skittish behaviour, Greens were rare to see.

According to Mel, Hermione had the magic touch. Despite living in the sanctuary for most of their lives, Mel had rarely seen the dragons and even Michelle had only seen them up close a handful of times.

Her first sighting, Hermione saw one small horde of five dragons fly over her head. They were close enough for Hermione to make out the scales of their underbellies. She had nearly fallen over in wonder and fright. Her second sighting, Hermione saw a lone Green curled up in a ball about 200 ft from her. The Green got spooked and took the skies immediately. The final time, Hermione had truly been lucky in more than one way: she had quite literally stumbled into a horde.

Falling from a path in a forested area of the mountains, she had regained her bearings to find herself a mere thirty feet from a horde of three Greens. It looked to be a family: mother, father, child. The largest one had growled at her menacingly. Hermione had remained frozen in place, heart hammering. The menacing one sniffed the air around Hermoine, getting dangerously close. Her cloak had been tied around her back and entirely useless if the Green had decided to blow flames her way (really, it was a terrible way to carry a fireproof cloak—but they were so hot that she flat out refused to drape it over her body in the summer heat). But the dragon hadn’t attacked. It just stared at her and huffed the air. Hermione’s nervous eyes did not follow instructions and stared right at the Green who stared right back. The medium sized one nudged the big one with its snakelike head. The be the baby remained hidden behind the medium one’s wings.

Hermione’s eyes had darted around the scene before her, awaiting her death. Instead, the big Green moved away from her and nudged the medium one back. The medium Green and small Green took to the skies in a torrent of wind that had sent Hermione onto her ass. The big one looked at her once more, large double eyelid blinking. Then it too launched itself into the air, further batting Hermione into the ground.

She had nearly fainted after that encounter. Even at the dragon sanctuary in Romania where Charlie worked, it was rare for dragons to come in close contact with humans. They were extremely temperamental and only dealt with their handler who spent years building up a relationship. It took years to be able to approach a dragon without it immediately attacking you. Of course, you could always approach a dragon in a team and knock it out with magic, something that the sanctuary in Romania occasionally had to do for medical reasons.

The sanctuary in Romania was loads different than Noddfa. In Romania, there was a huge staff (for a dragon sanctuary) of fifteen people. Charlie and his colleagues spent years building relationships with dragons so that they could slowly start observing them from closer distances. They were also a rehabilitation sanctuary that specialized in sedating and healing dragons before re-releasing them into the wild.

Noddfa had two staff, Mel and Michelle. The women basically ensured there were enough sheep to go around and that the wards were functioning over their massive territory. They did their best to monitor the dragons from afar for any sort of disease or illness. But if they suspected something, they contacted Romania to come and handle it. Noddfa was barely one building (hence the camping), whereas Romania was an entire compound.

Still, Hermione favoured Noddfa. Maybe it was the charm of the place, the gorgeous greenery, or just the fact that Hermione had been blessed to not be murdered by a family of Greens—but she far preferred the small sanctuary to its big brother.

Landed in the receiving room at Noddfa, Hermione made her way to the window to gaze out at the mountains before her. Oliver sent a patronus to Mel announcing their arrival and the others settled into amicable chatter.

A few minutes later, Mel was ambling into the receiving room, a grin on her broad brown face. Her salt and pepper hair was even longer than the last time Hermione saw her. She was decked out in similar gear to the expedition team.

Mel accepted Lee’s hug, standing on her tippy toes and barely reaching his shoulder. She returned his well-wishes. Hermione jumped in for a hug next. Done hugging everyone else, Mel pulled Oliver into a tight hug as well. “You can’t get away without one!” she warned.

“Alright,” Oliver stated once everyone was hugged and well wished and doing well, thanks. “Want to tell us what you’ve seen?”

“Me, seen something? As if. You know, in sixty years I have only ever seen a dragon fifteen times!” Mel gestured to the notches beside one of the large shabby windows. Carved above the notches was the phrase: Mel Dragon Sightings. “Fifteen! Michelle on the other hand…”

They hadn’t bothered to make a tally for Michelle. She saw dragons almost every day, though from afar.

“Where is she?”

“Oh, she’s out doing the sheep count.”

Oliver’s eye twitched. “Did she not know we were coming?”

Mel shrugged. “Anyone want a cuppa before you head out on your trek?”

“Yes please!” Hannah declared, following the short woman into the cozy and disorganized kitchen.

Mel put on the kettle and the expedition team settled into the small cramped space. Hermione leaned against the horrid yellow cabinets, Oliver took the only other chair, Luna and Lee sat on the tiny amount of vinyl top counter space they could find, and Hannah went fishing around for mugs for everyone.

“Do you have any news to add to the brief?” Oliver asked testily once they were all settled and sipping on their tea.

Mel lit up. “That’s right! Michelle left a note. Let me go get it, must be in the office…”

Mel left the room and the team returned to their casual conversations, discussing quidditch, the need for new robes, whether or not flowers were romantic…Hermione tuned them out and stared out the window at the mountains. The view from the kitchen displayed not only the immense mountain range, but the crystal-clear lake settled between two peaks. Hermione often fantasized about seeing a horde settled by the lake, drinking water. But it was too exposed and unlikely that they would ever be caught so close to the building.

Something caught her eye from the tree line to the left. She looked intently but could not see anything. Hermione felt an uncomfortable prickling on her skin, as if she were being watched. Not liking that feeling, she moved away from the window and reintegrated herself into the conversation with her friends.

Mel returned shortly after, a crumpled paper in her calloused hand. “Found it. Not much help, she is. Just says, last seen in the centre east quadrant. Come, I’ll show you the map.”

The team followed obediently, even though they all had a map in their pocket. Mel returned to the receiving room where one wall was an interactive magical map. It’s default state looked like a normal map you would find in an atlas. But you could talk to the map and ask it to show you specific areas, the topography, even a ground view. On the map sat dots of presumed horde locations, though how accurate those were was anyone’s guess.

Mel’s finger pointed to the eastern-most quadrant in the centre of the sanctuary. It was nearby to another smaller lake and was heavily wooded. “I’d say start there, then circle out. Who knows where they’re at now though. Those Greens don’t seem to stick to one territory at all. That or their camouflage is better than we give them credit for. Michelle’s never seen them in the same area twice. Sure are weird.”

The sound of the squeaky front door opening pulled all of their attention to the entrance. Michelle walked through the door. Michelle was white and had an intense undercut. Her hair was always in an elaborate medieval-style braid and her sleeves were always rolled up exposing her muscular arms. Even at what had to be eighty years old, the woman was in good shape.

“Michelle!” Lee declared joyously and the round of hello, how are you, I’m doing well, thanks, started up again.

“Sorry ‘bout that, loves,” Michelle declared once everyone had been sufficiently greeted (“yes, you too, Oliver!”). “One of the fences went down and I didn’t want our poor sheepies wandering off a cliff.”

“Don’t you keep them alive just for the dragons to eat them?” Hannah asked.

Lee chuckled.

Michelle shrugged. “I suppose when you put it that way…I guess we don’t want them running off and dying before they can be eaten. Pretty bleak. Anyway, what’s Mel said then?”

Michelle went to stand by her wife, draping a protective arm around the shorter woman’s waist.

“Just told ‘em to start in the centre-east.”

“Glad I caught you. I actually just saw them flying further east. I’d start here instead.” Michelle pointed at an eastern quadrant. “Still pretty forest-y over there, but less dense. Might make the trek easier.”

“Fantastic,” Lee declared. “What’re you two ladies up to today then?”

“It’s cleaning today,” Mel informed them.

Hermione did her best not to look around at the mess. It was always disorganized whenever she had visited; mugs, bits of paper, quills, dragon talons and scales, clothing—everything was everywhere. It had really been a miracle there were six clean mugs for them all to drink their tea from.

“Then out to check the wards on the west border. You won’t be seeing much of us, unfortunately.”

“You have to host another game night,” Lee pleaded. “Last one was a riot!”

“Lee, we have a mission to do, we’re not here to play games.”

Lee sighed dramatically. “Spoilsport.”

Oliver approached the map and cast a spell on it. They all watched as five red dots appeared with their names in tiny font beside them. It was a classic monitoring spell in case anything went awry. Which hopefully it wouldn’t.

“We should be off,” Oliver declared, glancing at his watch.

Hermione was likewise antsy to get out into the Snowdon mountains. She patted down her pockets, ensuring everything was where it needed to be. She adjusted her wand harness yet again.

Lee pulled Mel and Michelle into a quick group hug. “Get over here, team!”

The squad followed his order, everyone pulling into a too tight and sweaty group embrace, laughing jovially. The hug ended quickly, especially because everyone had started to lean to one side and were in danger of following over.

“M and M. Stay fine, ladies. Until Wednesday afternoon!” Lee said with a wink.

Hermione joined in on the chorus of see ya, M and M.

The team all adjusted their cloaks, Lee wrapped his around his back like Hermione and Oliver pulled his cloak on, despite the heat.

Oliver had trekked all the quadrants of the sanctuary by that point in his career. He knew the area well, so the squad banded together, gripped one another’s arms tightly, and he apparated them into the middle of dense wood of coniferous trees.

The squad landed on soft pine needles. It felt more like late afternoon under the canopy of trees instead of 9:45 am.

“We’ll do parallel formation. Granger and Lovegood you go together. Jordan and—”

“Jordan-Weasley,” Lee corrected.

“Go with Abbott.”

“You could just call us by our first names, Oliver,” Luna suggested.

“You’ll be fine alone?” Hannah asked, adjusting her medical kit.

“Yes. Monitor your progress. Try to get to 10k by lunch,” Oliver said. “Red for emergencies, green for sightings. And Lee, please remember to mark where you were before you come back for lunch. We don’t need to waste time trying to see what ground we’ve already covered.” Oliver slashed his wand in an x, marking the trees surrounding their small clearing. “If you do see the mystery dragon, take observation notes before you send up green sparks, just in case you spook the beast and it takes off.”

“We all know the protocol, Oliver,” Hermione complained, a bit surprised that she was ragging on him. But she was impatient to get moving. That prickling feeling of being watched was coming over her again and she needed to expend her nervous energy. She knew it was likely nothing other than her over-active mind. But knowing that did not do much to help when her illogical brain took over. “We’ll see you all at one. Shall we, Luna?”

“Yes!”

The blonde fell into step with Hermione as she took off into the dense forest. She and Luna traipsed around happily, shifting from silence to chatting with the sort of ease that comes with years of working together. Their morning was fruitless. They diligently cast about dragon detection charms and used their eyes to check the small amount of sky visible as well as the ground for any potentially camouflaged dragons. But the women found nothing.

At one o’clock sharp, the duo side-along apparated back to their camp. Oliver was already there waiting. He nodded in greeting at them. Lee and Hannah appeared a minute later.

“Anything?” Oliver asked as Lee set up his supplies to make lunch—his duty for the day.

“We saw a few bunnies,” Hannah replied, pulling out a foldable chair from her extended side pocket. She sat with a sigh.

“Nothing,” Luna confirmed, likewise pulling out her chair.

Oliver sighed. “Well, wouldn’t expect us to be that lucky right off the bat. We’ll have lunch, continue where we left off for a few hours, then try a new quadrant if we don’t see anything.” Oliver pulled out his map and pointed to a spot in the centre east quadrant. “We’ll camp there tonight. There’s a nice river and the open sky might give us a better view of passing dragons.”

The squad agreed and settled into a short lunch of cucumber sandwiches and bean soup.

*

By the end of the day, they hadn’t seen hide nor tail of a single dragon, only a smattering of bunnies, squirrels, and birds.

Hermione made everyone a disappointing dinner of boiled eggs, boiled veg, and toast while they set up camp for the evening. When Lee complained of her meal, Hermione made a point to say Oliver knew who he was choosing for dinner duty. The brunet frowned in response. Hermione smirked, knowing this expedition would be the last time she would be singled out for the job.

Right as everyone got ready to enter their tents and pass out for the evening, sore and aching from a long day of walking, Luna let out a gasp. She pointed to the darkening sky at a horde of eight dragons.

Everyone turned and stared. Hermione wished she hadn’t packed her camera away since the dragons would be gone by the time she retrieved it.

They moved at a fast clip, at least 200 ft directly above them. The dragons appeared to be following the river the squad was camped beside. Hermione was breathless in wonder. No matter how many times she saw dragons, she was shocked at their beauty and grace. Hermione’s eyes wandered over their large wingspans and green bodies looking black in the early evening twilight.

“That’s the one!” Lee exclaimed pointing at the dragon leading the horde.

It was much darker than the other dragons. The dragon was too far away to determine its sex, but it was massive. It was nearly double the size of the largest Green with it.

The horde had two younglings with it. The younglings were tiny in comparison to the adult dragons. The horde flew in a triangle formation with the most vulnerable in the centre, protected on all sides from attack; one adult dragon was even flying beneath the younglings as a barrier from ground attacks. Dragons were fiercely protective of their children. It would be far more difficult to get to the black dragon when it would likely be protecting young ones.

As the squad watched, the dragon horde literally disappeared before their eyes. One second there were eight dragons off in the distance, the next, the sky was empty.

“What the…?” Hannah asked for the group.

“Can dragons disapparate?” Lee asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

“No,” Oliver responded anyway. “That makes no sense. None of that makes any sense.”

“Dragons don’t intermingle between species,” Hermione contributed, yet again adding information that they all know. “But they were all flying together peacefully. It seemed like the black one was their leader? I don’t understand.”

“Where did they go?” Lee asked. “You all saw that right? They just disappeared.”

Luna was rubbing at her chest, a look of discomfort on her face. “I feel weird,” she said quietly.

Hermione looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

Luna rubbed her chest again. Then she let loose a massive burp. The tension in the squad broke and they all laughed along with her. “Must’ve just been your excellent cooking, Hermione,” Luna teased.

“How are we supposed to track the dragon if it can disappear like that?” Oliver wondered for the group. They all descended into silence, thinking. “Right. Tomorrow, we follow the river, like they did. We’ll see where it takes us. Maybe…maybe we’ll spot them again. Based on their behaviour, the black dragon is not a threat, but we’ll stay on mission and keep observing. Did anyone recognize that dragon?”

No one responded.

“Hermione?” Oliver asked, knowing she had the most extensive knowledge of dragon species thanks to her mastery and months working alongside Charlie in Romania.

“No. I’ve never seen that dragon before. It was far away though. Hard to tell. Could be a Hebridean? Maybe. Didn’t really look it. I’d say a Horntail, but the tail looked wrong—those are the only two all black dragons known to us.”

The squad remained stumped. They stayed up a for a while longer musing on what sort of dragon they saw and the potential of dragons crossbreeding to create it. This was a spirited debate between Oliver and Hermione who knew the most about dragons. However, very little was still known about their procreation abilities. As far as humans knew, they could only reproduce within their species—which Lee reminded everyone was racist of them.

The team tucked in the for the night, monitor wards set, and Oliver on first watch.

*

The next morning, the team ate a lacklustre breakfast of porridge provided by Hannah. Oliver muttered about needing to add a cook to their squad when they went on missions. Hermione could not agree more.

Hermione cast some cleaning charms on herself to refresh her clothing and banish the dirt and stink of her own sweat. The one thing she really hated about expeditions was the lack of showering. While they were all magical and could easily set up a shower for the squad, showers meant removing clothing. Removing clothing meant no longer being fire resistant. Being separated from one’s clothing could mean death. So, they did their best to keep missions short and keep themselves clean with charms. Hermione helped Luna with hers, since her cleaning charms left something to the imagination.

The squad broke into their parallel formation (Hermione with Hannah, Lee with Luna, and Oliver alone) and walked in the direction the dragons had disappeared. Hermione kept her long-range digital camera hanging on her chest on the off chance they saw the dragons again. It bumped against her ribs with each step she took until she charmed it to remain stuck to her shirt.

Hannah and Hermione chatted about Hannah’s upcoming nuptials. The woman was marrying her longtime girlfriend Susan Bones in October. Even though it was months away, the wedding planning was getting a bit out of hand. Hermione listened on sympathetically and tried not to dwell on her own pathetic love life.

The last date she had gone on was with Zacharias Smith. Two months ago. It had been awful.

Hannah cut off her tirade about napkin prices and Hermione’s trip down memory lane with a stilted gasp. The redhead pointed to the valley that was opening up before them.

Off a ways was the horde they had seen the previous evening. Hermione fumbled with her camera, forgetting that she had charmed it and losing precious seconds cancelling the charm. She zoomed in as far as she could and began rapidly taking photos. Even with her long-range lens, she could not see much, just that the one dragon was definitely black.

The duo sprang into action, running forward on silenced feet to get as close as they could without alerting the horde. At the cusp of the valley, Hermione lifted her camera again, she could see a lot better now. She gasped.

“They look like they’re fighting,” Hermione told Hannah.

“But they were peaceful yesterday.”

“I know. But. Wait, I can record a video.” Hermione changed her camera settings, then recorded the scene before her.

The black dragon looked even more massive on the ground, the nearby rocks and trees revealing his size to be that of the Knight Bus. Hermione thought he was a male, noting the claws on the tips on his wings, but would not be able to confirm unless she were to see him from close up and underneath. The dragon was walking around the horde of Greens slowly, each heavy footstep making a resounding boom amplified by the natural acoustics of the valley. The Greens were protecting their young, a few looking outwardly aggressive with their wings batting the air and their paws digging into the ground.

Hermione was surprised they had not yet attacked the black dragon. It was one against seven. They would surely win.

The black dragon stopped with its back to Hermione and Hannah, staring down the horde. It leaned forward on its front paws, tail lifted into the air aggressively and let loose a massive roar that shook the trees. Hermione spotted its sheath.

“Male,” she commented quietly.

Hannah said, “We should maybe hide. He sounds angry.”

“What if he hurts the horde?”

“And what are we going to do to stop him, Hermione? He’s the size of a house! Plus, there are seven other dragons who would be happy to kills us.”

Hermione didn’t have a good response to that, but it felt wrong to leave the Greens to the black dragon’s wrath. Trying to think of something to do, Hermione looked back into her camera.

The Greens seemed to have calmed down, even though the black dragon remained outwardly aggressive. One took to the sky in a gust of wind, followed by the younglings. Then the rest of the horde leapt into flight, flying away from the black dragon without a backward glance. Hermione frowned.

“Why did they just leave? And why didn’t he attack them? He had the perfect chance.”

Hannah shrugged. “Who knows. Dragons don’t make a lot of sense to me.”

Hannah, of all them, was the least interested in dragons. She was still scared of them in a way the others weren’t anymore and she preferred her magical creatures to be class XX and below. But she was also the best healer they had—a necessity when dealing with dragons.

Hermione turned her attention back to her camera and found herself looking directly into the dragon’s silver eye. The black dragon was staring at them, its mouth pealed back over its razor-sharp teeth. Hermione gasped and dropped the camera. It fell to her chest, still secured around her neck.

Hannah stumbled back a step. “Hermione…” she cautioned. “We should run. Now.”

Hermione remained frozen staring straight at the dragon. There was no way for her to know if they were making eye contact with it from that distance, nearly 300 ft. But it felt like their eyes were lasered to one another. Hermione faintly remembered she was not supposed to make eye contact with dragons.

Hannah was still stumbling backward noisily.

The dragon’s head whipped from Hermione to Hannah, then it tilted its head and looked back at Hermione. It took a step toward them.

Hermione stopped breathing.

The dragon roared in their direction, making even more birds take off in fright. It spread its wings and sprung into flight. Hermione’s knees were shaking, but she was incapable of moving. She watched it circle the valley and get closer to them.

“Hermione, your cloak!” Hannah shouted. “Put it on!”

But Hermione was frozen. Staring at the massive black dragon as it soared closer and closer to her. Its wingspan was huge. Definitely male. And definitely not a Hebridean nor a Horntail.

Hermione was looking at an entirely new species of dragon.

That was her last thought as it dove directly at her.

Chapter Text

Mid-May, 2007

Hannah screamed and threw up red sparks into the air. Hermione could vaguely see them from the corner of her eye. But it was like she was entranced. She could not move. She could not think. All she could do was stare at the menacing dragon as it barrelled toward her.

In slow motion, Hermione watched its massive claws outstretch toward her. Its black scales were glinting an iridescent green in the June sunlight.

“Hermione! Duck!” Hannah shrieked.

Hermione just stared. What a beautiful dragon, she thought to herself.

In a confusing moment, Hermione found herself in the air. The ground rapidly disappeared beneath her feet as the dragon pulled her into the skies. She was within his front paw, his claws not biting into her at all, but instead keeping her caged in so she wouldn’t fall to the ground, now several hundred feet below her. Hermione could faintly hear Hannah screaming.

Hermione’s brain suddenly lurched into motion and she began panicking hard. She hated heights. She was in the clutches of an aggressive unknown dragon. Hermione began to hyperventilate. Doing her best to calm her racing heart and thoughts, Hermione drew on her breathing exercises.

Inhale for four. Hold for four. Exhale for four. Inhale for four. Hold for four. Exhale for four.

Hermione succeeded in slowing her breathing down after what felt like years of gliding far too high above ground. Finally able to take in her surroundings again, she realized they were descending.

Oh my god, he’s going to eat me, she worried. This is the end. This is how I die.

The dragon’s leisurely descent was suddenly sped up into a sickening plummet. Hermione took note of what looked like a castle before she passed out from the sensation of dropping too fast and not being able to get a breath in.

*

Hermione awoke with a start, confused, head pounding. Her brain quickly caught her up to speed: dragon yelled at Greens; Greens left; dragon captured her; they were headed to a castle?

Hermione looked around and froze in fright.

The dragon was wrapped around her. Its long neck reached its tail, creating a full circle around her. She had been sleeping against its side, one of its wings extended over her head. Its wing blocked most of her view, limiting her awareness of the room around her to the sleeping dragon, the soft floor (was that wool?) and a few glimpses of what looked like stone walls.

The sunlight made the dark veins stand out in the dragon’s wing above her. Its wing shimmered between green and black in the light.

Her heart raced as she remained stuck in place, body warmed by the heat of the dragon behind and all around her.

Hermione did not know what to do. This was not part of their training. As far as she knew, dragons never took humans anywhere. They either left them alone, or they killed them. Yet, this male dragon had taken her to what appeared to be its lair.

Hermione’s mind raced. She slowed her breathing with practiced ease. Somehow, she felt less anxious wrapped up in the dragon than she had in the air.

It doesn’t want to kill me, or it would have done it already…probably. But why am I here?

Hermione spent several tense minutes debating what to do. A quick inventory revealed that she still had her clothing, her supplies were safely tucked into her never-ending pockets, and her camera was still wrapped around her neck.

She attended to the camera first. It was still recording. She held back a groan. Most of the storage space had been used since it had been recording for nearly an hour by that point. At least the video gave her an idea of how much time had passed. Hermione did not want to delete the video because it probably had a wealth of information on it.

Feeling like it was a bad idea, but doing it anyway, Hermione put the camera back into photo mode and began snapping photos of the dragon from up close. Perhaps it was stupid to take the photos, but she could not fathom giving up the opportunity to have some of the first ever photos of a dragon from up close. Even dragon medics didn’t take photos, too preoccupied with getting in, healing the dragon, and getting out before it woke up. (Not to mention photos were still a very muggle concept, unless one was a journalist or professional photographer, the average magical person did not know how to use a camera.)

The dragon wrapped around her was beautiful. Its midnight black scales were thick and shimmered with a green sheen in the afternoon sunlight. Its face was about the size of Hermione’s upper body. The scales along its snout and face were smaller, more intricate than the ones along its body.

Its nostrils flared and its lungs expanded, pushing Hermione back and forth with each deep breath. It had two large bone-white horns on top of its skull, about two feet long. The horns curved backward, then up, pointing toward the ceiling. Along its sinuous neck ran bone-white spikes of various sizes. Between its shoulder blades sat a mystifying ridge of scales that looked almost like…a saddle? But it was entirely made of the dragon’s scales. Hermione snapped pictures of that from as many angles as she could without moving.

Up the side of its forelegs ran a series of smaller spikes up to its spine, almost like a ladder. It didn’t have other spikes along its body until its tail. His tail was similar to a Horntail’s, but instead of seven spikes along a flat club-like tail, this dragon’s tail was almost a perfect sphere with over 15 spikes of varying sizes. There was no doubt that this dragon was deadly.

Its wing was the only part of it not entirely covered in those black-green scales. Along the main wing bone there were thinner scales of the same colour, but these thinned out to a blackish green membrane. The wing looked about four inches thick. At the apex of the main wing joint sat another silver spike, this one only a few inches in size.

Hermione’s eyes landed on the dragon’s face again and noted that it was nestled into one of its paws. The paw had four massive curled claws, the same white of his spikes and horns. Slightly higher on its leg there was a dewclaw. Hermione gulped at how sharp his claws looked. Yet, they hadn’t cut into her at all when he had lifted her…

Hermione finished taking her photos and turned her camera off. The battery was dangerously low. She continued to trail her eyes over the dragon. She had no plan on how to get herself out of this situation.

Her butt was going numb from sitting in the same position for so long, so she shifted her weight.

The dragon stopped breathing immediately.

A single molten silver eye blinked open with that creepy double eyelid reptile blink.

The dragon stared directly at her and Hermione, the idiot, stared right back.

It blinked. One eyelid, then the next.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

Hermione started to hyperventilate again. This time, she did not succeed in calming down her breathing. Her chest heaved and her breath came out choked. The dragon stared and stared and stared. And Hermione could not look away.

When she did not stop hyperventilating and the world began to get vaguely dark around the edges, the dragon lifted its head and stared at her full on. It tilted its head to the side and moved toward her.

Hermione fainted again.

*

Hermione awoke with a start. Reality slapped her in the face, reminding her far too quickly that she was presently wrapped in a dragon’s embrace. The dragon in question was staring at her still, like no time had passed.

Hermione blinked at it, wide-eyed.

She squared her shoulders, doing her best to muster her Gryffindor courage. If she was going to die, she was going to die bravely. She had fought and won against Voldemort, dammit. She was Hermione Granger, smartest witch of her age, Order of Merlin, First Class. When they wrote her biography, it would say that she stared death in the face and said, ‘I’d like to see you try.’

What Hermione actually said was, “Well, if you’re going to kill me, get on with it,” her voice coming out shakier than she hoped.

The dragon blinked at her again and did not move. Hermione scrambled to her feet, her head well below the height of his wing. She pulled out her wand from her thigh holster (adjusting it to its proper height) and pointed it at the dragon threateningly.

The dragon looked at her face, then down to her. Then it…laughed? It made the strangest chuffing sound and Hermione was convinced the dragon was laughing at her.

She frowned. “Don’t laugh at me. I-I’m going to get free of here.”

The dragon tilted its head the other way. Its head moved toward her again and Hermione’s grip on her wand faltered. She had about one second to cast a spell before it would be too late.

And yet again she hesitated—for some reason she could not fathom. The dragon was upon her then. Its long snout jutted against her brandished wand.

“Uh…”

The dragon pushed past her wand and its thick scales were suddenly trailing over her bare arms. She had rolled up her sleeves earlier during her hike with Hannah and had not yet rolled them back down. The dragon moved slowly, the surprisingly soft slide of the underside of its snout running over her bare skin. A strange energy emanated from where the dragon’s scales touched her.

Hermione shivered. She dropped her wand.

The dragon kept his scaly chin on her forearm, barely placing any weight on it. He looked into her eyes keenly.

“What do you think that stick of wood will do against me, human?” a voice asked.

Hermione looked around, startled. “Who—who said that?” The dragon laughed again, the vibrations travelling from his smooth head through her entire body. Hermione frowned. “You? You’re talking to me?” Dragons can communicate with humans!

“Do you see anyone else here?” his voice was smooth, deep, and slow, almost like he was drawling.

Hermione would have crossed her arms across her chest, but the dragon still had her pinned with the slightest weight of its chin on her. The feel of him against her skin, it was like a current of electricity ran between their bodies. She wondered idly if she was the first human to touch a dragon and live—well, she hoped she lived.

“I can’t see anyone,” Hermione replied, “your body is blocking the view.”

The dragon blinked again. It didn’t seem to need to do it often. Every time he did, it made Hermione uneasy. He pulled back from her skin, the low simmering electricity disappearing with his touch. The dragon completely unwrapped himself from around her and stepped away.

Hermione, apparently abandoning all training she had every received, lurched for her wand and picked it up. Instead of being attacked for her sudden movement, the dragon just stared. Hermione raised her wand again with a shaky hand and stared him down.

“I thought you wanted to look around,” he said—or thought—or communicated with her somehow.

Hermione was reluctant to take her eyes off the lethal creature before her, but her curiosity got the better of her, and she had abandoned all of her wits back when she let the dragon take her in the first place. Hermione’s eyes wandered over the cavernous space they were in.

She was in the middle of a massive circular room that had an immense hole in the ceiling. The walls were made of stone and there were several archways that seemed to lead down corridors.

The castle. She remembered vaguely seeing it on their descent from the skies.

She was inside the castle. Hermione glanced at the hole in the ceiling again. It was huge. Big enough for a dragon to fly through. She took in the ground and noted that she was standing on a wool pallet. She gulped. It was likely from the sheep. Hermione’s stomach went a bit queasy.

She and the dragon had been perched on what she assumed was its sleeping area. It took up about a quarter of the space and behind it sat a smaller cavern veritably sparkling with treasure. Hermione’s jaw dropped.

She looked from the treasure to the black dragon before her. “Is that yours?”

The dragon bowed its head.

“Dragons don’t usually let humans into their lairs…” Hermione said slowly.

“Not usually.”

“Why-why have you let me in?” she asked instead of asking why he had kidnapped her.

He laughed again. “I did not kidnap you. You let me take you.”

Hermione jolted. “Can you hear my thoughts?”

The dragon slowly slinked toward her. His steps shook the floor. “Humans have terrible mental barriers.”

Hermione backed up, stumbling on the uneven woolly ground. “What’re you going to do with me?”

The dragon’s lips peeled back from its mouth and Hermione was quite suddenly staring at its very sharp teeth from mere feet away. She gulped, preparing for the worst. But then it chuffed again and closed its mouth. He wrapped himself around her once more and plopped onto the wool bed.

“Nothing yet, human. Sleep. We will talk later.”

Hermione stared in shock as the dragon raised its wing back over her, sheltering her from the sun. He lazily closed its molten silver eye and went to sleep. Hermione crossed her arms.

I need to get out of here.

“Sleep,” the deep voice repeated.

“I need to go back to my friends. They will be worried. How long has it been?”

“So many questions,” the dragon grumbled, its eye blinking open in what Hermione assumed was annoyance.

“Let me leave,” she said, defiantly staring down the creature.

He raised the muscle above his eye, giving Hermione the distinct impression of a raised eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

“Why am I here at all?”

“Sleep.” It said.

Hermione huffed. She crossed her arms and began pacing under his wing instead. The dragon did not seem to mind, his eye remaining closed. Hermione only then realized that she could simply portkey out of the castle with no issues. That was why they had emergency protocols in place after all.

She pulled out her portkey and prepared to activate it. The dragon’s eye double blinked open. Hermione fumbled the small button, surprised to see him alert and it fell to the woolly floor beneath her.

“Shit.”

As she bent to reach it, a patronus in the shape of a hare bounded underneath the dragon’s wing and made Hermione jump in fright. She dropped her wand. The dragon did not like the patronus.

He reared back, pulling his wing away and tried to snap at it with his massive jaws. Hermione shrieked then, as the dragon’s mouth snapped shut around the patronus a foot from her face. Hermione stumbled back into the dragon’s side, her chest heaving in fright.

The patronus jumped out of the dragon’s mouth easily.

Luna’s voice came spilling out of the hare’s mouth, “Hermione. We can’t triangulate you on the map. You disappeared. Just like they did last night. Are you hurt?” While the hare spoke, it danced around the dragon’s head as he snapped at it. The movement reminded Hermione of a horse flicking its tail at flies.

“Stop!” Hermione demanded of the dragon.

To her shock, it froze, jaw stretched wide open around the hare’s body. The hare remained suspended in mid-air, unconcerned that a dragon’s mouth was seconds from trying to kill it.

Luna’s voice continued, “We tried your coin, but you haven’t answered. Please tell me you’re okay.” The dragon’s jaw shook. Hermione stared at its gleaming white teeth, each at least three inches in length, some much, much longer. “We won’t stop looking for you,” Luna vowed.

The hare disappeared once its message was delivered.

Hermione stared at the spot where it once was. The dragon slowly closed its jaw and glared at her. Hermione glared back. “You can’t be mad at me. I didn’t send the patronus. I told you my friends would be looking for me.”

“Humans do not order dragons around.”

“You chose to listen to me.”

The dragon titled its head. Hermione gulped. Maybe she ought to show some more respect to the class XXXX magical creature before her.

“Yes, maybe you should,” the dragon responded to her thought.

Hermione felt her face heat. “I need to go. My friends. They’ll be looking for me.”

“I told you, it’s time to rest.” The dragon laid back down and closed his eyes, the conversation over.

Hermione fished in her pocket for her communication galleon. She tapped it a few times with her wand and read through all the emergency messages rapidly: Are you alive? Where are you? Did that dragon eat you? Hermione! Are you hurt? Tell us where you are!

Hermione gripped the coin and sent her message: Alive. The dragon’s lair. I don’t know where—a castle. Not hurt. Can’t leave.

When she opened her eyes again, the dragon was staring at her once more. “What are you doing, human?” he asked. Hermione detected curiosity from him.

“I-I’m telling my friends I am okay.”

“They are too far away for you to communicate with.”

“But not too far for you to communicate with them?” Hermione asked, itching to take notes.

“They are only one kilometre away,” he said in way of response.

“So—that means they’re close!” Hermione sent the message along the coin. She received a rapid response.

There is no castle. We’re in an empty valley. 3km radius. No castle.

Hermione frowned. “You said they were one kilometre away.”

“They are.”

“But—”

“They will not find my lair. It is protected. Humans are too stupid to find it.”

Hermione bristled. “No need to be rude. And these aren’t any humans. These are trained dragon trackers. We found you, didn’t we?”

“You found me because I wanted to be found,” he replied like she was stupid.

Hermione blinked at him in confusion. “What?”

The dragon sighed. He actually sighed. Talk about dramatic.

“I wanted you to find me. I do not care about the others. They will not find me.”

“Why? Why am I here?”

The dragon did not respond. Instead, he snapped his head toward the farthest wall. He took a deep inhale. “Impossible.”

Hermione’s coin burned. She read the message: Found it. Hannah fell through the wards. Be there soon. Try to get to the North entrance.

Hermione and the dragon made eye contact.

“Your humans are the first to ever cross my wards. How?”

Hermione was intrigued: did he set the wards, were they already there? How did dragons do magic? Instead, she replied, “I told you they’re experienced dragon trackers.”

“I will deal with them. Stay here.”

The dragon unfurled himself and prepared to launch into the skies.

“No!” Hermione shouted.

He stilled and turned toward her. “A human does not tell a dragon what to do.”

“You can’t hurt them. Just let me go. Please.”

“They have trespassed. They must pay.”

“Please!” Hermione begged. She hoped if she stalled the dragon long enough, her friends would be at the castle. In the open field they were easy targets for dragon fire. In the castle with its small hallways that this dragon could never dream of fitting in, they would have a modicum of safety. “They’re just looking for me. They’re worried I’m hurt.”

The dragon growled. “I would never hurt you.”

Hermione stared at his iridescent scales, tinkling green in the afternoon sun. “What?”

“I will be back soon. Stay here,” he ordered in a voice so authoritative Hermione almost listened.

Before he was even in the air, she was sending a message on her coin urging them to apparate inside because the dragon was coming to attack them. The air whirled around from the dragon’s take off, sending loose wool and gold coins flying. Hermione staggered from the powerful air currents.

Hermione used her wand to point her north. She took off at a run down the hallway that hopefully was a straight shot to her friends. As she entered into the dark hallway, she cast a lumos. There were no windows in the long stone corridor. While she ran, she caught sight of countless doors, tapestries, paintings, and old statues. She paid them no mind.

Skidding to a halt at a large door, she flung it open and stumbled directly into Lee.

After a frozen moment of terror where they both almost hexed the other, Hermione collapsed into his arms with a sob. Lee held her close.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” Hermione chanted while Lee hugged her tight to his taller frame.

More arms wrapped around her body and Hermione relaxed into the weight of her friends.

“You got my message?” she asked into Lee’s chest.

“Yes. But it’s just me and Hannah. Oliver and Luna went to the West entrance.”

Hermione was pulled back from Lee’s body and Hannah started rapidly casting diagnostic spells on her. The woman was crying. “I can’t believe you’re okay. Oh Morgana, Hermione. I about lost it. How did you not shit yourself? What happened?”

Hermione’s mouth opened to answer but she wasn’t entirely sure what to say. “I—uh—he doesn’t want to hurt me.”

“He?” Lee asked.

“What?” Hannah replied.

“Let’s go find Luna and Oliver so we can get out of here,” she declared. There was no time to waste trying to explain what she had woken up to.

Hannah finished casting her diagnostic spells. “You’re fine,” Hannah said, her eyes suspicious. “Not a scratch on you.”

“I told you, he doesn’t want to hurt me.”

Lee asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“But I saw him pick you up. His claws—how did they not cut you?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I have no idea. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“T-tell you? Hermione, did you speak to a dragon?” Lee asked, incredulous, then ecstatic. “I fucking knew it!”

“We need to meet up with Luna and Oliver. Let’s go.”

Hannah and Lee just stared at her. Hermione threw her hands in the air and sent a message through the coin. A second after she did, she heard an ear-splitting roar and the sound of crumbling stone.

“Point me!” she shrieked at her wand, then the three of them were off, headed west.

They ran through crumbling corridors, the castle occasionally shaking in time with the sound of a deafening roar. Hannah tripped over a rock and fell heavily to her knees.

“Ow. Fuck!” she shouted. Hannah took a deep breath. “I’m fine. One second.” She healed her knee with a flourish of her wand, then launched herself back to her feet. “Let’s get to our squad and get out of here.”

The trio rounded a corner and found themselves in a dilapidated throne room. The black dragon stood on its back legs on a massive dais, roaring to the skies in anger. Oliver and Luna were hiding behind two flimsy looking pillars. The dragon landed on its front legs and shook the room.

The trio tried to stealthily make their way over to their friends, but the dragon’s head whipped their way without pause. His molten eyes froze Hermione in place. He looked absolutely feral. His teeth were dripping with saliva and his vertical pupils were nearly non-existent. Like a fool, Hermione continued to look him dead in his silvery eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay put?” he hissed.

“Don’t hurt them!” Hermione blurted out.

The dragon turned his body to face her. Lee grabbed Hermione and shoved her behind his taller body. Hannah stood beside him, her wand shaking, but her feet steady. They stared down the dragon like there was something they could do to stop him.

“You dare to take what is mine?” The dragon roared.

Hannah whimpered.

“I think he just spoke to us,” Lee said in an unsteady voice.

The dragon advanced on them in two quick, massive steps. Hermione pushed Lee and Hannah away bodily and leapt in front of them. The dragon halted. He stared at her.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Move,” he growled.

“Never. You’re not hurting them.”

The dragon reared up on its hind legs again, wings spread wide. Hermione wished she were taking a photo; it was quite the sight to behold. She was snapped from her thought as she watched molten heat spark to life in its chest and slowly make its way up its long neck.

“Move!” The dragon thundered.

There was a loud crashing sound, then Hermione’s eyes zipped to a massive statue of a long-forgotten king holding a sword aloft. It was hovering over the dragon’s wing. The dragon was completely unaware. Hermione’s eyes connected with Oliver’s across the room.

“No!” she screamed. “Don’t hurt him!”

The statue plummeted to the ground, sword first. Hermione watched in horror as the stone blade pierced the dragon’s thick wing, tearing through it and snapping bones. The dragon shrieked in pain at the massive hole in its wing. Blood rained down from the wound, coating the floor in a puddle. The dragon fell to its side and pulled its wing into its body. It let loose its flames then, scorching the room. Hermione dove behind a pillar. While the dragon said he would not hurt her, that did not appear to be true when he was in extreme pain.

Hermione felt a tug behind her heart at his pain. Poor creature. Distantly, Hermione thought that Ron would be teasing her for feeling bad for the literal fire breathing dragon that was seconds from murdering her.

The dragon raged about the throne room, shrieking and shooting fire without repose. Lee and Hannah were tucked behind a pillar a few down from Hermione. She gestured at her pockets. They pulled out their portkeys. Hermione nodded at them.

Lee frowned. He waved his wand at his portkey twice. Nothing happened.

Hermione’s stomach dropped. The dragon’s wards. Fuck.

Hermione pulled out her communication coin and sent a rapid message: Wards are up.

Lee read his coin and nodded. He sent a message back to her: Apparition works inside the wards. Apparate to the edge of the grounds, then portkey.

Lee grabbed Hannah who looked like she might be sick and disappeared with an inaudible crack—it was impossible to hear anything over the rage of the dragon.

As Hermione tried to understand what was happening around her through the dragon’s never-ending flames, she finally took in Luna’s stricken face. The woman was rubbing at her chest again, and for some reason stepping out from behind her pillar!

Oliver shot a look at Hermione. Hermione knew he was telling her to apparate out.

He dove out from behind the pillar and grabbed Luna, tackling her to the floor. The dragon zeroed in on them and inhaled, likely to burn them to a crisp. Oliver and Luna disappeared with a crack.

The dragon screeched and blasted hot flames where they used to be.

Finally, the throne room fell silent.

A few heated moments passed. Hermione peaked out from behind the pillar. The dragon stared at her, its silver eyes mesmerizing.

“I told you to stay put,” he seethed, teeth bared.

“I’m sorry you got hurt. Let me help you.”

The dragon narrowed its eyes at her. Instead of responding, it launched itself into the air with a pained shriek. Hermione watched it get about 50ft on its leap alone, landing on the roof of the castle. But he couldn’t fly with his wing wrecked as it was. It moved out of her line of sight, the castle wobbling under its weight. She assumed he would try to get back to his lair.

Hermione’s heart raced. She couldn’t leave him like this. She had to do…something. The ground shook as the dragon landed somewhere nearby—she hoped on its soft bed of wool.

Feeling wrong, Hermione ran back the way she came. She was unable to apparate since she did not have a clear idea of the valley that they were in and risked splinching. Panting and queasy for some reason, Hermione made it to the entrance where she had run into Lee and Hannah. She eyed the valley and apparated to the treeline. Running for the trees, she felt the wards run over her body. She pulled out her portkey and cursed.

It was the wrong one. Her one back to their office was in the dragon’s bed. This one would take her St. Mungo’s. Nonetheless, Hermione activated the portkey and whirled away to St. Mungo’s. She arrived in the lobby and sprinted for the floos without pause, a few patrons looking at her sooty face before returning their attention to their medical emergencies.

Hermione whirled past fireplaces for nearly a minute before she landed in SPERMC’s receiving room, dizzy and nauseous. Breathless and a massive stitch in her side, she continued her harried journey to the briefing room.

One foot through the door and Hermione was being smothered by her friends and their overlapping concerns: Are you okay?; What took you so long?; Did you see that thing?; It was huge; I thought you were dead; I thought I was dead!

She shushed them all, feeling a terrible headache coming on. “Get Rolf,” she ordered.

The enigmatic magical creatures expert appeared in their briefing room moments later, his floppy hair and freckles softening the serious expression on his face.

“Hermione. Are you alright?”

“We don’t have a lot of time. So, everyone listen up. I’ll tell you what happened.”

Hermione dove right into her story, recounting her flight and her awakening, talking to the dragon, and his insistence that he would not hurt her, then their arrival. As the adrenaline started to leave her system, she found her body was shaking. Doing her best to ignore it, Hermione sat down, and continued her tale.

“This is the opportunity we have all been looking for,” Hermione explained once her story was done. “He won’t hurt me. You saw that. We have the chance to actually speak to a dragon. A new dragon species. He is definitely not a Horntail or a Hebridean. This is an unknown species,” she emphasized, her eyes sparkling. “And he won’t hurt me. He’s…intrigued by me.”

“Hermione, you were in the room with us when he started to torch it,” Oliver refuted.

“I’m going back,” Hermione declared. “I have to help him. He’s injured. That injury could permanently ground him. I need to heal him.”

“Absolutely not,” Oliver declared.

“An interesting proposition,” Rolf countered.

Oliver glared at the man. “We’re not sending her back there, Rolf. You didn’t see it. That is the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen. Anything could happen to Hermione! We barely made it out this time. And we can’t even get to her easily in an emergency because of the wards—”

“You can’t stop me, Oliver. I am going back. Period. Either help me pack or shut up.”

Oliver crossed his arms.

“You’ll need more food supplies. Plus, a dragon healing kit. I have one in my office,” Rolf leapt to his feet. “You have all your camping gear? I’ll send you with a charmed notebook too. It will be easier to communicate that way. And you should take notes there in case…”

“In case she gets eaten alive?” Lee finished for him helpfully.

Rolf winced. “Well…yes. In case you die. I won’t sugar coat it. This is very dangerous, Hermione. But I know there’s no convincing you otherwise.”

Hermione crossed her arms, her body still shaking from adrenaline. “No, there isn’t. And time is a ticking. That poor dragon has already lost so much blood.”

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Luna commented, her hand on her chest. “Something about that dragon is different. It—I’m worried about you.”

“Luna, I’ll be fine, I’ll grab another set of portkeys and I can apparate to the edge of the wards, then leave in the blink of an eye.”

“I’ll go get the kit,” Rolf commented, disappearing down the hallway.

Hermione went to her locker and found her spare camera battery packs and memory cards. She switched out the battery pack and memory cards and pulled out her actual pack. She stuffed in the spare clothes and gear from her locker haphazardly. She rarely used the rucksack because it was barely magically extended and did not have any counter-weight charms (in other words, her cargo pants pockets were much, much more convenient).

Oliver and Lee followed her while she made her way to the kitchens and began grabbing everything she could find and shoving it into her pack. They kept at her, trying to convince her to stay. Hermione ignored them.

Back in the briefing room, Hannah had two spare portkeys for Hermione. She handed them to her solemnly. “At least let me come with you,” Hannah said. “I can heal dragons better than you can. And if you get hurt—”

“Hannah. He tried to kill you. He won’t kill me.”

Rolf returned with a massive pack slung over his shoulder. “Dragon healing kit. I put the notebook in the front pocket.” He handed her the military style bag.

Hermione staggered under the weight. She checked her watch. It had been fifteen minutes already. “I have to leave,” she declared.

Hannha gripped her hand tightly while Luna stared on, her eyes far away. Lee was pacing and Oliver looked a second from screaming. Rolf looked vaguely amused. Never had a good sense of seriousness, that one.

“I will write as soon as I can. But it might not be until tomorrow. Stop worrying. I will be fine.”

Rolf handed her another button. “Portkey to Noddfa,” he explained. Hermione nodded. “Good luck, Hermione.” Rolf activated the portkey as Oliver burst out into another round of objections.

Hermione was gone before she was able to hear anything Oliver had to say. She landed in a heap outside the Noddfa sanctuary building. Heaving herself to her feet with difficulty, Hermione apparated to outside the castle wards. She was exhausted from everything and she rarely apparated so much within a short period of time.

It was odd being outside the wards. She knew the castle was there, but it looked like a completely empty valley. Hermione lugged herself and her bags through the cool feeling of the wards. The castle appeared before her eyes in all its crumbled glory. It was bigger than she realized. She had no time to take stock of the place; the dragon was hurt.

Mustering her magic, Hermione apparated again, directly onto the dragon’s wool pallet. It was not her smoothest apparition, weighed down by baggage as she was, but she made it.

The dragon was curled in a circle, its broken wing laying on the ground uselessly, blood everywhere. It barely had the energy to look at her when she arrived. It raised its snout weakly.

“You,” the dragon growled.

Chapter Text

The same day.

“You,” he growled at her.

Draca was furious at the human before him; she couldn’t even listen to simple orders. His anger was dulled by his pain, luckily for her. He could hear her wayward thoughts of regret and sympathy for Draca but he ignored her, instead trying to see if any of the eastern horde were nearby to help heal him.

He cast his thoughts out as far as he could but did not come up against any other dragon’s presence—just the human. At least she was alone again. Those other ones were such a nuisance. And such a terrible smell oozed from them—except for the one.

The others had triggered a strange thought in Draca, almost a memory. When he had encountered the tall human with light skin and brown hair, a vision of a large hall lined with four very long tables popped into his mind. It confused him. Draca pushed the thought away again.

He focused back on her. The human. He did not understand it, but she was important to him. Even if he was furious with her.

She was on her knees sinking into the blood-soaked wool pallet and rummaging through her bag. She pulled out a book and flipped through it haphazardly. Draca watched in interest.

The woman picked up her wooden stick and Draca’s mind came up with a word for it: wand. He frowned, wondering why he knew this human instrument. She brandished the wand at him much like she had earlier that afternoon.

“I’m going to help you,” she said to him in an unconvincing voice.

Draca sensed no danger from her, though he doubted she could heal a dragon. Humans were generally useless compared to dragon’s superior form. Draca cast about again mentally hoping that the horde he had reproached would be nearby. He doubted they would come within a 5km radius of his castle after his threats that morning…

Draca did not understand why he had challenged the dragons over the woman standing a mere foot from his scales. But when Gryn had suggested they deal with the humans tracking them, Draca had lost it.

Ostensibly, he had lost it well before then, what with his watching her from afar. Then taking her—that had been another inexplicable action. None of it made sense to Draca. But that did not matter. His body had made it clear she was his. So, he had taken her. And she had come willingly. Another curiosity. Most humans feared dragons, much like the woman’s companion had. But the human before him did not seem afraid of him at all.

 The woman was waving about her stick. Draca titled his head in fascination as she made coloured lights appear before her.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I told you. I’m going to help you.”

She continued on with her wand waving. Draca did not see how conjuring lights and lines would help him. He sank his head back to the pallet and closed his eyes, doing his best to block out the pain radiating from his broken wing up his spine. While a wing injury was not fatal, it posed the great risk of not healing properly which would make him incapable of flight. A reality that terrified him.

“Here,” she declared.

Draca opened his eyes and looked at a bowl in her hands.

“Sniff this.”

“What?”

“It will help with the pain,” she explained, pushing the bowl toward his nostrils. “Just sniff as much as you can. This will really hurt otherwise.”

Draca blinked at her slowly. He sensed her urgency and trepidation but didn’t sense any ill intent. Something deep in his bones made him know that she would not harm him. It was the other one who had attacked Draca. She had merely disobeyed orders.

As he moved toward the bowl, the woman waved her wand again. A translucent globe appeared around her head. Draca froze and stared at it.

“What is that?”

“Bubble head charm.” Inexplicably, those words made him think of a loud banging sound, a band playing, and an underwater competition. Draca shook his head. The woman continued speaking. “The powder is not good for me,” she explained. “But it will help you, with the pain.”

Draca sniffed at the bowl hesitantly. A fine pink powder rustled into the air and into his nostrils. Within seconds he felt some pain ease from his wrecked wing. Draca inhaled the rest of the powder without her urging. He felt his body start to go numb and his anger melt away.

The woman picked up a thin silver piece of curved metal. It was as long as her hand and as thin as a straw of wheat. Attached to one end was sort of string.

“I wish I had a ladder,” she muttered, looking up at his wing that sat at least five feet above her head, even at its broken angle. “Right. I’m a witch.”

Something sparked in Draca’s mind but darted away just as quickly. He couldn’t focus on anything now, his body completely relaxed, all tension gone, thoughts drifting in the clouds. Draca stared at her in a daze.

As he watched, the human waved her wand again and a solid gold chair from his treasure trove came floating toward her. Draca would have been more interested if the world wasn’t pink around the edges. She waved her wand again. The chair turned into steps. The woman climbed the steps, her head now only a few inches from Draca’s bleeding wing.

The woman waved her wand and her metal piece and rope soared into her outstretched hand. With a swish and flick, the rope floated beside her head.

Swish and flick! Well done, Ms. Granger!

Draca’s thought floated away.

The woman’s wand was no longer in her hand. She held the shiny metal and looked down at him with a frown. “I’m really sorry. I’m not the best healer. But I’m all you’ve got. Try not to move. I’ll go as quick as I can.”

Then she stabbed him through the wing with her metal straw. Draca growled deeply in response. The pain flitted through his rosy world.

“Sorry!” she said again. She continued to pull the metal through his skin.

She made some sort of knot, pulled the rope, then poked the metal through his wing again. Draca whined in pain. She kept going, ignoring him, though he felt a wave of sadness overtake her.

“What are you doing to me, human?” Draca questioned, pain lacing his thought.

“I’m helping,” she promised. “I can’t just use magic to fix you. Dragons are impervious to human magic,” she started babbling. “Your hides are too thick.”

Draca remembered her saying she was a witch. Witches do magic. That was something he knew, but he did not know why. Before today, he knew almost nothing of humans apart from the little the hordes had taught him over the years.

“I have to use muggle methods. Sew up your wound. I have to stop the bleeding. Then, I’ll attempt to set the bone—it will be hard though since I’m only one person and you’re so massive. I guess if I magic the brace…” she trailed off, her dagger lancing through his skin over and over again. From her angle beneath his wound, his blood was dripping onto her hands, clothing, and face. She didn’t seem to notice.

Draca watched as the human knit his skin together with the shiny white rope and her sharp straw. Draca twitched in pain as she neared the worst of the wound. She apologized again, but carried on, lancing him painfully over and over again. Draca wanted more of the powder. She had not given him enough.

He wished he hadn’t scared off the horde. A dragon could heal him much faster and far more efficiently than this witch could. But there were no dragons nearby. And the human did not know anything about dragon magic. Even if she did, no dragon would listen to her—they would kill her before she could explain that Draca lay bleeding in need of aid.

The witch tied another knot and placed the metal and rope onto her golden steps. She climbed down and pulled out a jug of water. She shot a wince in his direction. “I’m sorry,” she said again—it seemed like the only thing she could say. “This will hurt a lot. Try…try not to hit me by accident.”

She moved away from him, climbing over his tail carefully and standing about ten feet from Draca. “What are you doing, witch?” he asked.

“I need to disinfect the wound.”

Draca frowned at her, having no idea what she was talking about. The witch waved her wand about—swish and flick—and the jug hovered above Draca’s wing. It tipped over and splashed against the freshly sewn together skin. Draca’s head thrashed back in surprise as white-hot pain invaded his senses. The witch jumped back at his reaction, though he was nowhere near hitting her. The pain fizzled away gradually. Draca gnashed his teeth.

“Sorry.”

“This is helping?”

“It will help. I promise. It means you won’t get an infection and—I’m sure this all means nothing to a dragon. It will help,” she repeated.

She summoned a long, thick cotton cloth to her and a small white cloth. Draca watched her levitate the cloth onto the top of his wound gently. With more carful waves of her wand, the witch sealed the cotton to his skin using the smaller cloth. She returned to beneath his wing and repeated the process on the underside of the wound. This involved her splashing him haphazardly with more of that evil water.

This time, Draca was more prepared for the pain: a roar was his only reaction. Though, apparently that had scared her, because she stumbled and fell against his side, her tiny heartbeat echoing in Draca’s ears. Her fear ebbed away quickly and she returned to affixing the cotton to his wing. Draca did not like the weight of it; it threw him off balance.

“Now, let me try and get a brace on your wing bone or you’ll never be able to fly again.”

Draca let his eyes wander to his broken bone. He did not know how this witch thought she would help him. He wondered if she planned to put him through even more pain as she already had with her tiny metal weapon and evil jug of water.

“Leave it,” he rumbled. “I’ll be fine.”

The witch placed her hands on her hips. “No, you won’t. You’ll lose the ability to fly. I know it hurts, but seriously, don’t be so dramatic. I’ve had worse wounds than this and you didn’t hear me complaining anywhere near as much.”

Draca growled in response. So insolent, this human was.

“I might need to…climb on you. Is that okay? The angle here is hard for me to see and it’s imperative that I set the brace at the right spot.”

Draca shuddered. A human climbing him? A human on top of his body? It was forbidden. Humans could not ride dragons. Humans were not worthy.

But instead of feeling outright repulsed, there was another feeling. One that Draca could not comprehend. The idea of her atop him. It vibrated something in his chest.

Draca looked at her. She looked back.

“Fine. But only this once.”

The witch seemed surprised. She nodded. She positioned her steps beside him and climbed up them. She heaved herself onto his back using the spikes near his shoulders as leverage. She sat on his spine. Draca felt a strange energy zipping through him. His scales vibrated at her presence. Something about her being there felt…right.

Draca turned his head to look at her. She looked so tiny on his back, seated on his right shoulder, her wand in front of her. Her hair was wilder than it had been when he first took her and she was now almost entirely covered in his blood. Draca did not like that for some reason. He wanted to clean her but his magic reserves were low.

She summoned her large bag to his back. Draca felt the weight of it radiate down his injured wing bone. He was surprised the small human had been able to lift such a weight. From the bag she pulled a rod. It was long—in fact, she kept pulling it from the bag. It was far larger than should be possible to fit in that bag. She hovered it in the air like she had the jug and examined his wing.

“Try not to move,” she said and Draca braced himself for another round of burning pain.

She hovered the white rod to align itself with his wing. With a few more waves, rings appeared in the rod and snapped onto Draca’s sore wing. He gnashed his teeth and let out a low growl. She winced. The rings spread out, creating a cylinder around the length of his entire wing bone. His wing ached, but a least it did not hurt anywhere near as much as it had when she poured the evil liquid.

“Okay,” she said. “It looks like it’s wrapped. Now, I’m going to snap it into the correct position.”

Draca blinked at her. She shivered and looked away. She didn’t like when he blinked.

The witch scootched back between his shoulder blades and found herself settled on his ridge. Draca felt a heat overtake his body as soon as she sat down. He bristled and stared at her in confusion. This should feel wrong. A human on a dragon. It was taboo. Not allowed. Unseemly.

But it felt amazing. Draca felt like he had when he first sniffed the pink powder. Though the feeling faded quickly, it settled into a deep contentment in his bones.

The witch was likewise confused, but exhilarated. She gulped and looked into his eyes. “Did you…feel that?” she asked.

Draca stared back at her. A human who made eye contact. She was very strange indeed.

“Yes,” he said.

“What was it?”

“I don’t know,” Draca responded truthfully.

She tore her eyes from his and looked back at the white cylinder. “I’m going to set the bone with the brace. It will hurt,” she warned.

The witch grabbed onto one of the spikes at the base of Draca’s neck. Draca’s spine convulsed in a wave.

That had felt…

She cleared her throat, her face pink.

“Try not to buck me off. Or trample me,” she said weakly.

Draca chuckled. “I won’t hurt you human. Even as you continue to torture me.”

She frowned. “I’m not torturing you. I’m helping you,” she emphasized. “And like I said. It will hurt. It will be hard to control your reaction.”

“I will not hurt you,” Draca promised again, knowing he could never hurt her but not understanding why.

“You almost burnt me to a crisp in that throne room when you got hurt in the first place,” she threw back.

Draca frowned at her. “I knew where you were. I would not have burned you.”

The witch crossed her arms. “You were completely unaware of where I was. Don’t lie.”

“Dragons do not lie.”

“You were lighting the entire room on fire,” she threw back.

“I would not have hurt you,” he replied, though he did not know why his statement was true. He simply knew it in his bones. Yes, he was lighting the throne room on fire. Yes, she would have been in the path of his destruction. But no, she would not have been hurt. It did not make sense, but his senses told him it was the truth. There was no way to explain this to the human who did not understand instinct as dragons did. Draca said instead, “I will not hurt you now.”

The witch grabbed his spike again and Draca once more involuntarily convulsed. She held on tighter, then waved her wand. For a second nothing happened. Then, with a sickening series of cracks, the brace snapped into place, bringing his bone along with it. Draca howled in pain. His head shot up toward the sky and he let loose a wave of powerful flames.

Slowly, the pain diminished into a low throb and Draca dropped his head to the blood-stained wool. He turned an eye to the human. She was safe on his back. She hadn’t moved an inch, her knuckles white in their grip of his spike.

“See? I did not harm you,” Draca grumbled.

The witch blinked at him rapidly. Then, she carefully removed himself from between his shoulder blades and made her way down her steps. She packed away her supplies and stared at him.

He stared back.

Finally, after several long moments, she turned away from him and went to inspect his wing. She looked closely at the cotton, nodding her head. She took out her book again and bent her head over it. Another image flashed before his mind—a girl, big curly hair, bent over a book in a never-ending room of books.

The witch looked back up at his wing and circled beneath it again. It was forced into an extended position because of the brace, but now it sat at the correct angle.

She put her book away. “I think I did it. How do you feel?”

Draca stared at her bloodied form and lifted his head with difficulty. He opened his mouth while he channeled his magic. She stumbled back, her fear radiating off of her. Pressed to his side, Draca blew hot air over her body. She trembled. He closed his mouth and inspected her.

“Better.”

She was no longer covered in his blood. The witch looked down at herself then back up at him. Dragon magic! She thought in excitement.

Draca lowered his head again, feeling exhausted. “I must sleep. It will help me heal.”

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll…is it okay if I stay here?” she asked.

Draca’s eye landed on her. She shifted under his gaze. “Do what you wish, human. Evidently, I cannot control your actions. If I tell you to stay again, you will probably go running to other humans who wish to murder me.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” she tried to explain.

“Do what you wish,” he repeated. “I am going to rest.”

Draca closed his eyes and settled into his wool pallet. It reeked of his blood. He’d have to clean it once his magic was restored. Draca drifted into semi-consciousness, still aware of her slowly moving around on the pallet, the air stirring up her honeyed scent. Her smell overtook the smell of his blood, for which he was grateful.

At some point, the witch climbed over him and walked around the cavern. Draca became more aware of his surroundings as she left the safety of his wingspan. She returned shortly afterward and hesitantly sat against his warm side. Draca breathed a heavy breath of pleasure at her touch, then he sank into a deep sleep as her breathing evened out.

*

Day 2

Draca awoke slowly, his mind foggy. Usually, he awoke with a clear brain, ready to take flight and observe the world from up high. Today his brain did not want to function. It was sluggish as his eyes tried to focus on the world around him.

The first thing his mind made sense of was the body curled against his side, wrapped in a blanket. The witch was asleep, her head on a pillow, her back pressed to his scales. The next thing he noticed was that it was morning time. Draca had slept hours longer than usual. The third thing he noticed was the pain radiating from his wing.

Despite how much his wing hurt, Draca knew that the witch’s painful techniques had helped. But he hated that the could not move his wing. Draca tried to pull it into his body causing the brace to creak ominously and white hot pain to flash up his wing.

Draca growled and blew hot smoke through his nostrils.

The witch awoke with a start. She blinked at him, her eyes bleary. She yawned, then covered her mouth. ‘I can’t believe I slept with a dragon. I must be the first human ever.’

Draca chuckled at her thought. His brain was finally moving at an acceptable speed.

“Are you laughing?” she asked uncertainly as she pushed herself into a seated position, the blanket falling from her.

Draca noted she wore the same clothing from the day before.

“You amuse me, witch.”

“So, you do know about witches?” she asked.

Draca watched her pick up her wand and summon a book to herself. She pulled a small blue stick from nowhere and pressed it to the page. ‘Knowledge of human magic. Can communicate,’ she thought as she wrote.

“What is that, human?”

Her face was pink again. Draca decided he liked how she looked when her cheeks went pink.

“I’m just taking some notes. It’s…you don’t mind, do you? You said I could do what I wanted. So…I stayed. Obviously. And I want to…well, I am a dragonist.”

“You are a human,” he corrected astutely. “A human witch.”

She smiled. “Yes. And a dragonist.”

“I am a dragon. You are not.”

The witch laughed. Draca liked her laugh. “Not a dragon. A dragonist. I study dragons. I-I’m writing a book on dragon societies. There is so much we do not know about how they operate and I want to learn everything I can. I am utterly convinced that dragons are far more intelligent than we give them credit for. And our limited observations seem to imply an internal governance structure that rivals human societies and…” she cleared her throat. “Sorry. I can get carried away. Ron always said—”

Draca was hit with an image of a red-haired human, tall, gangly, with freckles. He had never seen this human before but he knew him. Somehow.

She continued talking, “I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. Or excited. Really, I ramble a lot. Anyway. I—uh. I’d like to spend some time with you, if you’ll let me. I can help you heal. Your bandage will need changing twice a day.” She pointed at the cloth that was no longer white, but had patches of red blood on it. “And you could maybe let me…observe you. And maybe tell me about your species.”

Draca titled his head at her. “Humans are not allowed this information. It is forbidden.”

The witch sighed and placed her blue stick and book into her lap. Her stomach growled. She ignored it. “What about if you tell me more about yourself? You don’t have to say anything about dragon societies,” she tried to barter.

Draca thought to the first horde who had educated him. “It is forbidden.”

“But…” She frowned. “What is forbidden exactly?” she asked, her blue stick back in her hand.

Draca moved his head closer to her. She recoiled slightly, though less than the other times he had approached her. “Humans are not to know how our societies work. Humans are not allowed to enter into our grounds. We are not to speak to humans. Humans are not to tell us what to do.”

She took notes, a memory niggling at the corner of his mind. “But you are speaking to me,” she countered once she finished her writing. “And you’ve let me onto your grounds twice. And I’ve told you what to do. And you listened.”

Draca blinked at her. The witch had a point. He grumbled in response.

“Does that mean you’ll tell me?” she asked earnestly.

Draca raised a scaly brow at her. “I must not break rules.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have already broken all but one of them.”

“I should not have.”

“Why did you? Why did you bring me here? Why do you talk to me?”

Draca looked away from her intent gaze and nestled into his wool pallet. He froze, then tilted his head to confirm what he was seeing. “You cleaned this?” he asked her. The wool was sparkling white.

The witch nodded. “I couldn’t have you sleeping in blood. Besides, it was only fair after you cleaned me up. Thank you for that by the way. How did you do it? How does dragon magic work? You said that the wards were yours. Did you cast them—?”

“Enough questions,” Draca grumbled. She snapped her mouth shut. “You may stay and observe. I will not answer your questions.”

“And I’ll keep healing you,” she added on. “We have to make sure the wound stays clean and the brace remain in the right spot.”

Draca closed his eyes. This witch was tiresome. Generally, dragons could sleep days away if they were exhausted from a fight, their magic was low, or they were just bored. Draca was not bored, but he was exhausted and low on magic. Besides, he had no interest in answering the woman’s questions. If the hordes found out he was talking, there would be consequences.

“Are you going back to sleep?” she asked, incredulous.

“I must rest,” came his response, eyes shut.

The witch sighed. “Fine. But I need to make some food, so I might be making a bit of noise. Do you want me to go to another room?”

“Stay,” he commanded, distraught at the prospect of her leaving again. The night before he would have lost it if she actually left. He was glad she hadn’t.

“Okay…”

She gathered her things and clambered over his tail, avoiding his spikes with caution. Draca drifted into semi-consciousness as he heard her start a fire, heat some sort of food, then scratch away with her blue stick in her book. Several hours passed of her scratching or flipping book pages.

Draca woke from his semi-conscious state. She had climbed back over him. The sensation of her hands touching his scales had jolted him awake. Her touch left him warm and tingly. Draca tracked her with one eye, keeping his head in place nestled against his forepaws. His reaction to her could only be explained by one thing. But it did not make sense. She was human. It was not possible.

The witch sat against him with only a momentary hesitation. Draca relaxed at the feeling of her body pressed to his. He closed his eyes again and started drifting off once more.

She interrupted him. “What’s your name? Do dragons have names?”

Draca cracked an eye and stared at her. “Of course dragons have names. How else would we communicate with each other?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know how you communicate with each other. Is it in full sentences? Is it thoughts? Images?” Her blue stick was in her hand again.

Draca narrowed his eye at her. “Humans are forbidden to know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. What is your name? My name is Hermione.”

Draca’s body tingled, the sensation crawling from his snout to his spiked tail. Hermione. That name, it was beautiful.

Draca lifted his head and moved toward her slowly. She pressed back against him, her stick dropping to her lap. He gently placed his snout on her knees, holding most of his weight up himself.  

“Hermione,” he repeated, his voice dark and silky. Her heart was racing. “They call me Draca.”

“Draca?” she repeated. Hermione slowly lifted her hand and placed it on his snout directly between his nostrils. Draca shivered at her touch. “Pleasure to meet you, Draca,” she responded reverently.

Draca pushed against her hand lightly, then pulled away and returned to his previous position.

“Draca,” Hermione said. “Will you tell me about yourself?”

He turned his head to stare at her fully. “What do you mean?”

“What type of dragon are you? You were with the Welsh Greens, but you are not a Green.”

Draca thought on her words. “Do you mean the Verdes?”

“Verdes?”

“The green dragons.”

“They are called Verdes?”

Draca nodded. “You call them Welsh Greens?”

Hermione nodded. “We’re in Wales. They’re green. Welsh Green,” she explained.

Draca placed his head on the wool. “I wonder if they know their human name. I do not think they would like being named after a human place.”

Hermione scribbled on her page. “Why’s that?”

Draca replied, “Because this is dragon land. Not human land.”

“Humans live here too.”

“Because we let you.”

‘Dragon supremacy…’ she thought to herself.’ Lee was right about them being racist!’

“What is ‘racist?’” Draca asked.

“Uh…maybe I’ll explain that another time. So, what type of dragon are you?” she questioned, blue stick poised.

Draca did not respond. Revealing that he did not know his own species felt like a great weakness.

“How about I tell you more about myself.” She placed her stick down. “My name is Hermione. I am a witch. My parents are dentists. That means they take care of teeth. They are not magical, unlike me. I went to a magical school where I learned how to control my magic.”

Draca found he was very interested in her story. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything. He shouldn’t care about this human witch. He should not want to know anything. He should not have taken her. He should not be speaking with her. It is impossible, he thought again.

“After school,” Hermione continued, “I worked in our government for a while. It wasn’t the right place for me, though. And I ended up at the Society for the Protection of Endangered, Rare and Magical Creatures—S.P.E.R.M.C. I’ve worked with them for three years now. I love it. The other humans you saw, they are on my team. Though, I’m the only dragonist. We help dragons—and other magical creatures—all across Europe. We came here because you were sighted with some Welsh Greens—er—Verdes. And we weren’t sure why, since dragons don’t usually intermingle. We came to make sure the Greens—Verdes were safe.”

Draca was intrigued. “You came to protect the Verdes from me?” Hermione nodded. “But there is nothing you could have done to stop me.”

“Well…” she gestured to his broken wing. “Apparently there is at least one thing.”

Draca growled in response. “The human who did this will pay,” he vowed.

Hermione crossed her arms. “He was protecting me.”

“I protect you. He was trying to take you from me.”

“And why should that matter?” she asked again, “Why am I here?”

“You came back, human. I did not force you.”

Hermione sighed. “Maybe the reason no one has ever talked to dragons is because they’re so annoying.”

Draca laughed despite himself. “Enough questions. I will rest more.”

“Do you need food?” she asked before he could drift off. “I can try to…find a sheep or something.”

Draca curled his neck and tail tighter so that she was more enclosed by his body. “Do not leave,” he ordered. “I don’t need food yet. Stay here.”

Hermione did not respond. But the sound of her blue stick on the paper started up again. Draca closed his eyes and tried to ignore her racing thoughts as well as his own.

*

When Draca woke next it was twilight. The witch—Hermione—was standing a few feet away from his face, staring at him intently. Draca blinked at her. She recoiled.

“I need to change your bandage. I should’ve done it this morning.” She pointed at the cotton cloth. It was almost entirely red now. “I had hoped it would bleed less than this. We’ll have to disinfect again. And I have a balm that should help with the bleeding.”

“Your evil water?” he grumbled in response.

She laughed. “Evil water?”

“The water that burns,” Draca clarified.

She smiled at him. “That’s antiseptic. And yes. We need to do that again.”

Draca groaned. While Hermione went about readying the supplies she needed, Draca cast about with his mind to see if any Verdes were nearby. After a long minute of silence, he gave up.

Hermione removed his red bandages efficiently. It did not hurt when she peeled them off. Hermione pulled out her evil water jug. She laughed as he growled. The woman should be more afraid of dragons in general. She had no sense of survival instinct.

Hermione started from below his wing this time, levitating the water against his wing and holding it there for a few seconds. Draca thrashed his tail, smashing it into the wall behind him. She let out a shout of fright from the noise—but she was in no harm of being hit and quickly recovered.

‘Brave,’ he thought to himself.

Hermione brought her steps forward and climbed them. She had another jar, this one full of a pink substance. Hermione cast a spell at her hands, then took the thick pink substance from the jar and began to run it over the stitches she had put into his wing. Draca blew out hot steam as she stretched his wounded skin. But the paste made the pain dull instead of spike. He sighed as her hand continued to smooth over the skin of his wing. Draca enjoyed the tingling sensation of her touch.

Hermione finished with the pink paste and was bandaging his wing again from the underside. Satisfied, she moved out from under him and stood facing his wing.

“Now for the hard part,” she muttered.

Hermione repeated the process. Draca smashed his tail against the wall again, sending up some dust into the air. She cast a barrier over him, blocking the dust from falling on either of them. Draca was impressed with her magic. She seemed skilled for a human.

The witch then applied the pink paste to the top of his wing with far less accuracy, since she was doing it from far away and using her wand. Draca wanted to feel her skin on his again.

He shook his head. It is impossible.

Hermione carefully bandaged his upper wing and then smiled at him. “That ought to do it. We shouldn’t skip another one. So, I’ll have to rebandage you in the morning again. I’m just going to make some dinner. Are you sure you’re still not hungry? It’s been like 36 hours since we met. When did you last eat?”

“I am fine,” Draca repeated. Though, he would need to eat the following day. Especially since he was healing.

Hermione shrugged. He watched her walk to the other side of the cavern where she had set up some cloth and a fire pit with shiny pans. Draca noted that nothing of hers was gold—a pity. The only gold thing was another one of his chairs that she had impolitely helped herself to. Curiously, Draca did not burn her to a crisp for touching his treasure.

Hermione pulled a log of wood from her clothing pocket. Draca narrowed his eyes.

“How does that fit?”

She grinned. “Magic. We’ve extended our clothes so that we always have the essentials on us, in case of emergency. It’s very convenient.”

“Humans need so much stuff,” Draca sniffed as he watched her pull out more logs, then food from her pockets.

Hermione pointed at his treasure trove with a hearty laugh. “We need stuff to survive. Dragons need very little, yet they hoard so much!”

Draca yet again had no response for her. He contented himself with watching her cook, asking the occasional question to understand what she was doing. He learned that most human food had to be heated and they needed an innumerable number of objects to achieve this heating. Draca admitted to himself that her food smelled delicious.

Hermione ate her meal while Draca watched. She disappeared into her canvas tent for a few minutes and Draca tried not to panic as all scent and awareness of her was cut off. He could not even hear here.

‘What magic is this?’ he wondered.

Hermione returned from the tent looking refreshed. Then, she went back to the cocoon of his body without any prompting. Draca liked that a little too much.

Hermione settled into his side and pulled her blanket over her shoulders. She had fixed her hair so it was tight against her neck again. She picked up her book and blue stick.

“Will you tell me more about yourself?” she asked.

Draca blinked in response. She frowned. Hermione placed her stick down again.

“I’m what is called a muggleborn,” she started talking, “and it means my parents aren’t magical. Which I already told you. But it meant that I didn’t grow up knowing I could do magic—”

“You could not tell?”

She smiled. “I knew something was…different about me. But I never knew what. It wasn’t until McGonagall—uh, the deputy headmistress at the time—it wasn’t until she visited my family and explained everything that it suddenly made sense. It’s weird how you can know something about yourself, but also not know it at the same time.”

Draca silently agreed. He felt that in many different ways.

“Since I didn’t grow up with magic, I was always doing catch up. I think it’s what made me so interested in dragons in the first place. Muggles—”

Draca was hit with the image of people in hoods and masks marching through a crowd of tents, people hovering in the air before them. Draca pushed away the disturbing image and focused back on what Hermione was saying.

“—are non-magical people. Like my parents. We have legends about dragons. And to know that they are something that muggles like me used to know about, back before the statute of secrecy. Well, it was all very fascinating to me. I’ve also got a bit of a thing for adrenaline, or so Harry says.”

Another image of a boy: gangly, bespectacled, scarred, insolent.

“But he’s got it way worse than me,” Hermione continued on, not seeming to note Draca’s inner turmoil.

‘Why is she provoking these images in my mind?’ he wondered.

“And then the DRCMC was such a nightmare. And Charlie invited me to visit Romania and it just—it was everything I needed. Dragons are so fascinating. When I found out that we know so little about dragons…well, I couldn’t let that go. So here I am.” She gestured around her. “Though, I never thought I’d be in a dragon lair, talking to a dragon,” she admitted. “Never in my wildest dreams. We didn’t even think dragons could communicate with humans! Imagine how revolutionary these findings are. We will completely change how we interact with dragons now that we know they understand us. And about that; can you understand any human language? Or just English? And why English?”

Draca narrowed his eyes at her. “You know my answer, human.”

She rolled her eyes. “It is forbidden,” Hermione replied in a deep voice.

“I do not sound like that.”

“Yes, you do.” Draca blew warm smoke at her. She jumped in fright, then crossed her arms. “Don’t do that.”

Draca laughed in response.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, “your wing, I mean.”

Draca tried to move it again and it stubbornly remained stiff. “I want to move it.”

She reached a hand to his side and patted his black scales comfortingly. “I know.” Draca warmed at her touch. “But it needs to set more. The book says it will take at least three days of no movement.”

“Three days?” Draca sulked. “That is too long. I must hunt tomorrow.”

“Oh. I’ll…I can get M and M to give me a sheep and bring it here.”

“M and M?”

“The…the women who are in charge of this sanctuary. They supply the sheep and keep the humans away.”

Draca tilted his head, the memory of a tall woman with long braids surfacing. “These women provide the sheep?”

Hermione smiled. “How else do you think you eat as much as you want at all times?”

Draca shifted his weight and pain lanced up his spine. “Sheep live in these parts.”

“Yes, but not in the numbers that M and M provide.”

Draca did not like the idea that the humans were feeding the dragons. The other dragons would not like it either. They liked to be independent of humans. This meant that the humans were keeping them safe. This M and M were dedicating their lives to the dragons. So unlike humans. Draca had been taught to avoid humans at all costs. While they were small and stupid, they could harm dragons and sometimes even succeeded in killing them.

“It’s safer for everyone this way. Less dragons attacking farmers and humans for their meals. Less humans wandering around dragon dens and hordes.” Hermione shrugged. “It’s what happens in every dragon sanctuary.”

Draca was fascinated to learn that some humans worshipped dragons. Hermione seemed to be one of them, with her caring for him and offering to get him food.

Draca rested his head closer to her, his breath moving her clothing on every exhale. “You would bring me food?” She could not understand the significance.

She nodded. “Of course! Is one enough?”

Draca reflected. “Two would be better.” He should not even be entertaining the idea of a human feeding him. The shame ought to be suffocating him. All he felt was pride and exhilaration at the prospect.

“I can go right now if you—”

“No.” Hot air puffed out at her. Hermione recoiled slightly. “Stay.”

“You know I’m not going to be staying here forever.”

Draca eyed her. The prospect of her leaving set his teeth on edge. “It is night time. Wait until morning.”

She relaxed back against him. “Fair point. Anyway, what is this castle?” she asked.

Draca laid his snout so it was touching her knee. Her heart sped up.

“I found it. It called to me,” he admitted easily. “I made it into my den, three years ago.”

“How old are you?” she asked.

Draca pulled away from her. She frowned. He placed his head on his forepaw and closed his eyes. “I am an adult,” Draca responded eventually.

He heard her blue stick moving against her book. “You’ve been here for three years. Where were you before?”

Draca tightened his loop around her and settled into his wool bed. “Enough questions. I need rest.”

Hermione took a long time to go to sleep that night. While Draca drifted in semi-consciousness, she remained alert for several hours, scribbling away in her notebook. When her back pressed against his side and her heart rate slowed, Draca plunged into a deep rest.

*

Day 3

When he awoke, his eyes reassured him that Hermione remained within the safety of his body. She was lying on her back, her hair piled on top of her head instead of at the base of it. Her left arm was propped up and placed against his side while she breathed deeply. Draca stared at her attentively.

He inhaled her scent, liking how it mixed with his own. How her smell was now interwoven into his den.

Hermione twitched and frowned in her sleep. She whimpered and Draca immediately tensed. She was having a bad dream. Without hesitating, Draca gently blew hot air over her, washing her bad dream away and replacing it with his happy memory of flying over the green mountains. Hermione relaxed.

Draca should not have done that. He should not care. But he did.

‘It is impossible,’ he repeated to himself. ‘Dragons cannot have a human mate.’

Chapter Text

Day 3 - Mid-May

Hermione came to consciousness slowly. She had been having the loveliest dream about soaring through the sunny skies above Noddfa Ddraig. She had delighted in climbing to obscene heights and diving at steep angles toward the ground, rolling through the air with her wings wrapping around her…

Hermione blinked her eyes open. She hated heights. And she didn’t have wings. What a strange dream.

It was her third day with Draca. It felt way longer and also way shorter. She was far too comfortable around him, especially since he was a fire breathing dragon the size of the Knight Bus. But she believed him when he said he would not harm her.

Hermione worried now more than ever that she was becoming a part of his treasure hoard. He did not want her to leave his side and he only seemed to sleep deeply when she was touching him. For some reason she did not read as human to him, but instead as something worth hiding away from the world and staring at intently.

It would be very difficult to leave if he saw her as his treasure…

Hermione sat up slowly and looked over at Draca’s face. His head was below his wing, close to her. His neck scales glinted that iridescent green in the sunlight streaming in from the hole in the ceiling.

His silver eye was trained on her. Hermione jumped.

“I thought you were sleeping,” she said.

He just stared in response.

Hermione stood and stretched. “Good morning.”

He blinked. She didn’t recoil for once, finally getting used to the odd double lid. Hermione looked up at his bandages. There was some blood on them, but far less than the night before. She smiled.

“You’re healing better now.” She rummaged through the bag that she kept leaned against his side near her and located more bandages, tape, sealing paste, and disinfectant.

Draca growled as she hovered the clear jug in the air. Hermione looked at him and tried not to laugh at his reaction. She knew the disinfectant was painful, but she remained steadfast in her estimation that this dragon was very dramatic. Not that she had anything to compare him to.

“We should be done fairly quickly,” Hermione reassured him. “I’m getting better at it.”

Draca remained mute. Hermione could feel his silver eyes following her work with interest. She removed the bandage under his wing, applied disinfectant—he growled deeply—and got on her ladder to smooth the salve over his skin. Strictly speaking she didn’t need to use her hands, but she relished in the opportunity to touch the dragon whenever she could. She was blessed with such a rare opportunity, and she planned to take complete advantage of it. Draca also seemed to like when she put the paste on him. She couldn’t quite explain it, but she swore she could feel him vibrate in pleasure at her touch.

Hermione repeated the process on the top side of his wing, happy to note that this side had even less blood than the lower one. Draca screeched louder in pain from the disinfectant on the top side, though. Hermione apologized and magically applied the soothing paste to his skin. He settled down again. Work done, Hermione turned to him.

“You should probably try to move a bit,” she suggested. “Keep your wing still,” she advised, “but just move around, stretch your legs. You don’t want to stiffen your muscles too much. And, you’ll need to make sure your muscles are strong enough for the sheep.”

Draca’s snout opened and drool dripped out of it.

“Ew,” Hermione remarked. Then she laughed. “I guess you must be pretty hungry.”

“I can wait until you take this brace off,” Draca said, breaking his silence.

His smooth deep voice soothed her until she processed his words. “No. The brace stays on. I was talking to Rolf and he confirmed that you’ll need at least two more days.”

Draca growled in response. He slowly (and she presumed painfully) pushed himself to his paws. He swung his head toward her and stared her down menacingly. “You said three days, witch.”

Hermione took an involuntary step back from his aggressive stance. “I said at least three days. Your bone needs more time to heal.”

Draca gnashed his teeth at her. But after a few seconds he laid back down on his pallet with a dramatic huff. If Hermione had to guess, standing had cost him a lot of effort. Resolved to get a move on, Hermione walked the short distance to her tent. She made it pack itself up and fly into her waiting cargo pants pocket—God, I need a shower—then packed away her fire pit as well.

“What are you doing?” Draca growled.

“I’m putting my stuff away so that when you go feral on the sheep, you won’t destroy my things.” A puff of smoke left his nostrils in reply. Hermione summarized her plan: “I spoke with Rolf last night and he said Michelle will bring two sheep to the edge of the castle wards. I’ll go get them. Then bring them back here. While you eat—” Hermione pulled a face, “—I’ll go explore the castle.”

Draca titled his head. “How did you speak to this Rolf?”

 “Oh. The notebook. It’s magic. I can communicate with my team through it.”

“Who is Rolf?”

Hermione looked at him in surprise. “My boss.”

“You let other humans boss you around?” Draca asked.

“Uh…well, Rolf’s more of a collaborative boss than a domineering one…”

Draca moved his head closer to her, curtesy of his long neck, and stared at her. Draca huffed more smoke through his nostrils. “Is Rolf your mate?”

Hermione broke out into laughter. “Rolf? God no.” She laughed more. “Besides, he’s with Luna. Wait. You said ‘mate.’ Do dragons have mates?” Hermione asked in interest. She summoned her notebook and pen and began writing furiously.

Draca blinked at her; one eyelid, then the next. Hermione sighed; he would not tell her. But she could infer from his question that they did. She now wondered if dragons had a sense of romance. When procreating, was there more than hormones involved? Hermione had endless questions.

She found herself asking, “Do you have a mate?” For some reason, she held her breath as she waited for his response.

Draca titled his head at her. “Enough questions, human. I am starving. And the other human is here. M.”

Hermione looked toward one of the corridors leading into the darkened hallway and outside. “Michelle is here?”

Draca brought his head back to his wool bed. “Yes. She is here. She brought the sheep.”

Hermione was astounded by his magical abilities—or was it just his hunting abilities?

Hermione promised to return quickly and disapparated to the edge of the wards. Michelle was standing and staring directly at her, a blank expression on her face; Michelle could not see her through the wards. Beside the Viking-esque woman stood two sheep.

“What did you just do, human?” Draca asked in her mind.

Hermione jumped and looked behind her at the castle. “You can talk to me this far away?” she asked aloud, uncertain if he would be able to hear her.

“Yes,” came his only response.

“It’s called apparition,” Hermione explained, moving slowly toward Michelle who seemed incapable of hearing her. “It’s human magic that lets us appear and disappear from place to place. Your wards only let me disparate within them. So, I have to go to the edge of the wards, then physically cross them to meet Michelle.”

Draca did not respond. Hermione was not sure if he heard her or not. She shrugged away her curiosity and stepped through the cool wards. Michelle jolted at her sudden appearance.

“Hermione!” the woman declared. “You’re still alive, I see.”

Hermione chuckled and took the ropes attached to the sheep. “I am,” she confirmed.

“And the dragon, how is he?”

“He’s healing well,” Hermione started to explain.

“Do not talk to her about me,” Draca commanded.

Hermione jumped.

“You alright?”

“Sorry it was—”

“It is forbidden, human.”

“They already know you can communicate with us!” she responded aloud in annoyance. Michelle frowned at her. “You spoke to my entire team three days ago,” she reminded him.

The image of hot smoke blowing through his nostrils flitted through her mind. Draca went silent.

“He’s talking to you?” Michelle asked, bewildered.

Hermione nodded. “I guess he can control who can hear him. You couldn’t hear him?” Hermione confirmed.

“No,” Michelle confirmed.

Hermione nodded, fascinated. “He won’t tell me anything. He keeps saying it’s forbidden for humans to know—”

“It is forbidden.”

“But I’ve learned loads already. I think his wing will be healed enough for him to use it in the next few days. Might be a week before regular flight, though. So, we should set up sheep meetings.”

“A week?!”

Michelle nodded. “A dragon of his size needs food once every few days. He’s an adult, right?”

Hermione nodded. “He won’t tell me how old, though. Or what species. But I think if you come every other day with one sheep that should be enough. He only needs two now because it’s been so long.”

Hermione and Michelle agreed to meet in two days time in the morning again. Hermione set an alarm on her wand to remind her. After briefly catching up, Hermione bid Michelle a good day and disappeared back over the line of the wards.

Hermione didn’t look at the poor little sheep, saddened by their fate, but accepting the cycle of life. She apparated into Draca’s den as far away from his bed as possible.

The dragon’s head snapped in the direction of the sheep. Hermione let go of the rope and scampered from the room quickly. She tossed, “Enjoy!” over her shoulder as she fled. Hermione went so far as to cast a sound barrier. She had absolutely zero interest in hearing the poor sheep’s final moments, nor what she assumed would be far too much enthusiasm from Draca.

Hermione profited from a few hours on her own. Draca did not attempt to contact her as she roamed the castle and took stock of it. Based on the paintings she came across, it appeared to be muggle. The castle was massive. She explored the first and second floor during her morning escapade, making note of a few bedrooms that had likely belonged to the royalty that used to live there. Curiously, there was one door that refused to open on the second floor in the south-west corner. Hermione cast several spells at it before giving up. She assumed it was because there was a cave-in on the other side or some other structural problem.

Hermione slowly made her way back to Draca as the morning stretched into afternoon. When Hermione approached the den, she thought of the sheep again with a frown.

“I hope you cleaned up any mess you made,” Hermione said out loud, again confused if he could hear her.

“Wait where you are, witch.”

Hermione froze. He somehow knew she was close. She supposed he must be able to smell or hear her. A few seconds ticked by.

“You may come back now.”

Hermione walked back into the den. She failed at stopping her eyes from inspecting every surface for blood and bones. She found nothing. She let out a heavy breath. Draca turned to her. He raised himself to his feet and took two steps in her direction, covering a lot of ground. Now mere feet away, Draca extended his neck and brough this snout to her stomach. Hermione gulped, still unused to a literal dragon approaching her, touching her.

He booped her stomach with his snout. Booped her. A dragon.

“Thank you, witch,” Draca said, his gleaming silver eyes level with hers while he stared at her.

Hermione smiled and felt oddly giddy for some reason. She slowly brought her hand to his snout, placing it between his nostrils as she had when he told her his name. “You’re welcome, Draca.”

He nuzzled his head into her hand and stomach. Hermione stumbled back a bit from the force of him. He pulled away and returned to his pallet. Walking in a circle much like she had seen dogs do, Draca fluffed up his bed, then curled up on it. He swung his head to look at her. Hermione followed him, stepping over his tail and under his outstretched injured wing. She glanced at the bandage and noted there were a few specks of blood on the white. She grimaced. He must have done that while eating his breakfast.

A shining button caught her attention in the wool. Hermione picked it up and noted it was her emergency portkey that she had tried to take when he had first kidnapped her. She pocketed it.

“Sit, witch,” Draca ordered.

Hermione glared at him, but obliged and sat back against his side, comforted by his presence. He stared at her.

Out of nowhere, Draca started narrating, “The hordes have taught me that humans are insignificant. But that we must also fear them. That they can still harm us.” Hermione itched for her notebook. Something in her told her not to take it out, though. “But you are neither insignificant nor someone to fear. You would not harm a creature. You did not like that I ate those sheep. You wanted to keep them alive. Why?”

“Life is precious,” Hermione responded.

“But you brought them to me anyway,” he replied.

“Yes. Because that is the unfortunate reality of our world. Life is precious because we die. And some of us require others to live off of to survive—like dragons. They cannot survive on vegetation. If you did not eat, you would die.”

“But then the sheep would live.”

“Yes—but you would kill them anyway if I were here or not.”

He pressed his chin against her knee. He seemed to like doing that. It made Hermione’s heart race. “You are caring,” he commented eventually.

Hermione smiled. “I try to be.”

“I do not have a mate,” Draca said suddenly, changing topics entirely.

“Oh?”

“Mates are rare. If we find our mate, we stay with them forever.”

Hermione asked, “And what if they die?”

Draca answered simply, “We die.”

“How are mates determined?”

He nudged her knee until she placed her palm on his snout. Draca relaxed again. “This, I do not know. Mates are fated. That is all we know.”

“And is there no choice?” she wondered. “You just see each other and are mated?”

“There is choice,” Draca replied. “If the bond is not accepted, the denied mate dies.”

Hermione gasped. Instead of questioning that, she posed a different question, “So, dragons can have babies without their mate?” she asked.

He nudged her again, so Hermione started petting him. Like a dog. The smooth press of his scales made her palm tingle.

“Mates are not required for younglings.”

“Can I—do you mind if I write this down?”

Draca let out a soft growl. “Others should not know.”

Hermione nodded and continued petting him instead. Dragons could communicate with humans and presumably had been able to for centuries. Yet, they chose not to. Hermione was torn between accepting their decision and recognizing that human-dragon cooperation could revolutionize dragon medicine as well as help end poaching, or, at least, greatly decrease it.

“Okay. I won’t write it down,” Hermione said eventually.

“Dragons can understand any language humans can speak. We understand thoughts, so learning language is easy. But right now, I am not speaking in your language. I am thinking. Thoughts are easier to understand than language. Thoughts do not lie.”

Hermione was entirely fascinated. “What if I write this down in a non-magical book. Just for me?”

Draca blinked. “Only you can read it?”

Hermione nodded earnestly.

“…fine.”

Hermione summoned her spare notebook from her cargo pants and her pen. She balanced the notebook on her knee and brought her left hand back to Draca’s snout—he was shifting again against her. He calmed down as she caressed him. Hermione began writing everything he had just said. When she finished her notes, she looked back at him.

“So, you can speak English, but you choose to speak in thoughts instead?” she clarified.

Draca said, “I cannot speak. I am a dragon.” Hermine rolled her eyes. “But I can understand human speech, if I must. It is easy to learn,” he reiterated.

“What languages can you understand?” she asked, riveted.

“Only those I have come across—English. Welsh.”

Hermione’s mind was racing. “You can learn any language after hearing someone speak it? It’s that simple?”

“Yes, human. Dragons hear thoughts. I can understand your language better than you can.”

Hermione pondered on that for a while. “What you’re saying is that I don’t need to talk to you at all? I could just…think?”

“Yes, witch. But it is better when you talk. I get to hear your voice.”

Hermione stopped writing and looked into his eyes. “My voice?”

“I like it,” Draca informed her. “As you like mine.”

Hermione flushed. With a start, she realized he had been hearing all of her thoughts since they first saw one another. All of them. How embarrassing.

“That’s why dragons don’t lie?” she asked. “Because they can read each others’ minds.”

Draca blinked in response.

“Fascinating. And earlier, you were able to hear my thoughts from so far away. How far of a range do you have?”

Draca’s eyes drifted closed and Hermione knew that her interrogation was about to end. “It depends. Usually around a one-minute flight distance. I need rest. Goodnight, human.”

Draca’s breathing slowed.

Hermione did her best to work out how far of a distance a one-minute flight was for a dragon of his size while he snoozed against her knee. She continued petting him until her arm tired. Hermione returned to her private notebook and began scribbling down her never-ending list of questions.

*

That evening, Hermione attempted to wake Draca so she could change his bandages again. She tapped his snout gently—which was still pressed against her knee—then not so gently when he had no reaction. She frowned as his large lungs continued to expand slowly. Hermione stood, and still Draca snoozed on. She tried tapping on his side and talking to him, but he was completely unaware of her efforts. Hermione placed her hands on her hips in annoyance. This dragon made absolutely no sense. She could breathe slightly abnormally and he would awake immediately. But now that she needed him awake, he was stubbornly unconscious.

Hermione made her way from beneath the shelter of his wing. The second she stepped over his tail, Draca was grumbling to her, “Where are you going, human?”

Hermione froze, one foot hovering over his scaly tail. “I was trying to wake you up. Did you not hear me?”

Draca brought his head toward her slowly and stared at her with his luminous silver eyes. “I was resting.”

“Yeah, but usually you wake up when I move.”

Draca blinked at her. She stared back. It would appear she would not be getting an answer to that observation.

“Draca, I am going to clean your bandages now, okay?”

He tilted his head down in acquiescence, then lowered his head back to the wool pallet and watched her move.

Hermione repeated the now familiar movements of removing his bandages, applying disinfectant and the healing paste, then putting on new, clean bandages. She cleaned beneath his wing quickly and efficiently. Draca barely growled when she splashed the “evil water” over his wound. It probably helped that the skin was almost entirely sealed by that point. When Hermione applied the paste to his wing with her hand, Draca let out some sort of noise that was oddly similar to a purr. Hermione froze. She looked at his eyes which were following her progress.

“Are you…okay?” she asked.

Draca stared back. The purring had stopped. “Yes, human.”

“…what was that noise?” Hermione asked.

Draca’s gaze dropped to her hands before returning to her face. “I am content,” he responded after a few moments of silence.

He was purring! She thought with a smile. Like a cat!

Draca blinked. “I am not a cat,” he sounded annoyed.

“Sorry.” Hermione smothered her laughter. He behaved in many ways like a cat—though, in other ways like a dog. “I’ll just finish this up then.”

Hermione returned to her task, smoothing the paste over his dark skin. Draca started purring again. Hermione only stumbled once in her ministrations at the vibrations running through her fingers. She carried on and bandaged him.

Hermione repeated the process on the top of the wing. Since she applied the paste from afar, Draca did not resume his purring. Done with her healer duties, Hermione wandered over to Draca and sat down against him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked when he continued to stare at her unnervingly. “You were okay with the sheep?”

“Yes, witch. I can still hunt. My wing heals. I hope to fly soon. I miss the skies.”

“How often do you fly normally?” Hermione asked, her pen and muggle notebook out in a flash.

Draca stared at her hands. “What is the blue stick? Is it another wand?”

Hermione smiled. Draca’s eyes returned to her face. “No. It is a pen. It lets me write. Do you understand what writing is?”

Draca nodded. “I do not know why. But I know.”

“Hmm. Now that is interesting. Do all dragons know things about humans without knowing why? Or have you forgotten some fundamental moments of your childhood?” Hermione joked.

Draca did not respond. Hermione sighed. She returned to her previous question.

“How often do you go flying?” she asked again.

“As much as possible. I usually fly with the hordes. The Verdes like to move around. They’ve told me other dragons do not travel so much. I like their flying. Some days we fly for hours.”

Hermione scribbled away in her notebook. Now that she was writing in a private journal, he was more forthcoming.

“Why is so much knowledge about dragons forbidden to humans?” Hermione questioned, truly intrigued by this point. “We could work together to accomplish so much good in the world.”

“Humans cannot be trusted,” Draca replied smoothly.

“But you trust me.”

He brought his chin to her knee again and Hermione began petting him. Draca purred once more, his eyes sliding shut. This time he was quieter. It still sent tingles shooting up Hermione’s arm.

“Why do you trust me?” Hermione asked. “Why did you not hurt me?” Draca simply nudged her again. Hermione remembered what he had said to her team, “Why did you say I was yours?”

Draca purred louder at her words. “You are mine.”

“But…why? Do dragons usually…collect humans?” Hermione could not think of another way to phrase what was undoubtedly happening to her right now.

“No,” he replied.

“But why?”

“You are mine, Hermione,” his silky voice rumbled in her mind. Hermione shivered.

Hermione continued to pet him in silence for a while, not understanding his words. She hesitated from asking him if he would let her leave when his wing was healed. But she forgot that he could hear her thoughts.

“Why would you leave?” he wondered. “You like it here.”

Hermione supposed he was right. She liked spending time with him. And she loved learning so much about dragons. “I have a life outside of this castle,” Hermione responded.

Draca stopped purring. He moved back from her and stared into her eyes again. “You wish to return to your human life?”

Hermione scratched at her elbow awkwardly. “I mean…yes, eventually.”

Draca huffed smoke out of his nostrils. Hermione swallowed at his evident anger. “You cannot leave. You are mine.”

“I am not yours,” she replied haughtily. “I am my own.”

Hermione ought to have shut her mouth. It was precarious to piss off a hoarding dragon. But she was an honest person.

“You are mine,” Draca growled again. “You will not leave.”

Hermione sighed dramatically (giving the dragon a run for his money). “How about we have this conversation later?”

“You cannot leave me, witch.”

Hermione placed her book and pen in her lap. “Well, I can’t stay here forever, either,” she reasoned. “I have a job. I have friends. I’ll run out of food at some point.”

“I will get you food.”

Hermione suppressed a laugh. She was imagining the massive dragon before her clumsily making his way through the aisles at her local muggle grocery. “Draca. I appreciate you welcoming me into your home. I will have to leave at some point. I cannot stay here forever.”

Draco grumbled and refrained from replying.

When he fell asleep, Hermione was going to have to brainstorm a plan with Rolf on how to extricate herself from the precarious situation she had gotten herself into.

“Why have you decided that I am yours?” Hermione asked eventually, not knowing when to leave well enough alone.

Draca huffed. “I have not decided.”

Hermione stared at him. Damn dragons couldn’t give a straight answer to a question if it killed them. “Okay, new topic,” she said instead, deciding not to poke the bear even more. “Where are you from?” she asked.

“Wiltshire,” he replied.

Wiltshire? There were no dragons native to Wiltshire. Then again, they had never seen a dragon like Draca before either, so it was entirely possible that Draca was from Wiltshire.

“Can you camouflage like the Verdes?” Hermione asked.

“No, human. The Verdes blend into their environment seamlessly. I can trick your eyes sometimes. But it does not come easy to me like it does to the Verdes. They could be right beside you and you would not know.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. All the times she could swear someone was watching her—perhaps it had been the Welsh Greens.

“And so, they just let you into their horde even though you are not one of them?”

Draca blinked. “I am Draca.”

Hermione stared back, not understanding what point he was making. “Yes. Your name is Draca. But why do they let you into their horde…hordes? You said you’ve flown with the Western horde as well?”

“I have flown with all the hordes in these mountains. The Eastern are my favourite. They are more fun than the others.”

“Fun?” Hermione was scribbling in her notebook again. “What do you mean, fun? Do dragons play games? Tell jokes?”

Draca stretched his neck and shifted his wing while he talked to her. “Yes, we have games. Flying games. Sometimes we tell jokes. Gryn is a good story keeper.”

“I have so many questions!” Hermione was practically vibrating.

“I can answer your questions later, witch. First, you need to tell me more about yourself.”

“Oh. You want to know about me?” she wondered, surprised.

“Yes, human. What food do you eat? I do not smell meat when you cook your human meals.”

Hermione chuckled. “I only eat vegetables, fruits, and grains,” she explained. “Cheese—I’m not sure how to explain what that is…”

“It is hard milk?” he asked.

“Yes! Kind of. How did you know?”

Draca returned his head to the wool bed. “I do not know.”

“Do you have memory issues?” Hermione asked, perhaps impolitely.

“My memory is strong.”

“Okay…”

“What else do you eat?”

“Milk, eggs—”

“You eat unborn?!”

Hermione burst out into laughter. Draca huffed at her reaction. “No, Draca. I eat unfertilized eggs,” she explained slowly. “There are no babies inside. Chickens lay many unfertilized eggs.”

“You did not like when I ate the sheep.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m used to it,” she explained, “I work with magical creatures, many of whom eat other living creatures. You get over it—even if I don’t want to eat living creatures.”

“Tell me more,” Draca demanded.

Hermione fiddled with her pen. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Hermione smiled at his response. There was something equally odd and endearing about a dragon demanding that she tell him everything about herself.

Hermione gathered her thoughts, then began a meandering tale of her childhood. She told him about her love of school and muggle science. That explanation took a long time. Then she jumped over to her extended family members and their oddities. She still had a great aunt who lived in Ireland who Hermione sent the occasional card to. The woman was well past senile by that point, but Hermione held fond memories of Christmases past.

Hermione told him that her favourite presents were always books or activities that she could do with her family. She told him that she hated being an only child, except when it came to getting all the attention she could ever want from her parents. She told him of her neighbours who loved to play lawn bowling—Hermione was unsurprisingly not very good at it. She somehow landed on a tale of her first kiss with a muggle two streets over from her family home during the summer before Hogwarts. Draca seemed interested in understanding why a kiss mattered.

“Humans touch all the time,” he said, “Why did this touch matter?”

Hermione smiled wryly. “It was more than a touch…” she felt rather ridiculous trying to explain the importance of one’s first kiss to a dragon. “It’s…well…” Hermione blushed. “For humans it is very significant. The first time you kiss someone, you remember it forever,” she explained.

Draca blinked at her. “Why? You touch with your lips.”

Hermione fiddled with her long-forgotten pen. “Humans have romance and…” she cleared her throat, “desire. Much like when dragons go into heat,” she explained, trying to be as clinical as possible. “Much of our lives are based on these desires and looking for love. We are social creatures and are always looking for others.”

“Your mate?” he asked.

“No. We don’t have the same idea of a mate as you. Well, actually that is debatable…” Hermione launched into an explanation of myth and the concept of soulmates, moving away from her first kiss with Peter from down the road.

She found herself yawning loudly when she finished the tale about the red string of fate in East Asian cultures.

“Sleep, Hermione,” Draca ordered. “You must rest. It is very late for your human body.”

“Are you not tired?” she asked. Hermione put away her notebook and pulled her blanket out of her pocket, along with her pillow. She retied her hair.

Draca said, “No. I am restless from staying grounded for so many days.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized again. “Your wing looks really good today. I’ll check in the morning. But you still cannot fly. You need to wait at least two days after the brace comes off. We’ll do some exercises in the morning.”

Draca grumbled in response. “Sleep, human. I will watch over you.”

Hermione smiled at that. She pressed her back into his warm side and closed her eyes. The rhythm of his ribs expanding and contracting lulled her to sleep.

*

Day 4

In the morning, Hermione cleaned Draca’s wound as usual. He watched on in silence, the energy zinging from his skin and up her arm, leaving tingles. There was no blood on the bandages, which was a very good sign. Hermione prodded the brace and it lit up telling her that the bone was fully healed. Though, as she explained to Draca once he had read her mind, he needed to keep the brace on for one more day so that he didn’t immediately take flight and tax the newly healed bones.

Draca puffed hot smoke at her in response to that.

Hermione made her way out from the safety of his body and cooked herself an omelet for breakfast. Draca watched on in evident fascination. He commented on how bizarre it was that she ate eggs and Hermione had to re-explain fertilization. Dragons only laid fertilized eggs, so he had trouble understanding.

Hermione would kill for a good cup of tea, but she had no milk, seeing as she had no fridge. So, that was not happening. Hermione considered sending a message to Michelle to bring her some tea along with the sheep the following morning.

As Hermione scourgified herself, she longed for a shower—only a few more days.

Once she was fed, Hermione turned to Draca. “Are you ready to do some stretches?” she asked.

Draca huffed hot smoke her way and stood lithely. Hermione nodded at how fluid his movement was. He crossed the open-air room and stood before her in four strides. Hermione stared at him, only slightly unnerved by his fast approach. Draca stared back at her.

Hermione wasn’t sure what stretches she was supposed to lead a dragon through—the healing book was not helpful. Since dragons were generally unconscious when they were healed by magical folk, they were either stretched while unconscious, moving the limbs around gently or they were healed and dragons went on their way. Since keeping a dragon unconscious for such a long period of time was rare, they were usually left on their own to figure out how to stretch their limbs.

Hermione, remembering a time that she attended a muggle yoga class, thought that it wouldn’t hurt Draca to run through a sun salutation set.

“Okay follow my lead,” Hermione said to Draca who stood two feet from her, staring into her soul. She lifted her arms above her head. Draca just stared. “Stretch out your wings, above your head. Or, at least try to.” He blinked at her. “It will help you acclimate to flying again.”

Draca slowly stretched out his wings, a deep growl bubbling just below the surface. He held his injured wing maybe two feet up into the air. He was able to lift his left almost entirely up. He reminded Hermione of one of those fancy cars whose doors opened skyward.

“Does it hurt?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, witch.”

“That’s why stretching is good. Just don’t push yourself. Only go as far as you can without it hurting.”

Hermione led him through a sun salutation. Hermione had her fair share of smiles and chuckles at the sight of Draca trying to copy her lunges but he did an excellent downward dog. Hermione repeated the salutation. By the third time, Draca’s right wing was visibly less stiff—he could lift it four feet higher than his first attempt.

She adjusted her wand holster for the 1000^th time as they finished their stretches.

“Well done,” she praised. Draca seemed to swell with pride. “Does your wing feel better?” she asked.

“Yes, Hermione,” Draca replied.

Hermione pet him on the snout and he leaned against her hand. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. We’ll do another round of stretches tonight. I might also take out your stitches tonight. We’ll see how you’re doing after the second round of stretches.”

“I want you to remove the brace,” he grumbled.

“Soon. Tomorrow morning, we should be ready.” Draca growled in annoyance. “Will you answer my questions now?” Hermione wondered.

Draca nudged his snout against her middle before pulling away. “What do you want to know, witch?” he asked, standing before her.

Hermione summoned her notebook from her pocket and flipped through the pages. “Why are you here? I mean, here specifically. In Wales. In this castle?”

Draca titled his head, his eyes zeroing in on her adjusting her thigh holster once again. He opened his mouth and blew hot air at her leg. Hermione felt the holster shrink so that it fit properly on her for the first time. She grinned at him.

“Thank you!” Hermione gave his head an awkward hug, his scales sliding against her cheek. “I’ve been needing to fix this for months.”

When she pulled back, Draca wrapped his neck around her body in a “U” like he was hugging her and nudged Hermione back toward the wool bed. Hermione let herself be pulled forward by his neck.

Once she was back on the wool pallet, Draca replied, “I was called here.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione sat against his side and summoned her pen.

“I was called here,” he repeated unhelpfully.

“By who?”

Draca blinked at her. “I do not know. All I know was the feeling. There was something before. Something…big. Then I was confused and alone. And I felt a pull to this castle.”

“And it had a giant hole in the ceiling already?”

“Yes.”

“Was anyone here?”

“No.”

“And that was three years ago?” Hermione confirmed. Draca nodded at her. “But you’re much older than three years old.”

Draca sighed. “Yes.”

“How old?”

“…I do not know.”

“Then how can you know—”

“I know. But I do not know why. My life before this castle, I cannot remember it. Something has disrupted my memory. I know only this castle, the Verdes. These mountains. I am an adult, but I have only three years of memories.”

Hermione was fascinated, wondering what on earth could erase a dragon’s memory like that. “And so…you don’t know what species you are?” she hazarded.

Draca snuggled into his paws and closed his eyes, but he remained alert in her mind. “No,” he admitted. “I do not know.”

“There could be more of you out there?”

“It is possible.”

“But why do the Verdes let you fly with them?” Hermione asked again.

“I am Draca.”

Hermione did her best to suppress her eye roll. She moved on since there appeared to be no clear answer to her question.

“Okay. So, you don’t know why you’re here, but you’ve been here for three years. The Verdes all let you into their hordes and you learned everything you know from them? Wait, surely you must have known regular dragon things, like hunting?”

Dark smoke puffed from his nostrils. “I knew nothing, human. The Verdes taught me everything I know.”

“But it seemed like you were their leader—why would they let you lead them?”

“I am Draca.”

“Okay…and what does that mean?”

“I am Draca.” Hermione’s eye twitched. “This is all they have told me. I am destined for more, or so they say.”

“More? More how?”

“They do not know. It is a feeling.”

“Do dragons have premonitions?” Hermione asked, pen scribbling away.

Draca blinked an eye open at her. “Some. But no—it is different, deeper. We do not understand, but we know it to be true.”

“Which dragons have premonitions, is it common? How do they see the future?” Hermione, not one to lend much stock to fortune telling found it more likely that dragons would be able to predict the future than humans. The extent of their magical abilities was completely unknown.

“I do not know, Hermione,” Draca replied. He closed his eye again.

Hermione frowned. “Fine. Next question, how does your magic work?”

Draca repositioned his head and tightened his circle around her body. “I do not know. We think of things and they happen. There are some rituals. Sometimes we use our breath or our fire. Sometimes we need others. It happens…naturally. I have not noticed a pattern.”

Hermione tried not to sigh in frustration. Why wasn’t everyone as observant as her?

“Enough questions,” Draca rumbled.

She dropped her pen and closed her notebook. Thinking about opening the magical notebook and sending a message to Rolf, Draca interrupted her thought.

“Tell me more about your life. When did you find out you were a witch?”

Hermione pulled out her knitting from her least used cargo pants pocket and set herself up to while the hours away while recounting her life. Hermione was in the process of poorly knitting a sweater. It was her second attempt and already a vast improvement on the first one. She counted her stitches a few times. Draca waited patiently. She added patience to her mental list of dragon characteristics.

Hermione regaled Draca of McGonagall’s visit to her home, her parents’ surprise and eventual acceptance of her magic. She spoke of reading through her acceptance letter and the joy and fear she felt. She went on about shopping in Diagon Alley and being so overwhelmed she cried for two hours straight when she got home. Her parents almost didn’t let her attend Hogwarts. At that point in the story, Draca interrupted.

“Hogwarts is in Scotland.”

“Er—yes, it is.”

Draca’s eyes narrowed. “It is big. Has spires. A tower…” he went silent for a long time. Hermione wished she could read his mind. “A lake. A green pitch…a dark forest.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. That’s it! You must have flown past it before! When were you in Scotland?”

Draca closed his eyes slowly. “I have never been to Scotland. At least, not that I can remember.”

Hermione frowned. “Maybe I can find a way to help you restore your memories.”

“Keep telling me about Hogwarts,” Draca replied instead.

Hermione picked her knitting back up, counted her stitches, then returned to her tale. She told him of running into Harry and Ron on the train and not knowing that they would become her best friends in the whole world. Hermione shared her search for Trevor and her run-in with Malfoy—the git. Well, he seemed less awful these days, Hermione reflected internally (which she knew Draca could hear).

With a start, Hermione realized that Draca’s comforting breathing had stopped. “Are you alright?” she asked.

Draca’s breathing started up again. “Yes…it was…I’m not sure. Keep talking.”

Hermione shrugged and carried on her tale about taking the boats to the castle and seeing it for the first time in all of its glory. She included far too much historical and architectural information in her retelling, but Draca did not seem to mind. Hermione narrated her sorting into Gryffindor. She briefly summarized the other houses as well.

“Slytherin seems like a strong house,” Draca stated.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course, a dragon would like Slytherin. But Slytherin are not the nicest. And they are Gryffindor’s rivals.”

“I could never be your rival,” Draca informed her.

Hermione smiled warmly. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“You do not agree? You could be my rival?” he asked, his eye sliding open.

Hermione looked at the silver of his iris. “Not on purpose,” she responded truthfully. “But if you threaten my friends again…I could see us not getting along too well.”

Draca huffed in response. He shifted around and closed his eyes again. Hermione returned to her story of her first year at Hogwarts, some details being skipped over and then returned again later when she realized they were significant—like Quirrel’s strange demeanour. Draca listened raptly, his eyes occasionally opening to take in her expression. Hermione’s voice tired several hours later. She had finished the story of her first year, recounting the trip back to her parents’ and her anxiety over telling them that she battled an evil wizard and almost died.

Hermione took a long drink of her water from her bottle.

“Oh dear,” she realized, “you haven’t had water in four days!”

Draca looked at her. “I am thirsty. But I can wait. I had a lot the day I met you.”

“That won’t do. I’ll get you water right now.”

“Stay,” Draca commanded.

Hermione pat his side reassuringly. “I will get you water with magic.”

She stood and made her way to her camp stove. She took her largest pot and transfigured it into a drinking trough. Draca watched on. Hermione cast an augamenti and filled the trough. It took a few minutes and by the end she was admittedly drained. Summoning that much water was not easy. Draca approached the trough and drank deeply from it. Hermione sat in one of his ridiculous solid gold chairs and watched. When the trough was empty a few minutes later, she asked if he wanted more water.

“I am fine.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and refilled the trough. Once it was full she was sweating in exertion. She sat back down and he drank half of the trough quickly, then slowed down. Draca lifted his wet snout and stared at her.

“You are tired now, Hermione. You must rest.”

Hermione smiled in response. “I’m fine. I just need a minute. Besides, it’s well past lunch time and I should eat something. Maybe I’ll take a nap after lunch…”

Draca returned to the trough and drank slowly. When it was empty again, he stepped toward her, his heavy footsteps loud in the cavernous room. Draca booped his (wet) snout against her middle, as he did whenever he thanked her. Hermione laughed at the patch of dampness he left behind.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said reverently.

“No problem. Okay, let me make some food and rest my voice.”

*

After a small dinner, Hermione led Draca through another series of sun salutations. Draca’s range of mobility had greatly improved from that morning. She wondered idly how much the water had helped with his healing. She knew dragons’ magic would help them heal themselves—but to what extent was unknown.

Hermione also had him stretch his wings out at odd angles to see where it might be hurting him. He growled in a pain a few times when he pulled his wings back and forward. They’d have to work on that area in the morning. Satisfied with his mobility, Hermione began the task of cleaning his wound.

She pulled off the top bandage first and tried to examine it from afar, but she really could not see the wound well, especially since his wing made it so that she was at least 10ft away at all times.

“You may climb onto my back to look closer,” he offered.

Hermione felt a thrill of anticipation. The last (and only) time she had been atop him had sent an exhilarating thrumming through her limbs. A feeling she wanted to experience again.

Hermione summoned her solid gold step ladder, pushed it to his side and climbed up it deliberately. She inelegantly shuffled onto his back. Hermione made her way slightly down his smooth, scaly spine so that she was closer to the wound on his wing. The vantage point was much better here, though was she still a good 5ft away.

Looking at the white scar on his black flesh made her heart pang for him. Oliver had really done some damage with that statue. Hermione could see that the flesh was fully knitted together now and the bandage had come off blood free.

“According to my books, the scar should fade more with time. But we don’t want it to get too stiff or it will impact your flying. I have a cream that is supposed to help. I think I can definitely remove the stitches. But it will be easier to do that from underneath.” Hermione summoned her scar paste and magically applied it to Draca’s wing after disinfecting it for good measure—he did not roar in pain, since there was no longer an open wound.

Hermione reluctantly climbed down his body and worked on the underside of his wing. She removed the bandages and disinfected it again to be on the safe side. Again, Draca had no reaction to her evil water. Hermione pointed her wand at his stitches and painstakingly removed them. The tiny holes from the stitch closed almost immediately. The thread was allegedly made in a way that did not interfere with dragon biology, so once it was removed, the skin was meant to seamlessly close again. Hermione had not believed it would work, but she watched it before her eyes. She wondered who had developed the thread and how on earth they had managed such an exceptional work of magic.

Hermione applied more scar paste to the underside of his wing, this time using her bare hands. Draca purred at her touch, eyes sliding shut in what she assumed was contentment. Hermione finished her job, but instead of removing her hand, she let it trail up and down his wing for a while longer. Draca purred louder.

Hermione finally removed her hand. Her entire arm was tingling—in fact, her body was tingling. She felt warm all over. Inappropriately warm. She blushed.

Hermione cleared her throat. “I will take the brace off in the morning,” she promised. “I think you can fly again in maybe two days? Not tomorrow, but the day after. Your wing has healed very well.”

Draca seemed happy with that news, though Hermione was not sure why she thought as such—he did not say anything or physically react. She put that thought away to ponder later on.

Draca insisted she continue her story of her life. So, Hermione started where she left off: the summer between first and second year. When Hermione got to Malfoy calling her a Mudblood for the first time and how Hermione had cried for hours that night, Draca spasmed. He blew dark smoke from his nostrils and turned his head away from her.

Hermione frowned. “It’s alright,” she reassured him. “I punched him in the face in third year. Besides, he had to go to Azkaban, our prison, and he lost his father—I think he got what he deserved.” Hermione patted his side soothingly.

Draca returned his head to the pallet after several tense moments. He seemed on edge, unstable even.

“Maybe we should stop there for the night? I’m tired anyway, and if this is how you react to name calling, who knows what you’ll do when I tell you I was petrified by a Basilisk.”

Draca’s head turned toward her. “Are you always in danger, human?”

Hermione laughed. “Well…my job certainly doesn’t help my case. I thrive in high stress environments. But generally, I’m only in danger about 20% of the time. Most of my life now is lobbying and fundraising.”

Draca huffed. “I do not like that you are in danger.”

Hermione rubbed his side, her fingers gliding over his smooth, warm, iridescent scales. “We only met because my job is dangerous,” she pointed out. “And most people would say spending a week healing an unknown species of dragon is extremely dangerous.”

Draca blew warm smoke toward her. It relaxed her. “I am not dangerous to you,” he reminded her.

“Yes, yes, you’ll never harm me. And why is that?” Hermione pushed again.

“You are mine,” Draca repeated.

“And why is that?” she tried.

Draca pressed his snout against her knee and stared into her eyes. He did not respond. Hermione sighed.

“I should get to bed,” she said finally.

Draca agreed with her, insisting that she “rest”.

Hermione settled into her bed, snuggling into Draca’s side. She realized that she had once again neglected to send a message to Rolf and hoped her team wasn’t too worried about her…

*

Hermione was laying on the softest bed she had ever been on. She was snuggled against a man. A naked man. His arm was possessively wrapped around her middle, pulling her into his chest. She felt safe in his arms. The man’s hand started trailing up and down her side, leaving shivers in its wake. Hermione sighed in pleasure.

The man slid his hand into her shirt and landed on her breast—confined in her sports bra. He nipped at her ear and mumbled something unintelligible. Hermione was suddenly devested, her military-style clothing completely gone.

For some reason, she remained calm—perhaps it was the man’s distracting hand that was now playing with her breast, teasing it into a peak while he trailed his lips up and down her neck, leaving a burning path in their wake.

Hermione gripped the soft bed when his hand descended between her legs and caressed her pubic hair. The man began to suck on her neck. Hermione gasped when his fingers grazed her clit. His erection was pressed against her back. She slowly writhed against it, wanting more.

His fingers landed more firmly on her clit and began rubbing at her with purpose. Hermione groaned. She titled her head toward his. His lips continued to burn a path up and down her neck. Hermione’s breath stuttered when his teeth trailed over her pulse point, then bit down on it harshly. She whimpered.

The man pulled away from her neck and Hermione turned to face him. She took in his pale hair illuminated in the moonlight from the open cavern overhead. Malfoy.

She only hesitated for a second. Hermione brought her lips to Malfoy’s, delighting in the feeling of them. He kissed her hungrily, possessively, his fingers continuing their important work between her legs. She slid her hands into his silky hair.

Hermione’s desire ratcheted up, the world fuzzy around her while her body undulated against his. Malfoy slid one finger into her, then the next, thrusting into her deliberately. Hermione moaned into his mouth. He pulled his fingers from her and she watched as he licked them clean, his mouth inches from hers.

“So delicious, Hermione,” Malfoy rumbled, his silky voice making her core clench.

Malfoy lifted her top leg and guided himself into her wet heat from behind. Hermione buried her head into her pillow on his first thrust, her loud moan muffled by the fabric. Malfoy began a slow rhythm, pushing into her from behind. He brought his fingers back to her clit and his mouth to hers. Hermione moved with him, her breaths short and her body burning in desire.

She was approaching her climax, her body slick with sweat and desire. Malfoy sped up his hips. He pulled from the kiss, his hips becoming erratic as Hermione moaned loudly, careening toward her end. Every muscle was pulled tight and the only thing that existed was Malfoy’s body on her—in her. He bit her neck, hard. Then he laved and sucked at it. Hermione panted.

“You’re mine, Hermione,” he growled, voice deep and possessive.

“I’m yours,” she agreed, voice breathless and high.

Then, she came, her world shattering in a wave of feeling. Malfoy came too, growling in pleasure.

They panted for long moments. Hermione felt her heart beat slow and her breathing even out.

“Sleep, Hermione,” Malfoy ordered.

Hermione closed her eyes.

Chapter Text

Day 5 – Mid May, 2007

Hermione awoke with a start. Her panties were damp from her sex dream—about Malfoy. She blushed, hoping that somehow her dragon companion was unaware of her current turned on state. Hermione glanced around to reassure herself that she was still cuddling a dragon, not her former enemy. The sun streamed through the cavern above them.

Hermione’s eyes landed on Draca’s face, praying his eyes were closed, only to find herself staring directly into them.

“Good morning,” Draca purred.

Hermione blushed deeply. She tried to dispel her horniness by thinking of arithmancy equations. It didn’t help much.

“Good morning,” she replied. Hermione folded her blanket to give herself something to do instead of meet Draca’s stare.

“Did you sleep well?” Draca asked.

Hermione stumbled in her folding. She forced herself to think of anything but the image of her moaning in Malfoy’s arms. Draca did his weird chuffing laugh. Hermione whipped her head to his, knowing without a doubt that he knew everything.

“It’s not very nice to read people’s private thoughts,” she huffed, returning to her (unnecessarily) meticulous folding of her blanket.

“Human thoughts are too easy to read. I do it without meaning to,” he replied.

Hermione assumed that was as much of an apology as she would get.

“In any matter, I do not need to read your thoughts. I shared your dream last night.”

Hermione froze. She was right and truly horrified at that news. Also, incredibly fascinated. “You…shared my dream?” she asked, still avoiding his gaze. Hermione instead looked at the scar on his wing. It had already gone down remarkably since the day before.

“Yes, human. Dragons can share dreams. Or give dreams.”

Hermione glanced at him. Irrationally, she thought that Draca had made her dream of Malfoy, but that made very little sense. Draca seemed to dislike Malfoy greatly.

“That’s…fascinating,” she said finally.

“Do you dream often of this man you hate so much?” Draca inquired.

Hermione blushed again. To delay responding, she drank from her water bottle. Hermione scratched at her head—she desperately needed a shower at this point.

“Why do you not shower?” Draca asked.

Hermione, happy to change the subject from her former enemy, replied, “It’s protocol when on a mission.”

“Humans prefer to be smelly?”

“I smell?!” Hermione sniffed at her armpit.

Draca chuffed. “Hermione,” he purred in that silken voice, “you smell delicious.”

Her dream came roaring right back to her—you taste delicious—and Hermione did her best to recall the ingredients in the draught of living death.

“You do not smell bad,” Draca clarified. “Other humans smell bad…usually.”

Hermione tapped her face in thought. Something else to add to her notebook. “Anyway, no. We do not like to smell. It is protocol because all of our important gear is in our clothing.” Hermione patted her many pockets to illustrate. “And our clothing is also fireproof. So, we keep it on in case of an angry dragon.”

Draca looked over her clothes with curiosity. “You do not smell like a human who has not bathed,” he said.

“I’ve been casting spells to clean my skin and clothes. But I need to wash my hair, and spells are never as good as a shower.”

Draca followed her with his eyes as she rose and inspected his wing from underneath. “Shower while I eat today,” he suggested. “You will be safe from angry dragons in the castle.”

“That’s a great idea.” Hermione opened up her healing pack and pulled out the scar paste and disinfectant. “Okay, let’s do the morning cleaning and stretches!”

Draca brought his head beside hers while Hermione disinfected his wing. He followed her movements with interest. This was the first time his face was close to her while she worked and she found his presence distracting. He did not react at all to the disinfectant, confirming that the wound was fully healed. Hermione moved on to the scar paste. Draca’s purring was even louder, since his snout was inches from her face while her hands glided over his scarred skin.

“Do you…like when I touch your wing?” she asked hesitantly.

Draca nudged her shoulder with his snout. “Yes.” Hermione’s heart was beating strangely fast for some reason. “And you like touching me.”

Hermione blushed. She did like touching him. And it wasn’t purely scientific. It was very strange to have a pull toward a dragon. She refused to follow that line of thought any farther.

“Very few humans have the honour of being able to feel a dragon,” she said instead. “Your wing skin is so soft. And I love how you sort of gleam green in the sunlight. And your scales are so hard but smooth—it’s such a contrast to your wings…” She cleared her throat, embarrassed with how much she had gushed. “How does the scar feel?” she asked him.

Draca looked up at his scar with her. “It is stiff. But it does not hurt.”

Hermione nodded. “Good. Let me do the top as well. Can I…can I climb on you again?” she asked hopefully.

Draca nudged her back, pushing her toward his side. “Go ahead, witch.”

Hermione grinned. She summoned her stepladder and climbed onto his back with slightly more grace than the first two times, using his spikes to help herself up. Hermione applied the disinfectant out of habit, then the scar paste. Draca watched her, his head hovering above his wing.

“The brace?” Draca asked hopefully.

Hermione brandished her wand toward it. “The brace is coming off,” she confirmed. “But only if you promise not to immediately take flight. If you do, you might damage your scar—it’s still healing.”

Draca huffed out dark smoke from his nostrils. “…fine. I will not fly.”

“Not until tomorrow,” Hermione said.

Draca growled. He looked away from her moodily. “Not until tomorrow,” Draca confirmed.

Hermione smiled at his dramatics. With the aid of her wand and some tricky maneuvering, the brace came off in a series of clicks. She folded it into itself and floated it down onto the bed. Hermione went to climb down from Draca, but before she could, he was stretching his wing slowly in every direction he physically could. Hermione scrambled to grab hold of something as she started to slide off his smooth, scaly back. She landed between his shoulder blades in the strange almost-saddle and gripped the large spike.

Draca’s body shivered at her contact, as did Hermione’s. It was confusing how entirely at ease she felt seated between his shoulder blades. Draca stopped shivering and returned to stretching his wing. He made his wings bat the air a few times, causing loose gold coins and Hermione’s entire camp set up to topple over.

“Hey!” she shouted.

Draca brought his wings into his body. “I apologize for knocking over your things, Hermione.” Draca looked at her on his back, his head bent at an angle that made little sense for most creatures. “It feels so good to be able to tuck my wing into my side again!” he declared.

Draca flapped his wings again, stirring up more loose coins, sheep fur, and Hermione’s camp supplies. Being in a brace for any amount of time was a nightmare, so she did not protest again. Draca walked a few steps toward Hermione’s things while Hermione straddled his back—like she was a dragon rider. What a hilarious thought!

Draca bent his front paws and lowered to the ground, creating a slide with his body. “Climb down my forepaw,” he instructed.

Hermione obliged. She clumsily slid her way to down his shoulder, using the spikes to help control her slide. He caught her with his neck when she landed on the ground and nearly fell. Hermione righted herself, narrowly avoiding a spike on his neck.

“Thank you.” She righted her camping gear with an easy flick of her wand. “Want to do a set of sun salutations?” she asked.

Hermione did not wait for a response. She began leading Draca through the simple stretches and noted happily that he moved with an ease she had not seen from him since before his injury.

Hermione ate a banana while Draca continued to move around the space with such pep he reminded her of an excited child. He was literally hopping around while he flexed his wings. She filled his trough of water while Draca pranced.

“I need to meet Michelle to get your breakfast,” Hermione said, interrupting what appeared to be a dance that he was doing.

“Let me meet her,” Draca said.

Hermione crossed her hands across her chest. “You promised. No flying until tomorrow.”

Draca growled.

“Drink your water,” she pointed at the trough. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Hermione packed her camp up quickly and stuffed it into her pockets. She apparated to meet Michelle without further ado. The woman stood at the edge of the wards, staring off into space blankly. Hermione walked through the cold wards and greeted her.

“Heya, Hermione!” Michelle grinned and gave her a one-armed hug. “Still alive, I see.”

Hermione laughed. “Yes, Draca hasn’t killed me yet. But he is starving.”

“How is his wing?”

“Almost healed!” Hermione declared. “It’s completely sealed and the scar is fading. Hopefully it won’t impair his flight at all—right now he seems incredibly happy to have the brace off.”

“What is on your neck?” Michelle asked in confusion.

Hermione frowned. “My neck?”

“Yes—there’s a bruise there? Looks pretty bad.”

Hermione conjured a mirror and looked at herself for the first time in a few days. She really needed a shower. Her hair was barely in its frazzled bun. Hermione tilted her head and saw deep ovular bruise on her neck, peaking out from under her shirt. Instead of a complete circle, there were dots of varying sizes that made up the oval. She touched it and winced. How did I not notice this before? She wondered, her neck now emitting a gentle throb alongside her heartbeat.

“I have no idea.”

Michelle leaned forward and inspected it. “Maybe it’s from when you were escaping the dragon with your team? Might have taken a while to appear. That happens to me sometimes. Bruises pop up days after I hit myself—always confuses me.”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, that must be it…” Except she hadn’t injured herself that day, nor any day since…

Michelle moved on, seemingly content with her explanation for Hermione’s strange bruise. “Rolf and your team are worried. You haven’t checked in in a while?”

Hermione took the cord attached to the sheep. “I knew I forgot to do something last night. I’ve been so distracted learning everything I can about dragons,” she confessed. “I got a little sidetracked.”

“So how many more days do you think you’ll be here?”

“We’ll see how flight goes tomorrow…but, maybe only one or two days.”

“You will not leave,” Draca commented in her mind.

“We might have to come up with some sort of extraction plan,” Hermione muttered. “He’s not too keen on me leaving.”

Michelle’s eyes widened. “You’ve become part of his treasure?” she hazarded.

Hermione lifted a shoulder. “I guess.”

“You are more than treasure,” Draca informed her.

Hermoine blushed in response to that. “Anyway, I’ll send an update to the team while he eats. He lets me leave him for a few hours during that time…”

“’Let’s you?’—Merlin, Hermione, you are in trouble.”

Hermione winced. “He won’t hurt me,” she replied weakly. “So…don’t worry too much. I should probably get back…he’s impatient to eat.” Hermione somehow knew that Draca was either physically or mentally pacing, but how she knew that was unclear.

Michelle hugged her again. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there.”

Hermione hugged her back. “I’m not worried,” she said. And she meant it—she was not worried about being stolen and horded by a literal dragon. She really ought to be, though. Mixed up sense of priorities, that one.

Hermione wished Michelle a good day and told her to say hi to Mel. Hermione crossed the wards and made her way back to Draca’s den. Much like the last time, she dropped the sheep’s rope and all but ran out of the cavern, casting silencing charms behind her.

Hermione returned to one of the large bedrooms on the second floor. The bedroom was missing a significant chunk of wall and Hermione stared out at the beautiful Snowdon mountains for several minutes. Then, she pulled out her toilet from her camping supplies.

The toilet was a clever bit of magic used for camping where you sat on a portable toilet, did your business, and it disappeared with no mess or fuss afterward. Hermione was beyond thankful for it, since she would hardly describe herself as a camper. She had been using the bathroom every time she entered her tent, casting silencing charms and wards so that Draca could not hear her.

The team did not come supplied with a shower since it was hammered into them how important it was to never get fully naked—even toilet trips were limited. So, Hermione set about making herself a shower.

She transformed a large tub out of her metal pot and affixed a drain leading from the tub out the hole in the wall. Hermione cast a privacy ward around her on the extreme off-chance that a human somehow was wandering by in the castle or on the grounds outside. She placed the tub in front of the in tact wall, to give herself more protection from both wandering eyes and any potential dragon attack. She did believe that Draca would defend her from any incoming dragons—which was the real reason she was caving and taking a shower.

Satisfied with her work, she began peeling off her clothing. Hermione dug about in her supplies until she located a spare shirt which she transformed into a fluffy towel. Hermione placed the towel on the (magically cleaned) dilapidated bed. She pulled out some shampoo, conditioner, and soap. Hermione taped her wand to the crumbling wall. Finally, Hermione cast aguamenti and water rained down on her.

She gasped at the cold temperature. The water was not freezing, but it was a far cry from warm. She attempted to heat it with wandless magic and succeeded up warming it a few degrees at least. Hermione untied her hair from its crinkling and matted bun. She let the water cascade down her skin until she was used to the cool temperature. Hermione dug through her supplies with wet hands, trying to find her hair comb. After getting everything a bit damp, she finally located it. Hermione hooked the comb over the side of her tub and began to shampoo her hair.

She scrubbed at her scalp and slowly detangled her hair with her hands. She moved on to conditioner and let it sit while she lathered her body with soap and scrubbed at her dusty skin with her nails. Hermione combed through her tangled curls patiently until they were smooth and coiled. She washed the conditioner and soap from her body. Hermione luxuriated in the feeling of water running over her for a few more seconds before ending the spell and carefully drying off.

She wrapped herself in a towel while she cleaned her clothing three times to make sure that the spells really set in. She considered actually washing them, but that would require her removing all of her belongings from the pockets, which would take eons to both take out and put back in. She contented herself with donning a fresh pair of knickers and sports bra before pulling on her questionably clean clothing.

Hermione disappeared her makeshift shower and instead transfigured herself a seat in front of the picturesque landscape revealed through the crumbled wall. Hermione pulled out her magical notebook and her pen and opened it for the first time in two days.

Hermione—are you still alive?

Hermione. Check in.

Hermione. We will send a team if we do not hear from you soon.

A team is being prepped.

Just got word from Michelle—would have been nice if you answered one of my messages.

Hermione winced as she read through the frantic notes. Rolf was usually far calmer, but she supposed even he had his limits. Hermione scrawled out a quick apology. She didn’t explain why she hadn’t checked in, knowing that it would do her no favours, and instead decided to press right into the problem at hand.

Sorry. We need to figure out an extraction plan. Should be ready tomorrow or the next day. He appears fully healed. Waiting a day to be sure. We’ll try flying tomorrow. He has…started to collect me.

Rolf responded, as we feared. A dragon collecting a human as treasure. It is unheard of.

Hermione remembered Draca saying she was more than treasure and her body heated. Hermione absolutely refused to think that she had some sort of attraction to a literal dragon—it was no—No—not thinking about it, she reminded herself astutely.

Rolf continued writing, his script appearing quickly across the page: We’ll need a distraction. How far can he read your thoughts?

Hermione wrote, No idea. At least 1km. He doesn’t appear to be listening now though, because he’s not objecting to me leaving…might be because he’s busy eating.

Rolf wrote what Hermione was thinking, You’ll leave in two days, when he eats next. You can apparate to the ward line, then portkey home.

Hermione nodded. She wrote back, Sounds like a plan. But if he can trace me all the way back to Scotland, we may be in trouble…

Rolf didn’t write for a while. Then, Oliver will come meet you at the ward line. He’ll portkey you to a safe house.

Not Oliver, Hermione wrote back, Draca does not like him.

Draca? Rolf asked. Is that the dragon?

Hermione really hadn’t been updating him. Whoops. Hermione wrote, Yes. Send someone else. Lee. Or Michelle could do it.

Rolf disagreed: Michelle is needed at the sanctuary. Lee will come. He says he’s happy you’re not dead.

Hermione chuckled, imaging Lee’s face. She wrote back, Okay. I’ll check in tomorrow at some point, then again in the morning in two days to make sure we’re still a go.

Rolf wished her a good day and Hermione put away her magical notebook. She pulled out her muggle notebook and spent some time leisurely reading through her notes from the last five days. It had felt like she had learned so much, but when she read through the meagre five pages, there was almost nothing there. She sighed. She wanted to stay longer. She could learn so much.

But she knew if she stayed, she ran the risk of never being able to leave. And of feeling even more oddly drawn to the dragon in her care…

Hermione put away her notebook and wandered the castle some more, trying to think of what dragon facts she wanted to prioritize in her limited time with Draca. She came upon the unopenable door again. Hermione spent some time trying to get it open once more. Something niggled at her brain when she looked at the door, making her think that it was not a structural issue that was making it impossible to open but something else entirely.

But it couldn’t be magical. This was a muggle castle. All the rotting paintings were stationary. There was no trace of magic in the place—apart from Draca’s wards. So, why would the door not budge?

Hermione made her way back to Draca’s lair. She asked him if he was done when she got to the first floor. He took a moment to respond, but replied in the affirmative.

Hermione re-entered the cavern and looked up at the sky. The sun was obscured by thick clouds. It looked like it might rain. She wondered how she was going to stay dry with a giant hole in the ceiling.

“It will not rain on you,” Draca informed her. “I have spells. That is why my bed is always dry.”

“How do you cast wards?” Hermione asked again.

Draca walked toward her, his massive body shaking the floor slightly. Instead of responding to her question, he nudged her with his snout and blew warm smoke out of his nose.

“Thank you for the food, Hermione,” he rumbled. He rubbed his head against her chest a few times, then wrapped his neck around her body, pushing her toward the bed as he had done before. “Come sit.”

Hermione sat on his bed, nestled into his side, only this time, his wing was tucked against him instead of stretched out over her head. Because of her height, it did not interfere with her leaning against him, but it was odd having it sitting above her head instead of stretched out like a tarp.

“I like your hair,” Draca informed her out of the blue.

Hermione had not tied it back up; it was hanging down in its curls. She pat it awkwardly. “Oh. Thanks. How are you feeling?” Hermione changed the subject. “Did you drink your water?”

“I feel perfect, witch. I wish to fly now. Flying in the rain is exhilarating.”

“Doesn’t it hurt? The water falling on your wings?”

Draca took a deep breath, as if puffing up his chest. “It does not hurt me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his bravado. “You can fly tomorrow. But you’ll have to take it easy,” she reminded him sternly. Draca blinked at her in response. “Will you tell me more about dragons?”

He brought his head to her knee and Hermione immediately began stroking him. “What do you wish to know?”

“How do your societies work? Are you always separate? Is there a leader of the horde? How is the leader chosen? I want to know more about your stories and—”

“Okay, witch. One question at a time.”

Hermione reflected for a moment. “Societies. I want to know about those.”

Draca’s eyes slid closed as he started talking. “We live with our own kinds. There are dragon-meets that happen occasionally when there is something important to discuss. This is when there might be conversation with other kinds of dragons. We stay in hordes to stay safe, but some dragons like them better than others. Verdes love hordes. They are cooperative. Horntails hate hordes and live solitary lives—even parents leave their younglings before they are adults.”

Hermione wrote with her right hand while she stroked his head with her left.

“Hordes are naturally made over time. They are families. Those who grew up together. But newcomers as well. Verdes change hordes every few years to intermingle and increase chances of younglings. But families always stay together—until the children mature. Then sometimes they separate. There is a leader. The leader is the strongest dragon, chosen by consensus.”

“Is that why you became the leader? Because you are the strongest?”

Draca purred. “I am strong, yes. But I told you, I am Draca. I was allowed to lead because I am destined for more.” Hermione mulled that over. He continued talking. “It is not only physical strength that matters. It is also intelligence. Emotional strength. Many leaders are not the biggest, but they have the best skills to keep the horde safe.”  

“And so, whatever the leader says, goes?”

“Many things are horde decisions. There must be consensus. Others it is the leader. If the horde is not happy with a decision, they can challenge it. Or leave. It is rare to leave. Other dragonkind are different than Verdes. They told me some fight for leadership. Others have no leaders and live alone. Other leaders are hereditary, like your kings and queens.”

“Which ones? Do you know?”

“No. The Verdes only mentioned how strange the other dragonkind are. They said it was good I found them and not the Horntails who would have fought to the death to assert dominance.”

“Sounds like a horntail…”

“Did I answer your question?”

Hermione smiled. “As I’m sure you noticed. I always have more questions. What about the younglings? From what we’ve observed, they are taken care of by everyone in the horde.”

“Yes. We must protect the young. All contribute to teaching and raising them. But only the parents must stay. Others will come and go as they please.”

“You mentioned storytelling before. What stories do you have? Is everything taught to the next generation or is there some sort of collective memory—”

“We have stories that explain the world. The natural order of things, happy stories, sad, stories, cautionary tales, funny stories.”

“You tell jokes?” Hermione asked again, remembering him mentioning it at some point.

Draca chuffed. “Yes, human. We tell jokes.”

“Tell me one!”

Draca slid an eye open and looked at her. “What are humans good for?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know, what?”

“Toothpicks,” Draca replied, his tone of amusement lifting his voice.

Hermione chuckled. “Tell me another!”

“I don’t remember any right now. Perhaps Gryn or Reif will fly by soon and I can ask them. Or tomorrow, I can fly to them.”

Hermione did her best to not react to knowing she was leaving so soon. Instead, she kept quizzing him. “Do dragons have celebrations?” she asked.

“Yes, witch. But not many. We celebrate the solstices and the equinoxes—some of us do. The Verdes do. We have procreation and mating rituals and celebrations.”

Hermione buzzed with desire but knew she might not get all the answers to her questions. She started first with the solstices. Humans already knew some things about procreation, so she figured that was less pressing. “What do you do to celebrate the seasons?”

“We feast. We have fires. We dance.”

“Dance?”

Draca replied, “Yes. We dance.”

“How?”

“In the skies. There are some land dances, but they are rarely done. More for the younglings.”

“And do you dance…together? Is it choreographed? Or is it spontaneous?”

“We dance alone. We dance together. We have some dances for each season. Other times we dance as we see fit.”

“Do you like dancing?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Draca revealed. “Dancing is a great joy of mine.” He shivered suddenly, and Hermione felt his body tense, but he relaxed almost immediately.

“What was that?”

Draca opened his eyes and looked at her. “I do not know. I saw…I don’t understand it.” Hermione went to ask him another question, but he cut her off. “Continue your story about your life. You are at your second year still.”

Hermione sighed. She put away her notebook and pen, summoned her knitting, and picked up where she had left off before—right before she was petrified by the Basilisk. Not that there was much for her to tell of her second year, being that she was asleep for half of it. Draca was angered when she recounted how she had been incapacitated and she had to reassure him that the basilisk was dead for him to calm down. Hermione recounted how she crammed all of the year’s content into a mere two weeks and still aced all of her finals. Draca seemed impressed.

She carried on in her story all the way to near the end of third year, recounting all of her time turner shenanigans and everyone’s misplaced fear of Sirius. Draca was once again angry when she told him how Harry and Ron had snubbed her in third year, especially after she was barely around in second year. Hermione often forgot how rocky their friendship was for many years. The boys could be so stupid…but then again, here she was now, actively living with a fire-breathing dragon so, she wasn’t really one to talk.

Hermione’s voice tired and she trailed off. She could feel that Draca was fatigued as well. He appeared to need rest after eating.

“How is it that I can sense how you’re feeling?” Hermione asked.

Draca blinked open his eyes and turned to look at her. “What am I feeling?” he asked.

“Tired.”

“I am tired.”

“Yes, but why can I…sense your feelings? Earlier before when I was talking to Michelle, I could tell you were impatient. And you’re usually so patient too.”

Draca did not respond.

“Is this secret dragon knowledge?” Hermione asked.

“You should not be able to sense my feelings,” was his response.

“Oh. Really?” He stared at her. “Hm. That’s interesting. I wonder why…You know, I’ve always thought I have an inexplicable connection with dragons that other humans do not have. Once, a group of Welsh Greens should have killed me and didn’t.”

Draca tilted his head. “When were you around Verdes?”

“This was a while ago now, maybe a year or two. I was helping out at the sanctuary one weekend.”

“They did not attack you?”

“Nope. One of them came really close to me and smelled me. I thought I was dead. Then they just flew away. They even had a child with them!”

Draca remained silent for a long time. “I do not understand,” he said finally. “But you do smell different than other humans. Much better. Maybe…” he went silent again.

When he hadn’t spoken for several moments, Hermione accepted that he was done talking. She got up and made herself some herbal tea to help with her sore throat. Talking on end was tiring. Instead of watching her from his bed, as Draca was wont to do, he followed her to her little camp area across the cavern and sat protectively around her while she made her tea. That was not a good sign when it came to her needing to leave in two days—he really would not let her away from his side. Draca dozed around her. She could tell he wasn’t fully asleep, but he wasn’t fully awake either.

“When you go flying tomorrow…will I just wait here?” Hermione asked after an hour of silent tea drinking.

Draca was conflicted—again Hermione could sense his feeling. “I do not want to leave you,” he huffed.

“But you’ll need to exercise your wings. They’re ready. And I can’t very well go flying with you. I’ll just stay here and wander around the castle more. Discover its secrets. Did you know there is a door that seems magical on the second floor? I don’t understand it, since the rest of the castle is obviously muggle—”

“You can come with me,” he cut her off.

“Huh?”

“Flying. You will come with me. I can carry you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Hermione replied quickly, remembering her flight with a swooping of her stomach.

“You can ride me.”

Hermione turned to look him dead on in shock. “Wh-what?”

“You fit well on my back,” he remarked. “I can hold you in place with magic if you need.”

“Ride you? But that’s…dragons don’t let humans do that.”

“You are not any human. You are my Hermione. I will take you flying. You will see the joys of it.”

My Hermione. Hermione fixated on that for a moment too long. “I-I don’t like heights,” she tried instead.

“You must learn to love them. You must be by my side.”

“No. I really don’t like heights. I might faint. And fall. And, besides, you haven’t flown in five days and you’re weak—”

“I am strong, witch.”

Hermione crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Draca, you have barely recovered from a serious injury. You should not carry extra weight on your first flight. You need to ease into it or you’ll strain your wings and your muscles.”

He puffed dark smoke in her direction.

“I am not riding you,” which was a ridiculous statement considering no human had ever been offered such an honour, “but if you want to stay low, I’ll watch you from the ground.”

Draca did not respond, his annoyance permeating the air. Hermione ignored him and fixed herself an early dinner of boiled vegetables—her food stores were on their last legs.

After dinner, Hermione and Draca stretched again. His mobility seemed completely normal to Hermione—who admittedly was not a healer and did not know his full range of motion. But it was a good sign none-the-less.

She joined him on his bed. Hermione pulled out her scar paste and began the task of smoothing it over his taut skin. Draca purred deeply as her hands roamed over him. The vibrations travelled through Hermione’s body, heating her. She let her hands trail over his skin for a while longer, then diligently moved on to the top side of his wing.

Draca told her to climb his back again, so she did. She was more accustomed to it now and was able to get onto his back with a modicum of grace. She inspected his scar and noted that it was barely even raised anymore. She applied the scar paste with her wand. Hermione ran her hand over the large scales of his back comfortingly before sliding down his side to her ladder.

“Tell me more,” Draca said once she was settled into his side.

“Only if you answer more of my questions,” she bartered.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What questions?”

“Do dragons have art?”

“We have songs. We have dances. We have some poems. But we do not write or make things.”

“What songs? Will you sing me one? How do you sing?”

Draca sighed dramatically. “So many questions.”

“Please sing for me.”

Draca pulled his head away from her. He remained silent for a long time, then he started grunting rhythmically low in his throat, quietly at first, then it grew. He opened his mouth and a deep, haunting melody fell from his sharp jaws. Though he sung no words, just emitted deep sounds as if he were vocalizing along with a song, Hermione felt melancholy from the song. Hermione wished she had the forethought to take out her camera and record him. He finished his song, tapering off so slowly that the silence crept up on her.

Hermione smiled. “That was lovely.” He seemed embarrassed. “What song was it?” she asked.

Draca returned his head to the bed and closed his eyes. “Reif taught it to me. It is about looking for one’s love but not being able to find them.”

“But…there were no words.”

“Legend says old dragon songs like this were how we used to speak. It is more about the emotion than the words.”

“Do you ever sing mentally?”

“No. What I showed you is the only way we sing. Others have different voices. Reif told me mine is very somber. Elys’ voice is much happier than mine. Sometimes she sings the same song I just sang with me—it sounds better together.”

Hermione found herself wishing that she could hear that. What an image that painted. “Do you have many new songs? Or are most traditional?”

“We have many songs. Many we sing at celebrations. Others are for the day to day to entertain. Many are new. Most are old. Dragons like to sing together. Older songs make that easier.”

“That sounds amazing!” Hermione sighed in longing. “What about a poem? Do you know any of those?”

“I have already answered your questions, Hermione,” Draca complained.

“Just one poem?” she begged.

Draca opened his eyes and looked at her. “I do not remember any. There is one about the first mates and their true love—but I do not know it. I prefer dancing to singing or poems or stories. Now, continue your story. I must know everything.”

Hermione chuckled at his intensity. She brought out her knitting and got to work. Hermione picked up her tale at the beginning of fourth year, regaling Draca with the ridiculousness of the TriWizard Tournament. Draca disliked Krum. Hermione was so engrossed in her retelling of her life (seeing as she never had much occasion to do so) that she casually mentioned how Krum was the most desired student in school and that he was infatuated with her of all people.

“…we spent far too much time kissing in the library, if Harry and Ron ever knew how much, they would not look at me the same!” Hermione admitted and laughed to herself.

Draca blew out black smoke. “Why did you kiss this subpar man?”

Hermione raised a brow. “Subpar? He is an international quidditch superstar.” Hermione rarely bragged about dating Krum, but seriously, the man was far from subpar. And it did boost her ego to know she had pulled him.

Draca growled in response.

“Besides, being his date to the Yule Ball just about blew everyone’s minds.” Hermione smiled, remembering the looks of shock at her transformation at the ball. “That was a big moment for me because most boys didn’t see me as anything but a walking book.”

Draca spasmed, his wings trembling out of the blue and she felt a sudden wave of confusion roll off him. His wing twitched again.

“Is your wing alright—”

“Yes, it is fine. How could humans not see you for what you are? They are stupid,” Draca commented. “You are the only attractive human.”

Hermione stumbled in her knitting. “A-attractive?” she gulped. He couldn’t mean that. He was a dragon. She was a human. That...wasn’t possible.

“Yes.”

Hermione refrained from responding and instead fixed her slipped stitch. After a while, she continued on in her story as if nothing had happened. Hermione refrained from recounting how Krum had been the first man to make her orgasm when she had slipped into his private room on the Durmstang boat after he saved her in the second task. She also refrained from telling him that she had returned the favour.

Hermione wrapped up her fourth year ending on a somber note, recounting the death of Cedric and the return of Voldemort. When Hermione said Voldemort’s name, Draca smashed his tail against the wall beside them. Hermione shrieked in fright as stone rained down on them. Draca’s injured wing sprang out to shield her from falling stone.

Hermione was furious with him for using his still healing wing to protect her, and she told him as such.

“I cannot let you be injured,” he said in response.

Hermione crossed her arms. “I’m only here to help you heal. Stop hurting yourself. Why did you smash the wall?”

Draca took a long time to answer. “I do not like this…man.”

“Voldemort? No one does. Well…his followers did, I suppose. Some of them at least.”

“He makes me angry,” Draca said. “Very angry.”

“Me too,” Hermione agreed. “I often wonder what my life would have been like if he didn’t exist…”

Hermione carried on in her story, telling Draca about a summer spent at Grimmauld Place and her growing crush on Ron. Draca did not like this either. She was sensing a pattern. He seemed to dislike when she spoke of other men—or at least those she was attracted to. He had no reaction to Harry or Neville.

Hermione found herself asking, “Are you jealous of Ron?”

Draca blinked at her. “He is not worthy of you.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “How could you know? You’ve never met him. Besides, that’s all in the past now. Ron and I aren’t together anymore.”

“Anymore?” he grumbled.

Hermione sighed. “Yes, anymore. We dated after the war for a year. We’re a terrible match. Took a while for things to smooth over again, but we’re still good friends. Not as close as we used to be unfortunately, but I suppose that’s what happens when you date your best friend…But you’re skipping ahead. If you want to know everything, let me tell it in order.”

Draca rumbled in discontent. He adjusted himself a few times, then fell silent. Hermione took her cue and continued on. She explained the increasing hormones of her fifth year, the run-ins with Umbridge—Draca hated her—and the Inquisitorial Squad—Draca had twitched violently when she mentioned them, but remained quiet otherwise. Hermione fondly recounted the DA and all their learning shenanigans. When she got to the point of the climax of her fifth year, Draca was perturbed by her journey to the Centaurs (let alone her friendship with a giant). He was downright outraged by her participation in the battle in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione glossed over her attack by Dolohov, but he must have been reading her mind because Draca let loose a roar that caused her to jump.

“He’s dead,” Hermione reassured him. “No lasting damage. Just a scar.”

“He scarred you? Show me.”

Hermione placed her knitting in her lap. “No. I’m not showing you.”

Draca brought his head to her torso and nudged it. “Show me,” he demanded.

“Draca—”

“I will heal it.”

“What?”

“I will heal it.”

Hermione was baffled. “If you are able to heal, why did you not heal your wing?” she pointed out.

Draca titled his head. “I cannot heal myself.”

“Why not?”

 “Our magic does not work that way. I could help heal another dragon. But I cannot heal myself beyond what my body does naturally. You noticed how fast my wing healed, my magic helped with that.”

Hermione looked at him in dawning understanding. “So, if I had brought another dragon here, they could have healed you without having to put you through a week of pain?”

“Yes. But no dragon will come here. They have been warned. And few are accomplished healers. Any dragon could help, but only a few can truly heal. It is a trait passed through bloodlines.”

Hermione summoned her notebook and began scribbling down facts. When she was done writing, she said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t bring another dragon here to help you.”

“None will come. I told them to stay away. They have listened. Not one Verdes has been within speaking distance since you arrived.”

“Why warn them away?”

“To keep you safe, Hermione. Did you forget? They wanted to attack you.”

She had forgotten. “Right. Sorry. Okay…”

“Show me your scar.”

Hermione flushed at the prospect of lifting her shirt in front of him. It was absurd really that she felt any spark of heat within her—he was a dragon—but, there she was, heating uncomfortably under his gaze.

“It’s…on my chest.”

Draca pulled back from where he was touching her. He gave her some space. Hermione gingerly untucked her shirt and pulled it up, exposing her bare stomach slowly. It was bizarre how self-conscious she was of the scar. He was a dragon; he would not judge how she looked…but he had called her attractive and some irrational part of her brain was worried that he would no longer find her that way once he saw the dark reddish-purple scars crisscrossing her chest.

Draca tilted his head to look more directly. “Move your clothing,” he said.

Hermione glanced down. Her sports bra was blocking a fair amount of the scar. The scar started in the middle of her chest, but extended up between her breasts to her sternum and down toward her bellybutton. Hermione often forgot about her scar—she even changed before her team without thinking twice. But whenever she was confronted with her nakedness around a man she was interested in, she always felt that it marred her.

Draca nudged her when she had not complied. “Move your clothing. I must see it all.”

“…then I’ll be naked.”

“Move your clothing.”

Hermione, heart hammering, listened to him for some reason. She pulled her shirt off, the alarm bells of her training telling her to keep on her fireproof clothing. Then, she pulled off her sports bra. Hermione sat before Draca topless, her dark nipples pebbling. Draca opened his mouth and Hermione flinched.

Draca closed his mouth. “I will not hurt you. I will remove the scar.”

Draca opened his jaw again and was suddenly blowing warm air over her chest. Hermione heated under the air. After a few seconds, she felt the lines of her scars start to tingle, then heat. She looked down at them to see they were glowing a faint purple. Hermione’s eyes widened. The scar heated more and she shifted in discomfort. The lights grew stronger. Hermione winced as the scar heated more.

“Almost done. The pain will disappear soon,” Draca promised.

Hermione shut her eyes as the pain intensified to a boiling point, reminding her of when the spell had been cast in the first place. Then the purple light disappeared from behind her eyes along with the pain, leaving her in a confused state of adrenaline. Hermione blinked open her eyes, panting. Draca closed his jaws and nudged her bare chest with his snout. She shivered at the sensation.

Draca pulled away and she looked down. Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes. It was gone. Her massive scar that she hated was gone. Her brown skin was smooth for the first time in nearly a decade. Hermione jumped to her feet and awkwardly hugged his neck. She was overcome with emotion. Hermione pressed a kiss near his eye, tears streaming down her face.

“Thank you,” she trembled.

Draca pushed against her hug lightly. He seemed pleased. “Anything for you.”

A few minutes later, Hermione finally gathered herself and realized she was topless, hugging a dragon. She shuffled back into her clothing quickly, her back to him. Hermione sat back against him, her hand hovering over her chest in confusion.

“I am sorry it hurt. I promised it would not. It was a different scar than I thought. The evil magic was still there. I had to counteract it.”

“What?!” Hermione asked in alarm. “Still there?”

“Yes, witch. It is good I healed you. It might have reactivated on its own and hurt you more. Now it is gone. He cannot hurt you anymore.”

Hermione was deeply perturbed by the news that her curse might have reactivated at any instant. She had to make herself some tea to calm down. Draca followed her to her camp stove as she did so, and wrapped around her protectively. Hermione was glad for his presence, since she was feeling very vulnerable and unsafe at that moment.

When she had calmed down more, Hermione continued on her story. She was strangely invested in the retelling now. She wanted Draca to know everything. So, she carried on, jumping over her growing infatuation with Ron and heartbreak over Ron choosing Lavender. Barely mentioning Cormac and his wandering hands—Draca really did not like Cormac. She explained horcruxes and the Slug Club and Hermione’s own worries about where the war would take her. When she got to Dumbledore’s death, she cried. It had been so long since she thought of his death, preferring to remember the quirky headmaster for his charms.

Draca was moved by her sadness. He laid his head against her knee and she stroked his snout. It calmed her. He seemed sad as well, though, she wasn’t sure why.

Hermione barely mentioned Malfoy’s role in Dumbledore’s death, but even the small details upset Draca. He took a while to settle down after the end of her sixth year.

“Maybe we should stop there for the night?” Hermione suggested. “My voice is tired. We can pick up tomorrow.”

“You are sad.”

“I didn’t have the best childhood,” she said. “It was very sad. But after the year I’ll tell you next, it improves greatly. Just…one more hard year to get through until things get better.”

“Let me help you sleep,” Draca suggested.

“Like give me a dream?” Hermione wondered.

“No. Magic to calm you.”

Hermione itched to ask more questions. “Let me get ready for bed first.” She excused herself to her tent, did her business in her toilet and brushed her teeth. Hermione exited the tent and tied her hair into two Dutch braids while Draca watched.

“Why do you change your hair?”

“It will knot while I sleep. Become unmanageable.”

He did not respond. Hermione got settled in her sleeping position, snuggled under her warm blanket, body pressed to his reassuringly warm one. Draca stared at her intently. Hermione found herself being pulled into his eyes. She blinked once, twice, then her eyes slid shut and she drifted off into oblivion.

*

Hermione blinked up at the stars above her. The constellations glowed brightly in the sky. She smiled at them, missing the stargazing days of her youth.

As she became more aware of her surroundings, she realized she was once again pressed to a man. Hermione turned over to take in his face.

Malfoy.

Strange I keep dreaming of him, she thought to herself, recognizing that this could not be reality.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, then smiled at her. “You should be sleeping, love.”

Hermione shifted under his intense silver gaze. “I am sleeping.”

She’d had lucid dreams before. Usually once she acknowledged she was asleep, she awoke. But this one did not give up on her yet.

Malfoy brought her in for a slow and deliberate kiss. He rolled her onto her back and slid his naked body between her cargo-pantsed legs. Why was it that he was always naked and she was always fully clothed? Dreams are weird.

Malfoy stirred a low heat in her as he worked to remove her clothing. He spent a long time kissing across her chest. Hermione noted that in the dream, her scars were gone—but that was common in dreams of hers. Malfoy pulled a nipple into his mouth and Hermione arched against him, gasping in pleasure.

He made his way down her body and removed her heavy pants and practical underwear with little preamble. Malfoy spread her legs and brought his tongue to her slit. He lapped at her and rumbled in pleasure. The vibrations travelled up her core and made her clench.

“So delicious, Hermione.”

Hermione moaned in response.

Malfoy’s tongue moved to her clit and flicked at it relentlessly while his fingers delved into her core, pushing her to the brink. Hermione squirmed beneath him, her hand sliding into his smooth, platinum hair. Hermione’s hips pressed against his lips. She groaned loudly, then came against his mouth and fingers.

Malfoy growled in response. “Perfection.”

He slid into her, his cock stretching her walls deliciously. Malfoy took his sweet time, his pace building to a crescendo. His hands roamed her body and his lips remained anchored at her neck. “Mine,” he purred.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, once again on the brink of orgasm.

As they both came in one another’s arms, he bit down on her neck. It sent a bolt of pleasure through Hermione.

Malfoy slowly redressed her after her breathing had evened out. He pulled her into him and they both gazed up at the stars. As Hermione felt the dream fading, she said to him, “Isn’t that your constellation?”

His response was lost to the dream shifting to her studying in the Hogwarts library before an arithmancy exam.

Chapter Text

Day 6 – Mid May, 2007

When Hermione woke, she was anxious about something. Draca looked at her in concern as she looked around muttering about needing to divide the quotient. Her eyes eventually landed on his and she froze. After a few moments, she settled.

“Just a dream,” Hermione muttered.

Draca thought of the dream that he had shared with her. It was strange that he was not jealous of this Malfoy she kept dreaming of. He was jealous of every other man she mentioned in her life. It was also strange how he seemed to occupy Malfoy’s body during the dreams—he saw everything from the blond’s perspective.

Dream sharing was not a well understood phenomenon amongst dragons. But it was common enough. If one was close enough to another, they shared dreams. Or if a dragon was particularly emotional for whatever reason, they often projected their dreams onto others. When Elys had been in heat two years previous, her dreams had been incredibly powerful.

Hermione sat up slowly, her mind far away. Draca had trouble reading her thoughts. She did not seem to remember her dream as he had. Draca’s eyes landed on the mark on her neck with fondness. He assumed he accidentally made the mark appear while dreaming of marking her—but she had not yet complained about it. So, he did not bring it up. It was darker that morning, thanks to his unintentional addition of magic the night before.

She looked good marked. Draca wanted to mark her again. Then he remembered he was a dragon and the marks he would leave would kill her.

Draca puzzled over what was happening between them.

It was not possible for him to have a human mate. Dragons did not work that way, that he knew with certainty. Yet…he was behaving as if she were his mate. He could not leave her side, he was jealous, he was attracted to her, he joined her dreams, he wanted to care for her, he could heal her…

Draca was pleased she had let him heal her the night before. He worried now that he had not removed the curse fully or that she had others on her body. He had to protect her. Another urge that only made sense were she his mate.

‘It is impossible.’

And yet, he would do anything for her. He let her ride his back, touch him. He slept wrapped around her. He threatened other dragons—his family—over her. They had even started the mating process. He had claimed her. Though, she had not reciprocated his claim, she had fed him, cared for him. A sign of her acceptance of the bond. He had marked her while she dreamt and she had not refuted the mark while conscious. They were on the path to bonding without even meaning to.

Draca had to speak to an elder. None of this made sense. But he could not speak to an elder with her around since it would put her in danger. And he could not leave her either.

Hermione wished him good morning and began cleaning beneath his wing.

With each passing day, her touch made him yearn for her more. He vibrated with desire as she trailed her hands over his skin. He enjoyed that she would continue her exploration beyond his scar. He felt her simple pleasure at exploring his body. Hermione was fascinated by dragons, and he, fascinated by her.

Her life story was enthralling, enraging, and interesting. He wondered again how she had survived her childhood, and apparently, he hadn’t even heard the worst of it.

Hermione climbed onto his back with no prompting to apply the scar paste to the top of his wing. Draca did not hesitate. The moment she was done her work, he started moving. He knew she would slide into his saddle looking for something to grab hold of. Which is exactly what happened. Draca shook in pleasure as she seated herself and gripped his spike.

“I think you should do your stretches without me on your back,” she said.

Draca ignored her. He stretched his wings, extended them fully, crouched, and took off into the sky. Hermione shrieked, but most of the sound was lost to the rushing wind as Draca climbed high into the morning sunlight. He fixed Hermione to his back with magic so that she wouldn’t fall.

He delighted in the feeling of the wind beneath his wings. The sun was out, but thick fluffy clouds rolled through the sky. Draca climbed even higher, moving above the lowest level of clouds.

Hermione had stopped screaming, but he sensed her continued fear.

“I will keep you safe,” he almost called her his mate. He could not reveal anything of the sort to her, especially since it was not possible.

“I did not agree to flying!” Hermione shouted back.

Draca flew smoothly. He refrained from taking steep dives like he wanted to because he knew it would distress her. He covered a lot of ground, moving beyond his wards quickly and into the rest of the Verdes territory. Draca roared in delight at the feeling of flight after so long. His right wing was a bit sore but not so much as to stop him from flying for a good long while.

As time stretched on, Hermione began to relax atop him. After an hour, she actually seemed to be enjoying herself.

“It’s beautiful,” she shouted over the rush of his wings.

“You do not need to shout,” he reminded her. “I can read your thoughts. Save your voice.”

“Oh yeah…” she thought.

“You do not mind flying now,” he remarked, banking left and slowly spiralling them down to one of his favourite lakes.

“It isn’t so bad. I don’t really like ascending or descending, though.”

“I will keep you safe,” he reminded her. “You cannot fall. I have used magic.”

“You should have told me that earlier,” she scolded.

Draca landed them gently by the lake. He bent forward so that Hermione could carefully slide down his forepaw. Draca snaked around her so that she stood between his front paws. He turned to the lake and drank heavily from it. The water was pure and delicious. Draca laid down and brought his wings into his sides.

“Sit. I need a few moments to relax.”

Hermione did as he asked, sitting on the grass and gazing at the beautiful lake and mountains before her. “We were flying for a while…how is your wing? Does it hurt?” she fretted.

‘And she cares for me like a mate,’ Draca reflected.

“My wing is a bit sore. I need to rest. But it is strong. I feel good. I liked having you with me.”

Hermione shifted to lean against his left elbow. “It wasn’t so bad flying. But you cannot just take off without my permission! That was not okay.”

“I cannot leave you.”

Hermione sighed. She started stroking his forepaw absentmindedly. Draca purred in response. He loved when she touched him.

“We’ve talked about this. I will leave eventually,” she said, the regret obvious in her voice.

It was part of the reason Draca insisted he learn everything about her—their time was limited.

“You can stay,” he replied. “You like being here with me.”

Hermione didn’t respond and her mind was in too much turmoil for Draca to read.

They sat in silence for a good while, taking in the landscape. Then Hermione pulled her sticks and wool out of her magic pants and began tying it up again. He did not understand her task but she found it soothing.

Sometime later, Draca told her to climb up his arm and sit on him again. She had not yet mounted him without the help of her steps. It took some maneuvering, and him helping her along with his head, but she managed to climb his arm and scramble onto his saddle. She adjusted herself and Draca groaned in response. The feeling of her seated…it was unparalleled.

He warned her before taking off. He climbed much slower than usual, hoping to make her more at ease with the flight. It seemed to work. Her anxiety was less overwhelming. Draca flew in large circles, flying past his favourite areas with her before bringing them back home.

They did not encounter another Verdes the whole flight, though he sensed a few just on the edges of his awareness who fled as soon as they sensed him. Draca would have to find a way to approach them again, if only for answers about his mate—not that she was his mate.

It was impossible.

He had to speak to an elder. They would know.

*

Hermione continued with her life story. She was right when she said that the year she was on was the worst. Draca was seized by a sudden and harrowing head pain when she described her capture and torture at Malfoy Manor. Hermione fretted over his reaction. Draca rarely had head pains. Dragons did not get them often. She complained that he had overdone it with their earlier flight.

He drank more water that she summoned. Draca apologized, stating he needed rest. She stroked his snout as he met unconsciousness.

When Draca awoke, his head pain remained. Resigned that it would not go away, he instead focused on the matter at hand—she had another cursed scar.

“Why did you not tell me of this second scar?” he asked.

Hermione shrugged. She showed it to him without prompting. It was deep purple and raised against her otherwise blemish-free brown skin. Human characters spelled out the hateful word she so disliked.

“I will heal it.”

Hermione nodded. “If you can, I would…it would mean a lot.”

Draca summoned his magic and blew warm smoke over her arm. Hermione was prepared for the pain this time. It was not as bad as her chest curse. But she still sweat and squirmed. Draca did not like hurting her like this.

Once it was done, she rewarded him with another hug and kiss. Draca preened. He was starting to understand why humans liked touching lips so much. The feeling of her soft ones against his scales…

Hermione was lost in emotion for a while after he healed her. She made herself dinner while he kept close watch, wrapped around her. Once she finished her food, she vanished into her silent tent.

When she came out, they returned to their bed and Hermione continued her story, warning him that things got very sad before they got better. Draca’s headache increased as her story went on. She cried softly as she listed all those she knew who died.

Draca puffed in pleasure when she described Voldemort’s death by her friend who refused to die, the scarred idiot.

When she fell silent, lost to memories following her war, Draca let her be, simply pressing his snout to her to provide comfort as he could.

A while later, Hermione told him of the aftermath of the war. Of the trials. How she testified to keep Malfoy from a long prison sentence. Draca’s pain intensified.

“Are you alright?” she asked suddenly, cutting off her tale about post-war justice. “You seem…”

“I have head pain. I should rest more. But I want you to finish your story.”

Hermione looked at her time piece. “I suppose it’s still pretty early. I could get through to the present day tonight…”

She spoke about returning to school for a final eighth year, then entering the work force and joining the Ministry of Magic. Malfoy only reappeared a handful of times, but each mention made Draca’s head sear in pain: She received a letter from him apologizing for his behaviour and thanking her; she stumbled upon him at a charity event; she purchased a potion from his apothecary he co-owned with Theodore Nott—that tidbit made Draca gnash his teeth in pain.

Hermione tried to stop several times, but he insisted he was fine, even though he was not.

She continued reluctantly, re-narrating her two masteries (charms and magical creatures), how she hated her Ministry job and how everyone was the worst sort of corrupt. How she stumbled into Charlie Weasley (who, for some reason, Draca did not feel jealous of) and how she spent her time with dragons. How she found Rolf and became part of S.P.E.R.M.C. How most of her time was spent trying to pass better laws for magical creatures or fundraising for them, with the occasional field trip to help those in need. She did not mention any other men romantically, apart from reminding him that she and Ron did not last more than a year.

Draca admired her. She was outstanding.

By the end, she was yawning and complaining how late it was. His head was throbbing in pain. Hermione convinced him to inhale more of her euphoric pink powder. It instantly cut the edge off of his pain. Draca thanked her and drifted to sleep quickly after that.

*

Day 7

He awoke with his brain searing in pain. He had not shared Hermione’s dream that night, to his displeasure. He dreamt of nothing and awoke bleary eyed.

Hermione sensed his discomfort, but when he refused to answer her questions, she went about applying her scar paste. His scar was almost entirely gone now. He might be able to get a Verdes to make the scar fade entirely. If he could convince one to speak with him…

When she climbed onto his back and finished her work, Hermione hesitated, then shuffled into his saddle. Draca’s pain lessened at the feeling of her astride him.

“But only a quick flight,” she told him. “I have to meet Michelle for your breakfast.”

Draca drooled. He was hungry. But now that his wing was healed, he wanted to hunt for himself. However, he knew Hermione would not want to be present, which complicated things. He thought on that as he spread his wings and launched them into the air.

Hermione only screamed a little. She settled down quickly, a tentative enjoyment radiating from her.

Draca took her on a tour of the area, swooping low and climbing high on several occasions, but not moving too drastically. She was warming up to the flying, he could tell.

Draca brought them to another lake. He drank some water while she dismounted and looked around her. He did not let her get far, making sure she stayed between his legs at all times. He would not risk her getting hurt.

Hermione climbed back onto him with more ease than the day before and Draca made his way back home.

“Thank you. For telling me everything you have about dragons. I really appreciate it. I won’t tell anyone.”

Draca found her tone confusing, but his head pain clouded his brain so he could not dissect it. “I will tell you anything you want to know, Hermione. But yes, do not tell others.”

“This past week has been…amazing for me. Thank you,” she thought again.

Draca purred. “I am happy you are happy.”

“Can we take a photo together when we get back?” Hermione asked.

Draca did not understand her request, so she spent a long time explaining the concept to him. By the time they were back in their den, Draca agreed.

Hermione set up her camera for a while, then directed him to sit in various positions. She first took a photo of them how they spent most of their time together—her pressed to his side and him wrapped in a protective circle around her. The next photo, she climbed on his back again, making Draca shiver. The next one she took stroking his snout. Finally, she took a photo standing between his front legs while they both stared down the camera lens.

Hermione smiled broadly at him when she was done. “Thank you! I can’t wait to print these!”

Draca nudged her stomach in response and she smiled brighter.

Hermione packed up her things, as she did every time before he fed. “Okay, I’ll go meet Michelle.”

“No. I will go hunt. Stay here.”

“What?” she seemed oddly nervous. “Don’t you have a headache? You should rest. We just went flying for a half hour too.”

Draca itched to hunt. It had been far too long. But she had a good point. His head pain had only worsened as the morning wore on. Food should help.

“Fine. You may go meet Michelle. But I will hunt tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, not in two days time?”

“I miss hunting.”

Hermione looked away from him. Her squeamishness around meat obvious. She looked around the cavern intently for several heartbeats. Finally, she turned to him. “I-I’ll go get your breakfast then…” She surprised him by pulling Draca’s head into another hug. He purred against her shoulder.

She was strangely touchy today. She always enjoyed running her hands over his body, but today she had more than ever. Draca supposed the bond must be setting in for her—not that it was possible…or was it?

Hermione released him reluctantly, stepped away, then vanished with a pop. Her human magic was impressive. He felt her reappear near the edge of the wards. Her mind was a jumble and he sensed above all regret and sadness from her.

“What is wrong? Is it just the memories from your bad year?”

He felt her jolt of surprise. Why she was still surprised when he read her mind and emotions, he could not understand. He did not hide that he could do it.

“Yes—just the memories,” she lied.

Draca paced in his den, confused as to why she would lie to him. He did not question her because she was talking to the other human, Michelle.

Michelle greeted her and said something confusing to Hermione about a key. A Black man with long hair floated in their minds. Draca thought he looked familiar. He was distracted by Hermione returning faster than usual. The other times, she talked to Michelle for a few minutes, discussing boring human things. Today, she did not linger.

Hermione appeared in the den with a sheep. She radiated sadness now. Draca was even distracted from the hunt by her emotions. He turned to her as she made to run from the room.

“What is wrong?” he almost called her ‘mate’ again.

Hermione seemed shocked he was talking to her and not devouring the nervous sheep before him. She dropped the rope and backed away toward one of the corridors slowly. “I-it’s nothing. Just—you know. I don’t like that the sheep will die. But—you have to eat. So…Please. Eat. I’ll keep trying to open that unopenable door.”

Draca titled his head, staring into her soul. She was lying still, but he could not understand about what. His hunger distracted him and her thoughts were a whirlwind. Deciding to let it go until after he ate, Draca said, “I will see you in a few hours.”

Hermione jogged out of the room.

Draca got to work on devouring his prey.

But only a few minutes later before he had consumed any of his meal, he felt a human presence near the edge of his wards. He cast his mind about and found the Black man that Michelle and Hermione were thinking of a few minutes ago.

Draca knew why he recognized him. He was from Hermione’s team. Draca growled.

‘What is he doing here?’

Draca cast about for Hermione’s presence. She was at the edge of the wards! Draca abandoned his meal immediately and took to the skies. Draca could see and feel her cross the wards.

“Lee!” she greeted happily, though the sadness from earlier settled around her heart still.

Lee pulled Hermione into a tight hug and Draca roared in anger. This man was not allowed to touch his mate!

They both turned in his direction. Lee was terrified by Draca’s fast approach, but Hermione just seemed even more sad.

Draca was now close enough for his sensitive ears to hear the man say, “Let’s get out of here, Granger.”

Draca was immediately hit with a wave of extreme pain radiating from his head. He faltered in his flight as Hermione yelled, “I’m sorry! Goodbye!” then disappeared in a whirl of colour.

Draca half-fell, half glided to the ground, his head felt like it had split into two.

Granger.

Granger?

Hermione Granger.

Then it all came flooding back while he lay in a heap near the edge of his wards. He descended into a semi-conscious state as out of order memories flooded over him.

The train. Being punched. The fire in the Room of Requirement. Writing his apology letter to her. How beautiful she was at the Yule Ball. His amortentia smelling of her. Watching her dance with Ron at a Ministry charity event after the war. Spending six months in Azkaban. Disowning his father. Watching her fight against the most powerful dark wizards of their time during the Final Battle.

She was Hermione Granger. They went to school together. She was his rival, his enemy, his everything.

And he was Draco Malfoy.

Chapter Text

Part 2: Draco Exsucito

Chapter 7: Awakening

Mid May, 2007

Draco lay prone on the soft moss ground. He did not know how much time had passed. All he knew was that his brain felt like someone had taken an axe to it and split it in half. He shuddered and twitched in agony. It was not as bad as the cruciatus, but it was a close second. Draco had been subjected to the cruciatus enough times by his crazy aunt to know that all he could do was try to breathe and relax his muscles as much as possible.

He worked through his breathing techniques, sluggishly succeeding in blocking out the unending wave of memories coming over him.

Sometime later, Draco pushed himself upright and opened his eyes. He had been a dragon. But he was not anymore. He looked at himself. His pale body was naked, gleaming in the summer sun. Draco stared at himself, not comprehending.

He was a dragon that morning.

Now he was human.

There was a strange weight on his head. Draco touched his head awkwardly and recoiled in shock—there was something sticking out of his head. He tentatively brought his fingers back to his head. It felt like he had horns. Two horns sticking out of his head.

‘What the fuck.’

They were about one foot long each and came to a blunt point.

Draco was not entirely human, then. He was…he didn’t know.

His confused thoughts landed back on the woman who had preoccupied his day-to-day for the past week. Hermione…Hermione Granger was—oh god. His headache came back. Draco passed out.

He awoke sometime later. The sun was setting. He heaved himself to his feet and walked on unsteady legs toward his castle. His castle? Was it really his? Who was he?

Draco focused on breathing instead of the dizzying thoughts in his head. Or, at least he tried to.

He thought of Hermione again. In a fresh burst of extreme pain and blinding confusion, Draco was suddenly much higher off the ground. He shook his head. He was a dragon again.

‘What the fuck?’

He took in his scales and wings, and fainted again.

The moon was out when he woke. Draco was once more human, his head still weighed down by his horns. He turned and promptly vomited into the mossy ground.

Draco clutched his temples, not understanding what the fuck was going on. His only clear thoughts were: I am a dragon. I am a human. Hermione Granger is my…mate?

The last thought was what was driving him the most. He had to get to her. Why did she leave?

Draco’s brain existed in a strange split understanding of himself. He was both the self he was now starting to remember—the spoiled, rich pureblood—and he was his dragon self. The two did not exist in the same realities in his mind. They could not. They did not make sense. The only thing that made sense was his need to get to Hermione.

Draco unconsciously cast his mind about, looking for her magical signature. As he did so, he transformed back into a dragon. He roared in pain at the transformation. Draco took to the skies, his brain still on fire.

He circled his area quickly, then took off in a blur, searching far and wide for her scent, her magic. She was nowhere. Draco roared again, then set the air on fire in anger.

“Draca?” a voice asked him.

Draco stopped spewing fire and let his mind pay attention to the world around him. There, on the edge of his periphery was Gryn. Draco took off toward the green dragon, who had been a dear friend of Draca’s…

‘Draca,’ Draco thought in confusion. ‘I am Draca.’

Gryn remained distant from Draco, but did not flee upon his approach. Draco landed on the ground near the other dragon.

“Have you seen her?” Draco demanded in way of greeting.

“You are different…” Gryn remarked. He smelled the air suspiciously. “You have continued the mating bond.”

“Have you seen her? Did you—did you sense her anywhere this morning or afternoon?”

“Your human has not been on our lands. As far as we knew, she remained with you.”

Draco roared in anger.

“There is something else,” Gryn astutely remarked. “You have…manifested?”

Draco screamed as his dragon form collapsed out of existence and he suddenly stood naked before a fire-breathing dragon. He took a step back. Instincts warred with one another inside him: dragons were dangerous, Gryn was a friend.

Gryn tilted his head. “You have manifested,” he repeated. “The legends are true, then. It must be time for the Dracun to be born.”

Draco clutched his head in pain, hitting his horns clumsily. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he replied weakly. “Gryn. What is happening? Where is she? I—” Draco fainted again.

*

When he awoke next, it was morning. He was in a clearing in the Eastern woods. It was a favourite den of the Eastern horde’s and where they spent most evenings. Draco was human, naked, and afraid. And, he was surrounded by seven Welsh Greens.

He recognized them all. As they stared at him, his body shifted back into dragon shape. The Greens moved out of his way, giving him room. It hurt less than before to change forms. Draco thanked the universe for small mercies.

The Greens murmured amongst themselves about the legends being true. Draco remained confused and worried sick about Hermione.

“She is your mate,” Reif said. “That is why you were so menacing to us. That is why you look for her now. You have the scent of an unfinished bond on you. You will not be calm until the bond is complete.”

Huma, the elder spoke next, “The legends told us of this time. A time when the Dracun would awaken. The one to awaken first would awaken the others. To bring in a new era of dragonkind. This is why we named you Draca. We suspected. You have never smelled like one of us. You’re different—but the same.”

Draco looked at her, not responding, the information taking a long time to process. The dragons sat in silence and let him think. The Greens were a patient bunch, unlike other dragons. When he still did not respond, Huma spoke again.

“You have awoken. It will take time to adjust to your new reality. The legends tell of a man. A flame who left instructions. Who promised the first of your kind, Helga.”

Draco felt a strange flickering in his chest, then he was human again, collapsed on the ground in a heap.

“Your human form does not look like your dragon form,” Gryn said helpfully. “I would not think you white haired.”

Draco panted in response.

“Stay with us until you stabilize, Draca,” Huma stated for the group.

“What of his mate?” Reif asked.

The dragons reflected for a long time.

“What have you told her?” Huma asked eventually.

Draco was huddled in a ball on the ground still. His brain protesting loudly to the proceedings of the last 24 hours. “Everything, she—” He felt it again, that strange flickering in his chest. Draco transformed back into a dragon. He growled in pain. At the very least, the transformation continued to be less painful each time it happened.

“She knows almost everything about our society. I told her.” The dragons grumbled and growled in discontent. “She promised not to share the details widely. But her team. They know we can communicate with them—it was an accident. She was…they were threatening to take her away and I…” Draco fell silent. He relived the last seven days, replaying all she said about her life, about him.

The dreams. His eyes widened. They were not dreams. Draco had transformed into his human state while asleep and they had—dear god. They had sex. Twice. And he marked her. With his actual human teeth.

The tingling in his chest warned him that he was about to transform. He was human again, panting as the pain subsided from his transformation.

“We started the bond,” Draco said aloud, horrified. “We started. She doesn’t know. We—oh, Merlin. She is going to kill me.”

Were the dreams real? He was not so sure. They had felt odd, not quite dream-like, but not entirely real either.

Draco had not seen much of Hermione Granger in recent years. He ran into her at the odd charity event and even once at his shop that he co-owned with Theo (Draco wondered briefly what had happened to his shop; he had been missing for three years). But she remained on the periphery of his life. Regardless, he knew that Hermione Granger would not take well to knowing that she had started a bonding ritual with a dragon without her consent. He knew her well enough to know that.

But then he remembered her feelings, especially the last few days—she liked him. Dragon-him. In fact, Draco had felt that she…was attracted to him? But why on earth would Hermione be attracted to a dragon?

And why did she think she dreamt of Draco? Draco supposed he had his fair share of strange sex dreams in his life (McGonagall, really?), but it still seemed odd to him. In what Hermione thought was a dream, she had agreed that she was “his.” Draco gulped. If the dreams were real, they had almost completed the bond: she had fed him; he had declared his intention (you’re mine); she had accepted (I’m yours–moaned into his ear); they had sex. They had not exchanged blood, though. And he had not declared that he was hers, so the bond remained incomplete.

Draco pondered once more if the dreams were reality or not. Parts had felt so real—she had felt so real writing in his arms. Could someone agree to a soul mate bond in a shared dream?

Draco groaned in pain. He wished his migraine would subside. He was also finding it hard to counteract the weight of the horns on his head—how on earth was he supposed to re-enter wizarding society if he had horns? But that was a problem for later. First, he had to figure out how to control himself.

*

The Greens watched over him for two days. Draco shifted between human and dragon state multiple times the first day, slowly becoming able to predict when it was going to happen. The feeling in his chest was a warning. But so was whatever he was thinking of. When he thought too much of his human life, he became human. When he relived his time over the past three years or thought of Hermione as his mate, he became a dragon. The pain of the transformation subsided to a dull ache.

The evening of the second day, Draco’s headache had also dulled significantly. He was no longer being overwhelmed by memories and conflicting thoughts. He was also starting to see himself as one person again, not Dragon-Draco and Human-Draco. Just Draco. It didn’t help that the Greens kept calling him Draca and refused to call him Draco.

Feeling slightly better, Gryn, Reif, and Draco flew to the nearest lake. He drank heavily. Then they went hunting. Draca had barely consumed any of his meal before Hermione had left. It was now spoiled. Draco found it very odd to think that he was about to hunt and eat sheep, but instinct took over him and he easily captured two sheep and ended their lives quickly. He cooked and ate his meat ferociously. Gryn and Reif were likewise occupied a ways away from him.

Draco’s headache faded thanks to the sustenance. They returned to the grove and slept for the night.

Draco spent the week with the horde, under Huma’s advice. Draco gradually integrated his two different identities, joining in on the flights and dances, listening to Gryn’s stories, and singing along with Reif and Elys. The whole time all he could think about was Hermione. She would love to be there with him—with Draca that is, observing the dragons living their lives.

The dragons became acclimated to Draco transforming into a dragon and human at random. He walked between their bodies without fear as a human and they accepted him without question.

Huma told him one day, “You must learn to control your dragon and human states. Or you will never return to your mate.”

Draco agreed. While he could now immediately predict when he was going to change states, and informed those around him, he was still unable to control it. So, he Gryn and Huma went out to the lake and Draco did his best to trigger his human state. It was easy enough now—he simply thought of human things and he became human. The same could be said for his dragon state. The problem was, he could not stop himself from transforming. Which might seem like enough, but would be very problematic if he were say, inside a building and could not stop himself from transforming into a dragon.

Draco spent a few hours a day trying to fight against his transformations with no success. He had been with the Verdes for a week and half and he was no closer to controlling himself. Draco growled in frustration as he snapped back into his dragon state (painlessly, I might add).

“Do your legends tell how I can control this?” Draco asked angrily.

Huma laughed at him. “You will get it, Draca. You must think of your soul. Of your essence. You must control it.” She had already told him as such and it had not helped.

Draco thought of his apothecary and his mother; he transformed back into a human. Draco stared at himself in the lake sullenly, once again cataloguing his silver horns. They were very similar to his horns when he was a dragon; they were about a foot long, gleaming silver, pointed toward the back of his head before they curved upward slightly, the points hovering above the centre of his head. He had been experimenting with trying to get his horns to disappear when he was human. So far, they had only disappeared once and he had no clue what made them go away. The lack of weight on his head had been unsettling. Thinking of the horns had promptly made them reappear, so he had little time to get used to them being gone.

Draco tossed a rock into the lake, brooding over his failure.

The next day, however, Draco cracked it. He passed the morning meditating by the lake, trying to connect with his “inner self” or whatever. He focused his magic around his chest, where the tingling feeling appeared when he was about to transition. It flickered as he turned his attention to it. Draco thought of Hermione as his mate and felt the magic in his torso pull on him. Draco imagined holding it in place in his chest. Not letting it expand throughout his body like it wanted to. The magic fought him. But it held. Draco whooped in success. Gryn watched on lazily, not understanding what had happened.

Draco tried again. He thought of his time with the Welsh Greens and forced the tingling (his dragon magic) to remain in his chest.

It did.

At least for a moment or two, but when Draco recalled a favourite memory from the winter solstice celebration a year ago, he transformed abruptly. Draco growled and puffed out black smoke. Gryn laughed. The dragon spread out his wings and sunned them in the summer heat.

Draco repeated the process for the rest of the day—extremely fatigued by the time the sun set. But he had some control now. It still needed work, or so Huma informed him.

The next morning, he spent time trying to make his horns disappear. It took him nearly three hours, but he cracked that as well. He could sense the smallest bit of dragon magic tingling in his skull. It was very disconcerting to be aware of. Once he was able to notice it, he could easily make the horns appear and disappear. In fact, he had far more success with the horns alone than the full transformation.

Draco spent another three days perfecting his shifting. By the third day, he could shift seamlessly into a dragon or human for as long as he desired. It was no longer taxing and it was entirely painless.

Huma spoke to him by the lake. “You are ready. You must find the Flame man. He has left instructions.”

“What about Hermione?” Draco asked, seated by the lake in his human form, sans horns. “I…I need to find her.” Draco knew this would not go over well. Him turning up on her doorstep claiming they were mates and that they had completed 85% of the mating bond. But he also knew he could not live without her. Her absence taxed him.

“You must go to your mate, yes. But do not lose sight of your purpose. You have a long journey ahead of you, Draca. Your kind were created to keep dragonkind from extinction. You are awake today because something threatens us. You must find out what. And you must learn to wake the others. We will need all the help we can get.”

Draco sighed heavily. No wonder Potter was always complaining about being the Chosen One. It was entirely rotten. And no, he had not asked for it.

“I will do what I can. Do you have any more information on the Flame man? I have no idea how to find his instructions.”

“All I know is what I have been told. Nico Flame. He will help us in our time of need. Nico Flame will wake the Draca who will lead the Dracun,” Huma repeated.

Draco mulled over what she was saying. Nico Flame. He had never heard of the name. But why would he have? Draco sighed again. “I will say my goodbyes. I’m going to return to my castle and collect some coins. I might need the gold. I have no idea what’s happened to my family in my absence. If my mother even still lives…” Draco tried not to let it worry him too much.

He returned with Huma to the horde. Draco wished everyone goodbye and they hugged and rubbed against him. Gryn wished he could travel with him, expressing a desire to meet Draco’s mate. Draco had roared in response to that and Gryn had laughed deeply.

Draco did love this horde. They were good friends of his. He would miss them. As an only child, Draco had learned what it was like to have siblings and a large family and he found he quite liked it.

*

Early June, 2007

Draco returned to his castle. He was assaulted by the smell of Hermione. He sniffed the wool bed where she slept every night. Draco remembered the morning she left. She had planned her departure for when he was eating so he would be distracted. She was always clever, that one.

She was sad that morning—very sad. She did not want to leave him. Draco understood why she did: he was a dragon, she was a human, could it be anymore obvious? But now…maybe she would be interested.

Huma had warned him not to tell her the truth immediately. That she might react poorly and that it was their greatest secret. The Dracun were a secret from humans for a reason. If humans knew of them, they might go hunting Dracun next. Draco doubted Hermione would tell anyone, but there was no telling what she might do or say in a state of panic when learning about a new deadly hybrid species. Besides, she was extremely interested in dragons. She might go and tell her dragon nerd friends all about him. That would be problematic. Especially since he was the only one of his kind right now.

Huma was right. He had to wake the others—whatever that meant. Draco transformed into a human and realized with a start that he had no clothing and was missing his wand. He itched for it for the first time since he had awoken. His dragon form permitted him to do magic, so he supposed he had not noticed its absence until now.

Draco looked about his treasure horde for a bag or clothing. All he found was a copious amount of gold. Waaay too much gold. Even for a Malfoy, it was a lot. He’d have to transfer that to Gringotts at some point. He had no idea where the treasure came from. It had been there when he had first arrived at the castle.

Suddenly, Draco felt a pull in his abdomen. He frowned at looked at his naked chest. He took a step back into the den and the pull intensified. He followed it past Hermione’s scent on his bed and into the castle. Draco had never been in the castle proper. He looked around with curiosity as the pull led him up the crumbling stairs and to a shut door—the only shut door.

Draco placed a hand on it and the door swung open on smooth hinges. Inside was a completely in tact lab. There were vials, books, desks, chairs—the lot. Draco blinked in confusion.

‘The castle is not magical—why did it have a magical lab? Perhaps the muggles had actually hired a real wizard back in the day?’

The pull brought him right to the most haphazard desk. It was covered in papers, many with ink faded by the passage of time, making them unreadable. Others were written in a language he could not understand. Draco shuffled around the papers, his hand landing on a book with runes carved into the front. He frowned as he tried to place what the runes meant. It had been a long time since he had studied runes.

He roughly translated it to mean Dragon Species. His hand tingled. Draco opened the book. Inside, in faded English, read: The Start of a New Species by Nicolas Flamel.

Nicolas Flamel. Nico Flame.

‘Well, that was easy,’ Draco thought to himself. At least now he wouldn’t have to go searching the world for a random stranger.

He began reading through journal entries. They were dated in the early 1300s. Nico claimed he wanted his memory to be sharp when he wrote everything down, even though it had happened the decade before. The man rambled for a while about the importance of his account, his own experiments on living forever (Draco recalled the man from the rumour mill following first year that some alchemist’s stone and the Dark Lord’s attempt to stay alive), and the hope that whoever was reading this spoke English. Nico debated for half a page the merits of translating his account to one of the twelve other languages he knew. Instead, he reasoned that translation spells would probably be improved by the time the journal was needed.

Draco rolled his eyes at the man’s ramblings. When he got to the first bit of useful information, entitled Helga’s Horde, Draco sat down on the wooden chair and began to read. It was written in the first person, from Nico’s perspective. Nico also helpfully commented in the margins that he had rewritten this story multiple times over the years.

*

Helga’s Horde

I first met Helga Hufflepuff at the opening charity event for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She seemed an odd type, always smiling and happy. Her magical prowess never seemed to quite match her founding peers—but this was something that I would learn to incorrect the very night I met her when she performed an impressive bit of magic transforming the entire hall into a great snowstorm to match the weather outside. Nearly got frostbite!

Helga Hufflepuff would go down in history for being the kind, loving, hard-working Hogwarts founder. She would be known for accepting everyone and loving food. Helga did not have any qualms about this legacy (not that she would know her own legacy, of course, I am merely adding this in because I know her legacy) because most of her magical work was secret and had to remain that way in order to protect the magical creatures she worked with.

Helga had spent much of her life working with dangerous creatures like acromantula, werewolves, and so on. She was the pre-eminent scholar on all magical creatures. She often published her work anonymously—only when it was appropriate for her to do so. She was so accepted into the magical creature community because of her promises to keep what she learned secret. And Helga always kept her promises.

I recount Helga’s story here with as much fidelity as I can. She told me her life’s tale over a pint at the Leaky Cauldron while we schemed about how to save the dragons. The tale starts here:

It was the late 1200s. Hogwarts had been founded nearly forty years and had become a booming success. Helga had married, had two children, and boasted an illustrious career as a professor at the recently founded Hogwarts. She specialized in transfigurations, runes, and magical creatures. Helga retired from teaching early; she wanted a quiet retirement—or so she told her colleagues. Godric and Rowena stayed at the castle until death. Salazar, had of course already been ousted from the castle years previous. But Helga wanted more. She loved mentoring and teaching, but something in her called her to something grander in life. So, she left. Her children were grown, her husband dead to a bad bought of dragon pox (ironic when you hear the rest of the tale). She had plenty money too.

Helga starts her story thusly: after spending five years amongst the centaurs, she was ready to learn about a different magical creature: dragons. Very little was known of dragons and no humans had ever been able to study them. Unfortunately, dragon hunting was in fashion amongst muggles and magical folk alike. Helga could not abide by that, so, she made her way to New Zealand where the Antipodean Opaleyes live. They are known for being the kindest dragons and Helga, being one of the smartest witches of her age, knew she ought to approach a friendlier dragon rather than a murderous one.

Helga went to New Zealand and travelled around hoping to make contact with an Opaleye. And she did. It may seem surprising to you, dear reader, since dragons are so standoffish and aggressive. But Helga had a kind spirit and she was an excellent metamorphagus. That helped with connecting with magical creatures.

Helga gave herself white opalescent wings. Instead of killing her immediately, the Opaleye puzzled over her for a long time—nearly a full day. Helga had to pee fiercely by the time the dragon left her be and took to the skies. (Hey, she told me that detail, so I guess it was important to note down for you to know as well!)

The next day, Helga returned to the valley she had first discovered Yhalis in—the name of the dragon—, hoping to come upon her again.

Helga was not disappointed. Yhalis came back every day for a week and stared down Helga. Helga stared back pleasantly. She was known for her patience. She drank less water in preparation for spending long hours with the inability to pee.

By the sixth day, Helga moved toward Yhalis. The dragon permitted it. They continued to stare at one another in silence. Helga maintains that she sent “good intentions” to Yhalis over those long silent days and that was the reason the dragon accepted her so.

By the tenth day, Helga was only a few feet away from Yhalis. She looked at the creature’s multicoloured, pupil-less eyes and asked, “May I touch your scales?”

Yhalis recoiled from her. But she did not leave. After several moments, Yhalis moved her head toward Helga. Helga slowly reached up a hand and her palm made contact with her snout. Helga described it as if her body became alight with magic when they touched.

Yhalis flew away shortly after the exchange.

Over the span of a month, Helga and Yhalis got used to one another, Helga touching her scales and Yhalis bumping Helga with her snout. Helga began telling Yhalis about herself and her interest in dragons and other magical creatures. Helga transformed herself for Yhalis and Yhalis seemed both scared and intrigued. Helga said she could sense Yhalis’ feelings which made little sense to her at the time, but will by the end of this story.

One day, Helga asked Yhalis her name. Helga knew Yhalis could understand her and theorized that dragons could talk (she had published an anonymous paper on this very topic which continues to be hotly debated as to its veracity today (in the year 2004!). [this note had been scratched out and the year had been updated an obscene number of times]. Hilarious to know that dragons can talk and most scholars find Helga’s paper to be the unfounded ramblings of a lunatic. She would get a laugh out of that.)

Yhalis did not answer for a long time. Then, in a lilting feminine voice (Helga found it important that I understood how her voice sounded so little like how one might imagine a dragon to speak), the dragon said, “Yhalis.”

It was another month before Helga climbed onto Yhalis’ back and became the first dragon rider. Helga would not provide me much information about this. All she divulged was that she fit perfectly, as if she was meant to be there.

Over the course of three months, Helga and Yhalis got to know one another.

As Yhalis told Helga more about dragon society—which was strictly forbidden—Helga learned of the difficulties dragons were having across the world when it came to procreation and poaching. Helga knew of the poaching problems—they were worse than ever. But she was unaware that dragons had procreation issues. The main issue being that both dragons had to be in heat in order to conceive, which was a rare occurrence outside of bonded mates (an equally rare occurrence). Helga immediately started to think of potential solutions to these problems.

All the while, she and Yhalis grew close. Very close. Concerningly close for a human and a dragon, I might add. Helga knew she loved Yhalis and Yhalis loved her. But there was nothing beyond their emotional love because their bodies were not compatible. When Helga revealed she was in love with a dragon to me, I did not believe her. It was not until I saw them together that I realized it to be true—but I’m getting ahead of myself.

One day, several months after meeting one another, Yhalis asked why Helga would not just transform herself into a dragon and live with her. Helga explained the limitations of her metamorphagus abilities. Full creatures were impossible to transform into, which is why she only ever attempted features instead of a complete transformation. Attempting to do so might drain her magic and kill her. Also, animagi dragons were not possible—animagi could only be non-magical creatures.

But Helga was not deterred. She thought there might be a way to solve the dragon’s procreation problems and her and Yhalis’ inter-species issues at the same time. Helga was determined to find a way to transform herself into a dragon.

She spent years in New Zealand with Yhalis. They made their own den and Helga had a study area set up in it. She passed long days and nights researching and experimenting. Yhalis spent years convincing her horde that Helga deserved to live amongst them.

They were both successful, eventually.

Yhalis brought Helga to the horde for the first time three years after meeting her. The horde were uncomfortable around the human, but none dared attack Helga. They knew her importance to Yhalis. They were mates—though none understood how. Human-dragon mates were unheard of. Not possible. Except they were. It was plain as day.

Helga explained the ritual she had theorized. It was runic in nature, calling on ancient magics. When the runes were combined with human and dragon blood, and the enchantment spoken, the human would become half-human, half-dragon. This new hybrid species could mate with humans or dragons and their children would be dragons. But they were not limited to mating every few years when a dragon would be in heat—humans could mate on a monthly basis. The hybrids’ increased ability to procreate would increase the dragon population. It was also meant to foster more respect between the two species.

The dragons debated her proposal for weeks.

They did not wish to join with humans—humans were evil to them. They did not wish to taint their bloodlines (dragons are purists and will not even mate across other dragonkind—though it is unknown if they can in the first place). But the dragons were dying and without a solution in a few generations, they may be gone.

Eventually, the horde agreed, with a big caveat. Helga had to convince the other hordes around the world before she could make others into hybrids. But she could transform herself into this new species, the Dracun before she did so. Because Yhalis was her mate, the dragons saw no repercussions of Helga becoming a dragon—they could not procreate. Helga would simply join the horde. She had lived in their proximity for enough years now that the horde knew she had no ill-intent. It helped that they could read her mind.

The ritual was undertaken. The runes were drawn. The dragons were gathered. The blood was spilled under the full moon; Helga’s and Pyla’s blood (Pyla was Yhalis’ trusted friend). All present joined in on the chant. The dragons spoke it in their ancient language and Helga spoke in in Latin.

In a burst of searing pain, Helga became a dragon. She describes the transformation as the worst pain to exist in the world. But Helga did not regret it. She was a dragon. She was unlike the others—not an Opaleye, but a Welsh Green. They do not know why she manifested as a completely different dragon, since it was Pyla’s blood magic that had imbued her own. We still do not understand and can only hypothesize that your dragon form is the dragon species you are most like.

Helga told me that she lost herself for a while. She could not remember her children. Her former life. Her self. All she knew was her dragon form and Yhalis. Yhalis had to remind her for it to come back to her. Once Helga realized who she was, she was able to transform back into her human shape with ease. Though, she spent most of her time as a dragon.

Helga passed several months getting to know her new body, learning to hunt, and spending time with her new mate. They completed the bonding ritual and were truly inseparable after that.  

Once Helga was strong enough, she, Yhalis and Pyla began their slow journey around the world to parlay with the other dragon hordes. It would be impossible to meet them all, especially since dragons were so secretive.

When they entered a new region, they would call a dragon-meet and dragons flew in from all areas. Helga and Yhalis would explain Helga’s proposal. They spent weeks with each horde, slowly convincing them they were right.

However, no horde outright agreed. They all remained on the fence, wanting to see what the others would say. As it stood, very few saw the need for the ritual to happen—while dragon poaching had been at an all time high, years ago when Helga met Yhalis, it had tapered quite a bit due to a massive increase in the bubonic plague around the world. Dragons were not as threatened as they used to be. They also had questions as to which families would be blessed with dragon powers. How could they be trusted?

Years passed with Helga, Yhalis, Pyla (and others who joined their unique inter-species horde) flying around the world and debating with dragons.

Finally, Helga returned to England and assumed her human shape for the first time in ages. Discouraged by the dragons’ lacklustre support, she went for a drink in the pub. And she ran into an old friend, Nicolas Flamel. That’s right. Me! She was shocked to see how young I looked and I explained my experiments with the alchemist’s stone.

Helga, drunk, confessed what she had been up to the past decade. I immediately demanded to see her dragon form, because how else could I believe her story, impressive witch or not. Helga told me to meet her in Wales the next morning and she transformed before my eyes into a massive green dragon! Her mate joined her, staring me down with her eerie pupil-less eyes, but not attacking me. I consider myself lucky to this day to remain living after having multiple encounters with dragons.

Helga and I talked for a few days about her dilemma—she knew that the Dracun would help the dragons, if not in this generation, then in the future. She also knew that dragons would be unlikely to listen to any human on the matter and the only reason she had tepid support from them now was that she appeared to be a dragon herself.

I ingeniously proposed a solution—imbue powerful magical bloodlines with the Dracun genetics. Leave it dormant to be activated one day in the future, when dragonkind needed it most.

We spent long nights debating which families would be selected and from where. Eventually, it was Helga who had the brilliant idea of taking the dragons’ greatest threat and turning it in their favour.

Dragons do not kill for sport, as humans do. By making the families that poached dragons part-dragon, it would stop them from poaching entirely; their magical cores would be fundamentally opposed to it.

The ritual was not difficult per se, but it does require those with very strong magical cores, and a unique dragon per human. Armed with this new plan, Helga’s Horde took to the skies (I stayed put in England and continued tinkering away with my experiments) and made their way across the world again, explaining the new plan. The dragons reluctantly agreed. They saw the benefits if they were menaced again as they were a decade before and it did not require the Dracun to exist for several generations—or at all, unless they were needed. There were also troublesome rumours that muggles had invented fire power that seemed like it might be able to actually harm dragons. This was another factor in their support of the Dracun.

It was however, far more difficult to find volunteers to make the Dracun. Helga was unsure if she could create Dracun or not, since she was not fully dragon. But even with her volunteering, they only had seven dragons who stepped forward. While the rest agreed with the plan—shockingly—no others were willing to give humans part of their magic. A dragon’s magic is deeply personal and the dragon would be forever connected to the human they imbued.

The dragon volunteers comprised of a Welsh Green (Helga), an Opaleye (Yhalis), a Chinese Fireball (Xaeya), a Norwegian Ridgeback (Rüb), a Hungarian Horntail (this had been shocking, given how standoffish the Horntails were known to be—this one was named Jop, if I remember correctly), a Swedish Short Snout (Marjatta), and a Hebridean Black (another surprising addition named Drogo). Each dragon would be matched with a human. The theory was that at the very least, the dragon blood magic would multiply as the generations went on, and from these seven humans, hundreds of Dracun might exist in the future.

 They decided to perform the ritual in England. It was where most of the dragon hunters came from—even though they went around the world to commit their bloody deeds. While Helga was out convincing dragons and growing her horde, I was busy compiling names of the worst offenders.

She returned and I gave her my list: Shacklebolt, Weasley, Malfoy, Longbottom, Nott, Shafiq, Black. Helga was pleased with the list, especially since she had always hated Armand Malfoy III. I argued that sticking to the noble blood purist lines meant that the odds of magical descendants were increased, since magical descendants were required for the Dracun to manifest.

The ritual was completed with little build up. We abducted our targets on the next full moon and brought everyone to the Welsh mountains. The Greens had agreed to host the ritual. They are a kind dragon species. I have set up my lab here so that I may gaze upon them from time to time and be reminded of my friend, Helga, and the promise I made to her.

In a valley (this valley, where you are reading this journal—unless you took it from the valley and are reading it elsewhere, I suppose) with a recently abandoned castle—the Greens were nice, but when humans start to encroach on territory, they made it clear who it belonged to—the ritual took place.

The unconscious humans were paired with their dragons. Helga chose Malfoy. She felt he deserved to be experimented on more than the others, since they did not know what her Dracun magic would do.

I watched on; the only human present who was not about to be cursed—not that Helga viewed it as a curse. I would say it constitutes a blood curse but Helga does not appreciate the negative connotation.

I count myself very lucky to be privy to a dragon ritual. It was a sight to behold. So many dragons in one place and not one trying to murder me!

The ritual proceeded with no hiccup. The humans were imbued with dragon magic and latent transformation runes. The only difference was that the chant was not spoken. The magic remained dormant in their blood. When the ritual finished and the humans’ memories were erased for good measure. They were returned to their homes with little fuss with the help of yours truly.

Helga told me she checked in on Malfoy over the years to see if her unique Dracun magic had a different impact on him—but there was no way to know. The others likewise showed no signs of any sort of transformation. But they did stop hunting dragons immediately. In fact, Weasley went on a bit of a campaign that decreased the popularity of the sport. So, we assumed the ritual had worked.

Helga made sure to give me an exact accounting of the ritual and the activation chant (detailed in the following pages). She knew I would live for several hundred years, thanks to my magical stone. If the need for the Dracun arose while I was still alive, I would say the chant and wake them. If I were to die first, we made a backup plan. We came up with a series of runes and applied them to me. They were set to activate Helga’s dragon bloodline upon my death, or in other words, the Malfoy bloodline.

The dragons likewise wove the story of the Dracun into their myths and legends to be passed on for generations to come—they could activate the Dracun at any point in time. Though, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, they have not. I have to assume the story quickly became myth and the dragons do not even believe it themselves.

Helga and Yhalis spent their golden years happily together. The dragon threat greatly diminished. I saw my friend rarely, but knew she was out in the world, spreading her wings with her chosen mate. I often worried of Helga’s children, who she visited only once a year on Christmas. They were never told the truth and it has always weighed on my heart to know that they do not understand their mother’s abrupt distancing from their lives.

One day, about two decades after the ritual, I was jolted awake by a feeling in my chest. A great sorrow. I made my way out to my balcony in my countryside manor and found myself face to face with Yhalis.

A deep sadness rolled off of her.

In all the years I had known Yhalis, she had never spoken to me. None of the dragons had. The closest I got was when they chanted the ritual in unison.

She spoke then. Her voice was softer than I expected, and oddly feminine for a dragon. Helga had been right in her description; her voice was jolting.

“Helga has passed,” Yhalis mourned. “I will fly into the twilight shortly. You must keep your promise,” Yhalis insisted. “Promise me now. You will activate the Dracun when they are needed—or when you die.”

“I promise, Yhalis,” I swore solemnly. My heart ached for my old friend, now gone from the world. I was in for a lifetime of loss—such is the life of the undying.

Yhalis opened her fearsome jaws and blew warm smoke across my body from head to toe. “It is done. You cannot break this promise. Goodbye, Nico. Helga loved you. She asked me to thank you for everything. And tell her children…she loved them and she is sorry.”

Yhalis took to the skies without further comment. She disappeared into the night. I stared at where she flew off, crying in the silent night.

*

The Ritual

Okay, here are the important bits. There could be several hundred of you in existence right now, but none are activated but you. Those with the blood curse will only need to hear the chant below to manifest their dracun form.

Those who are being created from scratch will need to follow all our steps below.

Here is the ritual. It is simple, but it is blood magic. Do not underestimate its power.

1. You need a dragon who has not imbued another. You need a magical human—the stronger their magic, the better.
2. Under the full moon—true full moon, not almost full. Make sure to do the calculations correctly—the ritual will happen.
3. You draw these runes in blood. You take the dragon’s blood and draw the runes on the human. You take the human blood and draw the runes on the dragon. Do not make mistakes. Do not let it drip too much; the runes must be legible and maintain their shape.
4. You chant this seven times: Humani corporis mutatio ad dracun*. Dracun* nascor. Dracun* exsucito.

*If you are only making one Dracun, the chant is Draca. If you are making more than one, the chant is Dracun.

That is it. The Dracun should transform into a Dracun immediately.

Helga told me to remind you to go forth into the world and create more Dracun. It is the future of dragonkind.

*

Draco flipped through Nico’s ramblings, some helpful others not. He landed on his final entry, dated three years ago. Draco frowned. If he wasn’t wrong, it was the day Draco had gone missing. Draco had had trouble pinning down the day he became a dragon. But his last human memory was his birthday.

June 5, 2004

My time is coming to its end. I know it. My beloved passed several years ago without the stone. But still, I hold on. I think it is my promise to Yhalis and Helga. Nonetheless, my body weakens. I will pass soon. Very soon. I also have bad news of a threat facing dragons. Just rumours. But poaching seems to be on the rise again. And I heard of something about dragon’s being altered—it was whispered in a shady Knockturn bar and all my attempts at investigating it have turned up nothing. But you must know. It could be important. It is up to you now. Good luck. And remember that it was love that was used to bring the Dracun into the world. May love continue to protect all of dragonkind.

- Nico Flamel

*

Draco rifled through the earlier passages making note of the similarities and differences between dragons and Dracun. By and large they seemed to be identical, except for their procreation process, which mirrored humans. Because Helga had mated a female dragon, it was unknown how Dracun offspring would gestate or mature. But she and Nico had left theories in his notes as well.

Draco remained in Nico’s lab for a few hours, taking in all the information he could from his notebook.

Chapter Text

Early June, 2007

Draco scoured Nico’s secret lab and was happy to find a set of too big clothes. He pulled on Nico’s ill-fitting clothing and felt more like a human than he had in literal years. It was comforting. He wondered if his clothing would be destroyed when he shifted to dragon form. He didn’t want to test it, since he had no other clothes. Draco also found a large leather bag that he slung over his shoulder.

Draco closed the door to Nico’s lab and felt a pulse of magic. He assumed it had locked itself. He wandered back to his den and was again pulled to the wool bed by Hermione’s scent. It was late, so he curled up in the middle of the massive pallet, his nose pressed to where she normally slept and fell into a fitful sleep.

*

Draco awoke to a stormy day, the rain droplets bouncing off of his wards above his head. He made quick work of gathering some gold from his lair. He found a small dagger and used it to cut out a portion of the wool bed. He felt like an absolute creep—but he needed the smell of her. It soothed him; leaving the den was making anxiety mount in his chest. Draco stuffed the bundle of wool into his overfull satchel.

Taking a look around at his massive cavern, Draco felt sad leaving it behind. It had been his home for as long as he could remember. At least he now knew why he had ended up there: Nico’s diary had told him that the runes would draw Draco to Nico, or wherever Nico’s runes were.

Draco removed Nico’s clothing and stuffed that into his bag as well. He had no way to apparate without a wand (well, he could chance it with his dragon magic, but that felt unnecessarily risky as a first attempt at wandless human magic). So, he shifted into his dragon form, grasped his now very light satchel in his claws and took to the skies. Draco re-set his wards, making them more powerful. No one except he and Hermione could enter now. Wishful thinking on his part that she would ever return to see him.

Draco flew to Wiltshire. Something in him knew exactly where to go and it turned out to be a not too long flight. Only four hours or so. Draco took his time. His wing had been completely healed by Hhfra, the Verdes’ healer. But he was not in a rush to return home. He needed to think through what he would say.

He assumed his mother was alive. He hoped she was. He also assumed she was still in Wiltshire. In the back of his mind, he could sense the wards were still functioning. Draco had not lived at the Manor for a while, but it made the most sense for his re-introduction to human society. The surrounding area was deserted and he could easily fly in, unlike his London flat that he shared with Theo…If Theo still lived there.

Draco enjoyed the wind beneath his wings and relished in the water bouncing off of them. He had not lied when he said he liked the feeling of the rain while he flew. It was exhilarating. And it meant he did not need to bathe. That thought made Draco realize he had not had a shower in years. He looked forward to the ridiculous baths at the manor.

Draco felt the pull to his ancestral home in his bones, as he always did upon reaching the manor. He fell into a sharp descent, his wings drawn close to his body, exhilarated by the rushing wind. He knew Hermione would hate it and laughed to himself at her fear of flying.

Draco landed in the wildflower field two acres from the manor. Upon landing, he shifted into his human form and pulled on his terrible clothing from the satchel.

Within moments a quiet pop sounded beside him and he was staring at the owlish eyes of his house elf, Mippy. Mippy blinked at him rapidly, then burst into tears. She flung herself at Draco, grabbing onto his rough-hewn trouser leg and sobbing inconsolably.

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. “Mippy. It’s good to see you.”

“Mr. Draco is alive!” she cried.

Another pop and another house elf was flung onto his other leg, their sobs loud over the rain. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Four more house elves were wrapped around him, howling and wailing. Draco was frozen awkwardly.

Not sure how to get out of this one, he was shocked when a louder pop sounded and he was suddenly staring at his mother’s face. She looked older. Still immaculate, blond, petite, blue-eyed, but tired. Draco grinned as he saw her.

Narcissa stood in her casual robes that never saw the exterior of her bed chamber. She stared at him for two long heartbeats, the elves wailing in the background. Then she crossed the few feet to him and pulled him decisively into her arms. Narcissa joined the weeping. Draco felt tears roll down his face as well.

He had not realized how much he missed her.

After they were all completely soaked, Narcissa pulled back and looked up at him intently. Draco noted that he was taller than the last time he had seen her. He wondered how much he had grown as a result of the Dracun blood manifesting.

Narcissa took him in. “You’re alright? You’re not hurt? You’re—oh, Merlin. Draco!” she sobbed again and pulled him back into a hug. The elves were still wailing against his legs.

Finally, Draco said, “Mother, can we move inside…I’m getting soaked out here.”

Narcissa pulled back and held onto his hands. “Yes, dear. Yes. Of course. I have so many questions. But you’re. You’re alive.” Her eyes were red and puffy. Draco had never seen her so unkempt. Not even when Lucius got the Kiss. “Come,” she said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”

“I don’t have a wand.”

Narcissa frowned. “No matter. We have spares. I’ll apparate you into the Manor, then?”

Draco gripped her hand tightly and nodded. The sobbing elves came along for the ride. It took much longer to convince them to release him.

Narcissa couldn’t get a sentence out. She just kept looking at him, then weeping and pulling him into hugs. She forced him to eat the cakes that sat in their parlor on the off chance they had company. Draco was not complaining. He loved the cakes at the manor and he was hungry from his flight.

She dried him with a wave of her wand and sent the elves to prepare a bath for him and find him some more appropriate clothes.

They remained silent for a long time. She didn’t ask him anything. She just stared, and smiled, and wept.

Draco hugged her tightly before going to bathe. She was very reluctant to release him.

He walked the familiar path to his rooms. They were as he had left them when he moved out. The dark green walls were bare and sombre, his bed was massive and empty, the overstuffed leather arm chair sat near the massive French doors leading to his private balcony. The bathroom was larger than Draco remembered. His clawfoot tub must have been extended to fit his increased height, because it looked huge.

He grinned as he sank into it. The rest of the room looked the same: a cream marble floor and walls dashed with hints of real gold. A massive gilded mirror. A shower with a glass door and deep green tiles. A toilet that was imported from Japan.

Draco showered and scrubbed at his skin thoroughly. Satisfied that he was clean for the first time in years, Draco luxuriated in the bath for a long time. It was truly divine. He really had not realized how much he missed these simple human comforts.  

He looked in the mirror curiously.

Draco tilted his head this way and that. He looked more or less the same. His hair had oddly not grown in length (that he could tell). He had not thought about his hair while he had been with the horde. He had facial hair; it looked like a few days’ worth. Draco did not have much facial hair normally. He wondered if while he had amnesia, his human form had remained in a sort of stasis.

Draco picked up the razor and removed the hair from his face. He always thought he looked better clean shaven.

He examined the rest of his body. He was more muscular than his last memory, especially his arms. He remained lean, but he had never looked quite so toned in his life. Draco smirked. His body was in peak condition.

He pulled on the clothing the elves left for him on his counter. They were simple black trousers, and a button up. They were slightly snug with Draco’s new muscles, but still fit. He checked himself out in the mirror and smirked again. Draco ran his hands through his wet hair. He looked good.

He hoped Hermione would think so.

His stomach dropped. Draco still had no plan for a) finding her, and b) convincing her to be with him. If she refused him…he would die.

He tried not to dwell on that and rejoined his mother in the parlor. Mippy walked him there, silent tears rolling down her wrinkled cheeks.

“Mippy is so pleased Mr. Draco is alive,” she hiccupped. “Mrs. Narcissa was so sad. We knew Mr. Draco was alive somewhere, but we could not sense you. Until two weeks ago. Even then, you kept disappearing. We did not want to tell the mistress in case we were wrong.”

Draco did not know how to reassure the elf. “I’m glad to be home,” is what he settled on.

“We are so glad to have you back, Mr. Draco. Will you stay here or will you return to Mr. Theo?”

Draco pushed his wet hair back. “Is Theo still in our flat, then?” he asked.

Mippy nodded, flopping her ears. “Mr. Theo is very sad without Mr. Draco. But he keeps the apothecary going.” Draco was glad to hear the business was still running at least.

With a jolt, Draco realized he had left his bag of gold along with Nico’s journal in the wildflower field. He asked Mippy if she would be kind enough to get it for him. The elf disappeared with a pop.

Draco re-entered the parlor and Narcissa was overcome again. She pulled him into another teary hug. It was only when they were seated in the small dining room, Draco being served far too much food for a single person, that Narcissa finally asked him the question on everyone’s lips.

“What happened?”

Draco remembered Huma’s words of caution about revealing his true form. But he knew this did not apply to his mother. It could not. He could not leave her in the dark like that.

“I’m half-dragon,” Draco replied bluntly. He dug into his meat pie while Narcissa gaped at him.

Draco slowly explained the story to her while he made his way through his overladen plate (he devoured his food with less grace than usual, delighted by all the spices and flavours). She seemed to be taking it well, after her initial shock.

“The legends are true?”

It was Draco’s turn to gape at her. “You knew? How?”

Narcissa patted her lips with her napkin, dabbing away the non-existent food crumbs. “There has been a rumour. A family one. For generations. I did not believe it…”

“On which side?”

“Mine,” she explained. “We used to be fierce dragon hunters. Then one day, we stopped. There were rumours the dragons cursed us. Cursed our bloodline. And, it appears to be true. You’re…you’re cursed.”

“Well…I would prefer to not think of it that way.” Draco recounted what had actually happened, sharing Helga and Nico’s stories. At the end, Draco had finished his meal.

“Will you show me?” Narcissa asked quietly.

Draco nodded. “Yes. But I should digest more. I have never transformed well after a meal.”

“And so…this whole time…why did you not come home?”

Draco filled her in on his amnesia, on how Dracun can lose their sense of selves without someone there to guide them during the transition. He also (awkwardly) explained the situation with Hermione.

“…and we believe she is my mate,” Draco informed her, his gaze on the pie before him (the elves refused to stop feeding him but he was already sickly full).

“M-mate? Hermione Granger. Your—Merlin.” Narcissa took a deep breath. “And what does that mean?”

Draco fiddled with his fork. He itched for a wand again. “We must be together. Or I will die.”

Narcissa clutched her metaphorical pearls (“pearls are so last decade, Draco, I would never be caught wearing those in the 2000s!”). “No,” she replied, as if ordering him to stay alive. Narcissa added, “You’ve not seen her for two weeks at this point, and you are fine.”

Draco shrugged. “I do not know how long I have. I am the first of my kind. Well, technically the second. But Helga’s been dead for centuries, so she doesn’t have much helpful advice. Anyway, we don’t know how long I can go without cementing the bond or being apart from her. Right now, I am fine. But I might get sick or…weak. I don’t know. I need to find her and—”

“Well, that’s easy enough,” Narcissa cut him off. “She works for Rolf Scamander at the Society for the Protection of Endangered and Rare Magical Creatures. Terrible abbreviation.”

Draco laughed when he realized it spelled out SPERM(c). Of course, Hermione worked for a company named sperm. How ridiculous. He thought fondly of her house elf endeavour named spew. What a strange woman she was.

Narcissa continued on, “They have a charity gala next week. We have tickets. Well. I have a ticket and a plus one. You’ll come with me, of course.”

Draco’s heart pounded in response. It was that easy to find her. But he wanted to see her before then. He did not know how he would react to her presence and being at an event with hundreds of other people might not be the best first attempt. Narcissa agreed. While Draco digested, they hatched a plan.

Narcissa would owl SPERMc saying she had a large donation to make and wanted to discuss the details over with Hermione. Hermione was in charge of the fundraising department when she was not in the field—how Narcissa knew so much about her baffled Draco, but his mother knew everything about everyone (that’s why her hair was so big, it was full of secrets). So, he didn’t question it much.

Hermione would come to the manor. Draco would speak to her.

Except Draco had no clue what he would say to her. But it gave him the chance to see her alone. And he desperately needed that.

Draco went outside with his mother. The rain had abated. He moved far away from her and told her not to worry. A few house elves joined for his demonstration. He told them not to share what they were about to see with anyone beyond his mother.

Draco summoned the magic within him and let it snap free of its cage. He shifted into his dragon form. Narcissa shrieked. The house elves cowered. Draco remained as still as he could, letting them get acclimated to his fearsome presence. Eventually, Narcissa’s heart rate slowed. She approached him and cautiously placed a hand on Draco’s snout. Draco leaned into her.

“See, not so bad,” Draco said to her mentally.

Narcissa jumped and looked around. “Is that…you?”

“Yes, mother.”

“You sound…different.”

“I am different,” Draco responded. Though, that fact interested him deeply—how different did he sound? “I’ll change back now.”

Draco shifted and was relieved to note that his clothing was still upon him. He had no plan if it had disappeared. He supposed his magic must have kept it in existence. He would not pretend to understand. Hermione would have tons of theories.

He sighed.

“And Miss Granger saw you in this form and was not afraid?” Narcissa asked, confused.

Draco shrugged. “She does work with magical creatures for a living. She was a bit afraid. Only at the beginning or if I was being aggressive. Even then, she did not react as most would…you’re taking this all rather well. Are you sure you’re okay, mother?”

Narcissa nodded limply. “Yes. Yes. It is…it is a lot. But the important thing is that you are alive and…I really must send that owl. We need Miss Granger here as soon as possible. You cannot…” Narcissa trailed off, her mind far away.

“And it doesn’t bother you that it’s…her?”

Narcissa turned her attention back to Draco. “No, dear. Miss Granger is intelligent. She has potential in the beauty department—” Draco couldn’t help his grunt of disapproval; Hermione was gorgeous. “And, she has developed society manners over the years. She is an excellent match.”

Draco pulled his mother into another hug (they weren’t normally so touchy-feely but the reunion had them both out of sorts). He had been worried she was still harbouring blood supremacist thoughts. He was ecstatic that she was not.

They spent the evening together. Narcissa helped Draco come up with a cover for his prolonged absence from magical society. Only she and Hermione could know the truth. Draco disliked this greatly because he wanted Theo to know. Theo knew everything about him.

They had gotten much closer after Draco’s time in Azkaban. Theo hadn’t committed any crimes (like becoming a Death Eater or attempting to murder one’s headmaster) during the war and their close friendship had been marred by Draco choosing the Death Eaters. When it was clear Draco had made a mistake, Theo had taken him back with open arms, no questions. The man had helped him through very dark times following the war. Draco owed Theo his life.

Narcissa and Draco decided to settle close to the truth. It would make the lie easier.

It goes as follows: The Black bloodline had a blood curse. (There were rumours about one already, might as well capitalize.) It manifested in Draco after his 24^th birthday and he was incapacitated while in the woods looking for aconite. He was found by muggles who took him to a hospital. He stayed in long term care, in a coma for three years. He awoke out of the blue and they’re not sure why. Draco is now being looked at by healers from around the globe but appears to be fine. He is excited to rejoin the magical world and would be donating a hefty sum to the muggle hospital that kept him alive.

Narcissa had even drafted a letter to the Prophet. Though, the duo held off on sending it until after Draco met with Hermione. He figured if the meeting went horribly, he might die from her rejection and it didn’t make much sense to tell the Prophet he was alive only to disappear again. Narcissa didn’t enjoy his reasoning, but did not owl the letter which Draco knew meant she agreed with his assessment.

They parted for sleep. Draco thought Narcissa might ask to sleep in his room with him. She was extremely clingy. He could not blame her—he had disappeared for three years.

Draco dropped into his freshly made bed and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Hermione leading him through a hedge maze.

*

Hermione’s letter arrived in the morning. Draco took it from her owl and found himself smelling it for her scent. She smells so good.

Hermione agreed to meet Narcissa for tea the following day.

He spent the time leading up to the meeting trying to figure out what to say to her, filling his mother in on his life as a Dracun, and trying to find a wand that would work well with him (the latter of which was proving less than successful). Narcissa spent as much time with Draco as possible.

Narcissa was interested in understanding his lost time, but he could see the difference between a dragon enthusiast like Hermione and his mother. His mother only asked questions about if he got hurt or if were alone. Hermione asked endless questions about everything and would cause Draco to reflect on things he had not even considered.

The day of the tea, Draco was a ball of anxiety. He had to remain outdoors for most of the morning for fear he might transform at any second. Narcissa set the tea to be in the garden so that were he to transform on the spot, Draco would not bring the house down around them.

Narcissa had advised Draco to just tell Hermione the truth. Draco did not want to corner her with that information. Hermione knew that if she rejected him, he would die. Telling her they were mates would remove a lot of choice from her—which Draco did not like. (Draco assumed she would accept the bond just because she did not want to be responsible for his death, which was not ideal when it came to a romantic partner.) Narcissa had no qualms about Hermione’s agency, since all she cared about was her son remaining alive.

Draco also wasn’t sure how to tell Hermione they maybe had slept together—Draco had not told his mother that part. He knew Hermione would not react well. It was neither of their faults. They both thought they were in a bizarre sex dream. Everyone had weird sex dreams now and again. But it was very possible they were not dreaming…

Fuck, Draco groaned internally.

He went to his room to inspect himself in the mirror for the tenth time that morning. He was dressed in a crisp navy-blue muggle suit with a white button up and dragon wing cufflinks (they were a gift from his mother years ago—ironic now). His hair had taken a while to tame with his new and unfamiliar wand, but it sat just how he liked it, slightly raised from his head and push to the back and side, a wave to it. Draco wore his shined leather shoes. He had disposed of everything he owned that was dragon hide since it felt incredibly morbid to wear it now.

Draco checked his pocket watch and hurried outside. He waited (impatiently) in the garden, seated like a gentleman.

He played with his cufflinks.

The seconds ticked by.

He inspected the roses.

Still, she had not arrived.

He examined his finger nails.

Suddenly, he sensed her appear in the receiving room’s floo. Draco’s head snapped in her direction, as if he could see her through the manor. His body tingled and his dragon form pushed to be set free. Draco tamped down on that. He could hear her and his mother conversing politely as they made their way to the garden (agonizingly slowly in Draco’s opinion).

Then, she was there.

Draco stared at her openly. She was dressed beautifully. She wore a pink summer wrap dress, her hair was down, her curls cascading down her back. Her face remained natural—no speck of makeup, her freckles stood out in the sun. Draco’s eyes landed on hers from the twenty feet separating them.

Narcissa froze, waiting to see what would happen.

Hermione also froze upon seeing him. Her fingers twitched. She relaxed after a few heartbeats. Draco remained ramrod straight and to his horror, turned on. He shifted artfully in his seat as the silence stretched on.

“Miss Granger, you remember my son, Draco?”

Hermione nodded, her eyes still fastened to his. She stepped toward Draco and the moment of tension dissipated. “Are you joining us for tea, Malfoy?” she asked.

Draco gulped. Audibly.

She was so beautiful. How did he think he could survive this tea?

He did not respond. His mother, the dear, answered for him.

“Yes, Draco was interested in hearing about how the funds will be used. You know he has a special interest in werewolves.”

Hermione inclined her head. “Yes, of course. Nott you Average Apothecary.” She smiled and Draco stopped breathing. “I always liked the name. I assume Theo came up with it.”

Draco was still not breathing.

Narcissa answered for him again. “Theodore has quite the sense of humor.” Narcissa gently touched Draco’s shoulder and he took in a ragged breath.

Hermione shot him a strange look. Her face was flushed. He wondered why. Maybe she was embarrassed for him. He wished he was in his dragon form so he could read her mind. His enhanced senses only seemed to extend as far as hearing and smell. He could hear her heartbeat and it was faster than most people’s ought to be. She was playing it off well, though. Hermione outwardly appeared calm. Her smell was rich and intoxicating. Draco shifted in his seat again.

“Malfoy, I wasn’t aware you were…” Hermione cleared her throat.

“Alive?” Draco supplied, speaking for the first time.

Hermione let out a stunned laugh. “Yeah.”

Narcissa took over, since Draco was absolutely failing. “Draco was ill. Very ill. It is a long story involving a blood curse and well-intentioned muggles. He has only recently recovered and returned home.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. She cast an assessing gaze over his body. “Glad to hear you’ve recovered. What blood curse?” she asked.

Narcissa seemed surprised with Hermione’s question, but Draco knew she would immediately want all the information available. “We won’t bore you with the details. It has to do with my family’s bloodline. It knocked him into a coma. But he appears to have recovered now. Gave us all a fright,” Narcissa replied smoothly.

Hermione stared at him assessingly. “I could help if you’re still looking for a healer,” she offered kindly. “I’m not the best, but I’ve done some work recently,” Draco barely refrained from saying that he knew, seeing as he was the one she had healed, “and I have a lot of connections around the world.”

Narcissa smiled broadly. “How very kind of you, Miss Granger. We will follow up if our healers do not return satisfactory results.” Narcissa glanced at Draco, who remained staring at Hermione like a creep.

Hermione nodded. She pulled a notebook from thin air and a purple pen. Draco watched her hands thumb through the pages, entirely distracted by her. She and his mother talked together with ease—they had clearly spent time together before. The elves served them tea, then Hermione dived in, asking what they wanted the funds to be used for.

Narcissa gave Draco ample opportunity to speak, but he kept flubbing it. She took over when it was clear he could not get more than two words out. Hermione sent him a few glances of confusion, but did not question his behaviour openly.

After about fifteen minutes of Narcissa explaining the importance of establishing a shelter with appropriate clothing, his mother pointedly excused herself. Behind Hermione’s back, Narcissa pointed at her with a bony finger and mouthed “tell her!” before briskly walking away.

Hermione fidgeted with her notebook and Draco was immediately reminded on their time in his cavern. He fought his dragon magic which tried to snap out of its cage again.

“So…how long have you been back for? I haven’t heard anything in the Prophet.”

Draco cleared his throat. He could do this. Just act normal. “A few days. I haven’t yet made a public appearance. Very few know I am home.” Draco almost sighed in relief—it was the most words he had said since she arrived.

Hermione crossed her legs, revealing more of them through the slit where the two halves of the skirt of her dress came together. Draco noticeably stared. She followed his gaze and uncrossed her legs again, pulling her dress to cover her bare leg.

Draco was blushing. So was she. He expected her to cuss him out or something, but she remained silent.

Draco scratched at his nose. “How—uh—how are you?” he asked eloquently.

Hermione’s brown eyes connected with his. “I’m…well?”

“Why was that a question?”

“Why are you asking about me?” she tossed back.

“That’s the polite thing to do, Granger.”

“And since when are you polite?” Her eyebrows were raised, but her tone was light.

Draco thought she might be…teasing him? “I am a perfect gentleman,” he responded.

Hermione scoffed. “You might be better these days, but a gentleman…I don’t know about that.”

“I’ve been perfectly polite since you arrived.”

“You’ve barely said two words. And you’ve been leering at me the whole time.”

“L-leering? I’m not leering.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m not a naïve school girl anymore, Malfoy. I know when a man is checking me out.”

“I…” Draco had no good response for that. He had been checking her out. Extremely obviously. Who could blame him? She was perfection. And she remained in good health, which had been a concern of his the longer he went without seeing her. He worried she had fallen ill or been wounded in her extremely dangerous line of work.

Hermione crossed her arms. “Listen, I like your mother. Don’t be a prat. Let’s just finish this chat about werewolves, then I’ll be on my way. We can pretend you never stared at my legs and I can pretend I never noticed.”

That was not even a little bit what Draco wanted. “I’m sorry,” he tried. “That was rude of me. I’ve been…asleep for three years. You’re the first woman I’ve seen who is not my mother.”

She did not seem impressed by that statement either. He supposed what he said was the equivalent of saying he would stare at any woman, since he was so deprived. He tried again.

“No—I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…” Draco took a deep breath and took the plunge, “you are a beautiful woman. That’s all I mean to say.” Hermione stared at him in shock. Draco was blushing like a school girl now. “And I’m not used to seeing beautiful women. I’m a bit rusty.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, better get un-rusty, Malfoy. The next woman you leer at might not take so kindly to your advances.”

Draco’s heart skipped. “Are you—taking kindly to my advances?”

Hermione laughed. “You’re not like I remember,” was her response which was entirely not helpful whatsoever.

Draco could hear his mother returning. He had said nothing of import to Hermione and he was running out of time. “Uh. Granger. Would you like to…er…go to dinner?”

Hermione was taken aback. “Pardon?”

“Dinner. With me. Would you—like to?”

She blinked at him. “You look taller,” was her response.

“What?”

Then, Narcissa was back. She sat demurely and turned the conversation back to werewolves. Hermione left shortly thereafter, shooting a curious look Draco’s way.

“And?” Narcissa asked when she returned from escorting Hermione out.

Draco was still stunned from the visit. “I-I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t tell her. It…it felt wrong to just say it like that. And she—I was a mess, mother,” Draco admitted. “I asked her to dinner.”

“Oh?” Narcissa was hopeful.

“She said I looked taller.”

“Pardon?”

“That was her response. That I looked taller. She didn’t answer my request.”

“That is odd.” Narcissa poured herself more tea. “But she did not refuse you?”

Draco reflected. “No. She…no, she didn’t.” He smiled tentatively. “Maybe she…actually, she called me out on my staring but she didn’t attack me or anything. She seemed…at the very least neutral toward me. Maybe even…” Draco was too afraid to vocalize it. She had not rebuffed his advances, though she hadn’t accepted them either.

Narcissa smiled. “Well, dear, you are a dashing young gentleman. Perhaps Miss Granger is attracted to you?”

Draco mulled over that for a while. Hermione did think she had a sex dream of him…

“I think I’ll send out the announcement to the Prophet,” Narcissa declared.

Draco took that to mean that Narcissa thought Hermione would accept Draco. Draco wasn’t quite so optimistic, but he did not fight her.

“That means I have to see Theo.”

“No time like the present,” his mother replied, already off to mail her pre-written letter.

Chapter Text

Early June, 2007

Draco didn’t know how he was going to break the news to Theo. He figured Theo would either punch him in the face or hug him so hard he couldn’t breathe. Draco decided to take the plunge, much like with Hermione. Hopefully Theo wouldn’t be nearly as off-topic.

He flooed to the back office of their apothecary in Diagon as he was still a bit afraid to apparate with his new wand. It had not bonded with him and he really needed to get an actual wand if he wanted to attempt any sort of complex magic.

It was midday on a Wednesday. Draco could hear someone talking through the office door. Maybe he should have waited for after hours. He recognized Theo’s voice after a moment and smiled despite himself. He had missed him. He had no clue if he should go interrupt Theo.

Draco’s forehead creased as he heard another male voice. He tried to place it. Before he could, the office door swung open and Draco was staring down the business end of Theo’s wand. Behind him stood Harry Potter, dressed in his Auror robes, likewise pointing a wand at Draco’s heart.

Theo looked as Draco remembered. His curly brown hair fell slightly into his eyes, his skin was pale, but darker than Draco’s, his face strong and angular. Theo’s lean frame looked slightly skinnier than Draco recalled. His hazel eyes were round in shock. Theo wore maroon slacks and a tucked in t-shirt—the man never had a sense of propriety. Especially for a pureblood.

Upon seeing him, Draco felt a strange pull in his chest. Theo stumbled forward a step. He dropped his wand, while Potter still held his aloft, confusion marring his bespectacled face. Theo rubbed his chest as the stare-off continued.

Then, Draco was being pulled into a soul-crushing hug.

“Where the fuck have you been, you tosser?” Theo asked gruffly.

Draco hugged him back fiercely. “It’s a long story. Actually, it’s a short story. But I’d rather not have the audience.”

Theo pulled back and looked Draco in the eyes. The pull in his chest was back. Draco worried his dragon was going to get loose. But it wasn’t that—there was something—

“Malfoy, you’re alive?” Potter asked, his wand finally lowered.

“Appears I am.”

“You left me to manage the shop entirely on my own,” Theo accused. “Left me living on my own too! Had to get your house elf just for the company. And let me tell you, they’re terrible company.”

Draco laughed and pulled Theo into another hug. “I missed you,” Draco admitted to him. He pulled back, his hand resting on Theo’s shoulder. “Potter, do you mind?”

Potter looked between Draco and Theo quizzically. “Yeah. Sorry. Er—glad you’re alive, Malfoy. I’ll—er—see you tomorrow, Nott?”

Draco looked between the men. Why on earth would Theo be hanging out with Potter? Draco pushed that away; it wasn’t pressing.

“Yeah. Tomorrow,” Theo replied, his gaze on Draco as he smiled widely. Potter left the back room. “Let me close the shop.”

Draco followed Theo into the small apothecary. It looked more or less the same. But Theo had painted purple in Draco’s absence. Draco had forbidden him from doing so while he was around. Draco hated to admit the colour gave the perfect level of gloomy, chic-ness that was entirely on brand for them.

Theo flitted to the sign hanging in the door and flipped it to closed. He turned back to Draco. “Alright. Do we need drinks for this conversation or what?”

“Let’s just go…home?”

“Is it still your home if you haven’t lived there in three years?” Theo threw back.

Draco shuffled awkwardly. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

Theo slapped him on the back. “I’m just pulling your leg, Malfoy. Let’s go home. Mippy will be over the moon that you’re alive. Wait a second…” Theo thought for a second. “She’s been gone for two days. She already knows you’re alive, doesn’t she?”

Draco nodded.

“And she didn’t tell me? Talk about a disloyal elf!” Theo harrumphed. He stared at Draco again, his face serious. “Merlin, I missed you.”

Draco followed Theo through the floo into their once shared apartment. Draco looked around curiously while Theo poured them whiskey.

The flat was eerily the same. It was a very large flat; only a penthouse would do for these Sacred 28 bachelors—or so Theo had said. The drawing room had a few expensive couches, the wallpaper gilded and ostentatious (Theo had insisted, Draco hated it). The floo was taller than the average one and suited to the two tall men who lived there. The bar cart matched the gilded wallpaper and was brimming with top shelf bottles. The dark wood floors gleamed, making Draco wonder if Mippy had recently mopped.

“To being alive!” Theo cheersed and they both sipped at their midday whiskey. “So…”

Draco looked at him. He had the lie prepared on the tip of his tongue: He had a blood curse. He was in a coma. Muggles took him into their hospital.

But what came out of his mouth was, “I’m part-dragon.”

Theo blinked at him in silence before bursting into laughter. His laugh healed a hole in Draco’s chest that he hadn’t realized was there. Draco felt that tug again—pulling him right to Theo. He frowned. Theo stopped laughing and rubbed at his chest.

“Did you…did you feel that too?” Draco asked.

Theo’s eyes went suspicious. “Feel what?”

“Like…a tug behind your heart. Toward me?”

“Draco, I love you. But not like that.”

“Shut up. No. Like—a pull.”

“Maybe,” Theo admitted.

Draco remembered something suddenly. “I think. I think you’re like me.” He had forgotten he had read “Nott” as one of the original seven cursed. It was possible that the curse laid dormant in Theo’s blood as well. Though, it was also possible it died out in the bloodline in the past 800 years.

“Draco, stop changing the subject. Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick. And your mother—”

“Yes. I know. Shut up and listen. You’re not going to believe me at first. But…it’s true. I’ll show you.”

Draco recounted his story. Everything. He spared no detail, including Helga’s story, learning to be a dragon, Hermione finding him, and even his dream sex with Hermione. He told Theo she was his mate, he told him how she had visited that morning. He told him the lie he and his mother had constructed. He told Theo everything.

‘So much for keeping it a secret.’ Draco had lasted one second with his best friend. Hopefully he would do better with the general public.

Theo started off with a smile on his lips that slowly faded as Draco continued the story seriously. By the end, Theo just stared at him blankly, his hazel eyes unreadable, his third glass empty.

Finally, “Show me, then,” Theo said.

“We’ll go to the manor. I can’t apparate yet, I need a new wand.”

They flooed. Draco took Theo straight outside, not wasting any time. “Stand back,” he warned.

Theo crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

Draco let his dragon free and Theo stumbled back in fright. Draco could sense his friend’s fear and wished this wasn’t everyone’s first reaction upon seeing his true form. Theo was breathing raggedly. He stared and stared at Draco. The tugging was back. Theo stepped toward him, as if involuntarily.

“You were telling the truth.”

“Yes,” Draco grumbled.

Theo whipped his head around, looking for who had spoken. That was getting old fast.

“I spoke. Draco. In your mind.”

“What the…” Theo took another step closer. “You can talk?”

“I told you dragons can talk.”

Theo took another step. “You’re massive.”

“That’s what she said.”

The men laughed.

Draco shifted back into his human form. “I told you, I’m part-dragon. It’s called Dracun. And…I think you are too.”

“Me?”

“Remember Helga’s story?”

“Right, good old Helga Hufflepuff, the bisexual dragon fucker.”

Draco laughed despite himself. “Why does it matter that she’s bisexual?”

Theo was evasive. “Who said it mattered? I didn’t.”

“Yes, well. She was in love with Yhalis. Their love was pure. Don’t mock it.”

Theo held up his hands. “Sorry. Since when were you a romantic?”

“Since I became part-dragon and have a mate,” Draco deadpanned.

“Fair enough…”

“Anyway, Helga’s original seven that she cursed. It was…damn who was it? I’m in there twice: Malfoy and Black. Double the dragon blood, I guess. Nott was there…Weasley. Oh, Salazar. Does that mean that that entire family is going to become dragons?” Draco groaned. “What a nightmare.”

“Why are you trying to remember? Isn’t it all in that book from Nicolas Flamel?”

Draco clapped him on the shoulder. “See, this is why you’re my best friend.”

They both made their way to Draco’s room where his satchel of treasure sat. Theo sprawled himself across Draco’s bed and eyed the ball of wool with trepidation. “Why do you have a ball of fluff on your bed, Draco?”

Draco blushed. “It’s not…”

“Please don’t tell me that is what I think it is.”

“What do you think it is?”

“A portion of your dragon bed that Hermione Granger’s scent is on.”

“How could you have possibly guessed that?”

Theo shrugged and shifted away from the wool. “Context. You said you slept on a wool bed with her. You are apparently obsessed with her, you’ve mentioned how good she smells at least three times…doesn’t take a lot to connect two and two.”

“Anyways,” Draco grumbled, the journal in hand. He pushed the ball of wool away and sat beside Theo. They read through the entry detailing which families were cursed.

Theo swore. “So, what does this mean? I’m going to turn into a great fire breathing dragon?”

Draco shrugged. “I could try to complete the ritual…but you’ll be out of commission for a while. We should maybe prepare first. Get your things in order. You’ll have to train me on the shop so I can try to keep it running while you’re gone—wait, that won’t work. I’ll have to spend time with you so that you don’t forget yourself…”

“Draco, I’ve hired employees. If you think I run a shop entirely on my own, you must be mad. I like my beauty sleep. We can get Zara and Podrick to cover me. But you’re not wrong, you do need to be retrained on everything. Say you’re right and I’m a Dracun or whatever, how long will it take for me to be able to return to regular society?”

“Nott, you’ve just heard me tell you everything. I have no clue. You know as much as I know.”

“Well, surely not three years.”

“I only took three years because I forgot myself. Once I remembered, it was only two weeks.”

Theo considered that. “Two weeks isn’t horrible. Okay fine. We’ll do the ritual. Once you know how to ring in a customer without assistance.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Theo, don’t act like I know nothing about the business. I helped you run it for three years before I disappeared.”

Theo ignored him. “So, does this mean I have a mate, like you?”

Draco shrugged. “No idea.”

“And so, what is the plan for Hermione anyways?”

Draco fell back onto his bed with a huff. “I don’t know, Theo,” he groaned. “She…I don’t know.”

“How was the sex?” Theo asked with an eyebrow wiggle.

Draco covered his face, then raked his hands through his hair. “Phenomenal.”

“You must be dying. No sex for three years, then only vague maybe-dream sex. Draco Malfoy is in the longest dry spell of his life, ladies and gentleman!”

Draco forgot how annoying Theo was. “Shut up.”

“How do you not know if it actually happened or not?” Theo questioned.

Draco sighed again, his eyes staring vacantly at his ceiling. “Dragons can share dreams with each other. I could have been dreaming.”

“But it felt real?”

Draco nodded. “Very real. And she did have a love bite on her neck…but I could have conjured that with dragon magic.”

Theo shot him a look. “But how likely is that?”

Draco shrugged. “No idea. It is possible, though. It did feel real, but something about the whole time was so surreal, it’s hard to say.”

“I bet. Shagging Granger. That’s…Maybe you should try asking her out to dinner again.”

“Yeah…”

“We could visit her at SPERM headquarters.”

“Why did they name the business that?” Draco asked, laughing at Theo.

“Beats me. But it’s hilarious.”

“Theo, why are you so calm?”

“Who said I’m calm? I’m drunk. I had three glasses of whiskey while you told me your story and I haven’t eaten today.”

“Salazar, Theo. Let’s get some food in you.”

“I’m still in shock,” he explained as they made their way to the parlour in search of cakes. “I’m just happy you’re alive,” Theo admitted. “It’s been…hard without you.”

Draco threw his arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get the elves to make a real feast for us, shall we?”

“Oh, Theodore. Are you staying for dinner? You don’t usually come until tomorrow.” His mother had come upon them.

Draco looked between them. Theo was blushing. “You have dinner with my mother?”

Narcissa pat Theo on the cheek endearingly. “He keeps me company, Draco. We have a standing dinner on Thursdays.”

Draco supposed it was nice they were there for each other. But it was still a bit weird.

The trio spent the evening together, Narcissa listening to Theo quiz Draco all about his life and joining in on Theo encouraging him to seek out Hermione. Theo left late in the night, telling Draco to come by the shop at 10 am and he’d re-teach him everything he needed to know. Draco was also itching to learn about Theo’s life these past three years. He wondered what his friend had been up to.

*

Draco arrived in the back room at 10 sharp. Theo crashed into him as he too arrived in the fire place. They laughed at their poor timing and Theo hugged Draco again. Theo and Draco almost never hugged. His affection was uncharacteristic, but again, presumed dead for three years and all.

Theo wore a loose maroon t-shirt with a strange graphic on it tucked into black slacks that morning, contrasting Draco’s pristine white button-up hilariously. Draco would have preferred something a little more relaxed, but it was the only clothing at the manor and he didn’t want to intrude on Theo at the flat—he still wasn’t sure if he could call their previously shared space home.

“I still can’t believe you’re alive,” Theo muttered. “Oh, and happy birthday, you tosser.” Theo winked.

Draco groaned. “You better not have gotten me something.”

Theo said, “You’ll just have to wait and see tonight at your birthday dinner with your mother.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Seriously, Theo. I don’t want any gifts. A lot is happening without having to deal with a birthday on top of it.”

Theo ignored him. He clapped his hands together. “Right! Now, here’s everything you need to know about the business.”

Draco was thankful to note that not too much had changed, apart from the wall colour and having employees. They had never aimed to have a large apothecary. It was more of a pet project than anything. Draco had always enjoyed potions and Theo really just needed something to get him out of the house. When Draco had drunkenly confessed he wanted to get a potions mastery after Azkaban, Theo had supported him wholeheartedly—by joining him. They went to France for a year, living together there for the first time and learning about the complexities of advanced potion-making as well as harvesting potions ingredients, and an elective course on starting a business.

The duo had aced their courses and both created interesting thesis potions. Theo’s had been in the healing realm, his specialty, and was a modified version of an anxiety potion. Draco’s had been an improvement on the Wolfsbane potion. He had become slightly obsessed with atoning for his sins of the war. Having been on missions with Greyback before, he knew more people than ever would need wolfsbane.

Once back in England, they had opened Nott your Average Apothecary. Theo had easily won out on naming it after him since Malfoy was still a pretty hated name in 2001. Their charitable work definitely helped to change the Malfoy image—Lucius receiving the Kiss also helped. Ever since they opened, Draco had been brewing his modified wolfsbane potion and giving it out freely to any werewolf who wanted it.

So, their business was not meant to be anything more than something to help the two focus on something other than their sad lives. And maybe help a few people on the way. They under-charged on almost everything and often gave potions and ingredients away for free—neither of them needed any money.

Despite that, the business seemed to be booming. A quick glance at the ledger revealed how much they had sold over the past week. Draco was gobsmacked. Their employees were well-compensated for their time. Theo had them work as much as they needed. Both were potions mastery students and helped forage, brew, and sell. Draco was impressed with how Theo had become a mentor to them.

Theo pointed out the small changes he had made: a ramp at the front door, switching the placement of the boomslang and bubotuber pus, storing the spare vials under the counter, a new ledger, a pre-orders shelf…

As the morning wore on, customers started to come in and many had similar reactions of shock when they saw that Draco was alive. The Prophet had yet to print his story and apparently it had been big news when he had gone missing. According to Theo, the theories were wild: Draco had left to become the next Dark Lord and study the dark arts; Draco had given up magic to marry a muggle; Draco had been cursed by a Sphinx; Draco had been murdered by Dark Lord sympathizers; Draco had opened an inn in rural Canada…the list went on.

By the tenth person to jump at the sight of him, Draco was well and truly over it. He was also on edge because being around Theo kept bringing up that strange tug behind his heart.

Podrick came in at one so that Theo and Draco could have lunch. The white man was short and plump. He was dressed in jeans and t-shirt, though his clothing was far more ill-fitting than Theo’s. He wore thick rimmed glasses, had greasy brown hair and a contagious smile. Podrick greeted Draco with a handshake and a “nice to meet you.” Draco liked him immediately because he didn’t reference Draco’s return from the dead.

“Okay, Nott,” Draco said, feeling tired from his morning of only 3 hours of work (in his defense, he was not used to being around so many humans. It was overwhelming and keeping his dragon in was hard.). “Where do you want me to take you for lunch?”

Theo clapped him on the back. “I was hoping you’d say that!”

He brought them down Diagon to Florean’s. They sat outside in the sun and ate their artisanal sandwiches. Draco finally started his interrogation of Theo. Draco cast a privacy charm for good measure so that no one could hear them.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to, Theo.”

Theo leaned back in his chair and gazed off into the street. It was a quiet day, only a few patrons were walking to and fro instead of the usual bustle.

“Let’s see…not much. Went on holiday to Italy with Blaise. That was an…interesting trip. Started having dinner with your mom once a week. Considered buying a cat, but fought that urge since you know how much I hate cat hair. Attended some charity events. Got arrested for public drunkenness by Potter a few weeks ago.”

Draco choked on his water. “What!?”

Theo chuckled. “Yeah. Blaise is a bad influence, what can I say?”

“How’s Blaise?”

“Hey, this is my time, you talk to Blaise if you want to know how he is.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“I learned how to drive a muggle car. Those are terrifying. Oh. And, yeah. I’m gay now.”

Draco blinked at him. It was so like Theo to just casually throw that out there. Draco smiled. “When’d you figure that out?”

“Got my licence last year,” he replied proudly.

Draco rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, Theo.”

Theo shrugged. “Been thinking it for a while, but it was definitely that trip to Italy…too much good wine and too many nude beaches.”

Draco laughed along with Theo. “You dating anyone?”

“Dated Astoria for about six months shortly after you disappeared. Didn’t last, obviously. The point is, Astoria is way too uptight for me. Dated Cho Chang for a few months—that was more fun. Maybe I’m not full gay. Bi. Whatever. But she wanted something serious and I didn’t. At least not with her. Mostly hook ups at muggle bars—you know the drill.”

Draco and Theo had started going to muggle bars shortly after the war. The increased anonymity meant that they cleaned up nicely, unlike at magical establishments.

“Any guys?”

Theo cleared his throat, a light blush on his cheeks. “No one serious.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not…”

“Theo, I told you about Hermione. The wool ball that smells like her. The sex dream.”

Theo fiddled with his plate. “It’s Potter.”

Draco choked on his spit. “What?”

Theo sighed heavily. “I knew you would react like this.”

“I—” Draco tried to calm himself. He was in utter shock. “You’re dating Potter?” His mind was reeling.

Theo’s cheeks went redder. “Well…no.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “You’re fucking Potter?”

“I wish.”

Draco looked at his friend in confusion until it dawned on him. “You like Potter. And he doesn’t know.”

Theo ruffled his brown curls. His face was still pink, but now that was truth was out, he seemed less embarrassed. “Yeah. I do. Okay? Now you know. I have a crush on your childhood nemesis. I have for—I’m only telling you this because you told me about your pathetic wool ball—I’ve liked him since school.”

“It’s not a pathetic ball…” Draco protested weakly.

“Draco,” Theo levelled him with a judgemental stare. “Stop lying to yourself. You sleep cuddling a ball of wool that smells like her.”

Draco dragged his hands down his face. “Fine. It is a bit pathetic. Whatever. So—Potter. Since school?”

Theo shrugged. “He’s fit.”

“Does he know you like him?”

Theo groaned dramatically. “Potter’s not even gay, Draco.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Can I just say,” Theo replied, “You’re taking this very well. Me being gay. Me liking Harry Potter…”

Draco shrugged. “You being gay doesn’t matter. I mean—it matters but it’s not—you know what I mean?”

“No, Draco, that was not a complete thought.”

Draco glared at him. “I have no problem with you being gay. It’s great you’re gay. Gay is good, gay is fun. Go gay.” Theo laughed. “As for Potter…” Draco sighed. “It’s weird, but why would I be upset? I mean, I’m…bonded to Hermione Granger. I don’t have much of a leg to stand on. And Potter’s been better since he died and came back to life. Less insufferable. Or maybe I’ve just matured.”

“Oh yes. Draco Malfoy is the paragon of maturity,” Theo teased.

“Wait—why was Potter at the shop yesterday?”

“He picks up wolfsbane for Bill Weasley sometimes. It wasn’t done brewing. He was supposed to come today but mixed up the days.”

“So, you get to be graced with his presence two days in a row?” Draco teased.

Theo flipped him off.

“I thought the elder Weasley worked at Gringotts. Wouldn’t it be easy for him to pop by the shop himself?”

Theo shrugged in response. “Guess he’s busy. I didn’t ask Potter.”

“Tell me about Blaise now.”

“That wanker? Same old. Raking his way across Europe, praying to not leave behind any illegitimate babies.” Draco chuckled. “Pansy’s more or less the same too. She visits the shop every now and again. We go out to drinks on Fridays usually. But get this—she’s befriended Granger!”

“My Granger?”

“Yes, your Granger.”

“Pansy. Pansy Parkinson?”

“I know! I still don’t know why, but they must have run into one another at one of the hundreds of events Hermione hosts and buried the hatchet. Sometimes we sit with Hermione and her lot at the pub.”

Draco tingled at the possibilities. “And tomorrow?”

Theo shrugged. “Dunno if she’ll be there, but Pans and I will be.”

“What about Potter?”

“Oh yeah. He’s usually there. Hence my public drunkenness charge. He would not stop complaining about having to arrest me while off-duty. I pointed out that there was no need to arrest me and he could just let me go on my way. Didn’t go over well. He’s still a goody-goody.” Theo sighed dreamily. “I won’t lie, him putting me in cuffs was a fantasy of mine.”

“I was re-reading the journal last night,” Draco informed Theo, cutting off that line of thought. “And I think we should wait until the full moon to try to activate you. It doesn’t say it’s required, but the ritual happens on a full moon…so…just to be on the safe side.”

“When you transformed was it a full moon?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to remember that, Nott? It was three years ago.”

“Relax, Draco. That’s what calendars are for. We’ll look it up in the shop.”

The friends made their way back to their little shop and greeted Podrick. In the back room, Theo dug through old harvesting calendars which had accurate representations of the moon cycle.

“Aha! June, 2004. What day again? It was right after your birthday, wasn’t it? Or was it that night?”

“After. The night of June 6.”

“All I remember is you went home with that muggle and were never seen again. By the way, thanks for that. Imagine me trying to explain that scenario to your mother.”

Draco laughed heartily. “Sorry.”

They looked at the calendar and it was most certainly not a full moon when Draco’s dragon had manifested. “Well, that solves that mystery. I vote this weekend. We get to see our beaus at the pub—hopefully—then we go to where was it? Wales? It’ll give you a week to help me get acclimated. You should be able to leave me by then and you can go to the werewolf rights ball to see your darling mate,” Theo reasoned.

Draco nodded. “Alright. Yeah. That seems like it could work. You still think I should try to visit her at work?”

Theo haphazardly returned the calendars to their pile. He shrugged in response. “How long can you manage without her?”

“No idea.”

“I say go for it. You already made a fool of yourself at tea, can’t get much worse than that.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Theo smirked. A knock at the office door pulled their attention. Podrick pulled the door open. “A Mr. Potter is here to see you, Theo,” Podrick said primly, as if he didn’t know exactly who Harry Potter was.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Theo and winked. Theo smacked Draco’s shoulder. “Don’t say anything,” he muttered under his breath. Theo squared his shoulders and walked from the office with purpose. Draco followed.

Potter was in his Auror robes again. He must’ve been on break or something. He looked the same as always: startling green eyes, round glasses, messy black hair, faded lightning scar, tallish, slightly more filled out than when they were in school. His black Auror robes with gold accents were flattering, Draco supposed. If one was into that.

Theo did a poor job masking his excitement at seeing the other man.

“Potter,” Theo greeted. “Back to visit little old me?”

Potter returned his smile. “Star Wars, Nott? Surprised you’ve heard of it.”

Draco followed Potter’s eyes to Theo’s strange shirt. Draco had no idea what a star war was, but apparently Potter did.

Potter’s eyes landed on Draco calculatingly. “Malfoy. You’re back.”

“I am co-owner,” Draco responded and leaned against an ingredient shelf.

“Where have you been?”

“I’m sure you’ll read all about it in the Prophet soon enough.”

“Draco’s just being coy,” Theo said. “His family has a blood curse. You know all that old pureblood nonsense. Finally came back to bite him in the ass.”

“You’re cur—a pureblood too, Theo,” Draco threw back.

“Anyway. Fell into a coma. Got taken in by a muggle hospital. Curse ran its course and here he is!”

Potter put his wand into his wand holster that ran under his armpits. Theo eyed it with interest. How Potter did not know Theo was into him was astounding; his interest in Potter’s physical form was blatant. To be fair to Theo, Potter’s muscles were bulging out of his work shirt.

Theo didn’t appear to be out-out, just out with friends, so perhaps Potter didn’t know and misread his interest.

“Huh,” Potter replied.

Draco itched to meddle and figure out where Potter stood.

“You going to the pub tomorrow, Potter?” Draco asked out of the blue.

Potter glanced at him. “Iunno. Maybe. Why?”

“You should,” Draco offered. “I think it’s time we buried the hatchet. Don’t you?”

Potter crossed his arms, his forearms flexing. Draco hated that he noticed it, but damn. Theo was right. Potter was fit. And Theo was staring. Draco tried not to laugh.

“What’s your angle?”

“No angle. I mean what I said.”

“You, Draco Malfoy, suddenly want to be friends?” Potter was very suspicious.

“I hear near death incidents change you,” came Draco’s cheeky reply. Potter glared at him. “Bring the whole gang,” Draco continued, now his heart beat a bit faster, thinking of Hermione.

“The ‘gang?’”

“You know, you, Weasley…” Draco cleared his throat, “Granger.”

“That curse really did a number on you, Malfoy.”

Draco shrugged, hoping his face wasn’t red. He clapped a hand onto Theo’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my very single business partner, Theo. I have other important business to attend to.”

Theo shot him a glare.

Potter stopped Draco from leaving. “Hey. Malfoy.” He held out his hand. Draco shook it without hesitation. “To burying the hatchet.”

*

Draco made a trip to Ollivander’s and purchased himself a new wand. Draco had been expecting the visit to be terribly awkward, considering the man had been imprisoned in his dungeon for a year. But the old wandmaker had merely tilted his head in greeting and started looking for a wand box while muttering under his breath.

He found one immediately. It was 12 ¾ inches, unicorn hair, hemlock wood. Draco felt an untold thrill thrum through him with his new wand. He overpaid Ollivander and the wizard accepted it without comment. Unlike with Luna, Draco had not been overly friendly with Ollivander, but he had snuck him the occasional meal and blanket via the elves.

The afternoon was still young, so Draco apparated home (with no issues, thank you, Ollivander) and tried out some spells on the manor grounds. He was a bit rusty, but his casting was more powerful than ever. Draco smiled. He pocketed his wand and made his way to the floo before he could chicken out. It was time to visit Hermione.

Draco called out the headquarters for SPERMc in Edinburgh and spun away in the floo. He arrived on his feet, dusted himself off, and looked around. He appeared to be in a house. The walls were covered in posters about safety, events, wanted posters, and more. The lights overhead flickered every second. The floor was weathered wood. In front of him was an unoccupied wooden desk piled with papers and books. To Draco’s right was a door—he assumed the front door, to the left was a hallway and straight across from him was a wall of mismatched visitor’s chairs.

Draco frowned. This could not be where the great Hermione Granger worked. It was…a mess.

A Black man with long dreadlocks came down the hallway whistling. Draco took a moment to place him—it was Lee. The man who had helped Hermione escape. Draco balled his fists and stopped breathing. He counted to ten as Lee carried on into lobby (if you could call it that). Draco could swear his teeth felt sharper than normal. He forced his magic down, containing his inner dragon in an iron-clad prison.

Draco opened his eyes. Lee stared at him.

“Aren’t you Draco Malfoy?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Aren’t you dead?”

“Evidently not.”

Lee smiled. “Alright then. What brings you here?”

“I—er—I’m here to see Granger. Hermione Granger.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Draco scratched at his neck. “It’s about our latest donation.”

“She’s not here,” Lee informed him. “That’s why I asked if you have an appointment.”

“Oh. Do you know when she’ll be back?” Obviously, she wasn’t there; Draco hadn’t sensed her. He should have immediately noticed and left.

Lee glanced at the dark watch on his wrist. Draco recognized it. Hermione had the same one. “Should be back in about fifteen minutes. But she might run late. Beatrice is chatty. I was supposed to go, but Hermione volunteered for me. She’s a doll.”

Draco felt himself start to get territorial. Did Hermione like Lee? He hadn’t ever confirmed that she was actually single.

“I can take a message, if you want.”

“No. That’s—I’ll wait.” Draco made his way to a rickety chair and sat.

Lee assessed him. “You seem different than I remember.”

Draco didn’t respond. A moment of silence passed with Lee evaluating him. “Actually, is Rolf here?”

“Our fearless leader in all things SPERM?” Lee asked with a grin. “Yes. He practically lives here. C’mon, I’ll bring you.”

Lee accompanied Draco down the narrow corridor. There were only five or so doors, one of which was off-gassing Hermione’s scent. They went in the last door which was slightly open. It was a small room plastered with posters, plans, diagrams, and doodles. The desk was barely visible under the sheer amount of paperwork and things, including a fair amount of magical creature bits and bobs (fangs, talons, scales, etc.). Rolf Scamander was asleep at his desk, hair askew.

Lee cleared his throat and Rolf snapped awake.

“What!” Rolf looked around in a daze. “Oh. Lee. Malfoy. Wait—you’re alive?”

Draco groaned. He really wished the Prophet would just run that stupid article already. “Yes, yes, I’m alive. Can we chat for a minute?” Draco glanced at Lee. “Alone.”

Lee raised his brows. “Rolf, I’m off early tonight. Fred’s not feeling well and I promised I’d make him dinner. He said if I was late, he’d divorce me, so I better get running.”

Draco breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief—Lee was gay and married. Fantastic. Draco did not want to compete with the six-foot something hunk of a man beside him. Lee was far too attractive and Draco would not have blamed Hermione for liking him.

“Okay. Yeah. Tomorrow you’re on centaur parlay, though. Do not forget. Last time you were late and—”

“I remember what happened, Rolf. I’ll be on time. Later, Malfoy.” Lee left.

Draco closed the door and sat across from Rolf.

“What brings you here, Malfoy?”

“I’m here to see Hermione—er—Granger, actually. But since she’s not due to be back for a bit, I thought I might offer you a proposal…”

Draco talked Rolf through his hastily put together idea. The man was ecstatic. Draco made him swear an oath of secrecy. Without an unbreakable it was just his word, but Draco would take it. Their chat concluded, Rolf asked him why Draco wanted to help.

“Because she deserves better—I mean—you—all of you deserve better,” Draco replied.

Rolf tilted his head but refrained from pointing out Draco’s obvious slip up.

Draco’s head snapped to Rolf’s office door as he felt Hermione’s presence materialize in the building. Draco stood and wished Rolf a good day. He left the office and pulled the door shut behind him.

There she was. Making her way down the hallway while reading from one of her many notebooks. A pink pen was stabbed through her bun. Draco fought himself for several dicey seconds, worried he was going to explode and destroy her place of business.

Hermione’s head suddenly jerked up to meet his eyes. She stopped walking and stared at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“You know, the people that work here aren’t very good at greetings.”

Hermione’s lips quirked. “Hello, Malfoy. How are you? What are you doing here?” she asked again.

“I’m well, thank you. How are you?”

Hermione blinked at him. “I’m fine. Busy.”

“Just fine?”

She walked closer to him, stopping a few steps away. Hermione turned to the door on her right that smelled so much of her and waved her wand a few times. It slid open with a click. She walked in and Draco followed her uninvited. Her scent wrapped around him like a blanket. It was overwhelming and perfect.

Hermione was wearing another one of those wrap dresses that flattered her. Draco could not take his eyes off of her. She noticed.

“Back to stare some more?” she teased from the other side of her desk.

Draco brought his eyes back to hers. “You never answered my question.”

Hermione sat at her tidy desk—she seemed to be the only orderly one in this office. “Didn’t think you would want a play by play of my day, Malfoy. But I covered for a friend and my last meeting was tedious, to put it mildly. Now, I’m behind on reviewing the decorations for the ball next week—which honestly, I could give two shits about decorations, but that’s what fundraising is all about.” Hermione sighed heavily. “Maybe I can convince Pansy to help again,” she muttered to herself.

Draco drank in as many details as he could. It was immediately comforting listening to her talk. He had missed that immensely from their time together. “I’m sure Pans would be happy to help.”

“Plus, I seem to have an unscheduled appointment right now and it’s stopping me from doing my work,” she continued.

Draco looked around. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was keeping you from an appointment.”

“I meant you,” she deadpanned.

“Oh.” Draco laughed awkwardly. “Right. Yeah. Um.”

“Why are you here?” she asked again, her gaze back on her notebook.

“You never answered my question,” Draco repeated.

Hermione’s big brown eyes landed on his again. “I just did.”

“No—I meant. Yesterday. I asked you to dinner.” She stared at him. “You said I was taller.”

“Well, you are taller, aren’t you?”

Draco shrugged. “I guess.”

“There’s no doubt about it,” Hermione replied. “At least two inches, I would guess.”

“Why do you know how tall I used to be?”

Hermione looked away from him quickly and did not respond.

Draco didn’t care too much about her response anyway, he wanted to know if she would go to dinner with him. He asked again, “Will you go to dinner with me?”

“I don’t see why you would want to take me out to dinner. Apart from you trying to make yourself look better in the public eye or being starved of womanly company. And I don’t much fancy being a notch in the infamous Draco Malfoy’s bedpost.”

“Infamous?”

“Oh, please. You know your reputation.”

“Reputation?”

“You’re a rake.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “A rake? First off, is this the 18^th century? And secondly, I am not a rake. Blaise is the rake. I am simply blessed with good looks.”

“And blood curses, apparently,” Hermione added on.

“So, is that a no?”

“Why do you want to go out with me?” Hermione was baffled. “You were gone for three years and the first thing you want to do when you get back is date your former enemy?”

When she put it that way, it did seem extremely out of character. But he couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. He wouldn’t corner her like that. Hermione pushed a stray curl behind her ear. Draco ached to touch her.

“I—er—well. Like I said. You’re beautiful. You’re intelligent. I would like to get to know you better. Will you go to dinner with me?” Draco was definitely blushing again.

“Fine. Consider me intrigued.”

“You will?” Draco’s heart soared.

But Hermione held up a finger. “I did not say yes. Let me check my calendar.” She pulled out a different notebook from her desk and began rifling through it. He watched her scan her view of the month with her finger. Merlin, he wanted to touch her.

“Oh,” she frowned then glanced up at him. “Happy birthday.”

Draco blinked at her. “You know when my birthday is?”

Hermione shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “Hard to miss the horde of owls in the Great Hall every year.”

“Thank you,” he said instead of commenting on how spoiled he was.

Hermione carried on, “I’m not free until after the ball. Next Saturday night.”

Draco frowned. “I can see your calendar. It’s almost completely empty.”

Hermione shot him a look. “I told you when I’m available,” was her response.

“Okay. Next Saturday. 7 pm. I’ll find a good vegetarian place.”

She closed her agenda. “How do you know I’m a vegetarian?”

Draco froze. Draca knew that. Draco had no clue about her dietary restrictions. “Uh…Theo,” he hazarded.

“I suppose he’s heard me rant about the meat industry.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll pick you up?”

Hermione opened her agenda back up. She pulled her pink pen from her hair and wrote in: “Malfoy – Date” on the following Saturday. Draco grinned.

“Yeah. I’ll open my floo: Hermione Granger Residence.”

Draco felt like he was flying. He could not believe she had agreed. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe she was attracted to him. Maybe she had had many sex dreams of him before…

“What about the werewolf ball?”

“Hmm?” Hermione had brought her attention back to the notebook she had been reading when she arrived in the building.

“Do you have a date to it?”

“Wow. You’re really persistent.”

Draco was sweating. He wasn’t trying to come off so strong. But he did want to spend every second of every day literally wrapped around the woman before him. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be in attendance,” he said in way of reply.

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you there, then.”

“So…you do have a date?”

“Yes.”

Draco’s heart fell. “Are you not—single?”

“Is that any of your business?”

“You have just agreed to go on a date with me. A romantic date.”

Hermione relented. “Right. No. I’m single. My date is Harry.” Draco frowned. “We’re going as friends,” she clarified.

“Ah. I see.”

“Well, this conversation has been absolutely thrilling,” Hermione commented. “But I need to get back to work.”

Draco stood abruptly. “Of course. Sorry to interrupt your busy day. I’ll see you…soon.”

She nodded briskly and returned all of her attention to her notebook. Draco let himself out. When he got home, he celebrated with his mother and they both immediately started looking for vegetarian restaurants in the muggle world.

*

That evening, Narcissa and the elves showered Draco in gifts he did not need: watches, rings, suits, books, journals, brooms (yes, plural), more food than a man could hope for. Theo, who was present for his weekly dinner with Narcissa anyway, simply handed Draco a framed picture of the two of them. It was from France. Theo had been learning more about muggle technology and had taken a self-portrait of them. It was a terrible photo; Draco was squinting in confusion, Theo was looking the wrong way, they were barely in frame.

Draco loved it.

He missed his family dearly. It was a nice celebration overall, even with the excessive number of gifts. And the cake was to die for.

*

Daily Prophet: Evening Edition

DRACO MALFOY: ALIVE AND BURYING THE HATCHET

June 5, 2007

By Parvati Patil

Draco Malfoy, the infamous ex-Death Eater heir to the Malfoy and Black family fortunes and illustrious member of the Sacred 28 was presumed dead until yesterday. The Malfoy heir went missing three years ago shortly after his 24^th birthday and rumours abounded. His friends and family appealed for his safe return, worried he had been kidnapped. When he had not been heard from for several months, he was presumed dead by the Ministry of Magic.

The Gringotts goblins confirm that they knew Malfoy was alive the whole time because their magic had not activated for the transfer of the massive fortunes tied to the blond’s name. The goblins refused to provide further comment, only stating that Malfoy has been alive and “unreachable” due to magic over the past three years. Apparently, there were some estate matters that were neglected by our dear Draco.

Narcissa Malfoy (née Black) confirms that her son returned home a few days ago, tired but in good health. The Malfoy family had the best healers money could buy (and they have a lot of money) confirm that Draco succumbed to a blood curse from the Black family line. While out harvesting aconite, the essential ingredient in Malfoy’s modified wolfsbane potion—given out freely to all werewolves in need at Nott Your Average Apothecary—when the curse activated. Healers remained stumped as to what brought it on. Malfoy was discovered by muggle hikers who brought him to a nearby hospital.

The curse blocked his magic and put him into a coma. For three harrowing years, Malfoy remained in the muggle hospital in long term care, comatose. One day, out of the blue, he awoke. Healers say they do not know what caused his spontaneous recovery and are continuing to run tests. This author contacted the hospital staff who claimed Malfoy was an “excellent patient” (can coma patients be bad patients?) and a “rather sad case.” They were pleased when he made his miraculous recovery and went home to his loving mother.

Just yesterday, Malfoy was seen at his apothecary that he co-owns with Theodore Nott. Malfoy and Nott were spotted smiling beside none other than Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class. Draco was pictured shaking Potter’s hand. Podrick Payne, an assistant at the shop was quoted saying, “Malfoy invited Potter to drinks. Says he wants to bury the hatchet.”

You heard it here first, folks: Draco Malfoy returns from his mysterious illness a changed man. Who knows what the future will bring in the Malfoy dynasty?

The Malfoy family appreciates the well-wishes and asks for privacy during this time while Malfoy reintegrates into society. Welcome back, Draco, and Happy Birthday.

Chapter Text

“Pansy, can’t we just hang out the two of us?” Hermione groaned.

“No.”

The woman was adamant that Hermione attend the pub night. Hermione went on occasion, but she hadn’t been up for socializing much since her return to human society. She generally disliked crowds as it was and whenever she drank since she got back, she just got sad. All Hermione could think about was Draca and the intense pain that shot from him to her when he realized that she was leaving him.

Hermione confirmed, “You’ll do the decorations?”

“You’ll come out?” Pansy insisted.

Hermione sighed in defeat. “Yes.”

Pansy grinned. She pushed her short straight hair behind her ear and revealed her usual sparkling diamond studs. “Great. I’ll see you tonight!”

Pansy left Hermione’s office without further ado. Hermione begrudgingly added the pub night to her sacred planner. Looking at it reminded her that she had agreed to a “romantic date” with Draco Malfoy. She wasn’t sure what had come over her.

Hermione closed the book decisively. She let her mind get lost in planning the werewolf shelter that Narcissa Malfoy was funding and Nott your Average Apothecary would be providing free potions to. And not just wolfsbane, but pain potions, calming draughts, whatever they wanted and needed.

Hermione was fond of Narcissa. The woman was an excellent donor, had an eye for detail, and was a great conversationalist. Theo had also become a sort of periphery friend in recent years because of all the charity work the apothecary did. He was a cheeky sort, but good fun. It helped that Theo was wildly attractive. Granted, so was Malfoy…

Hermione shook her head, dispelling thoughts of Malfoy and returned to her shelter details.

*

Harry sipped his pint. “Surprised you came out, Hermione,” he said in way of greeting.

Hermione sat across from him heavily. “Pansy made me.”

“I would think I would have more sway than Parks.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You don’t when she’s managing all the decorations for the gala at zero cost.”

Harry raised his pint, admitting his defeat. “Can’t compete with that.”

“Anyway,” Hermione glanced around the pub, then cast a muffliato. She raised her eyebrows pointedly. “Is Theo going to be here?”

Harry choked on his beer. He flushed. “No idea. Why do you ask?”

Hermione smirked. “Stop pretending, Harry. We both know you like him.”

“I—er—well—”

“Theo’s fit,” Hermione weighed in helpfully. “And I think he’s gay. He just gives off that vibe, you know?”

“Hermione, there is no way you have good gaydar. You didn’t think I was gay.”

“First of all, Harry, you’re bisexual and you were in love with Ginny for a long time. So, that didn’t give me much room to notice. Second of all, I’ve never once imagined myself with you—why do you think that is?”

Harry shrugged.

“And you dress like that,” Hermione gestured at his unbuttoned white shirt tucked into his Auror pants and his leather wand harness that went under his armpits and across his back. His clothing was tailored to perfection and showed off his hard-earned muscles. “And never once have I imagined us together. Not even subconsciously. Why? Because you’re destined for a man.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in divination now,” Harry laughed.

“Oh, go on, have some fun with Theo.”

“What if he’s not interested?”

“Then it’s a funny story for him about how he got hit on by the Chosen One.”

Harry groaned in frustration. Neville sat down beside Hermione and swat at his ears. Hermione dispelled the muffliato. “Sorry, Nev.” She gave him a hug. “How’re you?”

“Lovely. Glad the term’s almost over,” Neville chuckled. “I need a break from the kidlets.”

“Not thinking of quitting, are you, Nev?” Harry asked.

Neville shook his head. “Not yet anyway. But summer break is going to be greatly appreciated. Away from hormonal teenagers.”

The table laughed with him.

“Not drinking, Hermione?” Neville asked. Hermione shook her head ‘no’. “I’ll grab you a water.” Neville left.

Alone again, Harry asked, “You alight, Hermione? You’ve been off for the past few weeks.”

Hermione brushed Harry off. “Yeah. Fine. You know how I get before big events.”

Pansy’s arrival cut off any follow-up questions from Harry. She sat down beside Hermione and greeted them with a “that’s what you’re wearing, Hermione?”

Hermione frowned in response and looked at her wardrobe. “This is perfectly acceptable for the pub!”

“Granger. Where are the dresses we bought together? You’re wearing a t-shirt that doesn’t even show off your cleavage. You could have at least worn the turquoise one that’s low-cut.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “I didn’t have any client meetings today. There was no reason to dress up.”

Pansy stood up and started accosting Hermione with her wand. Hermione struggled against the short woman. Pansy was successful though—she had magically tightened Hermione’s unflattering t-shirt to instead hug at her curves. Hermione frowned at her.

“Better,” Pansy muttered. “But really, you should wear the clothing we bought together.”

“Here you are, Hermione,” Neville cut in, handing her a water. “Hey, Parks,” Neville greeted with a grin.

Pansy shifted her attention to the muscular Herbology professor. “Longbottom,” she greeted. “How are the children treating you?”

The conversation shifted organically as they all caught up on each other’s lives. Neville politely inquired if Pansy had a date to the ball and she bemoaned her single life. Neville then graciously offered to take her. Pansy grinned and told him he better wear a nice suit. Their flirting (Hermione was never sure if they were actually flirting or not) was cut short by the arrival of Theo and Malfoy.

Hermione felt the now familiar full-body flush she got whenever she was near Malfoy. She could not explain it. But since she had seen him for tea earlier that week, each time she saw him, her body tingled and warmed. She figured it had to do with her recent and incredibly embarrassing (*cough cough* also hot *cough*) sex dreams about him. Her body was just having a latent reaction to them, she reasoned.

Thinking of the dreams reminded her of Draca and she was saddened again. She missed him terribly.

“Hey, chaps!” Theo greeted. The table greeted him back.

Theo was dressed just as casually as Hermione, though it should be noted that his clothing was more flattering than Hermione’s (or than Hermione’s had been prior to Pansy altering her shirt to be far too tight). Theo might dress casually, but the man was still a member of the pureblood aristocracy—meaning, his clothes were tailored. Theoseemed to prefer muggle attire, another reason she liked him.

Malfoy stood beside him looking awkward. Malfoy was Theo’s polar opposite, wearing black slacks and a crisp green button down rolled up at the sleeves. His forearm muscles were entirely too defined to be decent. Hermione’s eyes landed on his faded Dark Mark which contrasted against his pale skin.

Hermione looked up at him to find his eyes glued to her. She blushed. Hermione did not understand Malfoy’s sudden and inexplicable interest in her. And she found it highly suspicious. She did not think him evil by any means, but she felt there was something more going on than him suddenly noticing she was a woman.

“No Weasley?” Theo asked.

Harry shifted on his stool. Theo sat down on the one beside him. Hermione smiled. She looked pointedly between Theo and Harry. Harry cleared his throat. “Er—no. Ron’s sick. Got whatever Fred has.”

“The perils of working in a joke shop,” Neville replied.

Hermione fidgeted under Malfoy’s gaze—he had yet to look away. Something about it put her on edge while simultaneously putting her at ease.

“What’s everyone drinking?” Theo asked.

Hermione wondered how Neville would react to Malfoy. They hadn’t seen each other in years. But the Gryffindor seemed unperturbed. That is until she noticed him clutch his chest and frown, then glance at Malfoy. Malfoy was doing the same thing, his eyes finally off of Hermione.

“I’ll take a glass of wine, Theo, dear,” Pansy informed him. “You know the one.”

“Yes, darling,” Theo responded with a smile.

Harry frowned in reaction and shot Hermione a look: See, he’s not gay.

Hermione shot him one back: Theo is not flirting with Pansy, they’re just friends.

“I’ll go with you,” Draco offered.

“Potter?” Theo asked.

Harry startled. He looked from Theo to his half empty pint “I’m good for now.”

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes at him. Harry was truly terrible when it came to flirting (not that she was much better).

“Sure you don’t want another?” Theo pressed.

“I don’t want to end up with a drunk and disorderly, like you,” Harry replied. The table laughed.

Theo rolled his eyes in response. “Hermione?” Theo asked.

“Oh—I’m not…” she glanced at Malfoy’s grey eyes. He was staring again. “Yeah. Sure. Just a pint of anything light.” The beer might help her get through this evening.

“Be right back,” Theo informed them and left the table with Malfoy.

Pansy returned to flirting (?) with Neville. Hermione asked Harry about work and he told her about a puzzling string of muggle obliviations. Theo and Malfoy were back in quick order, cutting off Harry’s story.

Malfoy handed her a pint. She took it and her fingers grazed his. Electricity sparked from where their skin touched. Hermione immediately pulled back and the pint toppled to its side, spilling absolutely everywhere: the table, the floor, her shirt, Pansy’s skirt, Neville’s face somehow.

Chaos ensued.

Malfoy pulled out his wand and righted everything with a flick. He even dried her clothing for her.

“I’ll get you another,” he offered and left.

Hermione blinked after him with a frown. ‘That was weird.’ She turned her attention back to the table that had settled down after the spill. Hermione tried to tune back into Harry, interested in hearing more about muggle obliviations, but Theo had pulled him into a semi-private seeming conversation about public drunkenness.

Hermione turned to Pansy. She had her hand on Neville’s shoulder and was laughing at a story about catching a student trying to run an illegal potions lab out of the girl’s loo. Hermione sipped at her water.

This was why she didn’t want to go out to the pub—she was always the awkward third, fifth, or seventh wheel. Hermione readied herself to leave. She had fulfilled her promise to Pansy, she had come out to the pub. Now, there was a book about Kneazles calling her name at home.

As Hermione shifted in her seat, Malfoy returned. He placed her pint on the table, avoiding skin to skin contact entirely. He glanced around to see the others were chatting each other up. Malfoy plucked his firewhiskey from beside Theo and stood beside Hermione’s stool. He gazed into her eyes intently.

Hermione blinked back, a blush rising to her face for some inane reason. Hermione looked away quickly and took a sip of her pint. Her eyes cast about the busy pub looking for something to say. Pansy laughed loudly from beside her, Neville clutched his sides and tears streamed down his face from laughing so hard.

Hermione cleared her throat. “So—er—heard you’re trying to ‘bury the hatchet,’” she said to Malfoy.

Malfoy smirked. Hermione’s eyes were far too focused on his lips. ‘Has the lower one always been so plush looking?’ He started talking and she missed the beginning of it. “…exactly what I wanted. But at least it’s good publicity for the apothecary.”

Hermione nodded vaguely. “Heh. Yeah.” She tore her eyes from his face and they landed on his hand. His index finger traced the rim of his glass indecently—well, in her opinion it was indecent. Hermione looked at the tabletop, willing herself to stop blushing. ‘Stupid sex dream.’

“How goes the—er—the plans for the gala?” Malfoy asked when the silence stretched on.

Hermione heard Theo vaguely say something to Harry about liking when he put him in handcuffs, which distracted her. “Huh?” she asked Malfoy.

Harry was blushing.

“The werewolf ball. Are you feeling—er—good about it? You must have been preparing for a while now.”

Hermione returned her attention to the tall blond beside her. He had definitely gotten taller. “Are you going to sit?” she asked instead.

“You have an uncanny aversion to answering my questions.”

She sipped more of her beer. “You’re too tall. I don’t want to crane my neck.”

Malfoy gave her a lopsided smile which was so un-Malfoy it destabilized her. He turned and grabbed an unused chair from a nearby table and set it between Hermione and Harry. Malfoy sat and turned to her, obstructing Hermione’s view of Harry and Theo. Which wasn’t entirely fair; she was desperate to see if tonight they would cross the boundary between friends and something more.

Maybe Hermione was too invested in Harry’s love life. But it gave her the perfect excuse to not be invested in her own abysmal one.

“Better?” Malfoy asked.

Hermione nodded. Except now, she realized how close he was to her. It was like she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. And was his chest always so broad? Hermione stared at him like a deer in the headlights while he stared right back.

Malfoy coughed awkwardly. “So—how was your day? Was it…long?”

Hermione noted that a faint blush was blooming on his cheeks. ‘How curious.’

“Er—yeah. It was a long day,” she replied.

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, you know…”

“No, H—Granger. I do not know. Please enlighten me.”

She drank more beer. “Just lots to plan. The werewolf rights gala is so soon and all the little details still need sorting. Plus, there’s the shelter. Then of course, there’s the rise in illegal dragon egg sales that’s been added to my docket for next week to investigate and…” Hermione found herself rambling to Malfoy. He didn’t stop her. In fact, he asked questions and even offered some solutions from time to time. His awkward energy started to dissipate the longer she went on.

Hermione finished her long-winded complaint about her job and realized how long she had been talking for. “Yeah. So. It was a long day,” she concluded lamely. “What—er—what about you? How has being back in the magical world been?”

“Yes, Draco, enlighten us,” Pansy chimed in. Neville was missing from the table. Hermione assumed he was in the loo, since he hadn’t said his farewells. Theo and Harry also tuned into their conversation.

Malfoy traced the rim of his glass again. Hermione was thoroughly distracted. “It’s been fine. I got a new wand.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Pansy asked in annoyance. “You’re gone for three years, and that’s all you have to say?”

“We already talked earlier today, Pans,” Malfoy replied.

“Can I see it?” Hermione asked abruptly. “Your wand,” she clarified.

“I’m sure Draco would be more than pleased to show you his wand,” Pansy snickered and she, Theo, and Harry burst out into peals of laughter.

Hermione and Malfoy flushed. But he ignored them and pulled his wand from his pocket. He handed it to her. Hermione was more than a little shocked. She thought her socially inappropriate question would immediately be denied; it was frowned upon to handle another person’s wand (winky face).

Hermione took it gingerly and felt energy flow through her immediately. A gust of wind blew out from her and made the table go silent in interest. Hermione examined it. Definitely hemlock. “Unicorn hair again?” she inquired. Malfoy nodded.

“Why do you know that, Hermione?” Harry asked in surprise.

Hermione shrugged. She paid attention to things. The wand felt warm in her hand. Calming. Nice. Right. It shouldn’t. It should feel either overtly hostile or entirely neutral. It had already bonded to Malfoy. But here she was, holding his more than receptive wand. Hermione filed that away for something to think about later. She handed Malfoy back his wand.

Neville returned to the table. “What did I miss? There’s a weird energy going on.”

Pansy smiled wickedly. “Hermione’s just been handling Draco’s wand.”

Theo spit his whiskey out and the table fell into another round of laughter. Hermione and Malfoy joined this time.

“Theo, who’re you going to the ball with?” Pansy asked a touch too innocently, her eyes darting to Harry.

Theo scratched at his neck. “Not sure if I’m going to be able to make it actually.” He looked at Malfoy. “Might be out of town.”

Hermione frowned at Malfoy. “Why would you ask me to the gala if you were going to be out of town?” Hermione asked the blond beside her.

Harry spluttered in shock. “Malfoy did what?”

Pansy was delighted and Neville was confused.

“I said I might be out of town, not Draco, my dear Hermione,” Theo emphasized.

Hermione pointed out, “But then you stared at him like he was going to be with you.”

Hermione had a horrible moment where she thought Theo might be dating Malfoy. That would be terrible news for Harry. Theo had been morose with Malfoy gone. Only in recent months had he cheered up slightly. In fact, today was the happiest she had ever seen him since they had become tentative friends. It didn’t take much for Hermione to put together that Malfoy’s presence had lifted his spirits considerably.

“I’m sorry, are we just going to blow past the fact that Malfoy asked you to the ball?” Harry threw out. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hermione shrugged. “Slipped my mind,” she lied.

Harry turned to the blond beside him. “What do you think you’re doing asking Hermione to the ball?” he accused.

Malfoy stood firm, glaring at Harry. “That’s none of your business.”

“Ho ho!” Pansy was grinning from ear to ear. “I hope they duel,” she muttered to Hermione, looking far too keen.

Theo’s hand came to Harry’s shoulders and pushed him back to his stool. “Why don’t we all just take a deep breath,” Theo suggested. “Draco was just being a gentleman and making sure the host had a date.”

“I’m going with Hermione,” Harry said stiffly to Malfoy. “No need for you to worry.”

Malfoy looked like he was on the verge of growling in protest.

“Anyway—” Hermione cut in.

“I asked her because I wanted to,” Malfoy said, ignoring Hermione’s attempts to change the topic. “She’s an intelligent, beautiful, single woman and I wanted to dance with her.”

The table stared in shock. Pansy was smiling deviously.

Malfoy turned to Hermione, the anger melting from his face. She could not help but note that his cheeks were pink. “And the offer still stands. If you want a better dance partner than Potter.”

Hermione was blushing deeply now. She wished her friends weren’t around staring at her while her former enemy openly hit on her. “Uh…”

Pansy stage whispered, “You can cut the sexual tension with a knife!”

Neville tried to cover his laugh behind a cough. He failed miserably.

“I wouldn’t want to, er—abandon Harry this close to the gala. Finding another date will be a nightmare,” Hermione responded lamely.

“I’ll be Harry’s date,” Pansy offered helpfully.

“You’re my date, Parks,” Neville reminded her.

“Sorry, Longbottom, I totally forgot. Yeah, Potter. I’m taken, unfortunately.”

Theo commented, “Pansy’s hot for teach, you know how that is.”

Neville barked out a laugh.

Pansy continued, not refuting Theo’s statement, “No matter. Theo can go with you, Harry.”

Hermione’s gaze flickered from Pansy to Theo to Harry to Pansy, then to Malfoy. “What?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal. Theo will go with Potter,” Pansy continued. “They can reminisce about all the times Potter arrested Theo. Good fun.”

Harry was frozen. Hermione knew he would rather go with Theo. And this bizarre roundabout way of ending up with him as a date was probably the only way it would happen because he was still convinced Theo was straight or not into him. Hermione sighed.

“Fine. Yeah. Come to the ball with me, Malfoy. You’ll have to help with set up.” Hermione turned her eyes to his to see him smiling openly. It made her heart stutter. Had she ever seen Malfoy smile before, truly smile?

“What just happened?” Harry muttered.

“Not to poke a hole in what I’m sure is Draco’s Christmas present come early, but as I said. I might be out of town,” Theo reminded them regretfully.

“You alright, Nev?” Harry asked suddenly.

Neville was rubbing at his chest again with a frown. His eyes darted from Malfoy to Theo. “Yeah. Fine. Just think I have heartburn or something.”

Something was off but Hermione was distracted again by Theo continuing to speak, “So, I might not be the best date option for our dearest Chosen One.”

Harry elbowed Theo in protest of the terrible moniker. Theo grinned in response. But Hermione worried that this was Theo letting Harry down gently. Maybe he wasn’t gay. Maybe Hermione’s gaydar was horribly off. This was terrible news.

“Don’t worry, Nott,” Malfoy said, “I’ll make sure you’re there.”

They stared at one another, having some sort of silent conversation. Theo finally nodded. “That’s settled, then. Make sure to wear green accents, Potter. We have to match.” Theo and Malfoy both downed their drinks in an eerie unison. “Right. That’s us then. We’ll see you all in a week.”

Hermione found herself asking, “No more impromptu work visits?” to Malfoy.

He smiled at her, revealing his perfect teeth again. He leaned toward her and spoke quietly. “Is that what you want?” he asked.

Hermione’s heart was racing. ‘What on earth is going on here?’ Malfoy was definitely flirting with her. And she was into it. ‘Dear god.’

“I—er—”

“C’mon, Malfoy. I got some things to wrap up before we leave.” Malfoy shifted slightly away from Hermione, but his body remained towering over hers.

“Where are you going?” Pansy asked curiously. “Off to disappear for another three years?”

“Three years? No way,” Theo replied, his eyes on Harry’s. “I got a hot date I can’t miss next week.” Harry’s cheeks went red. Theo winked at Harry, then waved at everyone.

Hermione was having trouble paying attention to the exchange, because Malfoy was staring again, intently. His eyes a mesmerizing silver grey. The tingling was back, racing up and down her spine.

“Draco, let’s go,” Theo insisted, tugging on Malfoy’s arm.

Malfoy leaned toward Hermione again, gently took her hand and planted a kiss on it. Hermione’s whole body alighted with heat. It was a visceral reaction. She felt like fanning herself—she was hot and bothered. From a hand kiss.

“Have a nice weekend,” Malfoy wished Hermione, his eyes boring into hers. Hermione found herself breathlessly leaning toward him.

Theo pulled Malfoy away impatiently, wishing everyone a good night over his shoulder. Malfoy stared at her over his shoulder, his eyes searing her into place until the door closed behind them. Hermione’s heart (among other things) was pounding.

There was a long silence after the men left.

Neville was rubbing his chest again. “I think I’m going to head out too. Sorry, the heartburn is bad.” Pansy pouted. She pulled Neville into a hug and kissed his cheek. He smiled at her. “Let me know what to wear, Pans.”

Pansy nodded. “Don’t you worry. I’ll owl you the whole outfit,” she laughed. “You’ll also have to be there early to help set up.”

“I look forward to it.”

Neville departed quickly.

With only Pansy, Hermione, and Harry left, the true gossiping could begin.

“I knew Draco had a thing for you!” Pansy declared. “He refused to admit it at lunch. But he just kept talking about you. How was it that your name came up ten times in a lunch that was supposed to be about filling him in on my life the past three years? Besides, the way he looks at you—my word, the tension is palpable.”

Harry asked incredulously, “Since when has he liked you?”

“I think his coma or whatever knocked some sense into him. I mean, look at Hermione—well, not now. Now, she’s wearing the most unflattering clothing possible. Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s interested—”

“Pansy. Not nice,” Hermione informed her.

“Oops. Sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry. “My point being that Draco must have realized how stupid he was before for not noticing what a catch you are. Besides, traumatic experiences give people clarity.”

“I still think it’s weird,” Harry provided.

“I do too,” Hermione admitted. She drank more of her beer. “We’re going on a date,” she told them.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Yes, we know, Granger, we were all here when that was arranged.”

“No—when I refused to be his date to the ball, he asked me on a date. And I said yes. Next Saturday.”

“What?!” Pansy shrieked and Harry shouted.

Hermione waved away their over-the-top reactions. “I don’t know. He asked and I had no good reason to say no…so…yeah. We’re going on a date.”

“Two dates,” Harry corrected. “That’s…bizarre.”

“I can’t trust it. He’s such a rake. I’m sure it’s some bet to get me in bed.”

“I don’t think it is,” Pansy said. “And even if it was…”

“Yes, yes, we know. You’ve slept with him and he’s amazing. You’ve told me 1000 times.” And contributed to a series of sex dreams Hermione wished she could not remember.

Pansy grinned. “Just saying. You could do worse. Enough about you.” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Potter, you like men, right?”

Harry spluttered. “Uh—”

“Because I don’t think Theo was looking for a platonic date.”

Hermione pumped her fist in the air. “I told you, Harry. I told you he likes men!” Hermione felt extremely vindicated. Her gaydar was accurate.

“Obviously Theo’s gay. He stares at your arms constantly, Harry,” Pansy added on. “Truly. He doesn’t even try to hide it. And you really like to put them on display. Have you been working out?”

Harry ignored her. “But he dated women before and—”

“So did you, Harry,” Hermione cut in. She squealed. “Oh, I’m so excited for you! This is big news. Pansy, will you get Harry an outfit for the gala too?”

Pansy nodded. “Of course. Don’t get me wrong, Harry, your Auror clothing is very tempting, but your regular wear is downright awful.”

“Rude,” Harry threw back. “And why are we the only ones being grilled? What’s going on with you and Neville?”

Pansy shrugged nonchalantly.

“No, no, no. We’ve just been publicly embarrassed by our romantic interests—”

“I never said I was interested in Malfoy,” Hermione felt the need to clarify.

“—So, it’s your turn to answer us, Parks,” Harry continued on.

Pansy inspected her nails. “Neville is very handsome. And nice. And caring. A good man. Entirely wrong for me in every way. I’d just break his heart. It’s better if we stay friends.”

“Well, if that’s true you shouldn’t lead him on, Pansy,” Hermione said gently.

“I’ve made it perfectly clear to him where I stand.”

Hermione and Harry frowned. Before they could ask follow-up questions, Pansy was rising and wishing them a good night.

Harry wiggled his brows at Hermione. “So, Malfoy, eh?”

“Oh, Merlin,” she groaned.

*

Hermione was unexpectedly disappointed when she hadn’t heard from Malfoy all week except for a brief owl explaining he would pick her up at her “place of residence” and “escort” her to the gala for 4:30 pm, to help with set up. Apparently, Pansy had told him what colour her dress was, so they would match.

Hermione had been expecting Malfoy to drop by SPERMc unannounced and just altogether distract her (with his unending staring). But he was completely absent all week—save for that letter. And she could not stop thinking about him; his motives, his mysterious blood curse, his increased height, his blond hair, his piercing eyes, his lower lip… It was very detrimental to her work.

As Hermione readied herself for the gala, she worried that Malfoy wouldn’t show up at all. She supposed she would be hanging out with Harry regardless, but…it was never fun to attend a ball solo, at least in her experience. She was always hounded by bachelors and the press alike. At the very least, Malfoy would be a broad barrier between her and the hordes.

Hermione analyzed herself in the mirror. Her gown was a deep purple satin, floor-length with a slit up to her mid-thigh, strapless, and cinched at the waist. Pansy had chosen it, obviously, and it was very flattering to her curves. Hermione wished there was a bit less cleavage, but it was too late to choose another dress now and Pansy had warded it so that she could not alter the dress. Her hair was pulled into a huge soft bun at the base her neck. A few curly strands framed her face.

Hermione brushed a dusting of shimmer onto her eyes, a winged liner on her upper lid, mascara and her regular red lip. She did not deviate much when it came to makeup. Hermione was not one to enjoy dressing up most of the time, so she had Ginny and Pansy teach her a look that went with basically any event and outfit and she simply replicated that on end. She knew it was flattering and formal enough to suit tonight’s gala, and did not require a lot of time, effort or skill.

As she was shuffling on her heels, the floo chimed, alerting her that someone was in her living room. Hermione’s heart clenched and that same tingling sensation washed over her. She knew it was Malfoy.

Hermione made her way to the living room where Malfoy stood inspecting her things. The space was tidier than normal (she had made sure to clean up). Her flat was small, the living room’s biggest feature was the floo. She had a small TV in one corner, three bookshelves lining the walls, lots of photos of friends, a coffee table, an orange sofa, and a leather armchair and a sad looking snake plant by the solitary window.

Malfoy’s head turned in her direction as she entered the room from the hallway. He looked striking. His deep black suit was entirely muggle and extremely well tailored. Devastatingly well tailored. He sported a light purple dress shirt that offset her deep purple dress perfectly and a pocket square that was the exact colour of her dress. Malfoy had one hand casually in his pocket, the other held a massive bouquet of flowers.

His eyes heated and raked over her.

Hermione’s body tingled more fiercely underneath his gaze. He was far too attractive.

“Hi,” she said as the silence stretched on.

Malfoy snapped out of his staring. He crossed the room and handed her the flowers. They were purple dahlias that complemented Hermione’s outfit.

“For you,” he offered.

Hermione took the flowers. “Erm—thanks. They’re lovely.” Hermione pushed aside the slit of her dress and plucked her wand from its thigh holster—Malfoy’s jaw dropped at the flash of skin he saw—and summoned a vase for them. She placed them on her stained coffee table. “I was worried you might not come,” Hermione admitted for some reason.

Malfoy tore his eyes from the slit of her dress. “And miss this? You look ravishing.”

Hermione smiled but recognized that her earlier assessment about him just wanting in her pants was panning out to be disappointingly true. Maybe Hermione should just sleep with him. What would be the harm? She hadn’t dated in far too long. And he was apparently ready and willing. And what else could she possibly be hoping for from Malfoy? A relationship? Hermione held back a snort.

Though, she worried sleeping with him would make their friend group dynamic weird. What would he be like once he’d bedded her? Weird and distant? Aloof? Completely normal? Rude?

No, she couldn’t sleep with him. Couldn’t risk throwing things out of balance. And she didn’t want to put a wedge between her and Theo, since Theo was obviously close with Malfoy. Hermione did not want to do anything that would strain what Hermione saw as Harry and Theo’s relationship—even though it did not yet exist.

She’d accept Malfoy’s flirtatiousness, because really no harm, no foul. But nothing further.

While Hermione debated this internally, Malfoy stared at her intently, his eyes roving across her face.

“Should we go?” Malfoy asked, breaking the silence.

Hermione snapped back to earth. “Oh, yes. Lots to do. I hope you like setting up donation sheets and centrepieces.”

Malfoy extended his arm to her. “Put me to work, Granger. Consider it my community service.”

Hermione chuckled and wrapped her arm around his. She noted that his entire body noticeably stiffened at her touch. His reaction confused her, but she had no time to dwell on it; all the staring had made them late.

*

Malfoy was the perfect date. Hermione was annoyed by it for some reason.

He dutifully (and artfully) helped set up the centrepieces, obediently following all of Hermione and Pansy’s directives, working alongside an equally amenable Neville. (In fact, Malfoy and Neville worked with a confusing fluidity, as if they were used to working together.) Malfoy’s previous awkward demeanour disappeared as he worked quietly and completely melted away when the guests arrived.

As people began trickling in and Hermione was on the cusp of a meltdown, Malfoy grasped her shoulders (making her body burst in tingles again), looked deeply into her eyes with his enthralling grey ones and told her in no uncertain terms that “tonight is going to be an irrefutable success, because you planned it. Breathe, Granger.”

It had caused her heart to do all sorts of strange and confusing flutterings. That man was too attractive for his own good.

He navigated the crowds with an expertise that Hermione envied, though she could somehow sense that he was not at ease as more and more people filed into the cavernous event hall. Malfoy stood beside her dutifully, his warm hands pressed to the small of her back like some ridiculous 18^th century gentleman.

It made her heart skip.

He spoke with her potential donors with grace. He knew how to make small talk that had them smiling and also somehow pledging to donate even more money. He even knew several of the werewolves she had invited and appeared to be on good terms with them. They laughed together and shared inside jokes she did not follow.

Hermione was perplexed by this Draco Malfoy. He did not match her memory of Draco Malfoy, even after he had started his crusade to redeem himself. This Malfoy was kinder, attentive, charming. Attractive. Wildly attractive.

Hermione tuned back into her conversation, her gaze drifting from Malfoy’s strong jawline.

“You’ll have to excuse us, though Councillor Singh, Miss Granger has a speech to deliver,” Malfoy said smoothly as the wizened wizard before them continued to babble on about who knows what.

Malfoy steered Hermione away from him and toward the stage, nodding and greeting people as he went.

“Ready, Granger?” he asked, tilting his head down toward her.

Hermione glanced up at him. “I hate public speaking,” she muttered.

Malfoy turned to her fully as they reached the base of the small stage. Hermione felt her body heat under his intense gaze. He took her right hand and squeezed it. “You’ll be amazing,” he vowed.

Malfoy brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. She was definitely blushing now. Her heart was once again racing. He smiled down at her. Hermione stared back at him, speechless. One tiny hand kiss and her entire brain shut down.

“Right, Granger, get up there and wow us all.”

Hermione stared at him blankly, her brain going: blerg. It was to her absolute shock to note that Rolf and Luna were already on the stage waiting for her. Hermione wished her brain would move beyond the hand kiss, but her hand was burning. She could feel the imprint of his lips on her. She felt like she could hear her pulse rushing through her veins.

‘Get it together, Hermione.’

Somehow, Hermione got through her speech. She could not say with confidence what she had actually said because she was running on autopilot. Later, she would thank her obsessive need to memorize her speeches to the point that she could say them in her sleep, because that was basically what was happening now; she was sleep-talking.

Body abuzz and aflush, Hermione stepped away from the podium. Rolf took her spot with a smile. That was probably a good sign—he wouldn’t be smiling if she had completely biffed it. Right?

In short order, Malfoy was offering her his hand to help her descend the short steps of the stage. Her hand heated again at his touch. ‘What is happening?’

Malfoy was smiling and saying something that she was not really listening to. She just stared at him in response.

“Nice speech, Granger,” Theo declared loudly, pulling Hermione into a hug.

That snapped her out of it. The noise of the room rushed back to her. She looked at Theo in confusion. He took her hand from Malfoy—who looked very annoyed by that—and spun her in a circle dramatically, then wolf-whistled.

“Looking good, Hermione,” Theo leered. “Maybe I should have fought to have you as my date instead of Potter. Can’t even find the bloke,” Theo muttered. “I make the impossible happen in less than a week, literally became a—” Malfoy elbowed Theo in the stomach gruffly. “Ow! Merlin, I can tell her, Hermione’s your m—” Malfoy elbowed Theo harder that time. It looked like it really hurt. But it did shut up Theo.

Hermione blinked at the Slytherins in a daze. Her brain was still a bit slow. “Harry,” she latched onto. “Right. Yeah, he was dealing with some altercation near the balcony like twenty minutes ago. I told him that he’s not on duty and to let it go, but he just couldn’t.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Arresting another poor drunk bloke who was just trying to have a fun night?” Theo asked, apparently recovered from Malfoy’s elbowing.

Hermione laughed, her brain finally feeling connected to her body again. Until of course Malfoy had to go and ruin it by stepping closer to her and placing his hand on her back again. Hermione’s brain once more went: blerg.

“Why don’t you go find your date and stop harassing mine?” Malfoy asked.

Theo wiggled his eyebrows. “What do you say, Hermione? Abandon this tosser and come have a dance with yours truly. I promise, I was trained very well by my governess.”

Hermione smiled at Theo. She finally took in his appearance and noted that he looked good. Very good. His green suit was perfectly tailored, like Malfoy’s. His short brown curls were smooth and defined. In fact—

“Are you taller?” she asked. She assessed him critically, then stepped forward trying gauge how much taller than her he was. “That can’t be—”

Malfoy pulled her back to his side gently, his arm landing on her hip possessively. Hermione’s body heated in response to the action. Normally such behaviour would have her hackles up, but when Malfoy did it, it made her want to melt into his arms.

“Taller?” Theo waved her off. “Probably just my shoes, they’ve got a bit of a heel. Hermione looked at them—they did have a heel. Theo cleared his throat.

“You seem…” Hermione tilted her head as she stared at him. “Different.” Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t quite sure why she said it, but it was undeniable. Something was different about Theo. Something big—and yet, he looked the same as ever (though maybe—definitely—taller).

Theo smiled. He looked between Hermione and Malfoy. “I’m sure you’re not used to seeing me dressed so properly. Not my usual look, as it were.”

Theo’s easy smile suddenly dropped from his face and he looked stricken. His head whipped toward the crowd. Hermione peeked over his shoulder trying to see what had abruptly bothered him so. She could not see any sort of commotion or anyone recognizable. Theo snapped his eyes to Malfoy, his face anguished. They stared deeply into one another eyes. Hermione felt like she was intruding on a private conversation.

“Hermione,” Malfoy said suddenly, his eyes still trained on Theo’s.

Hermione?!

“Theo and I just need a quick moment together. Please excuse my atrocious manners.” Malfoy turned to gaze at her. “Will you be alright for a few minutes?”

She stared at him in confusion. “What is going on?” She was far too distracted by him calling her Hermione. Her poor brain was blerging away again.

“Just a few minutes,” Malfoy continued. “Here. Uh…” he looked around and found Luna and Rolf were still standing nearby. “Scamander!” Malfoy called. He steered Hermione to him. “Keep an eye on her for me. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“What…?”

Malfoy poshly kissed her hand again and Hermione’s brain went right back to blerging.

“I’ll be as fast as I can. Stay with Scamander, I’ll find you,” he vowed.

Then Malfoy was bodily pushing Theo out of the hall.

“They had a weird energy,” Rolf commented.

Hermione stared in shock. “I have no idea what just happened,” she muttered weakly.

Luna was staring after them and rubbing at her chest. “I feel like I should…” Luna said in an uncharacteristically serious voice. Hermione frowned as the woman left the room at a brisk pace after the Slytherins, her wispy opal gown trailing behind her.

Hermione turned to follow, but she was quickly engaged in a conversation with a member of the Wizengamot about a Bill they were working on. She couldn’t very well leave the woman to follow the trio. Hermione and Rolf conversed with Hapstead for what felt like thirty minutes before the aging woman wished them a good evening. Hermione looked around for Malfoy, concerned that he had not returned. Then she felt weird for being upset he was not there.

Rolf excused himself to the loos and Hermione quite suddenly found herself alone in the lion’s den. That was how ten minutes later she was inexplicably being pulled onto the dance floor by an extremely insistent Cormac McLaggen. Hermione had even outright said no—yet there she was stiff as a board as he threw his smarmy grin her way and placed his hands far too familiarly onto her waist.

Hermione resolved to shuffle through a minute, then make her excuses and try and find Harry at the very least, since her date appeared to have abandoned her.

“You look good, Granger,” Cormac grinned, his eyes resting very obviously on her cleavage.

Hermione pulled a face. “Yes, well, actually I have to go to the loo, so—”

“Nonsense. Wait for the end the song at the very least,” he replied.

Hermione did her best to hide her glare. Cormac’s uncle was an important Wizengamot contact. She did not want to outright burn that bridge. But being in his arms made her skin crawl. She never liked being around him generally, though something felt different this time. She was physically repulsed by him. She even felt ill.

Cormac’s hands started to descend inappropriately low on her hips. Hermione’s eye twitched.

“Cormac,” she warned through clenched teeth. Hermione tried to pull from his arms. He held her firm, his fingers digging into her hips. “Let go,” she seethed.

“Just one dance, Granger. Don’t be such a prude.” Cormac flexed his hands on her hips making her feel like she might puke.

‘Sod the Wizengamot connection,’ she thought harshly, one second from hexing him. “Cormac let go of me or I’ll—”

Quite suddenly, an expensive sleeve was shoved between Hermione and Cormac. They turned to see the sleeve belonged to Malfoy. And he looked murderous. His eyes were flashing—they were a luminescent silver and there was a strange energy rolling off of him that made Hermione fearful. Not afraid for herself, but terrified for what he might do to Cormac.

“I believe the lady asked you to let go, McLaggen,” Malfoy drawled, aggressively pushing Cormac away from Hermione. Malfoy stepped in front of Hermione protectively, though he kept his hands to himself. “Best you head out.”

Cormac looked livid. But somewhere in his Neanderthal brain he had some sort of self preservation and stepped away from Hermione. He looked like he might say something, then turned on his polished heel and stalked into the crowd.

Malfoy turned to her the moment he was gone. “I apologize,” he said sincerely. “Are you alright?”

Hermione was still a bit off-kilter from Cormac’s hands, her physical reaction to them, and Malfoy’s sudden appearance. “Uh.”

Blerg, went her brain.

“Would you like a drink?” Malfoy asked when she just blinked up at him. He was calmer, the murderous energy had (mostly) dissipated. Hermione nodded in response. “May I touch your back?” he asked hesitantly.

Hermione nodded again. Malfoy’s hand landed protectively on her back where it had been most of the night and he steered her toward the bar. The effect of his touch was wholly different than Cormac’s: she felt immediately at ease. The uncomfortable crawling under her skin was replaced by a soothing heat. Hermione frowned. She glanced up at Malfoy. He was glancing about the crowd distractedly. Hermione admired his strong jaw for a few seconds, then returned her attention to the press of the crowd. Hermione shifted closer to him, welcoming the way he was making her feel.

Malfoy artfully declined multiple attempts to draw them into conversation on the way to the bar. He asked what she wanted, then ordered her the requested white wine. Malfoy got himself a firewhiskey. He steered her to one of the tables pressed to the wall and gently pushed her onto the sole stool available. He stepped beside her, blocking Hermione from the crowd.

He let her drink a few sips before he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Scamander was supposed to stay with you.” The frustration was evident in his voice.

Hermione shrugged. She admitted, “I’m used to it at this point. He’s never let it go that I snubbed him at Slughorn’s party.”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed. “McLaggen’s a piece of shit.”

A laugh bubbled out of Hermione despite herself. “He is a piece of shit, isn’t he?”

Malfoy’s lips twitched but he remained serious. “Are you okay?” he asked, his hand lifting as if to rest on her, then he thought better of it and put it into his pocket.

Hermione nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

‘Just confused by my reaction to Cormac and my reaction to you.’

She continued out loud, “Thank you for your good timing. Let’s not talk about it anymore. Where were you? Is Theo alright?”

Malfoy sipped his drink and his expression shuttered for a moment. “Theo is fine.”

“He was acting very strangely and—”

“He’s fine.”

Hermione shot him a look. “Don’t cut me off.”

“Sorry.”

That was the fourth time he had apologized to her today alone. It was unlike him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Malfoy downed the rest of his drink in a gulp. “Theo is fine. I promise. He just—had a bit of a freakout over seeing Potter. I’m sure you can tell he likes him.”

“Oh.” That did make sense. “Have they seen each other yet?”

Malfoy pulled a face. “Theo had to leave, unfortunately.”

“What?!” Hermione was beyond upset. “He left? Why? I thought he likes Harry? He bailed on their first date?”

“Did you want another drink?” Malfoy asked, avoiding her questions.

Hermione crossed her arms and stared at him.

“It’s—private. I’m sworn to secrecy. Theo had to leave. He didn’t want to leave. I’ve been told to ‘beg Potter’s forgiveness’, which I think we both know will not be happening. But I will ask him to give Theo another chance.”

Hermione’s brain was going through the ringer that night. “He just…left? Harry didn’t even get to see Theo?”

Malfoy’s forehead creased. “Why would it matter if they saw each other if Theo had to leave anyway?”

“You did see what Theo was wearing? He looked fantastic—and is somehow taller. I insist he has grown at least two inches since last week. Anyway, Harry would have lost his last functioning brain cell.”

Malfoy laughed at her, then frowned. “Are you…attracted to Theo?”

Hermione shrugged. “Who isn’t? He’s tall, has a great smile, and is an incorrigible flirt.”

Malfoy leaned toward her. “I’m tall and have a great smile,” he informed her. Hermione’s heart began racing—his face was distractingly close to hers.

“Ye-yeah. That’s true.”

Malfoy looked pleased. “Did you want to dance with a far more accomplished partner than McLaggen?”

Hermione found herself agreeing. She was on the dance floor moments later, Malfoy confidently leading her through a waltz or whatever—Hermione had no clue. He was an accomplished dancer. She felt like she was floating and that feeling was back: that warmth throughout her entire body, the tingling. It was pleasant. And distracting.

Draco led her through four dances before taking a break. They were immediately engaged by the one of the hundreds of people who were hoping to talk to Hermione about werewolf rights or any other manner of her causes. Hermione welcomed the conversation now, hoping for a distraction from her pull toward Draco. He remained by her side, contributing to the conversation intelligently.

At some point, they ran into Narcissa who chatted them up happily.

“Aren’t you two a dashing couple?” Narcissa said in way of greeting.

Hermione blushed under her appraisal. Draco’s hand burned against her back, reminding her that they were touching. For some reason it felt odd to be doing so in front of his mother.

“Enjoying the evening, mother?” Draco asked.

“Why yes. As always, miss Granger, you have put together a phenomenal event. How are you enjoying the evening?” Narcissa asked.

Draco’s thumb swiped against Hermione’s back comfortingly—distractingly. Everything about him was distracting.

“Oh—good. Yes. It’s been a great evening so far,” she responded honestly.

“I hope my son has been a good date,” Narcissa smiled demurely, her eyes sparkling.

Hermione looked up at him. Their eyes connected and her breathing stopped for a second. “Yes—he’s been a great date.” She tore her eyes away from his.

“You two just look so lovely together,” Narcissa said again.

Draco said, “Thank you mother. We should probably keep circulating. Hermione is in high demand.”

Hermione.

Her brain blerged again.

Narcissa waved them off, wishing them a good evening. She was quickly replaced by an unending line of people wanting Hermione’s attention.

As the night began to wind down and the hall started to empty, Malfoy requested another dance. Hermione acquiesced, even though her feet ached. She liked being in his arms—that tingling, it was addictive.

Draco spun her and pulled her close. Hermione rested her head on his chest as they swayed to the live band. Very few people remained when Draco brought them to a halt. The band had stopped playing and was putting away their instruments.

Hermione lifted her head and gazed up into Draco’s eyes—yes Draco. It felt strange to think of him as Malfoy after such a lovely evening together. His eyes were more silvery than grey and she wondered at the colour change. Was it a sign of his magic? His mood? The lighting? She had noticed it earlier too.

They stared at one another for a long time, his hands on her waist, hers on his arms and chest, a tension mounting between them.

Hermione reminded herself that nothing was going to happen. She had decided nothing was going to happen. She did not want to throw things out of wack when it came to their friend group, she—

He was leaning toward her face. Hermione’s chest constricted. He was going to—

His lips landed on her heated cheek gently. Hermione’s brain stopped processing the world for a moment. Only his lips pressed to her cheek mattered. Soft and burning an impression into her skin.

Hermione made some sort of noise that she had never made before. Draco pulled back and looked at her again. His eyes were entirely silver now, almost glowing in the soft lighting of the ballroom.

He stared and she stared and the silence stretched on. Hermione was teetering on the edge of saying sod it and closing the gap between them, when they were interrupted.

A child’s voice said, “Hermione, we raised 500 000 galleons! Can you believe it?”

Reality crashed into Hermione and she stepped back from Draco. She looked down at Teddy, Remus and Nymphadora’s nine-year-old child. He hugged her middle in delight.

“Teddy,” Hermione greeted, her voice strangled. She cleared her throat. “You’re still here? You should be in bed at this hour.”

Teddy smiled mischievously. “Uncle Harry said I could stay up late to help fend off the women from him.”

Hermione glanced about. Sure enough, Harry was over by the bar, chatting amicably with Neville and Pansy. “Is that so?” she asked.

“Apparently, his date abandoned him. Grandma said I could stay!”

Hermione smiled despite herself. “That was very kind of her.”

“Who’re you?” Teddy asked Draco, eyeing him.

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” Draco replied.

“Are you Hermione’s boyfriend?” Teddy intrusively inquired.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Okay, Teddy. Let’s go get Harry.”

The child obediently turned and ran toward the bar.

The moment between Hermione and Draco was broken and now an awkwardness settled in between them. Hermione could no longer look him in the eye. They rejoined their friends at the bar and everyone helped with tear down (assisted by the venue staff). Thanks to magic, it was a quick affair. Hermione wished her friends a good night, then turned to Malfoy to do the same.

“Allow me to escort you home,” he insisted, eyes on hers again.

The tension was back. Hermione stuttered through an “okay.”

A second later, they were in her living room. Hermione unhooked her arm from his and turned to face him. Her body was tingling again. Her heart racing. An undeniable pull toward him.

Draco smiled at her softly. “I had an exceptional evening. I’m sorry again about having to leave in the middle there—and McLaggen—”

“You’re not responsible for McLaggen’s actions.”

“No. But I am responsible for you.” Hermione frowned. “As your escort, I mean. I should have—I’m sorry is all I mean to say.” Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. “Are we still on for tomorrow evening?”

Hermione was still trying to process why he felt responsible for her—it was a bit of an intense claim to make after one date. But she supposed purebloods had ridiculous rules when it came to courtship—not that they were courting. Were they?

Draco waited on her for an answer. “Oh—yeah. Tomorrow night. Yes, definitely.” Hermione heated at her fumbling. He was so distracting.

Draco took her hand and kissed it again (blerg). “Until tomorrow at 7, then,” he said eventually. “Sleep well, Hermione.”

She licked her lips in response to his tone.

Draco took a deep breath and stepped away from her. He nodded once, then disappeared silently.

Chapter Text

Mid June, 2007

Draco was having the most delightful dream of Hermione. She lay snuggled in his arms in his bed. His hands trailed over her naked body while she talked to him about something. He couldn’t quite focus his dream brain enough to know what it was she was saying. But her body pressed against his was the best feeling in the world.

*

Draco awoke in a good mood. He hopped in the shower and made quick work of his morning wood, remembering Hermione delighted to be in his arms. Draco grinned as he got dressed, replaying the near perfect evening they had together.

He made his way to the dungeons, whistling fondly. While the section of the Manor containing the cursed Drawing Room had been destroyed, the dungeons were extensive enough that the Western ones were still in existence under the remaining parts of the Manor.

Stepping up to the barred entrance, Draco eyed in Theo in his dragon form: a Swedish Short Snout with blue scales glinting in the torch light. Theo growled menacingly at Draco’s approach.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh, get over it, Nott.”

“Let me out of here.”

“You and I both know you need more time to acclimate. Or you might do something stupid like kidnap Potter.”

“You kidnapped Hermione. Why can’t I kidnap Potter?” Theo whined.

“Get your shit under control. We’ll try again in a few days.”

“A few days?! Draco!”

Draco shrugged. “Listen, you’re the one that wants to make sure that you don’t hurt your precious Potter. You agreed to this.”

“Well, now I un-agree. Let me out. I need to see him.”

“I’ll have some food sent. Do you want dragon food or human food?”

Theo growled. Then his dragon form disappeared and was replaced by Theo, still in his dashing suit from the night before. “Human food. I don’t get why you like hunting so much. It’s gross.”

Draco laughed. “Get yourself under control.”

“Why can’t we just tell him,” Theo moaned, approaching the bars. “It won’t be the end of the world. He’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

“You’re going to tell him?”

Theo shrugged. “Why not? He deserves to know.”

“Until you know he’s going to accept you as a mate, he cannot know. The secret is too important.”

Theo shook the bars in annoyance. “I don’t want to lie to him.”

“And I don’t want to lie to Hermione. But if they know about the Dracun and are not sworn to secrecy then it could be very bad for us.”

“Then we get him to do an unbreakable.”

“Theo, how would you convince Mr. Paranoid himself to do an unbreakable vow?”

“Besides. You can barely control yourself right now. If you tried to see him to do an unbreakable, you’d immediately transform. We were beyond lucky that you made it off the property last night before anyone saw.”

“Minus Luna,” Theo pointed out helpfully.

Draco sighed. Another problem he had to manage. Luna had somehow caught up with them and grabbed onto Draco before he disapparated back to the Manor where Theo had promptly shifted into his dragon form.

 “Yes. Luna. That was unexpected.” Draco checked his watch. “I have to meet her soon.”

“You’re not going to activate her without me, are you?” Theo whined.

Draco shot him a look. “No, of course not, Theo. But I promised her answers last night. You were probably too out of it to notice. Moaning about needing to find Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Hey! No making fun of me,” Theo warned. “Or I’ll start in on you about how dreadful you were last week crying for Hermione.”

“I was not crying—”

“I miss her so much, she’s so perfect,” Theo said in a poor imitation of Draco.

Draco ignored him. “The elves will send you brunch soon. Keep practicing your transformations.”

“Wait—can’t we just meet Harry anyway and you use your magic like you did last night to keep me in check?”

“That was a fluke. And it was very taxing. Besides, I doubt you want me there when you see him next. You’re going to be very…hot for him.”

Theo grinned. “You sure you don’t want to watch?”

Draco rolled his eyes at Theo’s antics. “And you’ll have to be able to control your sexual desires—you shouldn’t start the bonding like I did. We know better now.”

Theo pulled a face. “You’re telling me I can’t fuck him? Have you seen him?”

 “Only kissing. No orgasms, Theo. I’m serious. I’m not allowing someone in my horde to trap someone else into a bond without them knowing.”

“You don’t know that Hermione’s trapped. She seems to like you—”

“Theo, I’m not arguing about this,” Draco replied curtly, his good mood long gone. “I’ll check back after meeting with Luna. Work on your transformations. I’ll see about getting something that smells of Potter. Might help.”

Theo perked up. “I’m preferential to his Auror robes if you can manage.”

Draco shook his head, smiling despite himself. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

*

Luna sat in the same seat that Hermione had, outside in the garden. The strange blond gave no preamble and started talking about her pull to him and Theo.

“…you must be that dragon. Draca,” Luna concluded. Draco startled. “I was drawn to you before. When we were trying to free Hermione from your castle. I stepped out right in front of you, disregarding logic entirely. I was drawn to you, Draco Malfoy. Because I am one of you.”

Draco nodded. She seemed to be taking it well. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

Draco did. He recounted Helga’s story, now familiar from all the retellings. He explained his run-in with Hermione. He also told her the truth; that Hermione was his mate. This didn’t surprise Luna at all, she just smiled vaguely. He explained Theo’s transformation and the week they had spent getting him back to himself, accompanied by Gryn and the Eastern horde.

Luna sipped her tea. “And Harry is Theo’s mate,” she surmised.

“Yes. He is.”

“I don’t like the secrecy. But it is understandable…for now. You have to tell Hermione and Harry.”

“We will. We will…we just…”

“Need to be sure they won’t react poorly and reveal your secret. Yes. I understand.” Luna crossed her legs—she wore jean overalls with flower patches. “I’ll have a mate as well?”

Draco shrugged. “I have no idea. I was surprised that Theo does. We were not prepared for it—obviously.”

“Okay.” Luna smiled brightly. “I’ll write up a journal for you about my life. I’ll need a few days. Then we can go to Wales. Rolf will not be happy that I am taking time off with so little warning. He’ll get over it, though.” Luna stood. “I’ll be in touch.”

Draco stared at her in surprise. “That’s it. No more questions? Concerns?”

Luna stared at Draco unnervingly. “What questions would I have? I accept the evidence before me.” She had observed Theo transform into a dragon, after all.

“Okay…”

“Have a good afternoon,” Luna wished.

“Oh—wait. Luna.” It felt weird calling her by her first name, but their Dracun connection made calling her by her last name even stranger. “Can I ask you for a favour?”

“I will not tell Harry or Hermione,” she replied.

“Fantastic. But not that. Are you able to get Potter’s Auror robes?”

Luna tilted her head. Then, “Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll have them owled over by tonight.”

“For a Ravenclaw, you don’t ask very many questions.”

Luna smirked. “I only ask questions when I need answers. You need Harry’s robes for Theo. To help him acclimatize to Harry. So that he can be released from wherever you’re holding him prisoner.”

Draco had evidently under-estimated Luna’s intelligence. “Very well then. I await your owl.”

Luna nodded and left.

Draco informed Theo that Luna would be sending Potter’s robes. Theo begged to be set free. Draco ignored him.

*

“Stop fidgeting with it, Draco,” Narcissa scolded, “Your hair looks perfect.”

Draco checked his wristwatch. “I should go.”

“Don’t forget the flowers,” Narcissa reminded him.

Draco picked up the bouquet of red roses.

“Are you sure about the rolled sleeves?” Narcissa questioned. “I think it a touch too informal.”

Draco nodded. “She likes my forearms,” he replied with confidence. He had noticed her stares at the pub.

“Even with the…Mark?”

Draco eyed it. “She didn’t seem to mind.”

Narcissa relented. “Okay, go before you’re late.”

Draco stepped through the floo to Hermione’s small flat. She was seated on her hideous orange sofa looking all sorts of ravishing. Her long turquoise summer dress flattered her curves that she normally hid. Draco’s body heated pleasantly at her proximity.

He stared at her in silence for far too long. She remained frozen on her sofa, a light blush on her cheeks.

“Hi.” Hermione got to her feet, wearing a slight wedge heel.

Draco crossed the room to her and kissed her hand. She bit her lip. Her cheeks became a deeper red. Draco wished he knew what she was thinking. He handed her the bouquet.

“Oh. Thanks,” Hermione said. She glanced at her coffee table where the dahlias from the night before sat. “I’m quickly running out of space for these,” she laughed awkwardly.

Hermione dropped his hand and went to her kitchen, searching for a vase. She found one and filled it with water. The roses were placed inside it and set atop her kitchen counter. She smiled at them, then up at him.

“They’re gorgeous.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Draco replied like a sap. Draco heard Hermione’s heart stutter. Draco told himself to calm down before he pounced on her.

Hermione rejoined him in the attached living room. “Where are you taking me?” she asked instead of acknowledging his compliment.

“Hendersons.”

“Never been.”

“It’s vegan actually. Muggle.”

“You’re going to eat vegan food?”

Draco nodded. “Of course.”

She seemed surprised. Draco wasn’t sure why. Obviously, he would only eat vegetarian food around her. She had told him how much she disliked meat. Then he remembered—she had not told him, she had told Draca.

Draco held out his arm and she wrapped hers around his with no hesitation. He apparated them to the alley by the restaurant and led her inside, their arms still together.

The host greeted them with a snobbish “Welcome” and Draco gave his name in response. They were brought into the establishment and Hermione gasped. It was very fancy, he supposed, if one were not used to fine dining. The lighting was warm, soft, and romantic, the colour palette was rich browns and deep reds, the patrons looked beyond posh.

Draco held out her seat for her and she smiled.

Seated with a menu before them, Hermione said, “This place is fancy. I feel under-dressed.”

“You look perfect,” he reassured her. He loved that she was slightly more casual. While he admired her beauty at the gala, Draco found he preferred her with her hair down and her face bare.

Hermione blushed once more and turned her eyes to the menu. Draco’s gaze lingered on her body while she read. He already knew what he was ordering, since he had extensively researched the menu.

“Ready to order?” their server asked, dressed in neutral blacks. The woman smiled warmly at Draco. He paid her little attention.

“Ready, Hermione?” he asked.

She looked at him, her heart racing again. Draco squeezed his hand into a fist under the table. The sound of her fast heartbeat was intoxicating. It made him want to leap across the table and pull her into his arms.

“Y-yeah. If you are.”

“I’m ready when you are.” She fiddled with the menu. “I think we need another minute or two,” Draco called to the server who nodded and walked away.

“Oh, that wasn’t necessary. I could—”

“Take all the time you need.”

Her eyes landed on his again, her pupils wide. “Thanks. I’m just not used to having so many options,” she confessed. “Everything looks amazing. What’re you going to get?”

“The seitan steak.”

“It sounds yummy,” she agreed. “But I think I want something lighter. Maybe the cream of mushroom noodles? And did you want to split the dumplings for an appetizer?”

Draco agreed, “Sounds fantastic. Did you want to drink?”

She reflected. “Yeah. That could—Maybe some wine?” Hermione turned to the drinks page with a frown.

“I’m happy to get us a bottle. If you like a pinot?”

Hermione nodded eagerly.

Draco waved back the server and they ordered. The decision-making done for the evening, silence fell over them. Draco recognized that he ought to do more than just stare at her whenever she was around. For all intents and purposes, she thought he knew nothing about her, meanwhile he knew the abridged version of her life.

So, Draco copied Draca and asked her to tell him more about herself. Hermione stumbled at first, but quickly recounted details about her life since the war. She reminded him she had two masteries (charms and magical creatures), she only lasted a year at the Ministry before quitting, and she worked for SPERMc as a lobbyist, fundraiser, and field agent. Her specialty was dragons.

“That’s a lot to juggle,” Draco remarked as he cut into his not-steak. It was surprisingly good.

Hermione nodded. “It is. Though, I like it that way. Keeps me occupied.”

“If dragons are your speciality, why do you do so much work on werewolves?” Draco asked.

Hermione replied, “Dragons are where my interests lie—there is just so much unknown about them and I have always had trouble with needing to know everything. Besides, they’re so fascinating with their own magic and lang—” she cleared her throat. She had been about to reveal that dragons could talk, Draco was sure of it. “But werewolves,” she continued, “Are a cause very close to home for me. Remus was a mentor to me and Bill—Bill Weasley has become a good friend as well. Not that he fully transforms. Besides, I work on so much werewolf stuff because dragons don’t give us much to work with. Besides helping out at some sanctuaries from time to time, it’s not like I could go on a crusade for dragon rights—they want nothing to do with us. I assume. Most of my dragon work deals with poaching and smuggling. The occasional fundraiser for a sanctuary. But dragons don’t sell as well as other causes. Werewolves are part human. It is easier to get sympathy. Dragons murder humans when they come across them. That makes it a bit harder to raise money for them.” Hermione chuckled.

Draco smiled along with her.

The meal was winding down but Draco had no desire to leave. The server removed their plates and asked if they wanted dessert. Draco, a sweet tooth, agreed immediately. A dessert menu was placed before them moments later. Hermione hemmed and hawed over the sugar content of the brownie. Draco ordered it for her anyway.

“Your parents are dentists, right?” he asked.

Hermione nodded solemnly. “Yes. Too much sugar triggers me,” she smiled, though her eyes remained sad. “And what about you?” Hermione asked. “I’ve spent this entire meal talking about myself.”

“What about me?”

“What did you do after Hogwarts?”

Draco sipped his wine. Happy to tell her everything, he glossed over his six months in Azkaban, dodging hate from the other prisoners and wardens alike. He recounted his correspondence course he took while in Azkaban and completed once he was released that allowed him to sit his NEWTs with everyone else at Hogwarts. He recalled seeing his old classmates there and how quickly he had fled the grounds once his exams were complete. Draco told her of he and Theo’s drunken decision to apply to a potions mastery and move to France. By that point, she had finished her brownie, so he stopped talking, unsure if she would be interested in hearing more.

The server removed their desserts and told them to “take your time” finishing the wine. There was still half a bottle.

“And so how was France?” she asked, evidently interested.

Draco summarized the year and a half abroad. He did not tell her of his sexual adventures, of which there had been many with willing muggles. He recounted how much he enjoyed learning about potions and how he and Theo went different routes for their thesis potions.

“Why did you choose Wolfsbane?” Hermione asked, interrupting his story.

Draco swirled his wine. “Much like you, I had a connection to werewolves. Greyback…I was forced to attend missions with him. I saw his destruction. I wanted to help since I did nothing to stop him.”

She titled her head, but said nothing.

“So, I improved the Wolfsbane potion.” Draco continued on his tale, catching her up on opening the shop with Theo, their goals of paying back society, and the fun they had as co-owners.

“What was it like when you woke up in a muggle hospital?” Hermione asked.

Draco did not want to lie to her more so he skirted the question. “Muggles aren’t so different than us.

She smiled. “No, they’re not.”

Hermione’s eyes landed on Draco’s forearms for the tenth time that evening. He smirked.

“And now you’re just back to life as usual?”

“I suppose.”

“Your mother must be on your case about finding a pureblood wife to settle down with.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Actually, mother said she does not care about the blood status of my wife. But, yes, she is impatient that I connect with my…future wife.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s so kind to me these days. Good for Narcissa. If you’re looking for your wife, what are you doing dating me? Might push away some potential matches.” She shot him a teasing smile.

Draco almost growled. The idea of him being with anyone else made him shudder. She was the only one for him. “I’m spending a lovely evening with excellent company,” he replied once his anger subsided.

Her eyebrows came together. “So, you’re not looking for a wife.”

Draco wasn’t sure how to answer that. He wasn’t looking for a wife. Not technically. He had found her. His mate. “I…”

“Okay, I’ll stop grilling you, Draco.” Every time she said his name his body tingled. She had said it several times that evening and he found all he wanted was to hear her say it again and again, preferably hear it being moaned into his ear.

Hermione finished her wine and looked at him expectantly.

“Shall I get the bill?” he asked.

Draco signalled the server over and asked for the cheque. She came back and placed a black folder on the table. Hermione’s hand snapped out and grabbed it before Draco could react. She opened the folder and swore.

“Please, allow me to pay, Hermione,” Draco said, far more calmly than he felt. If she thought for a second he was not treating her to this dinner, he had failed as a gentleman.

“We’re splitting it, of course,” she replied.

“Hermione, please, I was the one who asked you to dinner. It is my pleasure.”

“You don’t even know how to pay with muggle money,” she threw back.

Draco eyed her defiantly and pulled out a credit card from his pocket. He tossed it on the table callously. “Try me.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Fine. If you can successfully pay for his meal using muggle currency, I will let you pay for the whole thing.”

Draco smirked. He signalled their server who came back. He explained he would be paying by card. She brought Draco to the kiosk where he deftly navigated through the card payment, offering the woman a hefty tip. He took the receipt as proof for Hermione, who had been watching the exchange with her jaw on the floor.

He waved the receipt before her. “You’re welcome.”

Hermione scowled. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Draco figured explaining all the times he had paid for muggle women’s drinks was not the best way to present himself. He simply said, “France.”

Draco offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. Hermione leaned against him when he wrapped his arm around her waist and steered her out of the restaurant. They made the short trip to the alleyway. Draco offered to apparate them, far steadier on his feet than she was. Hermione agreed, her wide brown eyes staring up into his.

They reappeared in her living room in front of the floo. Hermione was breathless. Draco did not release her, wanting more than ever to close the distance between their lips.

She was staring at his lips which did nothing to calm him down. Draco knew he could not go beyond a kiss. As he had said to Theo, there should be no orgasms between the two of them. It would further cement the bond she was unaware that she had even started. He had to court her more first. Get her to like him before he revealed the truth.

He should not kiss her. It would make it very hard for him to stop at a kiss. Yes, a kiss on the cheek would do nicely. Then he would ask her to another date.

Hermione, apparently, had other plans. “Sod it,” she muttered, then her lips were pressed to his.

Draco’s whole world stopped.

His body erupted in desire, his heart pounding against his ribs. Draco placed a hand on her face, the other low on her waist, pulling her body to his. Hermione’s heart rate was obscenely fast, the sound pulsing in Draco’s ears. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer to her, deepening the kiss.

Draco had lost all semblance of control. He needed her. Now.

She pulled from the kiss abruptly. Draco’s foggy brain didn’t understand what was happening. Then, he caught up: she was leading him down the hallway.

‘Salazar, she’s going to sleep with me,’ Draco thought in awe and worry. They could not—no orgasms. That was the rule.

But his traitorous feet followed her to her small bedroom. She gently pushed him toward the bed and Draco obediently sat on it. Hermione hiked her dress up to her upper thighs. Draco stared at her now exposed legs, his body pulsing in desire.

Hermione crawled onto him. He might have stopped breathing, he wasn’t sure. She reconnected their lips, her core pressed to his, her hands in his hair. Draco’s body was burning. He felt—it was everything.

Hermione groaned into his lips, rolling against his hips. Draco’s hands were on her waist, encouraging her. Pushing her to something he wasn’t supposed to. Something bad but something oh so good. ‘What am I not supposed to do?’

Hermione pulled away from him and was pulling her dress over her head in a flash. Draco growled at the sight of her. She was gorgeous. Her bra was unexpectedly lacy for Hermione Granger. Her panties matched.

‘She expected this to happen,’ Draco concluded based on her underwear choice.

Hermione brought his hand to her breast. “Touch me,” she asked or ordered, he had no idea. All Draco knew was that this was way better than the maybe-dream sex. In fact, it made him really feel the last time was a dream. This was so real and vivid. Her nipple pert beneath his fingers, her body hot and wanting above him, her lips back on his, demanding his attention.

Draco circled her nipple with his thumb and she moaned. Hermione pulled away again.

“Take off your clothes,” she demanded, trying to get at the button of his slacks.

Draco finally had his senses knocked back into him by the feeling of her grazing him through his slacks with her hand. It had him rolling back his eyes, then grabbing her hand and stilling her entirely. Her scent was overwhelming him. He could smell her arousal pulsing off of her. He needed to get out of her flat as fast as humanly possible.

“We—I can’t,” Draco said hoarsely.

She sat back on her heels, still breathing heavily. “What?”

“I can’t. We shouldn’t. It’s…too early,” Draco said, his body tense with desire and screaming at him for stopping her.

Hermione’s blinked at him for several horribly awkward moments. “You…don’t want to have sex with me?”

“I definitely want to have sex with you,” Draco countered, but kept his hands to himself lest he cave. The image before him was enough to make him burst—Hermione in lingerie, asking to have sex with him.

She crossed her arms, covering her perfect breasts. “Then…?”

“I-I’m trying to do this right,” Draco said.

Hermione climbed off of him and hastily shimmied back into her dress. “You should go,” she mumbled to the floor.

Draco’s stomach fell. This was not going at all how he wanted it to. “I want to have sex with you,” he repeated, trying to catch her eye, but she moved a few steps away.

“Then why did you stop?”

“I…It’s important to me that we don’t rush into things.”

Hermione crossed her arms again. “It’s not like this is anything serious, Draco. We both know you just want to cross me off some perverse to-do list.”

Draco crossed the room to her and tilted her chin up to look into his eyes. “That is not my intention at all,” he vowed deeply. Her breathing sped up again. “While blowing out your back is definitely on my list of important things to do, I only intend to do so when we have a strong emotional connection. I want to get to know you first, date you.”

Hermione stared at him. “You want to date me?”

“That is why I’ve taken you on dates.”

“But…why?”

“Because you are mi—perfect,” he said. “You fascinate me. You challenge my thinking. You’re gorgeous. We have good chemistry,” he added on, trailing a hand down her bare arm. “Why wouldn’t I want to date you?”

Hermione just stared some more.

“Do you…not want to date me?” he asked, his heart in his throat.

She stepped away and Draco’s heart sank. The world became muted and agony began to slowly spread through his chest. She was refusing him. He would die. Theo would be so pissed that Draco had locked him in the dungeons. His mother wasn’t aware he was there and Theo would be stuck down there for a while. Draco had also failed his task of bringing back the Dracun. Maybe Theo would take up the mantle…

“I’m not looking for anything serious,” she said finally.

Draco stared at her. “What?”

“I just—” Hermione held herself around the middle and seemed very vulnerable. “I sort of just got out of something pretty intense,” she said, “And I’m not ready to…I mean yeah. You’re hot and we do have good chemistry. But I’m not ready to…”

Draco’s mind whirled. She had told Draca that she had been single for a while. What relationship had she just gotten out of? Draco’s body stopped burning from her rejection though. She had not flat out said no to him. There was still hope on that front, however slim.

But she didn’t want anything serious? She was his mate; there was nothing more serious. Draco refrained from groaning in frustration. Maybe all she needed was time.

“I thought we shouldn’t sleep together because it might make the friend group dynamic weird—but then I thought screw it, it’s been a while and you look—” she cleared her throat. “But I can’t commit to more. I don’t…dating is not for me right now.”

“I can’t convince you otherwise?”

“I’m still confused why you would want to. But no. You can’t. I…” she trailed off. “I’m hung up on someone else.”

“Weasley?”

Hermione laughed. “Merlin, no. Ron and I are very much just friends.”

Draco did not know what to do next. She had told him what she had to offer and he could not accept. Sleeping with her would cement their bond even more, against her will. And he could not do that, especially now that he knew she didn’t want anything serious.

There was no solution for him. Except for him to figure out who she was in love with.

“In that case,” he said gravely, “I’ll wish you a goodnight. Thank you for two lovely evenings.”

Hermione fiddled with her dress and said nothing.

Draco walked down her corridor to her living room and disappeared to Wales.

*

A few days later, Draco flew back to the Manor. He took the long way home, hoping to clear his mind. He had spent several days in dragon form, flying with the Eastern horde and trying to take his mind off of things. The dragons had very little to say to help him. They felt he should just explain the soulmate bond to Hermione, since the bonding had already started. Draco knew Hermione would never forgive him for removing her consent from the process.

Draco landed in the back field and shifted back into his human form. Mippy greeted him with a bow and informed him that Mr. Theo was meeting with Mr. Potter in the garden. Draco apparated to the garden without hesitation. If Theo went and blew their cover, he would murder him.

Draco materialized slightly off from the men and ducked behind a tree. His apparition had become silent since he manifested as a Dracun—a cool bonus. He peered from behind the tree and eavesdropped.

“…make it up to you, Potter,” Theo was saying.

“Sorry, why are we at Malfoy’s? Do you live here now?” Potter asked, confused.

Theo thought, ‘he should not be allowed to wear those Auror robes in public, they are far too distracting.’

Draco withheld a groan. Theo and Draco had discovered that they could read each other’s minds now without meaning to. It was convenient at times and downright uncomfortable at others. Luckily, it seemed to only happen with particularly powerful thoughts. It was easier to block out human thoughts than dragon ones, so Draco put up a mental wall, cutting off Theo’s inappropriate fantasy about ripping Potter’s shirt open.

“Hm? Just spending some time with Draco as he gets acclimated to the human world again.”

“Human world?”

“Did I say that? I meant wizarding world.”

Potter frowned. “Muggles are humans too, Nott.”

Theo realized his mistake. “Of course they are. I just misspoke. I meant wizarding world.”

Draco felt bad for the mess unfolding before him.

“Anyway,” Theo continued quickly, “I’m sorry. I was ill from my travels. I had to leave immediately. No one was sadder than I to miss out on seeing you in whatever Pansy had picked out.”

Potter’s cheeks went red. He cleared his throat.

“Can I take you out tonight? Make it up to you?” Theo asked, smiling charmingly.

Potter adjusted his glasses. “As…friends?”

Theo’s eyebrows pulled together. “As in a date, Potter.”

Potter’s eyes went wide. But he nodded. “A date.” The Chosen One cleared his throat. “Yes. Tonight.”

Theo grinned. “Draco, why don’t you come out from your little hiding spot?” Theo called.

Potter’s look of embarrassed horror made Draco chuckle. He couldn’t blame the man, he wouldn’t have wanted a witness to that awkward exchange either.

“Potter,” Draco greeted.

“Malfoy,” Potter said back neutrally.

“I’ll walk you to the floo,” Theo offered. “Draco wait here.”

Draco gave them the space Theo requested. He did his best not to notice Theo’s glee a few moments later (Draco assumed they had touched or—gay gasp—kissed).

Theo returned to the garden. He sank into Potter’s abandoned seat smugly.

“Where’ve you been, then?” Theo asked nonchalantly. He popped a cookie into his mouth.

“How’d you get out of the dungeon?”

“Mother dearest, of course. Had Mippy bring her to see me. She is rather cross with you for locking me up.”

“And the first thing you did was get Potter to come by for a chat?”

Theo shrugged. “No time like the present. Where were you?” he asked again.

Draco collapsed into a chair miserably. “Hermione and I. Our date. Well, it was wonderful actually.”

“Why’re you so miserable then?”

“She tried to have sex with me.”

Theo covered his mouth dramatically. “She did not.”

“She did.”

“And so why are you miserable?”

“I made her stop.”

Theo stared at him. “Why on earth?”

“Because, Theo. I told you. No orgasms. It will advance the bonding.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Theo. You cannot hook up with Potter tonight. Promise me.”

Theo rolled his eyes. Draco stood suddenly, feeling his dragon energy overtake him, though he did not shift forms. He stared down at Theo who shrunk beneath him. “Promise me, Theo.”

Theo nodded. “I promise.”

Draco relaxed, his dragon magic receding. He took a seat again.

“What the fuck was that?” Theo wondered. “You looked…I don’t know man. Like your dragon was about to explode out of you.”

Draco shrugged. “No clue.”

“So, what happened with Hermione? You stopped her, then what? Ran away?”

Draco glared at him. It wasn’t and inaccurate retelling of events. “Not entirely. She said she’s not ‘over’ her last relationship and is not ready for one now. She doesn’t want anything serious.”

“Last relationship? The last person she dated as some random dragon wrangler from Romania. Constantin? Was that his name? She brought him to the pub a few times. The guy was super jacked, seeing them side by side was hilarious, made you wonder how he ever fit—” Theo cut himself off as he noticed Draco’s clenched fists. “Sorry. Anyway, my point is, it didn’t seem serious between them. When they split up, Hermione was completely unaffected.”

“I need a minute,” Draco said, then propelled himself away from the chairs. He jumped into the air and shifted midjump, his wings extended and carried him high above the grounds.

Draco flew for a long time. Theo eventually came and joined him, the two of them making a trip to the coast and back in silence. When Draco and Theo landed in the garden again, Luna was sitting there with a spiral-bound notebook in her lap. The men shifted into their human forms.

“Draco, Theo,” Luna greeted, rubbing at her chest. “I cannot wait to get rid of this annoying pulling sensation.”

Theo smiled. “Luna,” he greeted.

“You’re ready, then?” Draco asked.

Luna held up the book. “Yep. Ready. Can we go now?”

Theo complained, “Really, you decide you’re ready the night I have a hot date?”

Luna smiled. “Harry agreed to see you again?”

“He did,” Theo grinned. “Can’t wait to—” Theo glanced at Draco. “Only kiss him and nothing more.”

“Alright,” Luna stood. “I can wait until tomorrow morning. Shall we meet here?”

Theo pulled her into a hug. “You’re a peach.”

Luna hugged him back. “I would never keep mates apart.”

“Speaking of,” Theo said, “Do you know if Hermione is still hung up on Constantin?”

Luna tilted her head in thought. “Constantin? She hasn’t said a word about him since they split up. I don’t think it was ever serious between them.”

“See, told you,” Theo shot at Draco.

“Why?” Luna asked.

Draco scowled as Theo revealed his secrets, “Hermione told Draco she is not over her last relationship and is not ready to date. All she wants is something casual.”

Luna looked very surprised. “That is unexpected.”

“Tell me about it,” Draco groaned. “Anyway. I’ll have to think of something…I don’t know what to do.”

Luna changed the topic. “I thought it prudent to bring something of Rolf’s on the off chance we are mates. Since Harry’s scent seemed to calm Theo, it might help with reintegration.”

“You’re dating Rolf?” Draco asked.

Luna nodded. “Not seriously. But we are sleeping together.”

Draco was unprepared for her candidness. “Ah.”

“I stole a shirt of his last night, just in case. But if we’re not doing this until tomorrow, I’ll probably go see him tonight again. Might as well in case I’m mated to someone else and we never sleep together again.”

Theo grinned. “I forgot how much I like you, Luna.”

She smiled back. “I’ll see you two tomorrow,” Luna stood abruptly and left.

*

Theo was a mess leading up to his date with Potter. He changed outfits three times and bemoaned the complicatedness of Dracun mates. Draco did his best to calm him.

When Theo was sent on his way to meet Potter at a muggle cocktail bar, Draco was accosted by his mother. She berated him for leaving without saying where he was going, nor for how long. Then she laid into him about locking up Theo. Then, she demanded to know about his date with Hermione. When Draco explained his conundrum, his mother offered a simple solution.

“Befriend her. I know it is not ideal. But you will spend time together. Grow closer. When you know you can trust her, reveal the truth of your Dracun form and that you are mates. At the very least, you know she will not tell your secret if you are trusted friends.”

Draco’s skin crawled. “But she is so much more to me than a friend.”

“I know, dear. That’s the only solution I can think of. Perhaps she will change her mind about this previous lover.”

Draco growled—he did not sound very human when he did. Narcissa took a few steps away from him. “Maybe you should go for an evening flight?” she suggested. “Work through some anger.”

Draco apologized and took her advice. He flew for hours beneath the stars, the countryside blinking by in the dark.

When he returned to his bedchambers, he was beyond exhausted from the amount of flying he had done in one day. Draco collapsed into bed and fell asleep immediately.

*

Hermione’s hands were everywhere, grasping him, touching him, teasing him. She rocked against him and brought their lips together again. Draco moaned into her mouth, his hands dragging her hips back and forth on his cock. The feeling of being in her—it was everything.

Hermione groaned into his ear and Draco brought his lips to her neck, intent on marking her. But he knew he shouldn’t—something was telling him not to. He kissed her instead. She placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved her breasts into his face. Draco obligingly sucked on them. Hermione whimpered.

Draco brought his thumb to her clit and she stilled above him, her head thrown back, her walls clenching down on him. Draco swore and came right after her, spilling into her heat and calling her name brokenly.

As their bodies cooled, Hermione kissed him again.

“Why couldn’t we just do this last weekend?” she mumbled against his lips.

Draco awoke abruptly. His chest heaved. His pants were wet.

He was not positive—but he thought they might have just shared another dream.

Chapter Text

Mid June, 2007

The next morning, Luna and Theo met Draco in the garden.

“Did you keep your promise, Nott?” Draco asked with little preamble.

Theo rolled his eyes heavenward. “Yes, Alpha Draco, I kept my promise.”

“Alpha?” Luna asked. Draco shrugged in response.

“I have a theory,” Theo explained, “You’re like our Alpha. Like in a werewolf pack. When you made me promise, it was like…you were enforcing your will and I could not disobey.”

Luna looked between them curiously.

“I wasn’t trying to—well, I knew if you didn’t promise, you would have had sex with Potter the first chance you got.”

Theo shrugged, not denying it. “But I kept my hands to myself—mostly. There was some butt grabbing in the alley,” Theo informed them. “Potter definitely wants a slice of this ass.”

The trio laughed. “Good. Nothing more until you’re sure he will keep the secret,” Draco insisted, a bit of that same dragon energy imbuing his voice.

“See, Alpha,” Theo pointed out to Luna.

She agreed. “Based on my interactions with werewolves, that was very Alpha energy.”

Theo looked at her assessingly. “Have you slept with werewolves, Luna?”

She smiled serenely. “Have you not? They’re very impressive in the penis department.”

Draco choked on his own spit while Theo and Luna laughed together.

“Okay. Back on topic. You’re ready, Luna?” Draco asked.

She nodded. She handed him a small satchel. “It has some clothing, some pictures, and my life story.”

“You’ll want to put your wand in there as well. The first time you transform anything on you will be destroyed,” Draco explained. “But we can wait to put that away until we get to Noddfa Ddraig.”

Draco grabbed onto the two of them and transported them into his warded grounds, outside of the castle. He would not let Luna inside the den until she was more integrated—he didn’t want another incident like when Theo had destroyed an entire wall. Repairing that had taken far too long.

Theo sat while Draco handed Luna a pain potion. The woman sniffed it, then downed it. She offered Draco her wand with some hesitation. He could not blame her. Draco tucked it into her satchel, then handed the bag to Theo. He disappeared for a moment, placing it in the castle for safe keeping.

“I’ll say the words,” Draco informed her. “You will transform. You’ll be able to talk to us mentally. It can be destabilizing at first. It will hurt. A lot. We’ll shift to join you. Flying will be a bit difficult at first, but you’ll get it fast enough.”

“How do I change into my human body?” Luna asked.

“You won’t be able to right away. You will forget who you are. We’ll wait a day or two until you’ve settled into your dragon form, then we’ll read your book to you. And we’ll get to trying to control your shifting from there.”

“And the other dragons?”

Draco cast about. “None are nearby. But the hordes will welcome you. Verdes are very welcoming.”

Luna nodded. She squared her shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

Draco admired her bravery. He moved away from her, not sure how big she would be in dragon form. Theo reappeared beside him. They nodded at one another.

“Humani corporis mutatio ad Draca. Draca nascor. Draca exsucito.” Draco and Theo chanted seven times.

Luna reacted much as Theo had. After the first chant, her body began convulsing and she dropped to the ground. Luna started to scream in agony. Draco and Theo carried on the chant with difficulty. Her body started to contort and blur before their eyes. By the seventh chant, Luna’s petit form shifted before their eyes into a sparkling opalescent Opaleye. She growled in pain, prone on the green valley floor.

They let her be for several long minutes, her thoughts a confusing mess that assaulted them all. Finally, Luna relaxed a bit and whipped her head toward them on its long neck.

Draco and Theo shifted into dragons without pause. Luna stared, her pupil-less eyes unnerving. Draco and Theo stared back.

“Welcome to our horde, Luna,” Draco greeted.

“Luna?” she asked, her thoughts barely coherent. “Yes. That is me. Luna.”

She stretched out her wings and growled in pain.

“Drink some water,” Theo suggested, pointing his head toward the nearby lake.

Luna pushed herself to her feet and ambled over on uncoordinated legs. She drank her fill of water, then turned back to them. “Who are you? What am I?”

“I am Draco. The leader of this horde.”

“I’m Theo,” Theo answered.

“You’re a Dracun,” Draco answered her question. “We will explain more later. But you are a type of dragon.”

She fell quiet. They all sat in the valley. Clouds drifted by slowly overhead while Luna sorted through her emotions. Hours passed. Then, she extended her wings again and flapped them about.

“I can fly?” she asked.

“We can all fly.”

Over the next few hours, they taught Luna how to fly. She managed a few minutes in the air before needing to take a long break. She was acclimating more or less exactly as Theo had. She remained confused about her identity but open to Draco and Theo.

By the evening, she was very comfortable around them. They all slept pressed to one another in a clearing in the nearby wood. They spent the next two days working on her flying and teaching her to hunt. Luna was a fast learner, though her muscles needed more time to develop, as had Theo’s.

The fourth morning, Draco went and got her satchel. Meeting them in the clearing as a human, Luna stared at him in confusion.

“What has happened to you?” she asked, sniffing the air in confusion.

Draco placed her satchel safely to the side and shifted back to his dragon form. “We are Dracun,” Draco began explaining. “We can be human or dragon.” And he launched into their collective history. Luna listened raptly, her confusion reappearing.

Draco and Theo took turns reading to her from her notebook. Draco learned a lot about Luna. Her mother had died when she was young, doing dangerous experiments. She never had any friends until her fourth when she joined Dumbledore’s Army. Luna loved her father dearly, but hated his whimsy sometimes. Her radish earrings that she often wore were a gift from her mother. She had dated Neville Longbottom for a while but they were better off friends. She had never been in love but yearned for it. She and Rolf had been sleeping together for years, though for some reason it never advanced into a real relationship. Luna loved chamomile tea and gardening on the weekends. She loved her friends but enjoyed a solitary life.

As they made their way through her life story, Luna kept shifting back and forth from a human to a dragon. Her pain evident with each shift. She was naked before them, which should have been awkward but neither Draco nor Theo looked at her with any interest, both having mates of their own. Luna likewise didn’t seem to care that she was nude. When her story was done, the men helped coach her through controlling the transformations.

It took another two days for Luna to be able to control her transformations with confidence. At which point, the horde went hunting. Her flying was much improved.

On the seventh day, they ran into the Eastern horde. Luna was fully integrated by that point and was ecstatic to meet other dragons. The horde accepted them openly, excited to see an Opaleye and a Short Snout (again). Luna was completely at ease amongst the dragons, asking them to share their favourite songs and stories and sharing some of her own.

Surprisingly, Gryn kept his distance. Draco spoke to him individually, “What is bothering you?”

Gryn adjusted his wings a few times before responding. “She is…beautiful.”

Draco’s jaw would have dropped were he in human form. “Are you…are you her mate?”

Gryn did not respond for a long time. “There are no inter-species mates,” he responded. “It is not done.”

But Gryn could not stop staring at Luna the entire time they spent with the horde. Draco thought far more was possible than the dragons originally imagined.

Theo left the next day, stating that he had secured another date with his mate and had to go. The Verdes horde told Theo to bring his mate to them, but it was far too early for that.

Draco and Luna spent another three days in Wales. They joined the horde as they saw fit, exploring the skies and Draco’s castle. Luna appreciated his treasure horde and investigated Flamel’s study with interest. She “called dibs” on the throne room and started to make it into her own den as the days ticked by.

Finally, Luna sifted through her satchel, in human form, and sniffed Rolf’s t-shirt. She had no reaction to it at all. Luna frowned. “I don’t know if I’m happy or sad that we’re not mates,” she said.

Draco, seated on a rickety old chair in Luna’s den, said, “I think Gryn…might be your mate.”

Luna tilted her head in thought. “Gryn…The large one? He has never approached me.”

Draco shrugged. “Dragons do not believe it to be possible. Not only are you Dracun, you are also an Opaleye. They do not mate outside of their species.”

“But Helga and Yhalis were different types of dragons,” Luna pointed out astutely.

“They were. But the dragons don’t know their story. It was lost to the ages. They believe inter-species mating is impossible.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “Why are dragons blood purists? It’s so annoying.”

Draco chuckled. “You don’t seem upset by the prospect of having a dragon mate.”

Luna shrugged. “If we are mates, there is nothing I can do to change that. I should try to get to know him,” she remarked.

“He is a good man—er—a good dragon. He is my best dragon friend,” Draco said.

Luna stood decisively. “I’ll go meet him now.”

“There’s no rush,” he commented.

“If we are mates and he already knows, I am putting him through pain by keeping my distance.” She looked at Draco significantly.

“Hermione doesn’t want me. I’m respecting her decision.”

Luna rolled her eyes, not engaging with their frequent argument. “At least go see her. You have been away for almost two weeks. I thought you aimed to be her friend at the very least.”

Draco assessed her. “You’re alright? You’ll be fine on your own?”

Luna nodded. “I’ve been fine for days, Draco. You’re just using me as an excuse to not see Hermione.”

Draco scowled.

“I’ll see you later,” Luna said. She transformed into her shining dragon form and flew out of the crumbled throne room roof.

Draco grumbled a bit. He assured himself he still had his wand tucked into his pocket, then apparated home. He had adjusted the wards weeks previous; now anyone in the horde and Hermione could come through.

*

Late June, 2007

Draco had had it with his mother’s meddling. She had invited Hermione over without telling him. All Narcissa had said was that she wanted to sit in the garden with Draco over lunch if he wouldn’t mind joining. And Draco, the trusting idiot, had diligently went to sit and wait for his mother for an outdoor meal in the mid-July sun.

His head whipped toward the Manor when he sensed Hermione’s presence. Draco growled in annoyance. He almost left but found himself incapable of leaving without at least laying his eyes on Hermione.

She was dressed up again, her hair pulled back from her face and cascading to her shoulders and down her upper back. She wore a flattering shirt tucked into a long flowing skirt. Her curves were to die for.

Draco stared. He wished he had some mental preparation for her being there—he would at least have been able to control himself somewhat.

Instead, he launched to his feet and crossed the garden to her. Hermione had pulled up short and blushed upon seeing him. He kissed her hand in greeting, standing far too close to her to be considered decent. He loomed, he leered, he barely kept a handle on his desires.

Narcissa watched on with a smirk.

Draco dropped her hand after a very long stare off. The trio made their way to their seats after a tense moment between Draco and Hermione where neither said anything and just gawked at one another.

Narcissa engaged the two of them in idle chatter about who knows what. Draco was not really paying attention. His entire mind was focused on Hermione. He hadn’t seen her in far too long. She was gorgeous, but she seemed sad and tired.

With a pop, Mippy appeared and told Narcissa in an entirely too rehearsed voice, “Mrs. Narcissa must go to Gringotts immediately. There is an issue.” Mippy eyed Narcissa significantly.

Narcissa nodded. “Why of course. If I am being summoned, then I must go,” she declared a touch too dramatically.

Draco’s eye twitched.

“Please, enjoy the lunch without me, you two.”

Narcissa was gone before either of them could say anything and lunch appeared a second later.

They sat in silence for a long while.

“I haven’t seen you at the apothecary lately,” Hermione said finally.

Draco glanced at her. It was a good thing Theo had hired employees, made life a lot easier when it came to starting a hybrid dragon horde. “Yeah…just been…managing some things.”

“What have you been managing?” she asked curiously.

Draco drank in her expression. He loved how curious she was. “People,” he replied.

Hermione frowned at him. “That’s not a helpful answer.”

“Have you reconsidered dating?” Draco asked abruptly, not even sure how the words fell from his traitorous mouth. He blushed. She joined him.

“Uh…no. I have not.”

Draco did his best to cover his disappointment. “Then, I hope we can be friends.”

Hermione blinked at him. “Friends?”

Draco gave her a shy smile. “Yeah. Friends. I like spending time with you. If you don’t want to date, I’ll take what I can get.”

“I don’t want to lead you on.”

“You’ve made your position clear,” he replied.

Hermione ate some of her finger sandwiches. “Alright. We can try being…friends.”

Draco smiled. He was not pleased per se, since all he wanted was to be her mate, but being her friend was better than nothing. For now.

“Fantastic. Would you like to see the library?” he asked, changing subjects entirely.

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “I would absolutely love to.”

Draco linked arms with her and brought her to the library. Her heart was hammering as she took in the sight before her. The Malfoy library rivaled the Hogwarts one: shelves three stories high as far as you could see; reading nooks and study tables; an impressive catalogue that responded to your every request.

They spent a solid two hours in the library. Hermione delighted as she perused the stacks and Draco delighted as he followed her around, diligently holding her book selection for her. Eventually, she noticed how many books she had placed into his arms and flushed.

“I’ll put these back. I’m so sorry—”

“Nonsense. They’re yours.”

“Thank you, I’ll return them as soon as I—”

“No. They’re yours. Keep them. If you can’t tell, we have far too many books to our name.”

Hermione gaped at him like a fish.

Draco smiled. “Shall I accompany you home?”

“Home?” She frowned and checked her watch. “Oh, dear lord. I’m supposed to be back at work right now. I can’t believe how distracted I was! Rolf will have my head if I don’t finish this proposal by tomorrow.”

“Rolf will do no such thing,” Draco commented gruffly. She gave him a questioning look but said nothing. “Did you want me to owl these to your flat instead, so you can return to work?” Draco asked.

“That would be great.”

Draco set the books aside. “I’ll show you to the floo.”

Hermione fell in step beside him. A pleasant silence fell. At the floo, she thanked him for the books again. Draco took the plunge, asking if she wanted to hang out the following evening. Hermione frowned.

“Not a date,” he clarified, hating himself for distancing himself from her romantically. “Just a night out between friends. I know of a muggle event which has proven to be fun.”

“Alright,” she agreed eventually, “But bring Theo and I’ll bring Harry. Then it will be a group outing—not a date.”

Draco did his best not to glare at her. “Yes. Alright.”

Hermione smiled. “Excellent. Where to tomorrow night?”

“Just get everyone to meet here for 8 pm. Have dinner beforehand.”

Hermione agreed and swirled off in green flames.

Theo tumbled out of the floo right afterward, giving them both a fright.

“Draco!” Theo greeted, all smiles. “Welcome.”

“Welcome? This is my home, Nott.”

Theo shrugged as if it didn’t matter. The duo made their way to the parlour. “How is Luna, dearest?” Theo asked.

“She’s well. Last I heard she was bullying Gryn into admitting they are mates.”

Theo looked at him in surprised. “Gryn and Luna? You don’t say. A dragon and a human…”

Draco shrugged. “I mean, was that not the point of the creation of the Dracun? Making more dragons…”

“Yes, but the benefit of Dracun is humans can mate whenever—so having a dragon mate does not make the most sense,” Theo pointed out.

“Neither does having a male mate,” Draco tacked on.

Theo shrugged. “Fair point.”

“Though Helga had a female mate, also not helping with the procreation crisis. I’m starting to think there were some holes in her plan,” Draco mused.

Theo chuckled and helped himself to a biscuit.

“How was your date?” Draco inquired.

Theo grinned broadly and waggled his eyebrows. “Sure you want to know?”

“Nott, I swear to Salazar, if you two fucked—”

“Relax, Draco. No orgasms to be had. Which is extremely disappointing. Got Potter all hot and heavy for me, though. Bloke’s a good kisser. Saw him last night too.”

“And you’ll be seeing him again tomorrow night,” Draco informed him. “Hermione insisted that if we’re going to ‘hang out,’ there must be others around so that it is clearly a gathering of friends.”

“Yikes. Friendzoned. That’s tragic. Draco, I think you just need to tell her.”

“She doesn’t like me enough yet. Or know me enough. I need—we need to get to know each other more. There’s no way she trusts me. Especially not enough to do an unbreakable.”

“Oh, so building up her trust in you only to completely obliterate it when you tell her the truth is the right path to take?”

Draco glared at him.

“You’re just being a coward.”

Draco had to tamp down hard on his dragon exploding and clawing Theo across the face.

“Woof. Relax,” Theo cajoled. “Anyway, I was thinking. Maybe we just tell Harry.”

“Theo, for the love of—”

“No, hear me out. You, me, him. I get him to swear an unbreakable. You be the witness. Then we just tell him. I can’t keep lying to him. And I can’t keep my hands to myself for long. The only reason we haven’t sealed the deal is because Potter is a baby gay.”

“Aren’t you a baby gay, Theo? You’re barely even out.”

Theo rolled his eyes dramatically. “Potter is barely out of the closet and has not gone beyond kissing another man. I’ve been shagging men for like 3 years—as soon as things ended with Astoria to be honest. Out of the two of us, Potter is the baby gay. I’m his first. And he’s really hesitant to move beyond kissing. For now. But last night his hand grazed—”

“Okay, Theo.”

“My point is, he won’t be able to keep his hands to himself much longer. Potter might be a good kisser, but I am a devastatingly good kisser. And this ass. Damn.”

Draco laughed despite himself.

“And even Hermione tried to throw herself at you the first chance she got. The mating pull or whatever it’s called is pushing us together. And we don’t want to deny it. Why are we?”

Draco had no good answer. “Fine. We can—we’ll start with Potter. Next week. Let’s just get through tomorrow and—”

“No, let’s do it tonight.”

“Theo.”

“What? What is the point of waiting?”

Draco was feeling unsteady at the prospect of revealing the truth to Hermione. She was going to hate him. He also knew that Potter would want someone to talk to. It was unfair to make him swear an unbreakable. But if they told Hermione shortly after, Potter could at least talk to her.

“I just need to figure out what I am going to say to Hermione, okay? Please. Give me a week? Just one week. We’ll reveal the truth to both of them at the same time. Luna can come. And besides, if she and Gryn actually are mates, they need a bit of time right now to get acquainted.”

Theo caved. “One week,” he vowed. “No more.” Theo clapped his hands, changing the mood. “What’re we doing tomorrow?”

“I’m thinking either mini-putt or bowling.”

“I vote mini-putt. There’s more places to sneak off to and make-out.”

Draco sighed heavily. His best friend was a nuisance.

*

Mini-putt turned out to be a lot of fun. Pansy and Neville had wrangled an invitation and Draco was once again confronted with the reality that he’d have to awaken Neville sooner rather than later.

In fact, the brunette cornered him on one of the holes when Theo was distracting the group with his all around ridiculousness trying to score (he was on 18 hits already).

“What the fuck is going on, Malfoy?” Neville asked, rubbing his chest.

Draco glanced around. “It’s a long story. Hang back after mini-putt. Theo and I will explain.”

“Nev,” Pansy called. “It’s your turn.”

Theo had finally achieved his goal. He smacked Harry’s ass and said he was his good luck charm. Harry laughed along with everyone, his face red.

Draco spent most of his time hovering around Hermione. Since they were in a larger group, she seemed less adverse to being close to him. But she did make a point of rarely talking to him alone. Draco knew his plan to befriend her would never succeed. He had to tell her the truth.

His eyes landed on Neville. He had to deal with that too.

Pansy won mini-putt, to everyone’s horror. She smiled evilly and demanded that they all treat her to a drink. The friend group ended up at a nearby pub sipping on alcohol and chatting. Draco refrained from drinking too much. But Theo got plastered and so did Potter.

The men were very obviously making out by the loos. Draco noted that Theo stopped Potter’s hands that had descended to an indecent place. Draco hated that Theo was right; Potter would not last much longer.

The night wound down and Draco offered to accompany Hermione home. Neville crossed his arms and Draco shot him a look saying: I’ll be back, you idiot.

But Pansy intervened. “No! Hermione and I are having girls’ night. You’re not invited Draco. Nor you, Neville. Not even with those muscles.” Pansy giggled. She kissed Neville on the cheek and hugged Draco distractedly.

“At least let me apparate you,” Draco insisted. “You’re wasted.”

“Correction: Pansy is wasted. I had one drink,” Hermione replied. Which was true. Draco was beat there. “We should also probably accompany Harry home,” Hermione continued. “Unless he’s going home with Theo,” she whispered in delight. She and Pansy squealed. Everyone’s eyes were on the couple who were still making out in a private booth.

Draco quickly dashed Hermione and Pansy’s hopes. “No. That’s not happening.”

Hermione glared at him. “Why not?”

Draco’s brain went blank. “Uh…Theo and I have an important…business meeting. Tonight,” he lied exceptionally terribly.

Pansy shot him a sceptical look. “You have a business meeting after midnight. On a Friday?”

Draco tried to recover. “Fine. Don’t tell Theo I told you, but he wants to take things slow.  Because Potter’s important to him.” For some reason Draco said this entirely to Hermione, his heart pounding.

She stared back at him, her heartbeat matching his. Hermione looked away. “Harry!” she called.

Potter pulled away from Theo in a daze. “Huh?”

“Harry!” Hermione called again.

“Yeah? We’re going home. Girls’ night.”

Harry stood and brought Theo with him. Theo looked terrifically dishevelled.

“I’m not a girl, Hermione,” Harry complained.

“Yeah, but you’re a great gossip,” Pansy chimed in. “C’mon, then Potter. Girls’ time. Night, you three,” Pansy called.

Theo tried to kiss Harry goodbye, muttering about making plans for tomorrow, but Pansy was shoving him away. “You spent all night kissing!” she complained. “Very rude to the rest of us, mind. Leave us be. Hermione, if you will.”

“We’re in a muggle pub, Pans,” she reminded them. “Have a good night,” Hermione wished and pulled the other two into the back alley.

Theo frowned drunkenly. Neville stared at Draco intently. “Talk.”

And Draco did. He explained the gist of it quickly, Theo not helping much since his drunken agreements made Draco seem like he was lying. Nevertheless, Neville followed Draco and Theo into the alleyway and back to the Manor. Draco shifted into his dragon form and the familiar pattern of fear and confusion took over. Neville, like the other two of his horde, involuntarily moved toward Draco and Draco knew he was convinced.

“Luna’s one of you?”

“One of us!” Theo declared, clapping a hand on Neville’s back.

Draco shifted back to human. “Yes. It’s me, you, Luna, Theo. So far.”

Neville nodded a few times. He cracked his knuckles. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Draco scratched his blond head. “Well, it’s like 2 am and Theo’s still wasted. I think it’s best to wait until morning. And you’ll need to write us a book or something about your life, so that you remember who you are.”

Neville shook his head. “No need. Luna knows me well enough. She’ll remind me of my life. She’s my best friend. It worked with you and Theo, no?”

“That it did,” Theo agreed drunkenly. “Great. Let’s do it now.”

“No,” Draco insisted “I need rest. And I need to—” he stumbled. “Tell some people I’ll be gone for a few days. So do you. Don’t you have—right. School is out. I guess you can just disappear for a week.”

“And I’ll be needing to tell Harry dearest,” Theo piped in. “We won’t be able to make out for days,” the man lamented.

“That’s a good, thing, Nott,” Draco replied. “Then you two won’t sleep together by accident.”

“Yeah, what was that? Why are you cockblocking Harry?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Not really my intention. I just care about Theo not unintentionally starting the bond without Harry knowing the truth.”

Neville looked at Theo. “No. Way.”

Theo nodded somberly. “Harry Potter. The Chosen One. Is my mate. Can you believe it?!” Theo grinned like a loon.

“And you?” Neville asked turning to Draco. He stared at him with a surprisingly shrewd gaze. “Yours is Hermione.”

Draco was taken aback. It would appear he had underestimated Neville as well. “Yes,” he admitted.

“That makes a lot more sense now.” Neville paced for a moment. “Okay. Tomorrow. Send your owls. But I want an early start. Meet here at 8.”

“That’s in six hours,” Theo complained.

Neville just stared at him.

Draco said, “We need more sleep than that. Trust me. You’ll need all the rest you can get, Longbottom. The transformation is painful and exhausting.”

Neville crossed his arms in annoyance but agreed. “10:30,” was his counter-offer.

Draco accepted and Neville left the premise shortly thereafter.

*

For the second time in as many weeks, Draco was growing his horde. Neville took to the transformation the same as everyone else. Extreme pain, confusion, slow integration of his identity. Luna had joined them for the first five days—and so did Gryn. They had completed the mating, the markings on Luna’s neck visible for all to see as both a human and dragon.

Draco felt odd in their presence. But happy. They appeared to be perfectly in sync and in love, even with having known one another for such a short time. Gryn was happy to join the horde and teach Neville about dragon life.

Luna helped Neville remember himself, recounting stories he had told her over the years as well as their shared experiences in and out of school.

By Saturday, Neville’s seventh day as a Dracun, he was well integrated and a strong flyer. He still needed practice, but he could likely return to society shortly. Neville was pleased because he missed human food. He, like Theo, did not enjoy the hunt (unlike Draco and Luna).

Draco and Theo planned to tell Harry and Hermione the news the following morning. Theo had agreed to a week and it had already been 9 days—Draco was out of time.

Saturday evening, the horde were gathered in Draco and Theo’s den (Theo had refused to find his own space and instead took up one corner of the room). Draco and Neville were in dragon form while Luna and Theo were human. They were chatting about who else might be Dracun and the best way to go about waking them up. Neville wondered if his grandmother was Dracun while Luna mused that it was likely her mother’s family that has passed on the trait. They wondered why Narcissa did not seem to be Dracun.

Draco was preparing himself for sleep, comforted by his horde around him when he felt her.

Hermione.

She was just outside the wards. Then she crossed them.

The Dracun all whipped their heads in the direction of Hermione, sensing the disturbance in the wards. Draco panicked and wasted precious seconds deciding what to do.

All at once, she was standing in front of them all. She had apparated right into his den, full of dragons.

Hermione stared at them all in shock, her eyes whipping around.

“What the fuck?” she asked.

Chapter Text

Part 3: Draco Culo

Chapter 13: Revelations

Early July, 2007

Hermione stared in shock. Her brain was full on blerging.

Nothing made sense. Luna and Theo were standing in Draca’s den gawking at her. Beside Draca, a large Norwegian Ridgeback sat, its brown eyes trained on hers.

“Luna? Theo?” Hermione asked into the deafening silence. “Wh-what?”

The Ridgeback’s body blurred for a fraction of a second and was replaced by Neville. Neville Longbottom. One second a dragon, the next, Neville.

Blerg.

“Hi, Hermione,” he greeted with a tentative smile.

She staggered back a step. Then, in the ultimate level of confusion, Draca transformed before her eyes just as Neville had done. Draca transformed into Draco.

Draco Malfoy.

“Dear God.”

Hermione fainted.

*

She awoke sometime later, in Draco’s arms. Four faces looked down at her in concern. Hermione blinked at them slowly.

“What…?” she asked again, weakly.

“I’ll make some tea,” Luna suggested brightly.

Her face disappeared from above Hermione. Hermione slowly sat up and looked at those around her. This made no sense. What were her friends doing here? In Draca’s den.

“What—?”

Her eyes widened and she whipped her gaze to Draco’s. He looked back at her in concern.

He had—but no. That was not possible. Draco was—'oh my God.’

Hermione scrambled away from him, moving toward Neville—trusting him the most in this bizarre scenario. Neville placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

“Everything is okay, Hermione,” Neville said slowly.

Luna returned with a mug of tea. She handed it to Hermione. Hermione held it shakily, unable to take her eyes from Draco.

“You…” she said unable to finish her sentence.

A chair appeared beside her. Her chair—the solid gold one she had used when she has healed Draca. Neville helped her sit. Draco maintained eye contact with her, looking wary.

Hermione turned to Luna and Neville. “What are you doing here? I—did you? Am I dreaming?”

“Dream of me often, Hermione?” Theo asked suggestively. Draco smacked him upside the head. Theo cursed.

Luna calmly took Hermione’s hand. “You are not dreaming, Hermione. Drink the tea. It has some calming draught in it. It will help.”

Hermione listened to Luna’s serene instruction and downed the hot tea quickly. They all sat in silence for a while. As Hermione’s brain slowly began to function again, thanks to the calming draught, she realized that those gathered seemed to be in some sort of silent conversation with one another.

“Explain,” Hermione demanded.

Everyone looked to Draco who took a deep breath. He summoned more chairs for everyone and they all sat in an eerie unison. Hermione’s forehead furrowed.

“First, I’m sorry you found out this way. We were planning on telling you tomorrow,” he said. “I swear. Ask everyone present.”

Luna and Theo nodded vigorously. “You and Harry,” Theo tacked on.

“Harry?” Hermione was beyond lost, her mind clanging around like a rusty engine. “What on earth does Harry have to do with whatever is going on here?”

“We’re…part-dragon,” Draco said slowly, hesitantly, like she might slap him (which, in his defense, was a fair concern). “I am Draca.”

Hermione shook her head no, even though she had seen him transform right before her eyes. “You can’t be. Draca didn’t know me. And—part-dragon? That does not exist. It is not possible. There’s no way—”

“I’m surprised she’s responding like this,” Theo muttered. “Everyone else believed you immediately.”

“Probably because we’re Dracun too,” Luna reflected. “We understood it to be true because it existed within us.”

Hermione was still blabbering on about the impossibility of Draco’s words.

“Oh, just show her again, Draco,” Theo cut in.

Draco stood and moved back several paces. Hermione shook her head. “It’s not possible. Dragons cannot mate with humans they—” Draco shifted before her eyes. One second, he was human, the next, he was Draca, staring at her with his luminous silver eyes. That tingling feeling overtook her again, breaking through the shock.

Draco transformed back and stood before her in slacks and a button down—'is the man ever not posh?’

He returned to his seat in front of her.

Hermione wished she had more calming draught.

Draco started talking again. “We are Dracun. Helga Hufflepuff—”

“Helga Hufflepuff?” Hermion asked, incredulous. “What on earth—?”

“Hermione,” Neville cut her off, “Let him tell the story. You can ask your one million questions after.”

Hermione crossed her arms and glared. But she did shut her mouth.

Draco continued. He told her about Helga Hufflepuff’s crusade to save dragonkind, her falling in love with and mating a dragon, and Nicolas Flamel’s role as their activator. He told her about how he had been turned. How he had no memories because no one had been there to guide him and he remained a dragon only until Hermione came along. How it had been her name that had triggered his memories and how he had slowly become himself once more.

Draco spoke of the pull he had to the others. They all confirmed it, talking about their “heartburn”. Each of them narrated becoming a Dracun, how Draco was there to keep them safe, help them remember themselves. Luna shared that she had mated with Gryn, the dragon Hermione remembered Draca telling her about. Then Theo piped in that Harry was his mate and Hermione’s brain broke again.

“Harry? My Harry?”

Theo grinned. “Yes, Harry Potter. Though, I prefer to think of him as mine,” his eyes flashed white and Hermione wondered if she were seeing his inner dragon.

“And you?” she aske Neville. “Who’s your mate?”

Neville shrugged. “Mates are rare amongst dragons, but so far seem common in the Dracun. I’ve only just manifested. All I know for sure is it’s not one of the dragons in the sanctuary.”

Hermione nodded and turned to Draco, having a hunch that she knew the answer to her unspoken question. Everyone looked between them, an awkward silence shrinking the massive room. “And…?” she asked him quietly, unable to get out more.

In the moments before he responded, Hermione felt like she could not breathe. She could hear her heart pounding loudly in her ears and her palms were sweaty.

Draco took a deep breath and nodded at her. “Yes. You’re…you’re my mate.”

Hermione let out some sort of strangled gasp. Her world started spinning. It might have been because she had stopped breathing. She ought to breathe. Really. A simple inhale-exhale. But she remained frozen.

Draco Malfoy.

Her Mate.

Draca. Draco. One and the same.

She pulled in a ragged breath. She had been agonising over her strange feelings of affection for a dragon for a month. Turns out, she was falling for the very man that she had pushed away, in favour of his dragon form. It was too much for her.

It was all too much.

“I need to leave,” Hermione said abruptly. She stood.

“Wait,” Draco called.

But she was gone. She apparated home. Hermione closed her wards entirely.

Hermione was crying. Then she was laughing.

“I’m Draco Malfoy’s mate,” she whispered. Then she was crying again.

Her whole world was turned on its head.

Hermione ran a bath. She sank into it and stared numbly at the wall, trying to integrate what she had learned until she was shivering in the cool water. She had a boiling shower to warm up.

Hermione searched for her Draca notebook. She began writing what she had learned in it, if only to sort out her thoughts. Once everything was written down, she reflected on what she knew.

He claimed he had no memories as Draca. He had been existing as a dragon for three years. Draca had said the same—he knew there was more to his life but could not remember. Draca’s unique species was also explained by Draco being Dracun. Her draw to him since the moment they laid eyes on one another—that made sense too. He had barrelled toward her to attack and Hermione had not been afraid.

He would not let her leave because they were mates. They must have been starting to…bond? Hermione needed to know more. She glanced at the clock. It was 3 am. That didn’t matter to her, though. She needed answers and she was owed them.

Hermione dressed quickly in more practical clothing—cargo pants and a long sleeve. She tied her hair into a low bun and clutched her notebook to herself. Chancing it, Hermione apparated directly into the den. She was glad to see that he had given her direct access to the place.

She materialized beside Draca who was laying on his bed, his eyes turned to her as soon as she appeared.

Draca lifted his head and blinked at her—one eyelid, then the next. Hermione was comforted by it. She glanced around and noted that a Swedish Short Snout and a Norwegian Ridgeback were waking up on the other side of Draca.

Draca—Draco greeted her mentally. “You came back.” He was very pleased.

Hermione crossed her arms. “Transform into a human. I don’t want you reading my mind.”

Draca was Draco instantly.

“And you two—leave,” Hermione ordered.

They swung their sleepy heads to Draco. He nodded. The dragons took flight quickly, the air buffeting around the den, Hermione holding to the gold chair to keep herself upright.

Hermione sat. She stared at him. “Sit.”

Draco summoned a chair and sat across from her.

“I need to know more about—us.”

“Anything,” Draco responded without hesitation.

“The mating. Explain it. All of it.”

Draco looked over her shoulder and laid down the facts succinctly: “Dragons have soulmates. Sometimes. They are rare. Mates mate for life. We don’t understand how they are chosen—something about magical cores would make sense, but those are only theories. Mates are usually only in the same species of dragon. Helga and Yhalis were the first cross-species. Luna and Gryn are the second.”

“And how do you cement the mating bond? What happens if someone says no?”

Draco swallowed. “It is fairly easy. Once the bond has been acknowledged by one mate, the other can start the process of accepting by feeding their potential mate. Once the food has been accepted, you can move on to the actual bonding. The couple must declare their bond. It is not necessary to use a specific phrase, though it must be vocal and the sentiment that the bond is being accepted must be there. The most common is saying that you belong to one another or laying claim.” Draco paused. “Then, there is the actual mating. You must make each other orgasm.” Hermione flushed, for some reason unprepared to be speaking of orgasms with her would-be mate (even though she had literally been dreaming about it). “And there must be an exchange of blood—a marking.”

“You call that easy? That’s a ton of steps.”

Draco shrugged. “After the feeding, the rest usually happens all at once. The mates have sex, declare their intentions, and exchange blood.”

“Exchanging blood—the marking…”

“It’s usually a bite,” he explained. “In a visible area. So that others can see the proof of the bond. That you belong to one another.”

“It’s blood magic,” Hermione surmised.

“Yes.”

She fell silent. Hermione began writing in her notebook. She detailed everything he had said. Then she re-read it. Then, she realized.

“We—we’ve already started the bond, haven’t we?”

Draco looked ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t know. As Draca, I thought it was impossible. I was told humans and dragons cannot mate. I would not have started the bond without your consent if I knew. You have to believe me.” His face was anguished.

Hermione did believe him. But she was still angry.

She remembered all the times Draca had claimed her as his. She had only refuted him once, stating that no one could own her. And worse, she had fed him.

“So, we have an incomplete bond…What happens if I refuse you?”

Draco looked away stubbornly.

“Tell me,” she demanded. “Or wait—you already told me. Didn’t you?” Hermione flipped through her notebook and started reading. “You die,” she said aloud. “Why would only you die and not me?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t make the magic, Hermione.”

She furrowed her brow. “Perhaps because the person who acknowledges it starts the magic. Without the other to fulfill it, the magic corrupts?”

Draco shrugged again. “Your guess is better than mine.”

“But why didn’t you die when I refused Draca. I told him I wasn’t his…”

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “Maybe because you meant it in a different way than I did. It’s more about intent than words.”

“Hm. I see…so because I thought you meant actual ownership I was refusing that claim, not refusing a mating claim…”

“Again, your guess is better than mine.”

Hermione pondered that for a moment longer before moving on. “How long can we remain semi-bonded?” she wondered.

“I don’t know. Like I said, usually the bond happens immediately. Luna and Gryn waited all of two hours before they completed the mating.”

“There’s more, though, isn’t there?” she asked him, sensing he was holding something back.

“…the d-dreams.”

Hermione frowned. “Dreams?” She gasped. “Oh, Merlin.” The dreams. The sex dreams. “They were real?”

Draco was blushing. “I go back and forth. But I don’t think they were real. Rather, we were sharing dreams. It’s something dragons can do. After we—I mean, you—after our date—” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “once I knew what it was like to actually kiss you, I realized they were probably dreams. Everything was so hazy in comparison to actually touching you,” he mumbled. “But importantly, I don’t know if accepting the bond while collectively dreaming counts as accepting it in real life. Anyway, I don’t think they were real, but I do think we shared dreams.”

“And you said—” Hermione replayed the dream.

“You’re mine, Hermione,” he growled, voice deep and possessive.

“I’m yours,” she agreed, voice breathless and high.

Then, she came, her world shattering in a wave of feeling.

“We…holy shit. I accepted,” she realized shakily. “I…but. You, I didn’t claim you.”

“No, you have not.”

“And you marked me—or you tried to.”

“It might have been a real bite mark or it might have been me magically putting it there while you slept. That’s what I thought I did as Draca, but I’m not so sure now…Maybe I shifted in my sleep and bit your neck…”

She remembered the bruise on her neck—his bite mark. “But there was no blood.”

Draco nodded.

“So, we…we’re like…we’re like 90% mated?” Hermione needed another calming draught.

Draco dropped to his knees before her and grasped her hand in desperation. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I never would have if I knew.”

Hermione blinked at him. “You don’t want me as your mate?”

“What? Of course I do. All I want is you. You’re—you’re all I want.”

Hermione’s heart was racing at his declaration. “You barely know me.”

“I know so much about you, Hermione. You told Draca all about your life. And I fell for you.”

“Fell for me? You…love me?”

Draco stared into her soul. “Yes.”

That tipped the scales too far for Hermione. She abruptly stood. “I need to go,” she declared.

“Wait, please. Just—don’t go,” Draco begged, still on his knees.

Hermione liked the view a little too much. She hesitated.

“I know it’s a lot. I know that. I’m sorry. We were trying to ease you into everything. We had a whole plan and—it doesn’t matter now. I’m just sorry. Will you stay? You can sleep on the bed and I’ll stay in my dragon form and—”

“No. I think it’s best if I leave. I need to think. I need…” Hermione did not want to leave, to her dismay. All she wanted was to spend more time with him. At least now she understood her inexplicable pull to Draco. “I will come back tomorrow. And I’ll bring Harry.”

“Okay,” Draco mumbled in response. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Hermione pulled her hand from his. “Stop apologizing. It’s clear it was a mistake. You never wanted this to happen, I get it.”

“No—that’s not true. I want this. I want you,” he refuted, standing tall. Hermione looked into his fervent eyes. “I just didn’t want it this way. I don’t want you to feel forced. I don’t like that we started the bond when neither of us was really aware what was happening. But I am not sorry you’re my mate. I am humbled and honoured.”

Hermione had no response for that heartfelt admission. She had to leave. She was feeling all sorts of confusing emotions, but a strong wave of desire was winning out. She had to leave before she did something crazy like have sex with him—again.

“Wait. That’s why you wouldn’t sleep with me? You didn’t want to continue the bond without me knowing?” Draco nodded. “And Harry. That’s why you made Theo go home with you instead of him. You—that’s—” Hermione leaned toward him despite herself. “That’s really good of you, Draco.”

He shuddered and brought his hands to her hips, pulling her closer to him.

Hermione leaned toward him, everything inside her pushing them together. Their lips crashed together heatedly and her world went to a standstill. All that existed were his lips on hers, her hands running through his hair, his hands holding her close.

Suddenly Draco pulled back. They panted in one another’s faces.

“You should leave if you want to leave,” he muttered, his voice thick. “Otherwise…”

Hermione nodded. She could feel the bond urging her to him, making her want to be naked. “I…I need time. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Hermione stepped out of his arms and picked up her fallen notebook. She clutched it to her chest and apparated to her flat.

*

Hermione awoke with a headache. She was slumped on her home desk, her Draca notebook plastered to her face.

Reality hit her in a tsunami wave and she took a while to reckon with the new world in which she existed.

Half-dragons existed. Draco Malfoy was their leader. And he was her mate.

It sounded less ridiculous now. Who was she kidding, no it didn’t.

Hermione showered and tied her hair into braids. She flooed to Grimmauld Place without warning and gave Harry a fright as he walked into the living room. Once he calmed down, Harry pulled her into a hug.

“Alright, Hermione?” Harry asked, sensing her turmoil.

Hermione found herself crying in Harry’s arms for a while. He held her comfortingly, not asking any questions. Hermione pulled away from him.

“How’s about a cuppa?”

Hermione nodded and sniffled.

Armed with century old Black tea cups, Harry asked, “Want to talk about it?”

Hermione smiled hollowly. “We will. But I have to take you somewhere first. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’m just a mess of emotions. I don’t know, nothing makes sense anymore.”

“It’s about Malfoy, isn’t it?” Hermione looked at Harry in surprise. He continued, in a resigned voice, “It’s not that big of a deal if you like him, Hermione. I know it probably feels weird given our childhoods, but he has made up for his past mistakes. And I thought you had already forgiven him?”

Hermione blinked at Harry. She started laughing, quietly at first, then hysterically. Of course Harry would piece it together (though not entirely correctly); he was an excellent Auror.

“Sure, Ron will be a bit of an obstacle. But I don’t think it will take him too long to get over it. Especially since I’m dating Theo now.” Harry blushed. “Ron was very surprised by that news. By the way, when can the three of us hang out? I was thinking maybe Tuesday—”

“No—Harry. I mean, congratulations on telling Ron. That is big news. I knew you were a bit worried about coming out to him. But that’s not what I came here about. Well…not really. In a roundabout way it is.”

“What?”

“We just—you just have to trust me. And also, you might want to take this calming draught before we leave.”

Harry accepted the vial from her but did not drink it. “I definitely need more information now, Hermione.”

Hermione did not want to tell him. It felt wrong, like it wasn’t her place. It was up to Theo and Draco, not her. “I can’t tell you.”

“You’ve done an unbreakable?” Harry asked with interest.

“If you don’t want the calming draught, then fine. But we’re leaving. Now.”

“Now? I still haven’t had breakfast and I was planning to run some errands.”

“No, Harry. Now.” Hermione stood decisively and pulled him to her. He struggled in her hold. “Stop struggling or I’ll splinch you,” she threatened.

Harry stopped wriggling. Hermione apparated them to Wales without further ado.

They landed in the den. It was as crowded as it had been when Hermione arrived the night before. She recognized Draca—Draco in dragon form and Neville in dragon form. Two other dragons filled the massive space, making it seem much smaller: one Antipodean Opaleye and one Swedish Short Snout. Hermione guessed Luna was the Opaleye because it seemed far more like her spirit.

Harry shouted in fear upon landing amongst a literal den of dragons. Bless him, he pushed Hermione behind his body and whipped out his wand. Hermione stepped in front of him and batted his wand away.

“Put that down,” she muttered, lowering his wand arm for him.

The Short Snout transformed first, confirming Hermione’s guess that he was Theo. Watching the large dragon blur into the lean man was still confounding. The man in question grinned broadly and made his way over to them.

“The rest of you change too,” Hermione stated, “I don’t want any mind reading right now.”

Harry was having a meltdown behind Hermione. “What the fuck? What the fuck? Did Theo just—he was a dragon? Jesus fuck. What?”

The rest of the horde shifted into their human forms and Harry just started making gibberish noises of confusion and fright. Hermione stood beside him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Theo had reached them. He pulled Harry into a hug. “Don’t worry, darling, it’s all going to be okay.”

“Drink the calming draught,” Hermione reminded Harry, whose face was several shades too white.

Harry stumbled out of Theo’s arms, making the latter frown. He took the vial from his pocket and downed it quickly. Harry’s breathing slowly evened out as the Dracun gathered around hm, summoning chairs. Neville made his way over to a campsite Hermione had not noticed the night before and put on the kettle.

Behind her, Theo was trying to calm Harry down. Hermione was distracted by Draco’s presence. He approached her hesitantly. She felt calmer the closer her got.

“How are you?” Draco asked quietly. Harry’s panting subsided in the background. “Did you sleep okay?”

A laugh bubbled up Hermione’s throat. “Did I sleep okay?” Her voice sounded just a touch unhinged. She laughed again. It would appear her hysteria over the situation was far from over.

Hermione sat down, tamping down on her laughter with difficulty. Draco followed her lead and sat beside her in the circle the Dracun had formed. Theo steered Harry into his own solid gold chair and sat beside him.

“Hermione…” Harry said. “What is going on?”

“Our friends are Dracun,” she replied tonelessly. “They’re part-dragon. And Draco is their leader.”

Harry blinked at Hermione for a long time. “But…”

“Just tell the story,” Hermione sighed at Draco. She pinched the bridge of her nose. It was going to be a long day.

Draco did not hesitate. With a practiced ease, he told the story of the Dracun, of his missing time, and of waking up the others. Theo, Luna, and Neville took their turns explaining their transformations. Harry listened numbly, not asking questions. Once everything had been told, Draco hesitated.

Hermione intervened. “Just say it,” she grumbled.

“Dragons have mates,” Draco explained. “Hermione is my mate,” he looked at her intensely.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Your—what?”

“My mate. My soulmate.”

“Gryn is my mate,” Luna added in happily. “And he’s wondering if he can join us or not.” She and Draco shared a look. “That’s fine, I’ll go meet him.” Luna smiled at Harry. “You’ll be alright, Harry. Mates are wonderful.”

“What do you—” Harry and Hermione shouted and jumped as Luna propelled herself into the air and transformed into a dragon mid-jump. Her glinting scales were disappearing out the hole in the roof seconds later.

“I don’t know if I’ll get used to that,” Hermione grumbled.

“It’s easier for us because we can sense when the other is about to change,” Neville informed her.

Hermione—the swot—picked up her pen and wrote that down in her notes.

“I don’t have a mate…” Neville added on, continuing the conversation as if Luna had not just transformed into a massive pearlescent dragon and flown away.

Theo turned to Harry. Hermione held her breath. Harry stared back at him. “You’re my mate, Potter,” Theo said with a small smile.

Harry was definitely not breathing. Several moments passed. Finally, he took a shuddering breath. “You’re my what? I don’t…Hermione?”

“It’s true, Harry. I know, it’s a lot. Take your time. Do you need to go home?”

“Theo? You—so you don’t even like me,” Harry frowned.

Theo was taken aback. “Of course I like you, Harry. What are you talking about?”

“You only want to be together because some magic in you is…forcing you to like me.”

“No, that’s not—”

“You don’t even have any say in it.”

Theo looked cross. “I liked you way before I became Dracun,” he threw at Harry. “Why do you think I let myself get arrested by you? I’ve liked you for ages, Potter. Ages. Since school. Watching you during Quidditch, all your stupid, brave choices that almost got you killed…”

Hermione felt like she should not be present for this love confession, though she was very interested in hearing all the details.

“Why don’t we leave you two alone?” Neville suggested.

They ignored the others. “You’ve liked me that long?” Harry asked, bewildered.

Neville motioned to Hermione and Draco to follow him. Hermione trailed after him reluctantly, glancing over her shoulder at her best friend and his half-dragon mate. They wandered into the castle in silence for a while.

“Will you show me Flamel’s lab?” Hermione asked.

Neville said, “Yeah! Show us. I want to see too.”

Draco and Neville stared at one another for a long moment.

“Okay—” Hermione cut in, “It’s very obvious that you can read each other’s minds while human, which is very interesting, but also very annoying. Please speak out loud.”

Neville gave her a wry grin. “Sorry, Hermione.”

“It’s this way—the door you couldn’t get open,” Draco reminded her.

The trio climbed to the second floor in silence. Despite herself, Hermione asked, “Is it going well—between Harry and Theo?”

Draco’s eyes went blank for a moment. “He’s coming around.”

“I always wondered,” Hermione continued, “Was it that you could read my mind from afar or was it that you could hear me?”

“A bit of both. As humans we have increased hearing and smell, but nowhere near as strong as dragons.”

“Getting used to four other people in your head at once has been challenging,” Neville added on.

Hermione stopped walking. “You hear each other at all times? No matter the distance?”

“Distance is a factor. We haven’t tried long distance yet. And we can put up walls, but it’s harder to block dragon thoughts.”

“Why do I get the impression Hermione is going to be running experiments on us all,” Neville laughed.

Hermione was imagining running experiments on them. They needed to know their limits; they were a new species.

Draco brought them the rest of the way to Flamel’s study. “Nev, try and open it. I’m curious if it’s only keyed into me.”

“Nev?” Hermione asked, surprised by their familiarity.

“We’ve gotten pretty close,” Neville teased and threw an arm over Draco’s shoulders. Draco pushed him away and Neville laughed.

Neville stepped to the door and placed a hand on it. Nothing happened. He tried the door knob. Again, it would not turn. Draco stepped forward and placed a hand on the door, it swung open with a click.

“Guess it’s just me, then.”

Hermione inspected the place closely, interested in everything Flamel had left behind. It was far from a pristine lab. Flamel seemed to be one of those classic disorganized scholars: papers were everywhere, half formed thoughts sketched across three different books, books piled high and haphazardly, abandoned trinkets and experiments…the works.

“There are probably secrets to the universe in here,” Hermione said in awe, “But we would never know because Nicolas Flamel was disorganized.”

They chuckled at her observation.

“Can I read his Dracun book?” Hermione asked.

Draco nodded. “It’s in the den, though.”

“Okay, let’s go back to—”

“Harry and Theo might appreciate the privacy,” Neville told her with a suggestive eyebrow raise.

Hermione laughed, her cheeks warming slightly. “I guess their talk is going well, then.”

“I’d say,” Draco grumbled. “I wish Theo had the wherewithal to block his mind.”

 Draco shot Neville a look. Neville nodded and turned to Hermione. “I’m glad you came back,” Neville said, pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m going to go for a fly. Reif said she’d show me a new dance formation.”

“Dance formation!” Hermione declared. “Let me watch?”

Neville lowered his voice and stage whispered, “Hermione, this is me giving you and Draco alone time.” Hermione blanched and Neville laughed. “Go easy on him.”

The herbologist left Flamel’s study.

Hermione slowly turned to Draco. “So…”

“Did you want to sit?” he offered, gesturing to a chair.

Hermione plopped into it. Draco sat across a messy table from her. Hermione’s eyes wandered about the room, unsure of what to say. The heat of Draco’s eyes remained on her, warming her body.

“How are you…managing?” Draco asked.

“Luna is taller too,” Hermione remarked.

Draco chuckled. “Very observant.”

“I just…I have the same feelings as Harry,” Hermione admitted to the table top. “It feels like I’m supposed to be all glad that some magic beyond both of us is pushing us together. But if that is the only thing that would make us be together—isn’t it…I don’t know. Wrong? It feels like neither of us have consented to this. Especially because of the bonding starting without either of us knowing…it’s just…”

Draco sighed. “I know. I agree. At least, I agree about the bonding starting without our consent. I…wish…” He trailed off. “But I disagree about being mates. People spend their whole lives looking for their person. Being mates is just the universe telling us, hey look, I found her. Here she is: perfect and loud and a genius.” Hermione blushed under his praise. “And us agreeing to the bond is us saying to the universe: hey, you were right.”

“I just wish we had started to…I don’t know, get to know one another before this all happened.”

Draco drummed his fingers against the table. “I agree,” he said again. “But would either of us have really given the other a shot without being mates?”

“I went on a date with you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but we’d already started the bonding process by then, Hermione. You felt drawn to me and wanted to know why. Without that draw…would you have said yes?”

Hermione fell silent for a while. “It’s impossible to know,” she concluded.

An uneasy silence took over the messy study.

Draco broke it. “I was attracted to you, before,” he said, shocking Hermione.

“What?”

“Back in school. The Yule Ball. It about astounded everyone how pretty you were. Made me see you in a new light. I had…a bit of crush, I guess you could say. Amortentia smelled like you in sixth year. But I pushed it down and away and funnelled all that energy into hate instead of accepting how I felt.” Hermione stared at him dumbly. “Then when you were brought to my home and tortured,” Hermione flinched, her phantom scar twitching. “This might sound crazy, but I think it makes sense now. I gave you some of my magic. I think it was the latent Dracun energy, maybe knowing you were my mate. I don’t know. But I felt it leave me and connect with you and…I think that’s why you didn’t lose your mind. Trust me, Aunt Bella’s crucio should have rendered you insensate. But you hung on. I’m not saying you’re not strong,” he added on quickly. “You’re the strongest person I know. I just mean…it was impossible for you to keep your head as you did without intervention.”

Hermione wasn’t sure how much more she could take of her whole world turning on its head.

“I think my magic saved you. I don’t know if it’s still there or if it came back to me or what.”

Hermione had felt different after her torture. Like something had shifted. She had always thought that was simply because she had been tortured and her magical core had understandably changed. But what he was saying…it was possible. The older members of the Order had been astounded Hermione had outlasted Bellatrix’s repeated crucios. It hadn’t made sense to them. But no one had dug too deep, simply happy Hermione was alive.

Draco kept talking while she mulled over this revelation. “And then, after school. I will admit, I watched you at the galas. I…admired you from afar. You really grew into yourself: gorgeous, self-assured, bossy.” Draco smiled, showing that he liked her bossiness and was not critiquing her. “I…I’ve even had a fair few dreams about you,” he tacked on awkwardly.

Hermione’s cheeks heated. So had she. In fact, the first sex dream she had ever had featured Draco Malfoy. It had shocked and scandalized her. She had many dreams about him over the years. She figured it had something to do with courting danger and her Gryffindor stupidity—but she had a miniscule crush. And she wasn’t downplaying that. She found him attractive physically and admired his academic intelligence—but she hated everything else about him.

After school, he had matured. Improved. And the sex dreams had become less frequent as Draco was no longer part of her daily life. She had chalked it up to teenage hormones. She had followed his career with interest and ran into him occasionally. But she had never imagined more. She did not think he would be interested in her. And she was confused by her passing interest in him.

Hermione realized she had been silent for a long time. She cleared her throat. “You liked me in school?”

Draco shrugged. “Yeah. A bit.”

“You liked me before all this started?”

“I mean, it’s not the same as Theo and Potter. Theo was downplaying his crush. He was obsessed with Potter in school—how I didn’t notice…Anyway, I was intrigued by you. I thought you were attractive. I know that’s barely a point in our favour, but it’s true. It wasn’t entirely the mating bond. I liked you before it was active. I liked you enough to imbue you with my magic.”

“Hm.”

Silence fell again. Hermione noted that Draco, like Draca was patient when it came to her. He just sat and waited, his eyes on her body.

“Say I believe you—”

“I’m not lying,” Draco protested. “I would never lie to you.”

Hermione shot him a look. “Lies by omission count.”

Draco frowned and shut up.

“Say I believe you,” Hermione repeated, “Now what?”

Draco seemed confused. “What do you mean?”

“Do you expect us to just complete the bond?”

He responded cautiously, “I…hope that we will complete the bond. If that is what you want.”

“If I refuse, you die,” she reiterated. He nodded. “But what if I never accept? Do we exist in this limbo forever, does the bond eventually fade?”

Draco replied, “I don’t know…I can ask Huma. She might know.”

“Have dragons refused the mating bond in the past?”

“Again, I’m not sure.”

“So, how can we be sure you would die?”

“It is what Huma told me. She’s the elder of the Eastern horde,” he clarified. “It is something that dragons just know.”

“But you’re not a dragon,” she pointed out. “You’re Dracun. Could it not stand to reason that it would be different for you?”

Draco took a slow breath. “Hermione. If you wish to refuse the bond, you can. All I ask is that you help my horde to make more Dracun. It was my task.”

Hermione gulped, her heart clenching at the implication of his death. No, she would not refuse the bond. She did not want to. It was impossible to know how much of that came from the fact that she had already started the bond and how much came from her own actual desire to sleep with Draco (which was unexpectedly strong). But she knew she would not refuse.

That being said, Hermione did not feel ready to accept the bond either. She still felt like she barely knew him, even though, as he said, he knew almost everything about her since she had told Draca her life’s story.

“I’m not refusing,” she replied.

Draco’s smiled broadly, reaching across the chaotic table to take her hand. “You’re not?”

“No. I—” Hermione was having trouble admitting any sort of interest in him at all. Even after he had been incredibly vulnerable. “I just need more time. Maybe we can…date? I feel like I barely know you.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed readily, his hand squeezing hers. “I’d love to date you.” He reflected, “I thought you didn’t want anything serious, though. Wait… you were hung up on Draca, weren’t you?”

Hermione blushed. “And if I was…”

Draco grinned. “Then that makes this a whole lot easier.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco released her hand and shifted in his seat. “I should tell you—if you do not wish to make the bond stronger, we cannot…” he cleared his throat. “Do anything.”

“Do anything? Oh!” she remembered his rejection of her advances after their date. Feeling awkward, but wanting complete clarity, she asked, “Can you elaborate?”

Draco shifted again. “No orgasms,” he stated looking at her lips, then away. “They make the bond stronger, since it’s part of the mating ritual. They will make it harder for you to know what is your own desire and what is the magic.”

Hermione ruminated for several moments. “I don’t think the bond is forcing us—but rather, enhancing our desire. If we are soulmates then it would make sense that without the magic, we would be attracted to one another anyway, no? The magic is not creating the soulmate, it is just telling us who they are. Right?”

“That is how Huma described it. I can confirm with her.”

Hermione nodded slowly. She agreed with him that orgasms should stay off the table for now, though because magic or not, they were known to cloud her judgement. She had dated Constantin for nearly seven months because he was good in bed. They had absolutely nothing in common and she disliked most aspects of him. But, damn, if he couldn’t make her scream.

“Okay,” Hermione decided. “Okay. You’ll get Huma to answer those questions I have. We’ll date. Nothing beyond kissing. And we’ll get to know one another. Or, at the very least, I’ll get to know you better.” Draco was ecstatic. “Agreed?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “Agreed.”

“How is it going with Harry and Theo?” Hermione asked eventually.

“Oh, they left. Off to Potter’s home to shag, if I had to guess.”

Hermione was surprised. “Harry agreed to the bonding?”

Draco replied, “No idea. I was doing my best to not listen to any thoughts coming from Theo because it was a lot of horny ones.” They laughed together. “But Theo told me they were leaving together and he was in a good mood. I assume the chat ended well.”

Hermione beamed. “I love them together. I’ve been trying to get Harry to make a move for months!”

Draco suddenly pulled a face. “Gryn is here. He wants to meet you.”

Gryn! “Yes!” Hermione jumped up. “Isn’t he Luna’s mate?”

“Yeah.”

Hermione made her way to the door. “C’mon. I want to meet him!”

Draco caught up with her. “Here, I’ll apparate us.”

Hermione gave him her hand without hesitation. Draco spun them into nothingness.

*

Gryn was fearsome. He was by far the largest Welsh Green Hermione had ever seen. When they landed in the throne room, Hermione had stumbled back into Draco in fright—the instinct that he would protect her not lost on either of them. Draco put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then stepped in front of her.

There appeared to be a silent conversation happening between Luna (in dragon form), Gryn, and Draco.

Hermione waited impatiently. After what felt like minutes, Draco turned to her. “He won’t hurt you, Hermione.”

“Hardly reassuring when it took almost three minutes for him to agree to that,” Hermione muttered.

She heard that strange dragon laughter—the bizarre chuffing coming from Gryn.

“I like her,” a voice declared in her mind. It was deep like Draco’s dragon voice, but softer.

“Nice to meet you, Gryn,” Hermione called out across the large space.

Luna unwrapped herself from Gryn and shifted back to human. She looked hilarious beside her much larger mate. Luna leaned against his front leg casually.

Hermione was bubbling with excitement. Gryn was the first real dragon she had ever spoken to.

“Luna tells me you like dragons,” Gryn said, curling his tail around him and Luna.

Hermione nodded and took a few tentative steps toward Gryn. Draco matched her step for step. Hermione eyed him. “You said he won’t hurt me,” she muttered. “Why not give me some space.”

Gryn and Luna laughed together while Draco scowled.

“I am not part of his horde. He worries because he cannot command me.”

Hermione turned fully to Draco in interest. “You can command the Dracun?”

“Oh, yes he can, Hermione,” Luna said with a chuckle. “You should have heard him talking to Theo. Theo calls him Daddy Draco when he gets like that,” Luna remarked.

Hermione laughed incredulously. “Pardon me?” Hermione asked. Draco scowled even more, a light blush overtaking his face.

“We think he’s like an Alpha or something. Like in wolf packs. The other dragonkind don’t seem to have the same thing he does.”

Hermione nodded, slowly edging closer to Gryn. “Right, Draca—Draco told me that. That some elect a leader, others fight for leadership.” She glanced at Draco again. “You can order them around?”

Draco tilted his head. “It appears so.”

“Hm.”

Hermione was only twenty feet away or so from Gryn when Draco abruptly transformed. Hermione jumped in firght. She was still unused to their sudden transformations. Gryn and Luna were laughing again. Draco’s massive black form came to stand above her. His front leg brushed against her back. Hermione looked up at him. The familiar tingling overtook her body.

Draco did not look at her, his head was trained on Gryn looking far from friendly—his fangs were even bared. Hermione placed a placating hand on his black-green scales and Draco’s body shivered. So did Hermione’s. He remained in his aggressive stance toward Gryn, though.

Hermione, feeling generous, leaned against Draco’s leg, much like Luna was doing. Hermione ignored Draco and asked Gryn to tell her about himself.

He explained that he loved to fly and hunt, like Draco. He was a storyteller and rejoiced in passing on the legends as well as making up new stories. Gryn told her of simple joys, like watching the sunset while in the air and passing the nights with his horde. Hermione smiled broadly. Gryn told her of his love for Luna, how he had never dreamed of being blessed with a mate and now he had the best one to offer. Draco had huffed dark smoke from his nostrils at that, making Gryn laugh again.

Part way through Gryn’s story, Hermione sat down and Draco immediately circled around her, wrapping her in his familiar cocoon. Hermione leaned against him without reflection.

“And you, human,” Gryn looked at her intently with his brown eyes. “Luna has told me much about you. We were wondering—”

“It might be too dangerous,” Luna cut him off.

Gryn ignored her. “You are the smartest witch of your time, no?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I hate when people call me that.”

“She is,” Draco confirmed.

Hermione shot him a scowl.

“I have always been happy as a dragon. I want for nothing. Now, I have my love and my life is even better. But I cannot be with her all the time,” Gryn said sadly. “I cannot meet her father. Or live with her in human society.”

Hermione could sense where this was going.

“Will you find a way to make me Dracun as well? So, we may be together in both our worlds?”

“You want to be human?”

“I want to be with my Luna.”

Luna shifted into her opalescent body and wrapped her neck around Gryn’s in a hug. Hermione was unsure if they were having a private conversation or if they were just drawing strength from one another. Either way, the couple remained silent for a few minutes.

Finally, they turned their heads toward Hermione and Draco. “Will you do this?” Gryn asked.

Hermione was sweating. She was hesitant to make any sort of promises to a dragon in case they did not pan out.

“As long as you try your best, I will not be upset,” Gryn informed her after reading her mind.

“You know, dragons should really stop reading humans’ minds,” Hermione grumbled in annoyance. “And yes, I know it is so easy because humans are bad at shielding themselves—whatever. It’s still rude.”

Gryn was amused. “Apologies. But thank you for agreeing to look into this matter.”

Hermione crossed her arms at his continued mind reading. Luna shifted again and approached Hermione and Draco. Draco let her without issue—apparently, he trusted Luna because she climbed right into Draco’s circle of safety and wrapped her arms around Hermione.

Hermione returned her crushing hug. When she pulled back, Luna was beaming. “I can help,” Luna offered. “Shall we head to the study now?”

Hermione balked. “I think I still need some time, Luna. I’m still trying to integrate this new reality of Dracun, let alone being Draco Malfoy’s mate. Can you give me a few days, at least?”

Luna nodded, her mood unaffected. “No problem at all, Hermione. By the way, will you tell Rolf that my vacation is being extended indefinitely? I don’t want to quit. But…I’m not ready to leave Gryn for hours a day yet.” Luna looked back at him and laughed. “Stop that,” she scolded him with a smile.

Hermione was desperate to know what they were talking about but neither divulged that information.

“Will you stay here?” Luna asked. “Or are you going to head home?”

Hermione did not have an answer to that question. She had come to see Draca the night before because she had missed him. She had not planned beyond that. But tomorrow was a work day, and she needed some semblance of normal.

“I think I will head home. I just need some time,” she said for both Luna and Draco’s benefits.

“Come, fly with us first,” Gryn offered.

Luna grinned. “Yes! Come fly with us! Oh, Gryn will show off for you. Some of the formations he does are mind boggling,” Luna said dreamily. “You’ll wish you had your camera.”

Hermione did wish she had her camera. An oversight on her part since she hadn’t worn her work uniform. It was only in that moment the she realized she had apparated into a dragon’s den in flammable clothing with zero protection. So much for her training…

The prospect of flying again was daunting. Draco, however, was vibrating in excitement. He turned his head toward her, taking his eyes off Gryn for the first time since he shifted. “Will you come with us? I’ll keep you safe. Like last time.”

Hermione looked between Draco’s silvery eyes and Luna’s blue ones. They were both giving her the equivalent of puppy dog eyes.

“Fine. But no dives,” she warned Draco. “I really hate when you do the dives.”

Draco laughed. Luna rejoiced. She launched herself from Draco’s body circle and toward Gryn. Gryn ducked down and Luna scrambled up his back agilely—they had clearly done this before several times. Luna sat between his shoulder blades. “See you up there!” she called. Gryn spread his wings and took off into the open sky.

Hermione was thankful she had pulled her hair into braids that morning.

Draco stared at her. “You’ll really come flying?”

Hermione nodded tentatively. She had enjoyed being in the air with him the last time, even if she was terrified. There was something right about being on his back as the wind whipped past them.

“Up you get, then.”

Hermione climbed up his side with far less grace than Luna, using his spikes as leverage. Draco’s snout guided her back, making sure she didn’t fall. She shuffled onto his saddle which was just what she was going to call it because it was too much like a saddle to be anything different. As she straddled him, they both sighed. That feeling was back. That rightness.

Draco stood and stretched out his wings. “Ready?”

“As much as I’ll ever be,” Hermione replied.

Draco jumped into the air and Hermione shrieked. His wings brought them high up with little delay. Hermione’s heart pounded in fright. She held onto one of his spikes tightly.

Draco levelled them out quickly and she was able to breathe again. The view was phenomenal. Ahead of them and to the left, Luna was soaring through the skies on Gryn’s back. Hermione screeched as she watched him turn upside down. Luna did not move at all, completely safe on his saddle somehow.

“Magic,” Draco reminded her. “I’m keeping you on me the same way.”

“We’re not going upside down,” Hermione ordered him.

Draco laughed. “Maybe not today. But hopefully one day.”

Draco propelled them to catch up with Gryn and Luna. The couples flew far and wide, enjoying the beautiful July day. At one point, Hermione looked over and Luna was standing on Gryn’s back. Hermione’s scream was lost to the wind. Luna looked over and smiled widely. Then she ran off Gryn’s back and jumped into the air. Hermione was shrieking.

A second later, Luna was flying beside them, coasting on the summer air; the woman had impressively transformed mid-drop.

“You are all adrenaline junkies,” Hermione muttered. She felt the dragons’ amused responses.

“Watch Gryn now,” Luna said to her. Her dragon voice was almost identical to her human one—soft and whimsical.

Gryn pulled ahead of them and began a series of impressive swerves, dives, and turns. After a few minutes, Hermione realized he was repeating motions—it was a dance. When it concluded, Luna and Draco roared in delight.

Hermione cheered, though the sound was inaudible above the roar of the dragons.

Luna joined Gryn and the two of them started a two-person dance. Luna was nowhere near as graceful as Gryn, clearly still learning. But it was a sight to see. Hermione really wished she had her camera. They looped around one another flying close, diving together, forming figure eights, and stars. The dance ended with them levelling out and sending out twin jets of flames into the air. Hermione cheered again, along with Draco.

They flew for a bit longer but Hermione’s legs and bum were getting sore and her hands were freezing. As soon as she thought that, her body unstiffened and her hands warmed. Hermione looked around in confusion until she realized Draco had used his magic to make her more comfortable.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

He didn’t respond, just started to descend to a nearby lake.

“Until next time, human,” Gryn thought to Hermione.

“See you soon, Hermione,” Luna called happily.

The mates continued flying off into the sunshine.

Draco landed gracefully, barely jostling Hermione. She clambered off of him with far less skill. Once she was on the ground, she pat his leg in thanks. He shifted into his human form abruptly, making her jump.

“Please, some warning,” she complained.

“Sorry. I’m used to dragons who know when it’s going to happen. Like a sixth sense.” He approached her. “Did you like our flight?”

Hermione nodded energetically. “I did actually. It was exhilarating. And Luna was right, Gryn can really fly.”

Draco agreed, “He can. Next time, I’ll show you the dances I know. But you’ll have to stay on the ground.”

“And I can film them?”

“I don’t see why not…”

Hermione smiled. The flight had calmed her, which was shocking, given her fear of heights. Her brain was no longer a mess of realities that did not make sense. Somehow, she felt centred again.

“I think I should head home,” Hermione said, staring at the sparkling lake. “Are you staying out here, or will you be returning to human society?”

“I’ll need to check in on Neville. See how he’s doing. I think he’s ready for human society. But I want to make sure.”

The care evident in Draco’s voice reminded her that Theo called him Daddy Draco. She smiled. Draco was a good Alpha.

“Can I see you tomorrow night?” Draco asked. “For a date?”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. The flight had done more than calm her, it had made her less intimidated by the whole “mates” thing. Perhaps seeing Luna so at ease with a dragon she had met only a few weeks ago made her realize that being mates could not have been so bad.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Draco grinned. He moved closer to her.

“So how come you’re not naked?” Hermione asked.

He stopped moving and looked at her. “What?”

“You’re not naked. But you should be. Since you’re naked as a dragon.”

“I was hoping you could help theorize that, to be honest.” Hermione smiled. “First time everyone shifts, they’re naked as a babe. But once we get it under control, whatever we’re wearing just comes with us.”

Hermione thought on that. “I’ll have some theories ready for tomorrow night,” she told him with a smile.

“And I’m sure another notebook full of questions.”

Hermione laughed. “I do have questions. But maybe we should keep those to outside of dating time.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I ask you Dracun questions on our dates, it’s all I’ll talk about. The goal is to get to know one another. So, Dracun inquiries should be done during strictly academic time.”

“And when is academic time?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule.”

Draco smirked. “I’m free whenever you are.”

“Don’t you run a business?”

“Theo’s mostly in charge these days. Besides, that’s what employees are for.”

They were standing smiling at one another broadly for long, sexually tense heartbeats.

“Shall I escort you home?” Draco asked poshly.

Hermione said yes. She was still a bit off-kilter from their long flight and admitted it might be better if she weren’t in charge of teleporting herself across the continent.

Draco apparated them to her flat with no issue. He kissed her hand chastely and wished her a good day before heading out again.

Chapter Text

Early July, 2007

Hermione owled Harry, curious as to how his “chat” with Theo had gone. She had not heard from Harry by the time Draco came to pick her up for their date. Draco had not told her where they were going, only to dress casually.

He appeared with his usual black slacks, white button-up, rolled up sleeves combo that did all sorts of things to Hermione’s panties. She supposed he looked casual, for him. She couldn’t ever remember seeing him in anything other than a button-up in her entire life.

Hermione wore a dress that fell to her knees, showing off her legs. Her hair was down and she added some shimmer to her eyelids, but otherwise kept it simple. Draco stared at her heatedly. To break the tension, Hermione asked about Harry, effectively throwing a bucket of water on them both.

“…haven’t heard from him since yesterday and I’m a bit concerned.”

“I assume he’s still with Theo,” Draco said, his voice a bit gruff. He cleared his throat as his eyes traced her body again. Hermione warmed under his gaze.

Her goal of getting to know him better before agreeing to a life-long bonding was very nearly tossed out the window from his look alone. It was no secret to either of them that she found him attractive—she was the one who tried to jump his bones, after all.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Hermione warned.

Draco replied in a dark voice, “Or what?”

Hermione literally fanned herself. She turned away from him. “Draco, we’re going on a date,” she reminded him. “To get to know one another. If you keep looking at me like that…” she looked back at him.

Draco bit his lip. His eyes were dark with desire. He slowly approached her, backing her into a wall. Hermione’s chest heaved against his. “What will happen if I keep looking at you like this, Hermione?” he murmured. She might as well give up on panties—what was the point?

Hermione gulped. “We-we agreed. Nothing beyond kissing. Not until…”

Draco leaned down toward her, one hand pressed against the wall beside her head, the other settling on her hip and pulling her flush against him. His lips were millimetres from her own. “May I?” he asked, his voice sinful.

Hermione’s core clenched. “Yes,” she whispered.

His lips grazed hers and her world ignited with the fire of him. His lips pushed more firmly against hers firmly, making her brain stutter. Hermione brought her hands to his hair and raked them through his silky strands. Draco groaned deeply and pressed his hips against hers. Hermione pulled her leg around his waist, pulling him flush against her core, right where she wanted him (if it weren’t for her stupid, useless panties being in the way). His arousal was obvious.

Draco grunted, then stilled. He pulled away from her, Hermione following his lips desperately.

Draco kissed her nose, then gently placed her leg on the ground. He took a deep breath and stepped away from her. “Just need a minute.”

Draco began pacing her living room, muttering something under his breath while Hermione remained pressed against her wall, panting. She really ought to change her underwear before they left.

Before her brain caught up with her enough to excuse herself, Draco turned to her. “Shall we?”

Hermione accepted his proffered hand. He pulled her close again and her breathing sped right back up. Instead of kissing her senseless, Draco warned her he was about to apparate, and squished them into nothingness.

They appeared in an alleyway. He stepped away from her, but maintained his hold on her hand. He pulled her down the busy streets of London and into a…fast food shop? Hermione looked around in surprise. She did not think Draco would even know these places existed.

“It’s a vegetarian place,” he informed her. “I thought it might be nice to do something casual since our last date was very formal. And they have cheesy fries.”

Hermione beamed at him. “I love cheesy fries.”

She had said she couldn’t decide, so Draco went ahead and ordered her about four meals. Hermione had tried to stop him but he insisted it could just be her lunch for the following day. They sat on plastic chairs and dug in. Hermione ate with far less grace than she hoped. Draco was as prim and proper as always, barely getting a speck of food on his fingers. The prat.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

“Everything,” Hermione replied with a smirk.

Draco laughed. “Touché.”

He told her of his childhood. Of running amuck at the Manor with Theo, of befriending the elves, of learning to fly and loving it, of discovering muggle fiction in a hidden corner of the library. Hermione was greatly fascinated by that last point (her poor undergarments would not last the night). He elaborated over ice cream.

They took their leftovers and Draco confidently walked her through the streets, bringing them to a street fair. As they wended their way through the booths and performances, Draco asked her of her favourite book series. This conversation brought them through to the end of the night because Hermione could not decide which series was her favourite, and Draco had asked for a synopsis of the top five ones, which took a long time.

He accompanied her home, carrying her leftovers and the earrings he had insisted he buy for her (they were lovely dangling dragons). Back in her home, Hermione made him some tea—if she were trying to extend the date even longer, she would deny it.

They drank their tea and Draco explained that Italy was his favourite place to visit because of the Malfoy Villa. He described the landscapes, the wine, the warmth. Hermione wanted to go. It seemed beautiful.

Their tea done, a tension unfolded between the two of them in the silence. It would not be odd to end the date with a kiss. Though, based on their kiss before the date, Hermione worried what she might do. Draco had been the one to pull away. She had wanted to say sod it and sleep with him. Rather reckless of her, considering it was a permanent decision. But by Merlin, she was horny.

Draco stood abruptly. “I should leave,” he announced, his voice thick. “Before…”

Hermione nodded numbly. She was disappointed she would not be getting a kiss goodnight, though she knew it was for the best. He clasped her hand and kissed it, holding her gaze. Hermione felt like swooning.

Draco stepped away from her quickly. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

Hermione bit her lip at his tone alone. This man…

Draco disappeared with a pop.

Hermione wasted no time in locating her vibrator and getting out of her thoroughly ruined panties.

*

Three days later, Harry walked through her floo unannounced. Theo followed behind him. Hermione closed her book and jumped up to greet them.

“Glad you’re both alive,” Hermione teased.

Harry blushed a deep red while Theo grinned proudly. “Barely,” Theo said. “Been putting poor Potter through the ringer since Sunday.”

Harry went even more red and elbowed Theo.

“What? It’s not like she doesn’t know.”

“You two are…mated then?”

Theo nodded, his smile blinding. He sat on Hermione’s leather armchair and pulled Harry onto his lap. Harry looked equally comfortable and awkward. He was still not used to being out—or really romantic at all in front of Hermione. He had even been shy when he was dating Ginny and they were together for nearly a decade.

“I locked this ass down,” Theo boasted. He kissed Harry’s shoulder.

“Er—congratulations,” Hermione said.

Harry scratched his neck.

“Thanks,” Theo replied. “Say something, Potter,” Theo told him. “Or she’ll think I forced you into it.”

Harry laughed awkwardly. “Yeah. We’re…together.”

Hermione grinned. “I told you that Theo liked you.”

Harry shot her a look. “It’s not like you knew we were dragon mates.”

“No, but I was still right,” Hermione pointed out.

“Whatever.”

“Potter, you’re too heavy,” Theo complained.

“You’re the one that sat me like this.”

Theo readjusted him so that Harry was seated between his legs instead of on them. This brought their heads to more or less the same height. Theo kissed Harry’s cheek quickly.

“So, why’re you two here?” she asked.

“Sorry for not answering your owl, Hermione,” Harry said. “I was going to write you a letter but then I thought it would be easier to just come over. I was going to come alone but the bonding has made it a bit difficult to be apart.”

Theo was running his hands up and down Harry’s arms.

“I can see that.”

“Why’re you not bonded with Draco, yet?” Theo asked intrusively.

Harry elbowed him in the gut and Theo cursed.

“What? That was one of the things you said we could talk about, Harry.”

“I said I would take the lead,” Harry shot back under his breath.

Theo rolled his eyes. “If you wanted me to be quiet, I told you, you’d have to gag me, Auror Potter.”

Hermione let out a shocked laughed. Harry went crimson again.

“Theo,” he muttered, turning to face him. “We talked about this.”

“Sorry, Auror Potter. I’ll do my best to behave. Wouldn’t want to have to be punished again, now would I?”

Hermione’ s jaw was on the floor. Harry tried to get back on topic. “It might be worth giving Malfoy a shot, Hermione,” Harry said. “I know it might seem weird. But the bonding. It is—”

“The most intense pleasure you will ever—”

“—beautiful,” Harry continued, “I was going to say beautiful, Theo.”

Theo rolled his eyes. Behind Harry’s back, Theo held up held up four fingers and mouthed, “four times”. Hermione covered her face and started laughing.

Theo said aloud, “I feel the need to clarify. Four orgasms one after the other. Like four in a row. Within a two-minute span. That was the bonding sex—ow!”

Hermione was still laughing into her hands.

Hermione looked up when her wards let her know someone was about to enter them. Draco appeared a second later. He wore his usual pureblood posh outfit, sleeves diligently rolled for her viewing pleasure. Draco smiled at her, then looked at Theo and Harry.

“Glad to see you’re alive, Nott.”

“You’re not glad to see I’m alive?” Theo replied cheekily, making a pun of his name.

Draco rolled his eyes heavenward. “How you’re my best friend continues to baffle me.”

“It’s because no one else can put up with you,” Theo replied cheekily. “Enough about you. Have you met my mate, Harry Potter?”

Draco sat down onto the sofa beside Hermione. “Pleasure,” he said dryly. With more sincerity, Draco said, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Yes, it was a wonderful bonding. But we actually came for another reason,” Theo said, “We figured you would want to know all about the bonding, Hermione. For your little book.”

“I swear to God, Nott, I am going to punch you in the face,” Harry threatened.

Theo was enjoying himself immensely. “Pish posh. You love these eyes. You wouldn’t dare. Why’re you here, Draco?” Theo asked, not giving Harry a chance to reply.

“It’s our academic night,” Hermione replied with excitement.

Theo and Draco stared at one another in silence.

Hermione interrupted, “Hey! No dragon talk with humans present. You know the rule, Draco.”

He turned to her. “Apologies,” he said, his eyes landing on her lips for a second too long. To Hermione’s annoyance, he didn’t tell her what he and Theo had been talking about.

“Alright, Potter. We should head out—get it head—ow!”

“Sorry about this, Hermione. Hopefully he’ll be under control in a few days.”

“I already told you what you need to do to keep me under control,” Theo replied darkly. Hermione was curious to know what, but Harry was bodily pushing Theo toward the floo.

“You better control yourself soon, Nott, because I can’t take much more time off of work. See you, Hermione. Malfoy.”

“Bye, Daddy Draco!” Theo called before Harry shoved him through the floo.

Hermione was cackling with laughter. Draco looked like he was fighting his own amusement.

“Theo is going to be more insufferable than ever,” Draco sighed.

Hermione smiled. “They seem happy, though. And also…”

“Extremely horny?” Draco supplied. “The bonding enhances things for a while, apparently.”

Hermione’s amusement was rapidly replaced with desire. Draco staring at her like that did very little to help. She cleared her throat. “We’re working tonight,” she reminded him.

Draco’s eyes traced her lips once more, then he looked away from her entirely. “Yes. Working.”

He had taken her out every night that week. After the fast food and street festival, he took her to the aquarium, then next night, the museum. Every date they started with an indecent kiss that involved far too many hands and too much body rubbing (or rather, not enough of either). They ended the date with a kiss on Hermione’s hand, as if they both knew what would happen were they to initiate a kiss at the end of the night. Hermione’s willpower was being tested. And she was failing. Draco was always the one who pulled away first.

“Right—what do you want to know?”

Hermione picked up her pen and notebook. “Well, there are a few things I want to experiment with with you all. Like the telepathic distancing. Shielding techniques. I’d like to film the dances or make a record of them in some other way. Then there’s the stories. I was really hoping Gryn would tell me some. Of course, the first thing we need to work on is trying to make Gryn a Dracun. I feel like Luna will not rejoin human society until he can come with her. Which actually brings me to an important question: must mates be together at all times? Because I don’t plan on quitting my job and you can’t be seated at my side every day.”

“No. Just in the beginning. While the magic bonds together,” he answered. “Mates do not want to be apart, but they can be after some time. It’s different for everyone.”

“Oh, and what did Huma say?”

“It is what we thought. The mating bond simply encourages mates to be together—without the bond we would still be soul mates, but we might never have pursued one another or even been aware of one another. It is to enhance what exists already.”

“How do they know?” Hermione wondered.

Draco shrugged. “Huma was not more forthcoming than that. Something about dragons just knowing these things.”

Hermione wrote in her notebook for a few quiet moments. “So, Gryn. Were you surprised?”

Draco shook his head. “I knew almost immediately mating with dragons would pose issues. For Helga it did not matter because she wanted to live as dragons do. I don’t know about Luna. She seems content with dragon life. But I think she wants to return to work eventually. She’s mentioned it a few times. And also, Helga never got to really see her family anymore and it was hard on her. I know Luna wants to be part of her father’s life and wants him to know her children one day. We also have no clue how the Dracun children will be born—I pray there will be no egg laying involved.”

Hermione laughed at Draco’s stricken expression. Then quieted. Assumedly, she would be giving birth to a Dracun child. She did not want to lay an egg. Granted, it might be easier than actual childbirth…

“Should be straight forward enough,” Hermione continued, moving past thoughts of egg-laying. “Can we not just complete the Dracun ritual on Gryn? He would need a human whose blood he could have, who would become part of him. But couldn’t that just be Luna?”

“Luna’s not human. She’s Dracun.”

Hermione scrunched her face. She had forgotten that. “I could do it.”

“This is not something to be taken lightly. Whoever gives him their blood will be giving up part of themselves, their magic. Forever.”

Hermione shrugged. “Yeah, but a tiny part. Besides, I do not believe that magic is finite like that. Several scholars and philosophers see our magic as infinite—something that we can grow over time. We can lose some, but we have the capacity to build more.”

“That’s only a theory,” Draco replied, seeming upset.

“A well supported and widely accepted theory,” Hermione countered.

“You are not giving up part of yourself in an experimental ritual, Hermione,” Draco replied, his voice brooking no argument. Hermione raised an eyebrow. Daddy Draco indeed.

“Funny, I don’t remember asking for your permission.”

Draco crossed his arms. “I won’t have you put in harm’s way.”

“Well, no one else knows about the Dracun. We can hardly grab some random witch or wizard off the street.”

“Potter knows.”

“Theo would never let Harry endanger himself, it goes against—ah. I see.”

Draco shot her a haughty look.

Hermione huffed. “We’ll have to tell someone else then.”

“We’ve only told you and Potter because you’re our mates. We can trust you.”

“We could ask Ron,” Hermione suggested.

Draco was less than enthused with that prospect. “I forgot to tell you. The Weasleys have Dracun blood.”

“What?”

“Yeah. One…or all of them could be Dracun. Or none could.”

“Seriously?” Hermione asked, shocked.

“I never gave you the notebook. I brought it today so you can read it.”

Hermione took it greedily. She started flipping through pages. “The Weasleys…Hm. Okay, well Ron is out then. Maybe…Rolf?” Hermione said. “Yes. Rolf is perfect. We can definitely trust him to keep the Dracun secret. He comes from a magical creature dynasty after all.”

Draco weighed the pros and cons. “Alright, I admit he’s a decent choice.”

“One thing settled.” Hermione leafed through Flamel’s journal to the section on the ritual. “See, the ritual is simple—he says it himself. We’ll have to change the runes slightly. See this one—” she pointed, “that is changing the human. So instead, we want to change the dragon. Same as the chant. We’ll need to just…” Hermione tried to translate the Latin. “I might need help with the Latin,” she admitted. “I think it says…Human cancelled, dragon-human births, dragon-human wake up? Something like that. We just switch the words.”

“What if it turns Gryn permanently human?”

“Well, we’ll make sure that the correct words are being used. That’s why I’ll need a book. Maybe a specialist.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“Wait—will Luna have to stay in her dragon form for the entire pregnancy?”

“Again, Hermione, we know nothing about how the Dracun procreate. All I know is Helga seemed to think that our human side would be to our benefit. So…here’s hoping she did the runes correctly.”

Hermione paled, thinking again of what her future might hold. She turned her attention back to the book, hoping it might contain some answers. “Okay, thank you. I just need to read through this and send an owl or two. You can leave now.” Hermione’s brain was far away, reading through the first page of journal.

Draco pulled her attention to his by taking her hand. “Tomorrow evening, Neville’s coming back to society. Theo wants to have a party at the Manor. Just the horde and our friends. Will you come?”

“Gryn will be there?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“No—sorry. We’ll all be human tomorrow night. But we’re going to invite Pansy, Weasley, Blaise is back in town, so he’ll be there too.”

“Can Rolf come? Wait, Ron? You’re inviting Ron?”

Draco shrugged. “Potter wants to ‘soft launch’ their relationship—whatever that means. And Ron is his best mate, blah blah, you get it.”

Hermione shot him a look. “Be nice. How do you know all this? I thought you hadn’t heard from them.”

“Theo told me.”

“When—oh just now. Earlier?” Draco nodded. “You can communicate your thoughts that quickly?”

Draco shrugged. “Sometimes it’s faster than talking if your thoughts are clear…”

Hermione let herself be fascinated. She quickly added this note to her notebook. Changing gears, she said, “I’ll invite Rolf at work tomorrow.”

Draco dropped a kiss to her hand, making Hermione’s brain take a quick trip to blerg land. She snapped out of it. “Have a good night, Hermione. Don’t stay up too late reading.”

She would most definitely be doing exactly that. “Goodnight, Draco.”

“Just come over to the Manor whenever,” he told her. “People will be arriving for 8 or so. But I’m happy to feed you dinner if you want to come earlier.”

“That would be nice. Fed by your elves.”

Draco raised his brows. “They’re paid. I freed them ages ago. During the war, in fact.”

“Oh. Well then, good.”

“Until tomorrow.” He kissed her hand again.

Draco disappeared through the floo.

*

“You’ll come?” Hermione asked hopefully. She wanted Rolf to be comfortable around Draco. In a way she was ‘soft launching’ him tonight too. While they had been discussed at length in the gossip column after the werewolf gala, she and Draco had rarely been around her friends.

Rolf sighed. “Yes, fine. I’ll come.”

“Don’t worry, it will be great. A very chill night.”

“Anyway, did you see the report I left on your desk?” Rolf asked.

Hermione nodded solemnly. “It’s been ages since a dragon sighting by muggles. It doesn’t bode well. I’m headed over to the Ministry later to see what information they have to share. We might have to unify the squad again to do some leg work…”

“Would be easier if Luna were still around,” Rolf muttered.

“How are you doing, by the way? Will you be okay with Luna tonight?”

Rolf frowned. “She’ll be there? I thought she was in Costa Rica.”

“Uh…” Hermione’s mind raced. She had not factored in that Rolf still knew nothing. “I think she said her dad summoned her home. Something urgent about nargles?”

Rolf blinked at Hermione but seemed to accept her lie. “I’ll be fine. I was surprised she put an end to things, to be honest, but we’ve been on again off again for nearly two years now and we both know it’s for the best to stop dragging this out. I figured she met someone she actually wants to date. Good for her.” Rolf sighed and messed up his hair. “Off you pop to the Ministry, then. I’ll see you tonight.”

Hermione nodded briskly and left his office. She would consider Rolf a friend but even after all these years, they were not close. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to discuss the details of his love life.

Hermione made her way to the Ministry through the floo and went straight to her old office at the DRCMC. She greeted the secretary, Frida with a cheery smile. The women caught up with one another, discussing the latest gossip in the office (Rita was pregnant; they got rid of the donuts in the cafeteria). Their chat was interrupted by the head of the DRCMC, Midge Tippet. The white woman was so old she should have retired two decades ago but on she puttered pushing useless paperwork at the Ministry.

Midge greeted Hermione with a firm hug. “Hermione,” she said with a broad smile. “You must be here about the dragon sighting over Glasgow?”

Hermione nodded.

“Come, come. I’ve got the repot in my office.”

Seated in the overflowing shoebox that smelled vaguely of stale biscuits, Hermione accepted the paper folder from Midge. Midge sat patiently, waiting for Hermione’s quick eyes to dart over the few pages located within. Finished, she looked up at her old boss.

“500 muggles obliviated?” Hermione confirmed.

Midge nodded. “Most we’ve seen since the war. There’s sure to be others that we missed too. It’s a real mess for the obliviators—and us. Shacklebolt is not happy, kept harping on about how we need to get these creatures under control.” Midge scowled. “Maybe if he gave us more funding!” the elderly woman grumbled to herself incoherently for a few moments. “Glad to have you in to consult,” she said, her tone happy again. “You’ll want to speak with the Auror department as well, they’ll have lots of helpful information.”

“And no indication where the dragon came from? Where it went?”

Midge shook her head.

Hermione frowned. “Okay. I’ll head over to the DMLE. Thanks for this,” Hermione waved the folder. “I’ll be by in a few weeks for the quarter assessment.”

“Yes, dear. Lovely to see you as always. And how’s that Rolf keeping you?” Midge winked. Midge had thought for years that Hermione was dating Rolf. It was annoying but good natured.

“Again, Rolf and I are not dating. But yes, work is good.”

Midge laughed. “Don’t worry, dear, your secret is safe with me.”

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes and left the office instead. A short lift ride later, she strode into the DMLE and right up to Gawain Robards’ office. She knocked primly, his personal secretary not daring to say anything to the infamous Hermione Granger (Hermione had a reputation in the Ministry, especially since she quit—people did not want to cross her). Robards’ door swung open.

Hermione greeted the grey-haired man with a tight smile. She didn’t mind Robards but she definitely did not like him by any means. They clashed on many things, especially since Hermione was rather staunchly anti-Auror (Harry and Hermione avoided looking too closely at Harry’s job or Hermione tended to rant about the corruption of the DMLE and how it aided and abetted evil people for centuries).

“Miss Granger,” Robards said in his deep, authoritative voice. “I assume you wish to discuss the dragon.”

“Yes, Head Auror Robards. Do you have a few minutes?”

Robards glanced at his overflowing desk of useless paperwork. He scratched his five o’clock shadow. Hermione had to admit, while she did not like Robards, he was a silver fox.

“Please, sit.”

Hermione did so and launched right into it. “Do you have any leads at all? Who is running the investigation? Also, how did you manage to obliviate 500 muggles so quickly?”

“Aerosolized potion,” Robards replied, answering only one question.

Hermione hated that about him; he would only ever answer one question at a time. Though, she supposed posing multiple questions at once made people annoyed with her…

“Leads?”

He shook his head. “Patil is in charge of it, you can ask her. But we got nothing so far. All we know is it seemingly appeared out of thin air, then took off high into the sky and was gone in a matter of seconds.”

Hermione made a note on the paper in her folder. It was odd for a dragon to appear in the middle of a crowded muggle area without its approach being noted. She double checked the file. It was a Welsh Green. Her mind reminded her that they were experts at camouflage. But why would a Green be above downtown Glasgow midmorning? That was incredibly odd behaviour. Hermione’s forehead creased as she thought silently.

“Anything else, Granger?” Robards boomed, shaking Hermione from her thoughts.

“I have permission to partner with Padma?”

Robard’s moustache twitched but he conceded, “Yes. You’ll be labelled as a consultant. She’ll give you access.”

Hermione nodded. “Fantastic. Thanks, Robards. Have a good afternoon.”

Hermione left and shot his secretary a wave. She made her way over to Padma who gave her a brief smile. They had never been close but fighting on the same side in a war would always make you friendly to one another. Besides Padma was far better than Parvati. 

“Hermione,” Padma said with a head nod. “I assume you bullied your way onto this dragon case.”

“’Bully’ feels like a strong word. Robards practically handed it to me.”

Padma laughed. “Sometimes I wish I were a consultant like you, wouldn’t have to put up with all the bullshit.”

“Finally going to leave the brass and join normal society?” Hermione leaned on Padma’s overburdened desk.

“With all the extra work I’ve had to take on because your best mate is suddenly absent, maybe. Where is Harry anyway?”

Hermione shrugged, hoping it seemed casual. “I guess he needed a break?”

Padma groaned, leaning back in her chair. “We all need a break, Potter. But you can’t just up and leave with no warning!” she grumbled at no one in particular. “Okay—let’s talk about this dragon. I have six other cases I need to make some head way on before I can leave tonight.”

Hermione and Padma talked through the details, Hermione not learning anything new. She and Padma made their way to the pensieve collection and watched a few of the eye witness memories that had been collected before the obliviation. There were only a dozen or so memories and each painted a disjointed picture of the same event.

While muggles went about their morning walks, a Welsh Green suddenly appeared about twenty feet above an arch. It was smaller than Gryn, though compared to the muggles below it, it looked massive. It beat its wings to stay in place for about thirty seconds, then, jerkily, it turned and flew off over the building behind it, climbing into the cloudy sky rapidly. The muggles who saw it stopped and gawked, calling out to others and pointing at the sigh above them. Some muggles ran and screamed, others stopped and stared, a few pulled out their poor quality camera phones and took videos. One of the memories contained someone muttering, “hologram technology is getting very good!”

Once the viewing was done, Hermione’s first statement to Padma was, “We’ll have to delete those video files.”

Padma waved her off. “Done. Colin over in Muggle Liaison was on the scene, so he made sure to get as many as they could.”

“Bless Colin,” Hermione muttered. “I wish we had the memories of anyone closer to the dragon. She’s too far away for me to make out any specific characteristics besides that she’s a she and a Welsh Green. And they’re incredibly shy dragons—the second most shy species. They avoid humans at all costs. Why would she be there…?”

“And how?”

Hermione took a seat in one of the armchairs lining the penseive room. “Welsh Greens can camouflage.”

“That was way more than camouflage, Hermione,” Padma refuted.

Hermione would not disclose more than that though, so she moved on. “Something seemed off…Did it not? With how she flew…like…”

Padma shrugged. “You’re the dragon expert.”

Hermione tapped her cheek in thought. “I need to view them again. Did you want to join or…?”

“Do you need me? I’m not sure what else I’ll add at this point. Let’s be honest, I’m just here to support you—we both know that once I’ve filed the report my job on this is more or less complete.”

Hermione responded distractedly, “Yeah, yeah. No. I’m good. I’ll just…” she was plunging back into the cool liquid without reflection, assuming Padma left to go deal with her six other cases.

Hermione reviewed all the memories so many times she lost count. They were too far away. But…the more she looked, the more she became convinced that the dragon was flying strangely. When she turned to climb into the air—it was jerky, not smooth or impressive. Almost like the Green was confused. As Hermione watched, there was something off about her body—but she could not place it and the more she tried, the more frustrated she got.

Hermione finally pulled her head from the penseive and checked her volcanic watch. She cursed. She had been viewing memories for hours and was due to meet Draco for dinner shortly. Hermione left the Ministry quickly, doing her best to avoid familiar faces so she wasn’t too delayed.

*

She barely had time to dress and attempt to tame her hair when Draco was stepping out of her floo. Hermione wore jeans and a pink top with a cream cardigan. She figured it was a casual night, despite it being at the Malfoy Manor. Draco was likewise dressed casually (for him), so she must have made the correct decision.

Her eyes landed on his corded forearms and she seriously considered telling him to cover up his damn body.

They made their way to one another across her living room in a bizarre unison. Draco pulled her body into his and she threaded her fingers into the base of his silky hair. Draco stared into her eyes, his own gleaming silver. Hermione gulped.

“How was your day?” he asked, his voice husky.

Hermione thought on that. “A bit frustrating. But very intriguing. There was a dragon spotted above Glasgow. I’d love to talk to you about it.” He nodded and shifted away from her. Hermione pulled him back. “Not now,” she clarified. Then, her lips pressed to his.

Draco groaned, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Hermione sighed into his mouth, the heat of him igniting her in a second. Every time their lips touched it made her body scream at her to take off her clothing and complete the damn bond. Hermione could never find it in her to disagree with her lust-ridden brain. It was always Draco who had a profound sense of control.

Tonight was no different. Hermione’s greedy hands were working at his shirt buttons, doing her damnedest to get his shift off his body when Draco’s steely hands stopped her.

“Granger,” he warned.

Hermione blushed. Seriously, no self control at all. “Sorry.” She wasn’t.

Draco pushed her slowly until her back came up against the tiny bit of wall between her couch and the hallway. Draco’s grasped her hands in one of his larger ones and held them above her head. “Keep your hands here,” he ordered, his voice deep and demanding.

Hermione’s core clenched and Draco’s pupils widened before her eyes. “O-okay,” she replied.

“Or we’ll have to stop,” Draco continued. “You don’t want that, do you?”

Hermione shook her head, her hands pressed firmly against the wall above her. Draco slowly removed his hand from hers. She pressed her hands more decisively to the wall, determined to follow his instruction. Draco smirked and she shifted her hips toward him involuntarily.

He brought a hand to her hip and pressed it against the wall. “Hips too,” Draco ordered, his lips grazing her jaw. Hermione trembled. “Okay?”

“Yes,” her voice was hoarse.

Draco nipped at her jaw, making Hermione exhale sharply. He brought his lips back to hers and pulled her into a slow, sensuous kiss. Hermione gave as best she could while doing her best to keep her body flat against the wall. She did really well.

At first.

Draco coaxed her lips open and slid his tongue against her, sighing into her mouth. He moved away and pecked at her lips, jaw, neck, murmuring about how he’d been thinking about this all day. When he said that, Hermione’s hips lifted from the wall and ground against his thigh of their own accord. He pushed her back easily and scolded her.

“I thought we had a deal, Granger.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Sorry.”

Draco kissed her again, his lips making her body boil. Her hands were shaking above her head from the position as well as the desire to touch him. Draco ran his lips along her throat and laved at her pulse point. Hermione’s hips canted again, but he held her against the wall this time. She whimpered. She wanted him so badly. She would definitely need new underwear.

Draco dragged his hands up her sides. Hermione caved the second he grazed her breast. Her hands were in his hair before she even realized she had moved and her core was pressed down high on his thigh, grinding against him. His thigh pushed the harsh fabric of her jeans right against her heated flesh.

“Fuck,” Draco moaned into her ear, indulging her in a few more strokes on his thigh. But he broke away far too quickly for Hermione’s liking.

Hermione remained pressed against the wall then, watching Draco’s flushed face and ragged breathing and wishing she was still in his arms.

“Not very good at listening to instructions, are you?”

Hermione laughed but it came out breathless due to her state of horniness. “I guess not.”

Draco stared at her heatedly, his eyes landing on her lips again. Hermione thought for a second he would close the distance and give them both what they so wanted. But he didn’t. Instead, he stepped further away.

Hermione stumbled down her hallway, muttering something about needing the bathroom. She changed her undergarments quickly and it helped her calm her a shit (slightly). She took two deep breaths in her bedroom before slowly making her way back to Draco in the living room.

He was leaning casually against the wall beside her floo. Blast him and his sexy body. ‘Leaning on things? How dare he.’

Draco’s eyes flickered over her body quickly before resting on her face. “Dinner?”

Hermione nodded. Draco wrapped her arm around his and escorted her through the floo to Malfoy Manor. Hermione always had a vague sense of unease in the place due to her previous torture and its history as headquarters for the bloodthirsty racists who wanted her dead—but Narcissa had done a lovely job redecorating. The woman had also informed Hermione that they had torn down the wing with the drawing room and Voldemort’s old rooms—so there was that. She had been there enough times to meet with the Malfoy Matriarch that her unease never lasted too long. Now, wrapped around Draco’s arm, she didn’t feel the usual dread upon arrival.

Draco tugged her down the long hallways of Malfoy portraits and English countrysides and ostentatious chandeliers to a grand dining room. It had a large ornate gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the table was over-laden with food, the chairs high backed and plush looking, even the walls were covered in a thick wallpaper with a pattern of vines.

Draco led her to the head chair and pulled it out for her. Hermione was surprised, but sat. He sat to her left and an elf appeared with a pop, scaring the living daylights out of Hermione.

The elf wore a pink uniform and bowed seriously. “Miss Hermione Granger is most welcome,” she declared dramatically.

Hermione smiled. “Thank you. I don’t know that I got your name last time you were here,” Hermione replied.

Draco smiled at her.

“Mippy. Miss is kind to ask. Mippy and the elves have prepared a feast for our future lady.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she pointedly looked away. “T-thanks.”

Mippy bowed again and disappeared.

Draco cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. The elves naturally know everything. I’ll speak to them about calling you…” he cleared his throat again.

“It’s…er…” Hermione didn’t know what to say. While Mippy had shocked her, Hermione wasn’t entirely upset by what Mippy had said. If anything, she was most shocked by how natural and right it had felt to see herself as Draco’s wife. Hermione turned to Draco and changed the topic. “There is a lot of food on this table.”

Draco chuckled. “The elves were very excited. I told them that we didn’t want a formal dinner, just some food, no service or anything. They took that to mean, ‘put out all the courses at once under a stasis charm.’”

Hermione smiled. “I’m excited,” she announced looking from dish to dish. “Is it all vegetarian?”

Draco nodded. “What would you like to try first?”

Hermione glanced at a hand pie, then over to mashed potatoes, then— “I have no idea.”

He gave her a lop-sided smile, then started piling her plate with food at random. Hermione tried to protest but Draco had already filled her plate. So, she did the same for him before he could stop her.

“You said you wanted to talk to me about your day?” Draco inquired after a bite of peas.

Hermione wiped at her mouth with the thick napkin. She had half a mind to steal the swath of fabric it was so sumptuous. “Yes, there’s been a dragon sighting…” Hermione explained all she had learned and asked him, “Is it possible that a Dracun manifested in Glasgow?”

Draco pondered his response for a while. “I don’t believe so—not unless someone else knows the highly secret ritual that Helga Hufflepuff and Nicolas Flamel made…but I suppose anything is possible. It has been over 800 years since they made the ritual, which gives a lot of opportunities for people to learn about it. But the timing is odd. None of the Greens have spoken about it and none of my horde would dare. What are the odds that right when we start waking someone else discovered the same ritual…?”

“Maybe when you said the incantation it woke another Dracun?”

Draco shook his head ‘no’. “In that case, I would have woken Nev or Luna when I woke Theo.”

“What if this Dracun was near you—near Noddfa Ddraig?”

“It’s possible—but I would feel it. I’m almost certain. There’s this…sense when I wake them. I know where they are at all times—kind of.”

“Really? But you can’t talk far away still?”

Draco went silent for a minute. “Nope. Just tried. But I know Luna and Nev are in Noddfa and Theo’s at our flat.”

“Will you move back in?” Hermione asked, jumping from topic to topic in a way that surprised her. She always had 1000 questions for Draco.

Draco sliced through his (fake) meat loaf. “I was planning on it…but then Theo had to go and bond with Harry Potter and they need their space right now anyway.”

“That must be hard,” Hermione murmured.

“Hmm?”

“You were gone for so long and when you came back, everything was different. You lost the stability of your friendship with Theo.”

“Everything is different and it is hard. But I haven’t lost Theo. I miss living with him, don’t get me wrong. My mother—I love her. But she hovers…a lot. I like the independence of living with Theo. However, Theo is a nuisance and living with him brings its own unique challenges.”

“Do you think you’ll move back in eventually, or…?”

“I doubt it now. Theo and Potter will be having sex all over the flat at all hours. And…” he looked at Hermione meaningfully. “I look forward to having a willing partner in the future. Privacy would be nice.”

Hermione’s clean panties were on their way to being ruined as well. She looked at her plate.

“Actually,” Draco murmured to himself, “I ought to look into getting my own place, sooner rather than later. I certainly don’t want to be here when we—if we—” he cleared his throat and went back to eating his food.

Hermione was finding it near impossible to not think about sleeping with Draco. She needed a topic change, stat. “How do you think Luna will fare tonight without Gryn?”

“They’re getting more stable, I’m sure she’ll be—”

“Dear God,” Hermione interjected. “It just occurred to me. Luna. Luna and Gryn. They—do they…I mean…” Hermione’s mind was racing trying to imagine Luna and Gryn having sex. Dragons coupling had never been observed. “They are bonded, right?”

“Yes, Hermione. They’re bonded.”

“Meaning they…I mean. That means they had sex? Please tell me she was a dragon when they did it.”

Draco laughed into his hand. “To be honest, I didn’t ask. I assume she was, since she is still alive and not split in half.”

Hermione choked on her saliva and started laughing awkwardly. “I wonder what that feels like,” she mused quietly. It was a mistake, the air thickening incredibly quickly around the table. Hermione looked up at Draco’s eyes which looked distinctly like Draca’s, vertical slits and all. Hermione cleared her throat and Draco’s eyes returned to their normal shape and hue. “We should change the topic,” she suggested.

She watched Draco clench his fists around the arms of his chair as he took a deep, measured breath. “I’ve hired two more employees,” he informed her, successfully changing the topic. “With me back and forth to Noddfa and Theo MIA with Potter, it was needed. Hired them yesterday and trained them today.”

“You must miss the apothecary with your attention split so much by the horde.”

“I do,” he replied, sounding guilty.

“You’re allowed to want things for yourself outside of your horde duties. Would you call them duties?”

Draco shrugged. “I suppose. They don’t feel optional. I don’t resent them either, they just are.”

“I’ll have to re-read what I know about werewolf Alphas. I really do think you are a Dracun Alpha.” He looked pleased when she said that. Hermione continued, “I wonder why Dracun have them but other dragonkind do not…”

Draco shrugged, unconcerned. “I admit, I like ordering people about.”

Hermione—the depraved soul—once again felt heat flood her downstairs. His words had her mind running back to earlier, when she had been unable to listen to a single word of his. Draco’s mouth opened slightly and he stared at her, clearly sensing her thoughts. He leaned toward her and—

“There you are!” Theo declared sauntering into the room, pulling Harry with him by their intertwined hands. “Narcissa said you didn’t want to be disturbed but I said that you told me that I am always welcome here,” Theo continued, taking a seat to Hermione’s right and pulling Harry into his lap.

Harry looked sheepish. “Sorry. I tried to tell him that you’d want some privacy.”

Theo rested his head on Harry’s shoulder casually. “Privacy? What for? They’re not doing anything anyway. Just boring talk.”

Draco glared at Theo’s sparkling hazel eyes. “You should listen to your mate more,” Draco growled.

Theo grinned in response. “And what a good mate he is. Just ten minutes ago, he—”

“Theodore Nott,” Harry snapped turning in his lap.

“My government name. Now I know I’m in trouble,” Theo teased. He kissed Harry on the lips, then pushed him off his lap and onto the chair beside him instead. “Why’re you sitting like this, anyway?” Theo asked, eyeing Hermione at the head spot.

Draco and Theo looked at one another for a long moment. Hermione nudged Draco’s hand where it rested on the table. He looked up at her, sheepish. “Sorry. It’s just so natural to do it,” he tried to explain.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She turned to Harry. “Have you two eaten?”

Theo opened his mouth. Draco groaned like he heard a thought he wished he hadn’t. Harry hit Theo across the back of his curly head. Theo closed his mouth. “No. That’s why we’re crashing your romantic dinner,” Harry answered for them.

Harry began piling an obscene amount of food on his plate. Theo followed suit. When Theo took a bite out of the decidedly not-meat steak, he pulled a face.

“What in Morgana’s tit is this?”

Hermione laughed at his outrage. But it was Draco who answered, “It’s vegetarian.”

“Vegetarian…?” Theo sniffed the air dramatically. He shot a look at Draco who not-so subtly kicked Theo in the shins beneath the table. “Hermione,” Theo said, looking at her in awe, “You’ve turned a dragon—an Alpha dragon into a vegetarian?”

Hermione looked at Draco. “Have you stopped eating meat?”

He looked away. “I mean, mostly. Yeah. Not when I’m in dragon form. But I try to eat as a human instead…”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why,’ Hermione?” Theo asked while Harry continued to stuff his face as if he hadn’t had a proper meal in days, “Obviously because he’d do anything for you. Hell, he sat you at the head of the table. He’s sitting as second in command to you.” Draco did not refute what Theo said and was looking away with a faint blush on his cheeks.

Hermione felt her eyes starting to tear up. He had stopped eating meat. For her.

Hermione grabbed his hand and held onto it tightly. Draco looked at their hands, then up to her face. “Thank you, Draco, that’s really kind. But like I said to Draca, I understand. You can eat meat, it’s fine—”

“No. I don’t want to.” Hermione frowned. “Really,” he said earnestly. “I just want you to be comfortable. And I don’t need to it survive. At least not as a human. I’ll just limit it as much as a I can.”

The last guy she dated (Constantin) had ragged on her the entire time for being a vegetarian. He refused to even eat vegetables just to bother her. (Again, they were a terrible match. But alas, he was great with his tongue.) And here Draco was, giving it up entirely without even telling her, just happy to make her more comfortable.

Hermione’s heart warmed.

As did her loins.

Theo spoke. “Potter, you might want to finish that plate, things are about to get nasty in here. While I’m open to some voyeurism, I know you have no interest in Hermione, so—ow!” Both Draco and Harry had hit Theo that time.

At the very least, Theo did squash Hermione’s desire. “Just eat your food, Theo,” Hermione said, exasperated.

After a time of silent eating, Harry said, “I’m excited to see Ron. Do you think he’ll be weird around us?”

“Potter, you can’t tell Weasley you’re bonded to a Dracun,” Draco rumbled in that deep, Alpha voice of his. How Harry remained unaffected made no sense to Hermione who was shifting not-so-subtly in her seat.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about the dragon thing. I’m talking about the gay thing. By the way, how does having a gay mate help with dragon repopulation efforts?” Harry wondered aloud.

Hermione shrugged. “Beats me. But Helga was bisexual too. I don’t think they were expecting mates to be as common as they are. And don’t worry, Harry. Ron will be totally normal. Assuming Theo behaves.”

Theo winked at her. “I’m well behaved,” he replied. “And Potter here knows exactly what to do to make me listen.” Theo threw Harry a heated look.

Draco pulled a face. “Theo, please control your thoughts. It’s unfair that I have to be subjected to them.”

Theo grinned cheekily. “Never.”

Hermione placed her fork down, finally done her massive dinner. Before she could blink, Draco had placed a cake in front of her with a new dessert fork (not fancy, eh?). Hermione accepted it with a soft smile and started to eat.

“Why is it that Hermione gets a mate who will feed her food and do whatever she wants, and I get one that won’t shut up about our sex life?” Harry grumbled to himself.

“Because, dear, inquiring minds want to know,” Theo replied.

“Believe me, I do not want to know,” Draco grumbled.

“I was talking about Hermione.”

Hermione flushed deeply. Luckily her mouth was full of cake so she didn’t have to respond immediately. The fact that Theo had actually been right for once was disturbing. She did want to know. Hermione was heavily invested in the Harry-Theo relationship and had been for months at that point. And, she was a naturally curious person.

“I thought we might go for a walk through the garden after dinner,” Draco said to Hermione, changing the topic.

She nodded eagerly. She loved the Malfoy gardens. “Please.”

“Love an evening stroll,” Theo tacked on. Draco glared at him. “Oh, relax, we’ll give you two your privacy. I’ll show Harry all my favourite spots.”

 And leave them alone, they did. Once Hermione had finished her cake and digested a bit, Draco wrapped her arm around his and Theo repeated the same with Harry. Out in the garden, Theo turned Harry to the left while Draco brought Hermione to the right. They strolled through the lush gardens in the setting summer sun. The sky was pink and Hermione was warm with food and happiness. They wandered aimlessly, Draco sharing stories of the times he played in the gardens with Theo, hid from his father, and got trashed in them multiple times after the war. At the edge of the garden, he pointed out the geographical features of the land, discussing his favourite fields because of their wildflowers.

They ended up on a stone bench, Hermione finally feeling less full from her delicious meal. They held hands in companionable silence, Draco’s thumb dragging across her knuckles. Hermione shivered at the touch.

Somehow, without meaning to, their lips were back on one another’s, building into a frenzy. Draco’s hands slid under her shirt and Hermione nearly ripped it off her body entirely—but they were interrupted by Mippy. Hermione pulled away from Draco guiltily.

“Your guests are arriving, Mr Draco.”

Draco was breathing raggedly. He slid half a foot away from Hermione on the bench. “Thank you, Mippy.”

Hermione giggled at their states of dishevelment. His hair was askew and his top two buttons undone. She assumed she looked a right fright. Draco fixed his hair with a few wand waves. He only rebuttoned one button.

“Will you do my hair?” Hermione asked.

Draco examined her. “I can certainly do my best…but I like how it looks now.”

“Draco, I’m sure it looks like we’ve been shagging in the garden.”

He smirked. She glared, so he waved his wand and help set her to rights.

*

The party was surprisingly fun. Hermione walked around, mostly with Draco’s arm or hand somewhere on her body, interacting with her Dracun friends. When Ron appeared with Fred, Lee, George, and Ginny in tow, Hermione watched them all rub at their chests and take a step in unison toward Draco. He scowled in response. Hermione started laughing.

“They’re—”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“It seems that way,” Draco nearly growled in annoyance.

The Weasleys approached Hermione and Draco who were nearest to the floo. “Hermione,” Ginny said happily and pulled her into a hug. The woman turned to Draco critically. “Malfoy. Thanks for the invite.”

“Hermione!” Fred and George said in unison. They hugged her next.

Lee pulled her into a tight hug, even though he had seen her that morning.

Ron hovered to the side for a moment, awkward. Then, he stepped to her and patted her on the shoulder. Hermione found the interaction very strange until she glanced up at Draco who had prevented her from moving further toward Ron. Hermione rolled her eyes in response to his possessiveness. She decided not to push it, recognizing that Draco was dealing with a fair onslaught of things and didn’t need to add an annoyed Hermione to that list. She’d wait until later.

“Dating Malfoy?” George asked as the silence stretched on.

Fred looked around. “Nice place. I say, go for it, Hermione. Bleed him dry.”

Hermione smiled despite herself. “Yes. We’re dating,” she responded to George.

“How long? That Prophet article made it seem recent,” Ginny asked, still eyeing Malfoy with calculation.

Ron was rubbing at his chest again.

“Pretty recent,” Hermione said.

Draco’s hand tightened on her waist. Hermione turned to him and leaned up on her tip toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Relax,” she murmured. It had the opposite effect and he tensed. Hermione dragged her attention back to the Weasleys. “Come on, let’s have some drinks and you can grill Draco.”

“Don’t encourage them,” he grumbled.

He survived the fifth degree burns from the Weasleys’ ambush. Only Ron remained fairly neutral, apparently deciding to be an adult for the first time. Their questions about his intentions for Hermione (“to treat her like the queen she is”) were cut short by Theo and Harry finally returning from the gardens (it had been over an hour).

Ron’s eyes landed on their joined hands and the obvious love bites on Harry’s neck.

“They really like each other, Ron,” Hermione said urgently. “Please be supportive.”

Ron turned to her, his face shocked. “Why wouldn’t I be supportive? You do know Charlie and Fred are gay.”

Hermione replied, “Yes, obviously. But I mean about Theo.”

Ron lifted a shoulder. “I’ve liked him when we interact at the pub.”

Draco groaned. “Merlin, don’t tell him you like him, Weasley, he’ll never shut up about it.”

“Who likes who?” Theo asked, crashing their circle. He wrapped his arms around Harry from behind, resting his head on his shoulder, apparently a favourite position of his. “Have you met my m—boyfriend?” Theo asked.

Ginny smiled. “I’m happy for you, Harry.”

Harry smiled back. “Thanks, Gin.”

Theo waggled his brows at her. “Always up for a third.”

Ginny cackled. “You are trouble.”

“I try,” Theo replied. “You must all be the famous Weasleys. Nice to officially meet you, I’m Theo Nott.” Theo began to ramble on.

Hermione tuned out when the group continued talking, instead taking in the massive room around them. She noted again how high the ceilings were and thought that a dragon could easily fit inside. Her eyes landed on Neville chatting with Luna while they sipped from expensive looking goblets. Hermione watched as Rolf stumbled through the floo. Luna greeted him with a smile and they fell into an easy conversation. She wondered what they were talking about and was glad things weren’t awkward between them.

A few minutes later, Blaise walked through the floo and dusted off his clothing. Theo and Draco excused themselves to talk to their old friend. Theo affectionately called Blaise a “rake” and pulled him into a hug.

Ginny had just moved to pull Hermione into a more private conversation, no doubtedly about Draco, when Pansy strolled through the floo looking stunning, as usual. Hermione waved at her with a smile and Pansy waved back. But as Hermione watched, Pansy’s expression morphed and she turned and looked at Neville in confusion.

Then, several things happened in rapid succession. Neville shifted into his dragon form, exploding into the room (the ceilings were more than accommodating for a dragon). Draco appeared directly in front of Hermione, pushing her against a wall and shielding her body with his own. Theo was similarly shielding Harry, the jovial brunette’s eyes glowing with an eerie power. The Weasleys and Blaise all let out screams of terror, falling and running as far away from Neville as they could in the now much smaller space.

The screams tapered off into a heavy silence as everyone stared at Neville. He brought his snout to Pansy and pushed his nostrils against her stomach.

“What the fuck?” Pansy had the good graces to ask.

Chapter Text

A deadly silence filled the room as everyone stared at the massive dragon before them. Neville seemed completely calm, rubbing his head against Pansy’s middle and letting out a familiar purring sound.

Hermione glanced at Harry who was also pushed against a wall protectively. They exchanged wry smiles.

After a moment of frozen silence, Draco relaxed and gave Hermione some space, though he remained directly in her path. Hermione assumed they were having a dragon conversation because Theo, Luna, and Draco were all looking between one another in that pointed way they did whenever they communicated telepathically.

“I’m going to try to help him shift back. Can you convince your friends to go to the garden?” Draco asked Hermione.

“I don’t think they’re going to listen.”

Now that the original panic had worn off, the Weasleys, Blaise, Lee, and Rolf were all rooted to the spot, staring at Neville and Pansy.

“Is this what happened when you saw me?” Harry asked Theo.

Theo, uncharacteristically, blushed. He scratched his head and shrugged. “Draco stopped me from shifting on the spot. Had to drag me away, actually…”

Hermione had not yet asked about Theo’s departure from the werewolf ball and was immediately greedy for details. “Do you always shift the first time you see your mate?” she asked Draco and Theo.

“Granger,” Draco replied, “I’ll answer your questions later. We need to contain this.”

“We can’t obliviate them,” she rebuked.

“We’re not going to obliviate them,” Theo replied, “more than half of them are us.”

“You can tell who are Dracun too?” Hermione itched for her notebook.

“Sorry—did you just say that we’re…?” Ginny asked from the other side of the very quiet hall.

Draco punched Theo’s arm in annoyance. “Ow!” the man complained. “They were going to find out soon enough.”

“Shut up, Nott,” Draco growled in his Alpha voice and Theo fell immediately silent. Heat flashed through Hermione’s core at this display of his power. Draco turned to her with a haughty smirk. “I know you’re not great at listening to my orders,” he murmured quietly (though she knew at the very least Theo could hear because of his enhanced hearing), “but could you please stay here with Potter and Theo. I don’t want Nev to accidentally hurt you.”  

Hermione bit her lip. His eyes landed on her lips and his pupils pooled. Hermione released her lip. She nodded.

“Good,” he rumbled.

Hermione wondered why she even bothered with the panties in the first place.

Draco nodded at Theo who diligently pulled Hermione behind his body, squishing her against Harry.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said with a smile. “Strange situations we get ourselves into, eh?”

Hermione laughed in return. She turned her attention back to Draco who was slowly approaching Neville. Pansy had barely moved an inch. She was clearly frightened, but she wasn’t trying to run away—and if it didn’t remind Hermione of herself with Draca. Pansy felt it, the pull to stay.

“Drake,” Pansy said as he approached them slowly. “What is going on?”

“Good thing the Manor is so big,” Harry muttered to Hermione, “or Nev might have brought the whole place crashing down on us.”

Hermione nodded absently, eyes riveted on Draco. Neville finally paid attention to Draco, pushing Pansy slightly behind his snout and blocking her from Draco as much as he could in the space he had.

Draco held up his hands in surrender. They stared at one another for an extended moment.

“What is Malfoy doing?” Ron asked loudly from across the room.

Draco reached a hand out and it landed on Neville’s snout. Neville’s body shook. In the blink of an eye, Draco’s hand was on Neville’s shoulder—his bare human shoulder. Neville was naked. Hermione’s jaw dropped.

She knew Neville had come out the other side of puberty winning, but damn. Hermione summoned a cushion and transfigured it into a cape. She sent it to Neville who did not seem concerned at all by his nudity. After a few seconds of their silent conversation, Neville draped the cape over his body.

Hermione looked around the room to see the disbelief on everyone’s faces. A dragon appearing out of thin air seemed like something that people could accept. The dragon turning into Neville…now that was harder to reconcile.

Hermione tried to push out from Theo’s arms, since the threat was neutralized. Theo would not let her move. “Theo,” Hermione grumbled. “Let me go.”

Draco, hearing her, said, “Not yet, Hermione. We need to move Neville. Just in case. Pans, will you come outside with us?”

Pansy was staring, her mouth open. She did not respond. Neville reached for her hand and held it. Pansy looked down at his hand then up at him.

“Will you come outside, Parks?” Neville asked, his voice deeper than usual.

“You’ve got a really nice body,” she replied.

Neville grinned and Fred laughed loudly. Then Pansy fainted. Neville caught her without issue, but his makeshift cape fell to the ground. Hermione found herself staring at Neville’s toned ass again—when did he even workout?

Neville, holding Pansy, nodded at Draco and they both walked out the French doors to the garden.

Theo released Hermione finally.

Everyone started talking at once. Hermione cast a spell silencing them. They turned to her in annoyance. Hermione lifted the spell. “You all just saw what you think you saw—”

“Neville’s penis,” Fred commented and Lee cackled along with him.

Hermione rolled her eyes (but yes, they all saw). “Neville turning into a dragon,” she deadpanned. “It’s kind of a long story. But Neville and Pansy will need some privacy right now. So, let’s all sit and I’ll explain.”

To Hermione’s surprise, everyone immediately listened to her. Usually there was more fuss. There were, however, not enough seats in the room they were in. Hermione supposed it was a drawing room of some sort? She knew nothing about rich people’s homes. Doing something she had never done before, Hermione tentatively called for Mippy, unsure if it would work.

The startling crack of the house elf made her jump. “Miss Granger calls?” Mippy asked.

Hermione smiled. “Hi, Mippy. Are you able to bring us more chairs?”

Mippy looked around and counted quickly. She closed her eyes and snapped her fingers. They now had five extra antique looking couches. “Anything else, Miss?”

“No. Thank you very much.”

Mippy bowed and disappeared. Everyone sat on the sofas and turned to Hermione expectantly.

Theo stood suddenly, just as Hermione was about to open her mouth. “Sorry, love, Daddy Draco calls. You got this.” Theo gave her the thumbs up, kissed Harry, then walked briskly from the room.

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at Theo calling him Daddy Draco. It was too much.

“Okay,” Hermione began. “So…where to start…”

“How about Neville is a dragon?” Ron interjected.

“No. It starts further back than that.” Hermione organized her thoughts, then dived in, giving a brief explanation of Helga’s creation of the Dracun, of Draco being awoken, of her capture by Draca, of his memories returning, and of his efforts to grow the horde. All in all, she was proud of her summary.

“I know it seems unbelievable at first,” Hermione said when her friends’ stunned gazes remained on her, “but you quite literally saw it with your own eyes.”

“You’re a dragon, Luna?” Ginny asked in confusion, absently rubbing at her chest.

Luna smiled serenely. “I am Dracun. Which is technically different. But yes. I am a dragon. And I have a dragon mate. Would you like to meet him? He’s just outside in the field.”

“He’s what?” Hermione asked in surprise.

Luna said, “He promised to stay hidden but didn’t want to be too far away.” Her eyes unfocussed for a moment. “And he’s sad he missed the excitement.”

“Are you…talking to your dragon mate right now?” Ginny asked.

Luna nodded earnestly. “Yes, of course. Would you like to meet him? He’s excited to meet our new horde members.”

Blaise spoke up for the first time. “New…members?”

“You are all Dracun,” Luna replied as if it were obvious.

Hermione cut in, “Not all of you. Just the Weasleys and Blaise. That’s why you have that feeling in your chest. It’s calling you to Draco.”

“To…Draco…Merlin,” Ginny looked stricken. “He’s your mate, isn’t he?”

Hermione fidgeted with her shirt hem. “Yes.”

“They’re not bonded yet,” Luna informed everyone unnecessarily.

“Bonded?” Blaise asked.

“We’re getting off track here,” Hermione said quickly. “Luna, is Draco able to come back yet, or…?”

Luna’s eyes unfocussed for several moments. “He says we can join in the garden and he’ll answer the horde’s questions. Gryn is coming too!” Luna looked very pleased and pranced outside.

“C’mon, then,” George declared, heaving himself to his feet. “Off to learn about whatever nonsense this is.”

Neville was clothed again and seated beside Pansy in silence. Hermione couldn’t help but notice that they weren’t touching anymore. Draco captured Hermione’s attention by running a hand down her arm affectionately. Hermione warmed under his touch.

“Will you talk to Pans?” he asked.

Hermione was distracted from his alluring voice by Gryn landing in the clearing nearby and Luna launching herself toward him. She wrapped her hands around his sinuous neck and placed a kiss there. Hermione was reminded of her very pressing need to come up with a ritual to help Gryn change into a human.

“Hermione?” Draco asked.

“Hmm? Yes. I can talk to Pansy. Though Harry or Luna might be a better idea since they’ve already…bonded.”

“She’s closer with you. But yes.” Draco’s eyes connected with Theo’s who was suddenly pushing Harry toward her. “Weasleys. Blaise. I’m sure you have many questions,” Draco said, moving away from Hermione. “Go ahead.”

Hermione, Harry and Luna converged in front of Pansy and Neville while Draco fielded the questions from their friends. Hermione wished she could stay and watch him—she found it appealing how he commanded the attention of others.

Neville looked up at them with trepidation. He reached a hand for Pansy, then pulled back suddenly and looked at the ground. Hermione felt a stab in her heart.

“Pansy,” Hermione said softly, grabbing the woman’s attention. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Pansy nodded and stood on unsteady feet. Neville immediately reached over and steadied her. She sent him a faint smile and Neville’s whole face lit up. Hermione wrapped her arm around Pansy’s and the foursome walked off into the garden lit by magical orbs. Hermione wanted to go towards Gryn but felt it was probably a bad idea. Hermione led them the way Theo and Harry had went on their evening stroll instead.

“Congratulations,” Luna beamed from in front of them. She traipsed along sniffing flowers and staring off into space. “Neville will be an exceptional mate.”

“They said that you—all of you are mated?” Pansy asked in a hollow voice.

Luna nodded. But Hermione replied, “Draco and I aren’t yet.”

Pansy just stared back in surprise. “Really? You two seem…”

“It must be a big shock,” Hermione offered. “It took me a good two days to fully integrate everything and understand.”

Pansy nodded. “I was wondering where Neville had disappeared to. Turns out he’s a dragon.” She began laughing a touch hysterically.

Hermione summoned Mippy again.

“Yes, Miss?”

“Do you have any calming draught on hand?”

Mippy bowed and returned a few moments later. Hermione thanked her and handed it to Pansy who downed it immediately. They continued walking in silence for a while.

“How long have you known?” Pansy asked.

“Only a week or so,” Hermione replied, shocked how little time had passed.

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“We…we have to keep it a secret. Right now, the Dracun are very vulnerable and they could be hunted or ostracized. We need to grow our numbers first. They may never become a non-secret.”

“No—about Neville and me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hermione frowned. “I had no idea about you and Neville. What do you mean?”

“Oh. I thought…must have misunderstood.” She fell silent again. “And you, Potter. You’re with Theo now.”

Harry nodded and smiled from the other side of Pansy. “I was really freaked out, like you,” he said, “But then it was just so easy. Theo and I just make sense. And we were already drawn to each other before he manifested. It just…made sense,” he repeated.

Hermione smiled at Harry fondly. “I thought you liked Neville,” Hermione said to Pansy.

Pansy nodded. “I do. Neville is…by Merlin. Did you see his body?”

The group laughed together, Luna listening, but still slightly ahead of them plucking flowers from Narcissa’s precious garden.

“He lifts a lot of heavy plants and soil at Hogwarts,” Luna informed them. “Keeps him fit.”

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked Pansy.

“It’s not Neville. I told you. I like him. But I also told you I don’t think we’re a good match. I mean. He’s such a good person.”

Hermione hugged Pansy to her side. “You deserve him,” she stated firmly.

“How do I not bond with him?” Pansy asked bluntly.

They all stopped walking and turned to her. “Not bond with him?” Luna asked. “Why?”

“He’s too good for me. He’s…” Pansy’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “He won’t want me when he gets to know who I really am. I’m not nice. I’m not good. I’m a bitch.”

“Pansy…” Hermione said.

“I can’t bond with him. I can’t. He deserves better.”

“Did Draco not explain how it works? You’re soulmates. You’re meant for each other.”

“How do I not bond with him?” Pansy asked again, tears falling now.

Luna was frowning deeply. “Why would you deny what you both want?”

Pansy ignored her and looked imploringly at Hermione. “You haven’t bonded with Draco yet. Tell me.”

The other two were now glaring at Hermione. But Hermione could not deny Pansy her choice—even if it was categorically the wrong one. “The bonding happens in a few stages. The first is the acknowledgement of the bond by one of you—”

“He did that already.”

“The second is you feeding him.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s weird, I don’t really get it. Then, apparently the order doesn’t matter after this, but you both have to acknowledge the bond again, verbally. You have sex. You exchange blood while marking each other.”

Harry’s arms were crossed and Luna looked the angriest Hermione might have ever seen her.

“You would put Neville through torture instead of acknowledging your feelings?” Luna spat at Pansy.

Pansy shrunk into herself. “I-I can’t.”

Luna leaned toward her menacingly. “You’re doing nothing but hurting both of you. He will love you forever. Grow up. Go to therapy.” Luna turned and jogged away, a few seconds later, she shifted into her opalescent form and took to the skies. Pansy shrieked at the presence of the dragon. Gryn appeared beside her in the sky and they flew off into the night.

Harry turned to Pansy, likely to say something, but suddenly Neville was there, his eyes searching Pansy’s body frantically. Pansy went rigid beside Hermione, her breathing speeding up. Hermione hated this—was this how it felt for the horde to watch Hermione and Draco? It felt terrible.

“Are you okay?” Neville asked. “I heard you scream and—”

Pansy took a step back. “I’m fine.”

Neville looked crestfallen at the space she put between them. He nodded and stepped away from her. “Sorry. I’ll leave you alone.”

Neville disappeared around the corner of the Manor. A few seconds later, his dragon form was in the sky, melding into the dark night. Pansy was crying again.

Harry took a deep breath. “I know it must feel overwhelming and…very scary and permanent. But bonding with Theo is the best decision I’ve ever made in my life, hands down. Even though he’s so annoying I want to put him in a cell in Azkaban sometimes.”

Hermione smiled.

“You’re soulmates. You’re meant for each other,” Harry continued. “You can deny it. It’s your right to bond or not to bond. But no one else will ever make you feel as loved or as safe as your mate will. You should know what you’re giving up.” Harry turned and made his way back to the party.

Hermione rubbed Pansy’s back as she continued crying. “He’s right,” Hermione said, thinking about her own bonding with Draco. “And you don’t have to bond right away. You can date for a while, like Draco and I. You can talk to him about your worries. He will never judge you. But it is your choice, Pansy. And maybe it’s because I’m not bonded yet, but I won’t judge you for whatever choice you make.”

“I’m going home,” Pansy declared. She unhooked herself from Hermione and took off toward the Manor. Hermione had no idea how to find the floo apart from the one she had arrived in and Pansy was definitely not headed in that direction. She assumed the woman knew the Manor better than Hermione and was headed to a different exit.

Hermione made her way back to the party who were still grilling Draco. He stood with his legs spread apart and his arms across his chest, looking alluringly authoritative. His eyes landed on hers the second she entered the clearing. One corner of his lips lifted, then he returned is attention to Fred.

“…all at once. Seems more time efficient.”

“I already told you, we have to make sure you don’t lose your sense of self. We can’t guide five of you at once. Two max.”

“There’s seven of us Weasleys,” George replied.

“I dibs first,” Ginny shouted and Ron said back, “No fair!”

“Oldest should go first,” George declared.

“Oh Merlin, does this mean Percy is a dragon?” Fred groaned. “He’s going to be even more unbearable.”

Draco sighed heavily. “Quiet,” he commanded and the Weasleys stopped bickering. “We’ll do two at a time. I’ll need a week for each batch. But I’m starting with Blaise because I can’t handle being outnumbered by you Weasleys. Ginny can be first too because she’s the least insufferable.”

Ginny grinned. “Ha! Take that!”

“Do we start now?” Blaise asked curiously.

Draco’s eyes landed back on Hermione. “No. I need some time. I’ll owl you. Feel free to stay and drink. It was supposed to be a party after all. But I’m done talking about this tonight.”

Draco walked over to Hermione and placed a possessive arm around her shoulders. “Would you like a drink?” he asked.

Hermione nodded up at him. He steered her back indoors and poured them both some wine. Everyone else returned to the party as well, the drinks flowing and conversation jumping everywhere from dragons to work to quidditch back to dragons.

Hermione found herself in deep discussion with Rolf while Draco’s hand rested on her hip. “…I think it should be simple enough—just a few runes and some Latin.”

“I am definitely in,” her boss replied. “Gryn seemed cool. I’m glad Luna has him.”

“So, no hard feelings?”

Rolf waved her off. “Definitely not. Especially now that I know they are fated to be together. Will you be made into a Dracun?” Rolf asked curiously.

Hermione started. She had not even considered it, which surprised her; she loved dragons more than anything. Yet the thought of becoming one…she was not sure. Hermione looked at Draco who was eyeing her curiously.

“I hadn’t thought of that yet, to be honest.”

“I’d love to be Dracun,” Rolf said to Draco. “If you find a dragon willing.”

Draco inclined his head. “Noted. The priority is waking those with the blood first.”

Rolf shrugged. “Worth a try.”

Later, Hermione was being spun around by a drunken Theo to non-existent music. Fred and George were flitting about around them. Hermione could tell that the introduction of Theodore Nott to Fred and George Weasley would upset the balance of the universe—but nothing they could do about it now. Draco watched on with a smile, never far from her side.

Later still, Hermione leaned against Draco heavily, her drunkenness caught up with her while she conversed with Lee on one of Draco’s ridiculous antique sofas.

“That’s why he took you that first day,” Lee realized. “The mating bond.”

Hermione nodded and sloshed her drink around. Draco gently took it from her hands and placed it on a side table. He was handing her water as she kept talking, “Yes—the bond. That’s why I didn’t want to leave and he wouldn’t let me go! And why he tried to kill you all for taking me.”

Lee nodded dramatically. “It all makes sense now. Finally.”

Fred stumbled over to Lee. “Babe, it’s time,” he said significantly.

Lee smiled in response, flashing his white teeth. “Alright, Hermione. I’ll see you Monday. Time to go make love to my husband.”

Fred winked at them both. “You better owl me, Malfoy. Or I’ll be banging on the Manor doors.”

Draco waved them off.

Hermione looked around and noted that most people had left already. Blaise and Theo were in deep conversation a few couches over. Harry was between Theo’s legs, as usual. Though, if Hermione weren’t wrong, Harry was passed out.

Draco trailed a hand up her now bare arm. Hermione shivered in response.

“Cold?” he asked.

She looked up at his perfect face and shook her head. Hermione heated with desire.

“Theo, Blaise, you need to leave now,” Draco declared, his eyes glued to Hermione’s.

Theo muttered under his breath drunkenly and was pushing Blaise to follow him and a half-awake Harry to the floo. “Night!” Theo called, then brought the three of them to “Nott-Malfoy residence”.

Draco’s lips were a hairsbreadth away from hers. “May I?” he asked.

Hermione wasted no time, she pushed him back and climbed onto his lap, attaching their lips and anchoring her core against his waist. Draco’s hands were everywhere. Hermione’s hands tangled in his hair. She pulled back and whipped her top to the ground. Draco stared at her bra greedily.

“Can I—”

“Yes,” Hermione cut him off. She brought his hands to her breasts and he immediately went to work. His fingers rolled her nipples through the lace, making her back arch. Then his mouth was there, teasing her through the thin fabric. Hermione felt like she was burning. She rocked against his waist, gasping in desire with each flick of his tongue.

This was better than anything she had ever felt and they had barely done anything.

Draco reached behind her and undid her bra. Hermione flung it from her body. His hands greedily swiped across her taut nipples. Her body erupted in tingles where his hands touched her sensitive skin.

Hermione was panting very loudly by that point. Draco smirked at her. He brought his lips to her nipple and flicked his tongue at it. Hermione arched even more toward him. “Oh, Merlin,” she whimpered. His tongue laved at her, then he nipped at her nipple and her core clenched. Really, the panties were so wrecked at this point it was laughable.

Hermione needed more. It was her only coherent thought. She needed more. She tried to undo her jeans but needed to adjust her angle. Draco stopped her before she could get anywhere productive. His hands and lips no longer roved over her burning flesh.

“What’re you—”

“Hermione,” he rumbled in his deep Draca voice. She clenched again. “We can’t,” he reminded her. “Or…”

Hermione let out a frustrated groan. Draco kissed her nose and pushed her so that her core was no longer bearing down on his erection. He was so close but so far away from what she wanted—needed.

“I want you more than anything,” he purred against her neck, his tongue swiping over her pulse point and making her jerk. “But if we keep going, we’ll do the bonding. Are you—do you want that?”

Hermione froze. She did want it. She wanted him. Desperately.

But she wasn’t sure how much of that was just sexual frustration in this very moment—which felt like an important distinction. After her conversation with Pansy in the garden, though, she wasn’t sure why she was denying the bonding anymore. Everything Luna and Harry had said was true. They were mates. He would love her unconditionally for the rest of their lives. And she wanted him. Hermione felt like she knew him decently now too. And she liked him. He was funny and smart and so attentive. And evidently skilled with his tongue.

Hermione nodded at him. It was Draco’s turn to freeze.

“Are you serious?”

Hermione nodded again. “Yes. I want. I want to—”

Draco’s whole body trembled and Hermione worried he might shift into his dragon form below her. That would be potentially terrifying. Instead of fully shifting, his horns appeared on his head. She stared in fascination at them. Their appearance made her even hornier for some reason, perhaps because it hinted at the raw power of him.

He looked away for long heartbeats, trying to get his breathing under control. “I need you to get off me for a minute,” he grunted.

Hermione’s forehead creased. She hesitantly climbed off him and stood before him, chest bare, jeans unzipped. His eyes landed on her breasts distractedly. She watched his eyes flash silver. He looked away.

“Do you not want to…?” Hermione asked in confusion.

Draco’s eyes flitted to hers. They were molten silver slits. “Oh, I want to,” he responded, voice husky. “More than anything. But we can’t. Not right now. I have to—fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, moving closer again.

Draco’s hand snuck out and pulled her back to his lap possessively. “Sorry. I’m losing against my willpower right now.”

“Why can’t we?”

“The horde,” Draco grumbled, his hands roving over her chest again. Hermione tilted her head back and gasped. He kept speaking, but Hermione’s ability to pay attention was basically non-existent and her body ignited under his touch. “I don’t know how long I’ll be out of commission once we bond. Theo and Harry were gone for a week. I need to protect the horde—make sure they’re okay. And now there’s all these Weasleys to deal with…”

Hermione was no longer pretending to listen to him, her hips canting against his once more, her body telling her to close every possible distance between them. She roved her hands over his flushed skin and bore down as him as much as she was able to. His fingers continued to play with her breasts as he thought.

“Maybe we could just…have sex, not complete the entire bond. No…Theo said it was impossible to control the desire once they were having sex.” Draco sighed in annoyance. “I suppose we could always…fuck. Hermione,” Draco groaned when her hand landed on him through his trousers.

“What if we just touch each other?” she half begged, her hand travelling the length of him. “If things go too far, it’s okay. That’s what Theo’s for. He is your second, right?”

Draco groaned again. “Fuck,” he grumbled. But he brought his lips back to her breast, so Hermione assumed she had won.

She looked at his horns while he made her whimper. They looked regal and dangerous and decidedly hot.

All semblance of control flew out the window. Draco removed her jeans with magic and his hand was in her thoroughly useless panties within literal seconds. Hermione quivered above him as his fingers slid into her with no resistance. She moaned at the feel of him within her. She would not last long; she was already teetering before he had removed her jeans.

Draco nipped at her nipple again and she felt heat shoot through her straight to her core. His thumb pressed against her clit and Hermione’s head fell forward, landing on his forehead. Draco’s mouth moved to her neck instead and began sucking at it.

Hermione’s whole world was burning, boiling, melting—and she loved it. She rocked her hips against his hand, begging for more. Draco added a third finger and she gasped at the stretch. Hermione gripped one of his horns and he shuddered beneath her. Her orgasm was moments away, there was no doubt in that. Hermione could feel Draco biting at her neck now, trapping her skin between his sharp teeth. She wanted him to pierce her flesh, to take from her body. In a second of clarity, she now understood Draco’s hesitation—she wanted him to mark her, even knowing things were not in place for them to do so.

Her thoughts were cut off by her body clenching tight around Draco’s fingers as she came. Hermione moaned in pleasure, her head thrown back as electricity buzzed up and down her entire body. She saw stars, completely lost to oblivion. When she tuned back in, Draco was licking his fingers clean, his eyes molten. Hermione’s core clenched again.

“You taste delicious, Hermione,” he rasped, straight out of her dreams.

They were kissing again, ravenous for one another, despite Hermione coming mere seconds ago. Hermione shoved her hands into Draco trousers, potentially destroying the button—she wasn’t sure and she really didn’t care if she had. Her hand gripped his cock and he hissed, pulling from their kiss. She pumped up and down his length while Draco stared into her eyes with his eerie dragon ones, jaw slack.

Hermione pulsed above him. She wanted to ride him—in fact, she almost did, but Draco’s fingers were sliding into her again, curling against her inner walls with precision. Hermione fell forward on him, her body contracting with each swipe of his fingers. She was barely touching him now, her grip loosened around his cock. It didn’t seem to matter—seconds later they were both coming undone, Hermione for the second time. Draco splashed all up her chest as his growl of pleasure rattled Hermione’s bones. The sound of him. The feel of him shaking beneath her…

Hermione brought him into another kiss, this one was less ravenous and more gentle touches while her walls continued to milk his fingers. Draco withdrew and licked them clean again, his eyes feral. Hermione looked down at her chest at the same time he did.

“Fuck,” Draco grumbled. He cleaned her up with a wave of his wand.

They stared at one another, their chests heaving. Hermione was only slightly sated. She wanted more, especially now that she knew how good he made her feel. Draco pushed at her lightly and she climbed off of him.

He went and sat on a different chair from her. “Can’t trust myself to be too close to you right now,” he explained gruffly. His heated gaze ran over her mostly naked body.

Hermione tugged on her shirt and found her pants several sofas over. She pulled those on next, Draco watched her intently, his eyes silver, his horns alluring. They sat in a sexually tense silence.

“How are you feeling?” Draco asked finally.

Hermione cleared he throat. “Good. Really good. I…I want more,” she confessed, her face heating, though it was so flushed she doubted it was obvious. Her body was buzzing with desire, with need. She shifted on the sofa.

Draco clenched the arm rests of his chair. His knuckles were white. She stared at his still present horns and wondered why they had appeared for the first time now.

“Why can’t we?” she asked again, her brain a bit more functional now.

“Merlin. I want to. I’m just not prepared,” he replied.

“I thought Dracun are always ready for their mate?”

Draco threw her a heated look. “Oh, I’m ready,” he promised darkly. Hermione’s eyes fell to his lap where he was obviously hard again. “But I am not prepared. I really thought you would want more time,” he explained. “I need to prepare our—my new home. That will take a few days. We need to talk about contraception. I need to figure out a schedule for all these damn Weasleys. You’ll have to take time off work. I need to hire probably another employee—or two because I’m going to be MIA for a while. I need to train Theo to be a better second and I hardly even know what that means.”

Hermione’s lips turned down. “How long will all that take?” She genuinely did not know how much longer she could last.

Draco shrugged. “I can do my best to cram it into five days. Will you be ready to take time off?”

Hermione thought of her pile of work and her desire finally started to recede. So much to do. “Yes. I can. I should probably work this weekend, then.”

“Contraception?” Draco asked, his hands flexing on the arm rests again.

“I’m on the potion,” she explained.

“Great, one thing done.”

Hermione asked, “Where will we go?”

“That’s why I need my house to be in order. I have a property in Kent. I need to modify it a bit. I’ll send the elves to start that immediately. We’ll want the privacy.”

Hermione’s mind began to run wild, thinking of all the things he would do to her.

“And we need to talk about what it means. What it really means to bond with me.”

Hermione tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll be Lady Malfoy.”

Hermione was taken aback. “But we’re not getting married. I mean, not yet.”

Draco shrugged. “Mother looked into it with Gringotts. Magical bondings are equal to marriage. You’ll be the lady of the estate.”

“That’s…huh.” Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing but…it was strange. “Will my last name change, legally?”

Draco shook his head. “That requires a marriage or a name change from the Ministry.”

Hermione was glad to hear that, she had no interest in changing her name. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I mean. Yeah, it is weird. But I’m agreeing to bond you, that means one day we’ll probably be married. I’ve accepted that already.”

Draco looked like he might jump her. He turned his gaze to the floor and breathed deeply for a while. “Let me escort you home. I need to get things in order.”

“I know the gentleman in you must accompany me home,” she replied, “But if you touch me right now…”

Draco’s horns seemed to grow larger before her eyes. “Fine. I’ll…I’ll owl you?”

Hermione nodded. She picked up her bra and scrunched it into her hands. She made her way to the floo, giving Draco a wide berth. His hot gaze followed her the whole way.

“Have a good night,” she called to him.

“Good night, Hermione.”

The tone of his voice did sinful things to her.

*

Hermione was aware that she was dreaming—it was the only thing that made sense. She was definitely asleep. Because she was moaning in pleasure at Draco’s thrust. He was sliding into her slowly, like he had all the time in the world. His thrust was deep and slow. Her mind spun at his diligent hips.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured.

Hermione moaned in response. Draco’s hips rolled against her again.

“You like that?” he rumbled.

Hermione gasped. “Yes. Yes. Holy.”

Draco smirked in response. Their lips joined with one another while their bodies danced. It was an unhurried build, but no less intense. Draco’s fingers slid between their bodies and played with her clit.

Hermione’s legs began to tremble a tad violently. “Draco,” she moaned. “Ohmigod.”

Draco’s lips were anchored at the base of her neck, sucking and biting to the point that it hurt. Hermione’s walls started to flutter—she was seconds from the end.

“Draco. Draco. Oh—I—nngh!”

Hermione’s world shattered and she awoke on a gasp. Her heart hammered in her chest. Hermione looked around in confusion, trying to understand the reality around her. Her dark bedroom and silence greeted her. She was alone. Draco was not rocking his hips against hers, making her cry out in pleasure. It was all a dream…or was it?

*

Hermione spent the next three days living on an uncomfortable edge. Every night she dreamed of Draco. And I do mean she had a sex dream that seemed strongly like they were sharing dreams, not simply that she was dreaming of him. Though, Hermione did not confirm this with him, so it was never confirmed.

Draco owled her every day, multiple times a day, asking her about her day, her interests, whatever really struck his fancy. But they had not seen one another for three days straight and Hermione was finding it hard to deal with her daily life without him.

As promised, she had thrown herself into work, explaining to Rolf that she would need some time off because of her impending mating. At least it was easier to explain her absence now that Rolf was aware of the Dracun. He, unsurprisingly, was entirely supportive of Hermione’s imminent leave of absence, but he was understandably worried about being down two employees. So, Hermione was putting in 14-hour days to try to make up for it. 

On the fourth day, Draco appeared in the SPERMc offices around lunch time. Hermione was wholly distracted by her work and didn’t notice his presence until he had entered her office and cleared his throat pointedly.

Hermione looked at him in suprise. Her body propelled itself to her feet without meaning to. She was moving into his arms before any conscious thought had crossed her mind (apart from blerg). Draco welcomed her into his arms with a grin. Hermione leaned into him and they were kissing without delay. It was only minutes later, when Hermione was trying to shove her hand down his slacks, that she became aware of the world around her again. And that was only because Draco forcibly removed her hand and then stepped away from her with a grunt.

Hermione’s chest heaved as she stared at him, more than a little stunned at her forwardness.

“…Hi,” she said eventually.

“Hi,” Draco replied, his breath equally heaving. “How are you?”

Hermione took a measured breath. “Well. How are you?” It was a lie. She was miserable. She was overworked and sexually frustrated.

Draco’s eyes landed on her lips again. “I’ve been better.”

“Oh?”

She was in his arms again. His hands trailed over her bare arms and his silver eyes—a sign of his dragon emerging—were on display. “I missed you.”

Hermione smiled. “I missed you too.”

Draco looked far too thrilled by that little fact. “Did you, now?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Shut up. Why are you here?”

“Do you not want me here?”

“No—I do. It’s just…I’m surprised you didn’t owl or anything.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t sure if everything would work out or not. I didn’t want to commit to something that I could not.”

“Fair enough…So, are we…going to lunch or something?”

Draco kissed her cheek and Hermione’s pulse accelerated far too much. “If you are free,” Draco replied. “I was hoping we could grab lunch. I won’t be free tonight. But I have two hours right now.”

Hermione smiled in response. “I don’t think I can do two hours…but I can do one hour. I’m trying to get my proposal done for the shelter today. I’ve been pulling very long days in preparation for…”

Draco’s eyes flashed silver and he pulled her closer to him. “You are by far the hottest woman I know,” Draco commented.

Hermione pushed his chest. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not. I think it’s hot how much you care about your career and about others. You’re admirable.”

Hermione flushed in response. “Where are we going for lunch?” she asked.

“I thought we could try a place in Scotland. They have an extensive vegan menu.”

Hermione smiled at him. “Fantastic.”

Hermione went into the hallway and shouted down the hallway, “Rolf! I’m going to lunch!”

“Okay!” came the shouted reply of her boss.

Hermione turned to Draco with an expectant look. He looped his arm with hers. “Ready?”

Hermione nodded. Draco transported them to Scotland. They appeared in an alley in what Hermione assumed was either Edinburgh or Glasgow. He led them on a short walk through a series of streets and they ended up at an Indian restaurant.

The food was phenomenal. Draco was able to handle more spice than Hermione had given him credit for. He sweat a tad, but he soldiered ahead without complaint. Over lunch they discussed Hermione’s efforts to get the werewolf shelter’s plans finalized. Once that topic was exhausted, Hermione asked about Draco’s preparations.

“Theo is insufferable,” was Draco’s reply.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, we’re trying to figure out this ‘second’ thing that werewolves have. But Theo is not helpful in the least,” Draco complained. “All he wants to do his shag Potter. Meanwhile, I’m trying to get him to understand the importance of awakening the Dracun and teaching him more about dragon societal norms. He has no interest,” Draco ranted. “Instead, he asks me about the appropriate flowers to buy his mate.” Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. “Can you believe him?”

Hermione laughed. “I’m not surprised. That sounds like Theo. Maybe you should rethink your second.”

Draco sighed heavily. “He’s the only one I trust fully. He’s…he’s my best mate.”

“Why did that hurt you so much to say?” Hermione laughed.

“You’ve met him,” was Draco’s reply.

Hermione laughed heartily. “Have you been talking to werewolves about seconds?” Hermione inquired.

Draco nodded. “They said it’s basically a command that they make as alpha. So, I’ve already done that. In theory, Theo will have to take charge. I just doubt he’ll do so with the seriousness that it requires.”

Hermione held back a laugh. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. What about the…house?”

She had been wondering what was going on that required days of house elf preparation and he had not been forthcoming on details.

“Preparations are almost done.”

They stared at each other heatedly over their curries. Hermione was impatient to have her way with him. Only one more day separated them, but it felt like forever. As the tension stretched on, Hermione cast about for something to say that would not further ignite her passion.

“Did you hear about the dragon attack this morning?” she asked abruptly.

Draco frowned. “No.”

“Remember how I was telling you about that strange sighting over Glasgow?” He nodded. “It was similar—the dragon just appeared in thin air, a small town in Ireland. But this time it attacked two muggles. They died.”

Draco’s forehead was creased. “Were you at the Ministry this morning?” he asked.

“No. Padma sent over the brief. I’m headed there in the afternoon. Unlikely that I’ll be able to help much though. But maybe watching some of the memories will mean something different to me. It was a Swedish Short Snout too, which was strange. I’m assuming we can rule Theo out?” Hermione joked.

Draco did not find it funny, apparently. “Theo does not like hunting,” he replied seriously. “This is concerning. May I accompany you to the Ministry?” he inquired.

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I’m just not sure if Robards will give you clearance. He and I have an understanding, but it doesn’t usually extend beyond me.”

Draco checked his sleek watch. “I need to go to the manor quickly to tell mother. But I can rejoin you in your office in about thirty minutes. If you’re done eating.”

Hermione looked at her half-finished plate of food. Draco had predictably ordered way too much to eat for her. She took two more bites, pushing herself toward the uncomfortably full zone. She placed her spoon on the table.

“I’m ready to head out.”

“No dessert?” He pressed, even though he was the one to suggest they leave.

“Draco, you know I don’t eat a lot of sweets.”

He shot her a grin. “But I do.”

Hermione laughed at him. “Yes, let’s get dessert then.”

They spent another twenty minutes slowly making their way through an assortment of Indian baked sweets. Hermione only had a few bites, since she was far too full. While Draco packed in far more food than he should be able to fit in his slim form, Hermione recounted all the details of the strange dragon behaviour that she knew.

Draco brought her back to work and proceeded to push her against her office door with little preamble. Hermione was beyond full but that did not stop her horny body from responding favourably to his advances.

Draco’s lips came to hers, one hand cupping her face while the other pulled her hips to his. He kissed her leisurely. Every brush of his lips made her body tingle pleasantly. Draco pulled away far too quickly for Hermione’s liking (though, it should be noted that they were making out for a solid ten minutes, she was just so caught up in the moment she didn’t realize).

Draco’s thumb brushed across her swollen bottom lip. “I’ll be back in a half hour,” he promised. He removed his hands and made his way to the apparition point.

Hermione sighed dreamily like a lovesick sap. She threw herself back into work, knowing that her afternoon would be co-opted trying to figure out what was going on with the dragons in the UK.

*

Draco held her hand as they entered the Ministry, not a care in the world at their public declaration of their relationship. Hermione took a moment to reflect that they were actually in a relationship now. There had been no discussion of labels of anything of the such because why would there be? They were mates—they were more than simply dating. It was still odd to be holding his hand in magical society, since all their dates so far had been in muggle locations. Draco seemed completely at ease, so she let his calm assurance wash over her.

At the security desk, Walter tried to get Draco to hand over his wand, seeing as he was not an employee. Hermione had flashed Walter a smile and informed him that Draco was with her, so there would be no need for him to submit his wand. Walter hesitated for a few moments but ultimately, Hermione’s war heroine status worked in their favour. As they waited for the lift, Draco kissed her hand that was linked with his.

“Thank you,” he murmured. Hermione’s body heated far too much in response to his tone. Seriously—that man was heinous.

They made their way to the DMLE. Hermione confidently walked up to Robards’ office. His secretary sunk in his seat at Hermione’s approach. Hermione knocked on Robards’ door. It swung open a moment later. She pulled Draco into the office with her.

Robards stared at their joined hands in what Hermione assumed was shock. Robards had an excellent poker face. But his eyes had widened as he took in their appearance. Eventually, he met her eyes.

“Granger,” he greeted. He said nothing to Draco which made Hermione bristle.

“I’m sure you know Draco Malfoy,” Hermione replied.

Robards nodded once curtly. That was the most she was likely to get from the man. Draco nodded back.

“Right to the point: I’m here about the dragon attack.”

Robards’ moustache twitched. “Patil told you?”

Hermione held his gaze. “Yes.”

Robards seemed annoyed. He stared back at her for a long moment. “Fine. You’re on the case.”

“I’ll need Draco’s help as well.”

“We don’t make a habit of consulting with Death Eaters.”

Hermione’s eye twitched. “Is that so? I’m sorry, I must really be mistaken. Was the DMLE not run by Death Eaters for a solid calendar year in 1988? And again in 1997? And, sorry, once more. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I feel confident in saying that Draco’s charges were dropped and he is in fact no longer in the service of Voldemort and only was due to coercion.” She blinked at Robards with a vague smile on her lips.

Robards glared back at her in response. Draco seemed like he was going to say something, perhaps in Hermione’s defense given Robards’ open hostility. But Robards cut him off.

“You’re welcome to bring in anyone in your employ—he is an employee of yours, is he not? Otherwise, how could he possibly be qualified as a dragon consultant?” Robards’ asked in his deep voice.

Hermione lied easily, “Of course. He’s a volunteer at S.P.E.R.M.C.” Draco’s hand twitched in hers, though he did not contradict her.

Robards levelled her a glare. He knew she was lying but it seemed he was unwilling to challenge her. “Fine,” he grumbled irritably. “But let Patil know she’s in trouble for sending over confidential documents without clearing it with me first.”

Hermione didn’t respond. She simply inclined her head, then pulled Draco from Robards’ office. Draco remained mute as Hermione brought them to Padma’s cubicle. The woman had stacks upon stacks of files on her desk.

“Hermione!” Padma greeted with a tired grin. “And, Malfoy?” Her eyes landed on their intertwined hands. She gaped. “Uh…”

“Draco’s here to help consult,” Hermione explained.

Padma recovered quickly. It helped that she had no time to deal with small affairs like who Hermione was dating. “Alright,” she replied with a shrug. “But, seriously, Hermione. Where on earth is Potter? He’s barely been in at all. Doing half-days here and there. If he wasn’t the saviour of the magical world, he’d be fired.”

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly. “No idea. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him with no success.”

Padma raked her hands down her face. She handed Hermione a slim folder. “Let’s head to the pensieves. I don’t have time for this case since Harry’s workload is my workload,” Padma complained. “Seems pretty open and closed to me. Dragon attacked humans. The end. It happens from time to time. But we’ll let you look over the memories and see if anything seems out of order. The timing with the other dragon sighting a week ago seems a bit too coincidental.”

“Agreed. And no worries, Padma, we’ll look over it and let you know about anything.”

They started the walk to the pensieves while Draco flipped through the two pages of notes quickly.

“So, you and Malfoy…” Padma said while on the walk.

Hermione smiled at him. He smiled back, then returned his attention to the folder. “Yeah.”

“Parvati will be pissed,” Padma informed them.

“Will she? She’s the one who’s been writing about us non-stop for the past month.”

Padma shrugged a shoulder. “Gossip sells. Especially when it’s about you.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Parvati didn’t actually believe you were dating. But showing up at a gala together is bound to get tongues wagging. Actually, she’s been saying she wants to try her hand at dating the most eligible bachelor in the UK.”

Hermione laughed in response.

Draco said, “I’m not a bachelor anymore,” his tone all sorts of serious.

“I’ll be sure to correct Parvati on her misinformation,” Padma replied seriously.

She led them into the pensieve room and handed them over three vials. “Not as many witnesses this time—a much smaller community was attacked. Only five were present and two died, so…Anyway. Give me an update if you need to.” Padma left them alone with no other preamble.

Hermione turned to Draco. “You realize we’ll be all over the Prophet again?”

He shrugged, clearly not caring. “I’d rather set the record straight. It will make it easier to go out in public without random women throwing themselves at me.”

Hermione’s skin prickled. “Does that happen often?”

Draco pulled her to him by the hips. “Don’t worry, I don’t give them the time of day.” Draco pecked her nose.

Hermione pulled from his arms. “Don’t go getting all cute on me here. Anyone could walk in.”

Draco smirked. “That’s half the fun.”

Hermione stepped away from him. “We’re here to work, Draco.”

He sighed. “Fine. Be that way. Shall we watch the first memory?”

The dragon attack had happened on a farm. It was obvious from first glance that the Swedish Short Snout was not even a little bit like Theo. It was larger and had darker scales. It also had a strange energy about it. Since the muggles had been closer to the dragon, Hermione was actually able to get a good look at the dragon this time. It appeared above a wheat field while the farmers were walking at a leisurely pace. One second it was not there, the next it was hovering a mere fifteen feet above the ground. Its powerful wings buffeted the wheat and muggles, knocking them off balance. Hermione watched the dragon. It attacked the nearest muggle, a young woman. Then it attacked the young man beside her, burning them both to a crisp. The others were running by that point. The dragon hovered in place for a while, then it jerkily flew off into the sky.

They watched and rewatched all the memories.

“There’s something strange about its flight, right?” Hermione asked. “It’s not…it’s like…”

“It’s not in control,” Draco concluded. “It’s moving almost against its own will.”

“Yes, exactly.” Hermione scrubbed at her face. “I just feel like we’re missing something.” She dived back into the memories without prompting. Once she had watched them all again, she realized what it was. “Try to look at the dragon’s back,” Hermione said.

Draco looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Just look at her back,” she said.

They plunged back into the wispy memories. As Hermione tried to train her eyes on the dragon’s shoulders, she found it impossible. Her gaze kept glancing away, despite her best efforts. There was something fuzzy there…

Back in the room, Draco said, “I can’t.”

“I think…” It was impossible though. It made no sense. “It’s a notice-me-not, or something like that. Maybe combined with a disillusionment?”

He nodded. “That would make sense. But then…”

“The dragon has a rider,” Hermione concluded for him.

Draco frowned deeply. “But…”

“I know,” she replied, concerned. “I think it’s being controlled by a human.”

“Impossible.”

“I know…but…it makes sense. We can’t know for sure unless we have a magical person who is able to detect illusions to see the dragon. Which means we’ll probably have to wait for another sighting.”

“Or another attack,” Draco added grimly. “I’ll go to the hordes in Wales and spread the word. See if they’ve heard anything. We’ll get someone to head to other hordes in the UK and check if anyone has any news. But a human controlling a dragon—that would be really bad.”

Hermione nodded. “I know.”

“Fuck,” Draco groaned. “This might delay our plans by another day.”

Hermione frowned but understood the importance of warning the hordes. “It’s okay…” she said weakly.

Draco shot her a look. “I’m barely holding on here, Hermione.”

Hermione’s body heated incredibly quickly at his confession. All it took was a few words, or even a look from him, and she was ready.

“Okay. I’ll just…I’ll do my best. Maybe if I…” Draco trailed off for a moment, thinking. “Okay. I’ll owl you if we need to delay at all. I think I can make it work.” He looked exhausted suddenly.

“Draco, we can wait one more day, it won’t be the end of the world.”

He shot her a hungry look. “I’d prefer not to wait.”

Hermione fidgeted under his gaze. “I don’t either but I also don’t want you to run yourself ragged.”

Draco nodded. He pulled her into a tight embrace. To her hair, he said, “Are you staying here longer, or shall I accompany you back to your office?”

“I need to look over the previous memories and see if that dragon might have evidence of a rider or not.”

He kissed her forehead. Their eyes met for a long, tense moment. “I’ll owl you,” he murmured. Draco pulled back from her and left the room with long strides.

Hermione dove back into the memories, looking for any evidence of a notice-me-not and disillusionment. Now that she knew what she was looking for, it was easy enough to find. She believed her theory was right. But it only raised more questions: why did the dragon permit a human rider? If the human was controlling the dragon, how? Why would a human make a dragon appear in muggle London? Why would a human want a dragon to kill innocent muggle farmers? How many dragons did the humans have? Why?

Hermione’s mind was swirling. She returned to Padma and told her of her theory. The woman seemed deeply concerned. But there was nothing to do at that moment—there was no way to trace the dragon and no leads to work with. Padma vowed to have Aurors scout out some places of ill repute and see if there were any whisperings of dragons being controlled.

Hermione left the Ministry with her mind running a mile a minute. She worked late into the night, finalizing her werewolf shelter plans.

Chapter Text

Mid July, 2007

Draco finished his inspection of their new home. The home was on the smaller side for a Malfoy property—it was actually a home, not a manor or a mansion. Albeit, a large home. Draco liked the property because Lucius had hated it. Draco was happy to make memories there with Hermione. Also, to have her on every possible surface that he could.

He walked out of the walk-in pantry, satisfied with the dried goods and abundance of beans. Draco went around and tested the taps and toilets, assuring that the plumbing had been updated. He inspected the fresh paint jobs, adjusted some furniture placement, and ensured their bathroom was stocked with products befitting a queen.

Lastly, Draco looked through his sex box. It was stocked with lubes, ropes, cuffs, floggers, and toys. He doubted they would get anywhere near this box anytime soon, since it would require a level of patience he currently had none of, but he liked to be prepared. He placed it in the drawer of his bedside table.

Satisfied, Draco collapsed into the bed. He fell asleep almost instantly. Despite the fact that everything was now prepped for their bonding, Draco knew he would thank himself later for getting a good night’s sleep; he had plans to do very little of it for at least 3 days straight.

He dreamt of Hermione, as he always did. This time was innocent, though. They simply laid together on a blanket in a park. Draco caressed her slowly and she recounted all the things she wanted to add to her dragon book.

*

Draco awoke well rested, though his good spirits from his lovely dream were quickly dashed as he blinked up at Theo’s face.

Theo smiled at him broadly. Draco scowled in response.

“How did you get in here?”

Theo shrugged. “I guess you gave me access or something. Probably an oversight on your part.” Theo joined Draco on the bed. “How’re you feeling about today? The place looks great.”

Draco shoved him from the bed. He didn’t want Theo’s scent anywhere in their bedroom, let alone tainting their bed. “Why are you here?”

“Just wanted to wish you a happy bonding. Wondered if you wanted to talk about anything.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. It would appear Theo was being sincere. “No, Theo. I don’t want to ‘talk about anything.’”

Theo rolled his eyes. “You know, Draco, talking about your feelings is good. Healthy.”

“Have you been talking to Pansy like I asked?” Draco said instead, pushing himself to his feet and out of the bedroom. Theo followed.

“She’s not returning my owls.”

Draco sighed heavily. “How’s Nev?”

“Same old.”

“And the Weasley’s?”

In the living room, Draco sat heavily in an armchair. Theo leaned against the doorframe.

“Impatient,” came Theo’s uninterested response. “But they’ll live. Seriously, Draco. Let’s talk about it.”

“I need to shower, Theo.”

“We can talk while you shower.”

Draco glared at him.

“I was very nervous,” Theo continued on, undeterred, “When I brought Harry back to the flat. It was…Well, honestly. It was embarrassing. Harry handed me an apple and I basically swallowed it whole before bending him over the kitchen counter. I could barely string together a coherent thought. Almost came immediately. Luckily, the bond meant Harry was right there with me. Have you thought about where you’ll mark her?”

Draco felt his dragon energy build within him. “On her neck.”

“I’m partial to the neck as well.”

“Yeah, Nott, I know. I’m subjected to seeing your mark everyday since you don’t wear shirts with collars.”

Theo ghosted a finger over his bite mark that was only discernible to other magical creatures. “What about the meal? Have you talked her through the feeding?”

“She’s already fed me,” Draco reminded Theo.

“I forgot about that.” Theeo whistled lowly. “Your self control is impressive. Seriously, I barely finished chewing before I was inside of—”

“Have we talked enough yet? I need to shower so I can go fetch Hermione.”

Theo sighed. “Fine. Ignore your feelings, Draco. Just know that it’s completely normal to be nervous and—”

“Theo. Leave,” Draco commanded, drawing on his Alpha energy.

Theo frowned as he made his way toward the floo. “No need to get all Daddy Draco on me. I’m just trying to help. I’ll see you in a few days, you tosser,” Theo called before swirling away in green flames.

Draco showered quickly, making sure his entire body was sparkling clean. He dried and styled his hair. Pulling on casual slacks and a white button-up with rolled up sleeves, Draco felt ready. He went to the living room to close the floo, having zero interest in Theo coming back again.

He took a deep breath. This was it.

Draco apparated to Hermione’s flat.

She was seated on her awful orange couch wearing a loose black dress that fell to her knees. On her wrist was a scrunchie and in her lap was an apple pie.

They stared at one another for a tense moment. His whole being was focused on her, drawn to her as if by a taught string.

“Hi,” Hermione greeted.

The string yanked him to her.

Draco was across the room in seconds, attaching their lips and deftly placing the pie onto her stained coffee table. Before he had quite thought through what was happening, Hermione was on her back on the couch, his thigh pressed between her legs, their tongues sliding against one another. She rocked her hips against his, moaning in pleasure. Her hands tangled into his hair, entirely destroying the style he had spent long minutes cultivating for her. He felt her hands slide over his horns, unaware of when they had appeared.

Draco’s hands roved over her body, not settling anywhere, but demanding that he let him touch her all over. She was happy to oblige.

Draco’s hand rucked her dress up easily and slid inside her panties. They felt like lace and he wondered vaguely what she was wearing. He was too distracted to focus on anything but more, now. Hermione gasped when his fingers touched her heated flesh. She bit his lip and redoubled the efforts of her hips.

Hermione’s hands went to the buttons on his shirt and fumbled with them haphazardly. Giving up, she simply ripped his shirt open. Draco was trailing his fangs over her neck, pressing them in and making her breathing stutter.

 Her hands descended to his pants, forcing him to move away so that she could plunge a hand into his trousers and fist him. Draco bit her neck harder in response, his groan muffled by her skin. Hermione’s body was tensing as Draco paid special attention to her clit with his fingers. She pulled at him distractedly, moaning into his ear.

Hermione shattered on a stilted whimper. Draco pulled her into another fierce kiss. She pulled away.

“Take off your clothes,” she demanded, voice hoarse.

Draco was absolutely feral. He tore his ruined shirt off and stood to stumble out of his trousers and briefs. Hermione ripped her dress off at the same time, revealing a truly scandalous green lingerie set; lace, straps, bows, barely any fabric. Tension pooled in Draco’s lower abdomen. Hermione tugged her lingerie off before he had the chance to really admire it.

She dragged him back onto her. “Now,” Hermione groaned, quite literally spreading her legs for him.

Draco was seconds from coming. It was embarrassing. Theo was right. Fucker.

“I’m yours,” Hermione declared breathily. “I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

Draco’s body alighted at her words. His entire body sparked in pleasure.

“I’m yours,” Draco vowed back to her. “And you’re mine,” he repeated reverently, his voice taking on his deeper dragon tone.

Hermione wrapped her legs around his hips and was positioning him at her entrance without further ado. Draco slid in an inch without even meaning to—she was soaked.

“Fuck me, Draco,” Hermione begged. “I need—”

He slid in the rest of the way, slowly pushing himself in to the hilt while she made noises that he would be replaying for the rest of his life.

Being in her felt like he was seeing the world in colour for the first time. She felt—it was everything. It was indescribable. It was perfect. She was perfect. Hot. Tight. Wanting.

Hermione tilted her hips against him. “Draco,” she begged again.

He began rolling against her slowly, pushing their pelvises together.

“Faster, please. Just—” her hand clenched around his biceps. “We can go slower later. I need—”

Draco could deny her nothing. He began thrusting into her, the sound of their flesh filling the silence of her living room. Draco lowered his mouth to her neck, kissing and nipping greedily.

“You feel so good,” Draco groaned against her neck.

“Nngh,” was her response, her head thrown back as she orgasmed again. Hermione clenching around Draco just about did him in. But somehow, he remained hard as she tightened around him again and again.

“You’re mine,” Draco rumbled again, his dragon voice loud.

Hermione was still trembling in pleasure. “Yes,” she gasped. “Yours. Yours. Draco. I’m yours. I—mmm.” Hermione came again, her cunt impossibly tight around him as her hips slammed up to meet his.

Draco roared in pleasure. He came, hips jerking against her as his world erupted in fireworks. When Draco came to, Hermione was still clenching around him. He brought his lips to her neck without a thought and bit down on her pulse. Hermione keened at the pain. But still, her orgasm continued.

Draco was still thrusting into her, slower now. He was somehow still hard as he laved at her neck and drew her sweet blood into his mouth. Draco pulled a few mouthfuls into him. His body became impossibly hot as he felt her blood work its way through his system. Hermione’s cunt finally relaxed. She pulled his neck to her mouth with weak arms. She sucked on him while Draco’s hips continued their work. Then, Hermione bit down on his pulse and was sucking at the wounds she had created.

She definitely didn’t have fangs before, but Draco’s curiosity was short lived. Colours danced behind his eyes at the feeling of her drawing his blood into her body. Hermione pulled away after some time. He looked into her glazed eyes fervently.

“Mate,” they said at the same time.

Then, Draco’s world erupted again and he came hard. Hermione clamped down on him for the third time. She moaned into his mouth. Their hips sought to extend the pleasure, moving against one another until Draco finally felt himself start to soften. Hermione did not let him pull out. Her legs secured him in place.

They stared at one another as they finally calmed down.

“Well…” Draco said eventually. “That wasn’t exactly how I was hoping things would go.”

Hermione laughed weakly. “Me either. I made a pie and everything.”

Draco nuzzled into her neck and sniffed at her swollen bite marks. She smelled of him. He could likewise scent her on himself. It was glorious. Hermione played with his hair and horns absentmindedly.

“I think I came four times,” she said eventually.

Draco felt himself start to harden again. Hermione’s walls clenched around him involuntarily.

“Already?” she asked in surprise.

In response, Draco started to slide in and out of her again. This time he was slower, what he had actually wanted for their first time. His hips rolled instead of thrusted, their bodies moving together in a heated dance. They kissed one another intensely, the low fire between them building quickly. As things sped up, Draco placed her legs over his shoulders, pushing his cock deeper into her. Hermione whimpered in response. He sped up his pace, slamming his cock into her relentlessly. She threw her head back and moaned.

“You’re mine,” Draco rumbled. “Mine. Forever.”

Hemione’s face was screwed up in pleasure. “I’m yours, Draco. I’m—” Her cunt tightened around him, her eyes rolling back. “Yours. Yours yours yoursyoursyours. I’m—oh God.”

Draco came again, blacking out briefly with the overwhelming pleasure rocketing through him. Draco kissed her neck and face lazily, needing to be touching her. Hermione still did not let him pull out. Her legs moved back down to his hips and held him firmly in place.

They lay in silence for while, fingers tracing over naked skin, soft kisses peppered over cooling flesh. But some time later, much sooner than normal, Draco was hard again.

With some tricky maneuvering on her small couch, Hermione straddled him. She propped up his head with her throw pillows and leaned forward so her breasts were right in front of his eyes. They were flawless. He cupped one and stroked the nipple with his thumb. Hermione sighed.

She rocked against him slowly. Draco could not believe this was his reality. Hermione Granger was fucking him. She was sighing and moaning, skin flushed, body hungry for his. It was something out of his wildest fantasies.

Hermione began circling her hips. “You feel so good,” she groaned. He loved her voice like this, hoarse, needy.

Draco pinched her nipple. Hermione’s breathing stuttered. She continued her hypnotizing dance on his cock. Hermione removed herself from him suddenly. She turned around and rested her elbows on the sofa’s arm, her ass presented to him. Draco watched as his come started to trail out of her cunt.

“Fuck me,” Hermione demanded.

Draco gripped her hips and slid into her without further ado. She rubbed at her own clit while Draco’s hips slammed against hers.

“Oh God. Draco. I—mm.”

“You’re everything,” he groaned. Their slapping flesh was obscene in the silence of her small flat. “Feel so good. I want my come to fill you up so much that you’re dripping for days. Come on my cock, Hermione. Come all over my cock.”

“I—Draco—you—nngh!” Hermione wailed. She clenched around him, pulling him deep into her. Draco came moments later, his come rocketing into her over and over again.

When he finally pulled out, she was positively leaking with his come. Hermione rested her head against her sofa, her ass still raised for him.

Draco couldn’t stop himself. He brought his lips to her cunt and began licking it clean. She tasted like honey, and, dear reader, Draco had a sweet tooth. (This is not a euphemism; she actually tasted like honey. Draco would have to ask her about her taste later as it was almost guaranteed the mating bond making her taste so delicious. And that was the sort of thing that would fascinate Hermione, so he made a mental note to talk to her amount it, when he wasn’t nose deep in her.)

She whimpered and begged him for more. Draco ate her out diligently, thrusting his tongue inside her to clean her out. Her thighs shook in response. Then she was coming on his face, hot liquid coating his tongue and chin as he lapped at her.

Hermione collapsed then, her body weak.

Draco arranged them on her sofa so they were cuddling. Their breathing gradually slowed and their bodies cooled, but their hands never stilled, trailing over one another greedily. Hermione appeared as happy as he was just to be able to touch her.

Some time later, Draco said, “Did you want to see the house I’ve been working on?”

Hermione nodded up at him, her head resting on his chest.

“Don’t forget the pie,” Hermione said weakly.

Draco laughed. He shifted her around and handed her the pie she had made. Hermione pressed the container against her naked chest, distracting him. He adjusted her in his arms and stood.

“Ready?”

Hermione nodded.

Draco apparated them into what he hoped she would come to see as their home. Draco kept her in his arms while he showed off the front entry way and the living area. Hermione looked impressed, though she said nothing. Draco brought her to the kitchen next. Draco helped her to her feet. She placed the pie on the marble counter top.

It was that brief motion that reminded Draco that she was still very naked. As was he. He had her bent over the island seconds later, railing her for all she was worth. Hermione’s knuckles went white in their grip of the counter top. This was the most intense he had been up to this point. Draco was slightly concerned he might bruise her hips where he gripped her hard, but she was moaning at him to go harder, which delayed his concern for the moment.

When they both came a short while later (of fuck, Draco, yes!), Draco picked her up and placed her on the marble counter. He spread her legs, summoned a chair, and licked her clean once more. Hermione gripped onto his horns, keeping him locked between her legs. Not that he had any intention of leaving her delicious cunt, but he found he liked her taking some control—and he especially liked when she held onto his horns.

When Hermione threw her head back and screamed in pleasure, Draco finally removed his head from between her sweaty thighs. He stood between her legs instead, running his hands up and down her thighs while she slowly came down to earth. Draco kissed her mark. It made his skin tingle in pleasure. She seemed similarly affected, gasping at the gentle caress.

Draco smiled down at her in a lazy sort of way.

“Draco,” Hermione said.

“Yes, love?”

Her heart stuttered. Draco smiled at her swollen lips.

“Did you want some pie?”

He kissed her slowly in response. “I’ve just had a lot to eat,” he replied smugly. “But I’d be happy to have some more.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco reluctantly left her thighs and got them both plates, a knife, and forks. Hermione took the knife and cut him a generous slice of pie. She cut herself a much smaller one. Hermione offered him the plate. Draco took it and stood back between her thighs where she remained perched on the cold marble.

“I was planning on giving you some pie before we completed the bonding,” she explained unnecessarily. “But…you know.”

Draco scarfed down the pie. It was phenomenal. Hermione watched him in amusement.

“Do you like it?”

Draco kissed her, his lips sticky. “I love it. It’s delicious. Just like you. You made it?”

Hermione nodded. He kissed her again.

“Thank you.”

Hermione smiled at him. “You’re welcome. Although, it is a bit odd to have it so early in the morning…”

“Are you hungry?” Draco asked. “I can make us breakfast. Or…” he glanced at the clock; they had been fucking for a long time by that point. “…brunch,” Draco concluded.

“Show me the rest of the house first,” Hermione replied.

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “But I should warn you, I won’t be able to control myself. I have to have you in every room.”

Hermione’s eyes pooled and she bit her lip. Evidently, she was into the idea. “You didn’t ‘have me’ in the living room,” she pointed out.

“An error that I plan to fix this very moment.”

Hermione laughed at his seriousness. He wrapped her legs around his waist and brought her back to the living room. He sat in a wide armchair that he had fantasized doing this exact thing in all week. Hermione slid onto him with little preamble. Hermione rocked on him, kissing him sloppily as they sought their pleasure in one another. It was a slow coupling and by the time he came hot and hard inside her, Draco was hungry.

Draco summoned a warm wet towel for Hermione and cleaned between her legs soothingly. She flushed under his ministrations. He found it interesting that she was embarrassed by this simple act when they had been fucking all morning. He left off asking about it for now. Draco cleaned himself quickly. Then he summoned the robes and slippers he had purchased them. Hermione’s nipples pebbled against the silk robe. Draco’s near constant erection obviously tented his robe. He ignored his desire and brought them back to the kitchen. Draco put her into a high chair by the island and began preparing her a hearty fry-up.

Hermione watched him quietly for a while. Until, “Where did you learn to cook?”

Draco smiled at her, turning the vegetarian sausages. “France.”

“The country seems to have left quite the impression on you: muggle money, muggle cooking…I wonder what else…”

Draco shot her a grin but didn’t respond. “How was your morning?” he asked instead.

Hermione’s hand came to rest gently on her mark. Draco’s dick twitched at the sight of her touching it. As it was a magical wound, it was already mostly healed. It was only red and swollen now, there was no wound anymore.

“Phenomenal,” she replied with a wide grin.

Draco laughed. “Always good to hear my skills are appreciated. Though, I meant before I came over.”

“Oh.” Hermione laughed. “Yeah. Boring. Still no leads on the dragon attack. The shelter is finalized now though, and it is moving on to the Alphas’ Council for review. So that’s exciting.”

“Congratulations, love.”

Hermione’s heart hammered, whether at his praise or his endearment, Draco was unsure. “Thank you. How about you? How was your morning?”

Draco shot her a wolfish grin and a wink. Hermione flushed again. Draco turned the heat down on the skillet. “Phenomenal,” he replied cheekily. Draco glanced at her to see her fidgeting with her robe, smiling to herself. “The part with you, anyway. Theo decided to pop by unannounced. Had to cut the floo off entirely to ensure he’d give us privacy.”

“What’d your second have to say?”

Draco plated their sausages, toast, and potatoes. He placed a plate in front of her. “Forgot a drink. Coffee or tea?”

Hermione was all smiles this morning, sending them his way freely. It was all Draco ever wanted. “Tea please. Do you have oat milk?” she asked.

They did have oat milk. Draco had purchased it for her specifically, remembering she did not appear to enjoy cow’s milk. While the kettle boiled, he handed her cutlery.

“You must know, I’m very impressed,” she mused, eating a forkful of potatoes.

Draco swelled with pride. “Why’s that? My impressive ability to make your orgasm, or is it my cooking?” He stood beside her while she ate slowly.

Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. “It was the oat milk that put you over the top, actually.”

“I noticed you don’t seem to like cow’s milk.”

Not quite sure how it happened, Hermione was in Draco’s space, kissing him fiercely. Her hand closed around his still hard cock and began pumping it with little hesitation. Draco, never one to complain, slid his fingers into her wet cunt. He was shocked by how wet she actually was. He wondered if watching him cook was a turn on for her.

He thumbed her clit, making Hermione groan into their kiss. Hermione stumbled backward and pulled him toward the stainless-steel fridge. Hermione pulled open her robe, then his. She hoisted a leg around his waist. “Lift me,” she demanded.

Draco picked her up easily and Hermione slid onto him without further ado. Draco easily bore the majority of her weight while their hips chased one another. He pressed her into the cool fridge. Hermione held onto him around his neck, groaning with each thrust. The fridge shook ominously and Draco made a mental note to secure it to the wall or something.

“You’re so good to me,” she moaned.

At her words, Draco, embarrassingly, came. Luckily, Hermione was right behind him. Hermione unwrapped her legs and stood shakily, leaning heavily against the fridge. Draco remained very much in her space.

“Do you like when I take care of you, Granger?” Draco asked against her ear. She shuddered.

In response, she kissed him. “It was nice of you to notice is all,” she said eventually. She slowly retied her robe.

When Draco made no move to cover himself, she retied his as well. He was just about to reopen her robe and tease her some more when the kettle screeched loudly. It was a testament to how wild and fast that last round had been that they fit it in before the kettle boiled.

He walked her back to her seat and helped her get settled in it. He grabbed a small face towel from beside the sink, wet it with warm water, and cleaned between her legs again.

Hermione was once again more embarrassed by this gentle act than their aggressive copulation moments before.

“Did you just stash towels everywhere in the house for this purpose?” she asked.

Draco grinned at her. “Maybe.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Why does it make you uncomfortable?”

Hermione shifted under his gaze. She lifted a shoulder and returned her attention to her no longer hot food.

Draco poured a pot of tea, placed it on the counter, and joined her at the island. “Does it bother you?” he asked as the silence stretched on.

“Oh—no. It’s just…” she cleared her throat. “It’s new.”

Draco frowned at her. “What do you mean new?”

Hermione shrugged again. “No one has ever really…taken care of me like that before.” Her face was flushed again.

What Draco wanted to say was that her previous lovers were evidently shit. But he figured that was not going to be received well and would likely provoke a conversation on her fucking other men, which he decidedly did not want to hear about. Instead, he asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

Hermione’s brown eyes connected with his. “No. No. I like it. It just might take a bit for me to get used to. You’re…” she looked out the window. “You’re different than anything I’ve had before.”

“In a good way?”

She smiled softly, her eyes meeting his briefly. “In a very good way. Eating vegetarian food, sending owls to ask about my day, buying oat milk because you noticed I prefer it without me even having to say anything, being the perfect date at the gala, being incredible in bed,” she murmured the last part. Draco smirked with pride. “I like how you notice, how you pay attention, how you take care of me.”

Draco was uncomfortably hard again. He decided to ignore it, thinking it best they actually eat something before he made her lose her voice from screaming in pleasure. Besides, he needed to replenish some calories.

“Eat your breakfast, Granger, it’s getting cold.”

They both looked out the kitchen window to the English countryside beyond. Tall grass blew in a gentle summer breeze. They ate in silence, taking in the birds singing and the lovely day.

Once Hermione complained she was too full, Draco took her on a more in-depth tour of the kitchen. He showed her where everything was: the cutlery, the plates, the bowls, the serving platters, the wine glasses, the whiskey glasses, the walk-in pantry, the Tupperware, etc. When Hermione suggested that he change how he was storing the Tupperware, he insisted she fix it. So, she began rearranging everything more to her liking. Draco was pleased. Watching her make the space more hers brought his dick back into painfully hard territory.

When Hermione was done, Draco brought her back into the pantry claiming he wanted to show her ‘one more thing’. He proceeded to fuck her against the shelves. They both laughed later as they had to pick up several cans that had been knocked to the floor in their vigour.

Draco continued the tour to the study/library. It was nothing special—not like the Manor. Though, it was larger than the average study. He had renovators combine two rooms together so that there were a few rows of books, two sumptuous desks, a fireplace, a few armchairs, and a reading nook by the window. Hermione rode him in the reading nook, thrusting her breasts into his face and moaning about how this was her favourite room.

Draco brought her to the basement to display their extensive alcohol collection—perhaps the most ostentatious part of the house. When Draco fingered her against the dusty shelves, she gasped in pain. He kissed her gently instead, recognising that she was over sensitive from the obscene amount of fucking.

Draco carried her up to the second floor. He showed off the workout room. Hermione gave him a hand job in the doorway, his come splattering all over her robe. He used his dragon magic to help clean up that mess.

Next, was the guest bedroom. Draco gave her a series of hickeys while she stared out the window, gasping. He palmed her breasts through her robe, but did not do anything more. He would wait for her to initiate, once she was feeling less overstimulated. Finally, it was their bedroom.

Hermione took in the four-poster bed, the walk-in closet, and the en suite with a slack jaw.

“You like it?”

She nodded mutely.

“Want a bath?” Draco asked eventually when she still said nothing.

“Oh, that would be lovely.”

Draco placed her on the bed while he went to prepare the bath. He rifled through the cupboards looking for essential oils and that soap he had purchased just for her. He found the comb he had purchased for her curls, as well as the conditioner. He laid out two towels for her. Satisfied with his work, Draco went back to the bedroom to find her peering into the side table drawers, looking through the various bits and bobs. Hermione looked like she was caught doing something wrong.

“Please, snoop away. What’s mine is yours and all that.” He had half a mind to tell her to check the other side table drawer, but recognized she was too overstimulated for what was contained inside.

She bit her lip. “Right. I forgot about that. We’re…basically married now, right?”

Draco sat beside her on the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Oh. Um. Sore.”

“I know. The desire is even stronger than I thought. We’ll wait a while before doing anything else.” He took her hand. “But I meant how are you feeling about the bonding?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sore,” she repeated with a laugh.

Draco smiled despite himself. “I’m…I’m so happy you’re my mate,” he said. His thumb traced the back of her hand. “Joining with me today…it’s been…It’s been transformative for me.”

Hermione kissed his cheek. “I’m feeling good overall. But it’s still a bit surreal. I think it will take a while to fully…understand how I feel.”

“That makes sense,” he conceded, though he wished she had instead declared her undying love. “Are you ready for your bath?” Draco asked, changing the topic before he declared his undying love. She needed more time. He understood that, theoretically. He did not need more time. He was head over heels for her. And he wanted to tell her. But given how she could barely handle him cleaning her up after sex, he figured it might overwhelm her.

“Are you not joining me?”

Draco kissed her. “I didn’t want to presume,” he replied.

“I think it would be nice if you joined. Relaxing.”

So no bath sex. That was fine. Though Draco was hard again (or still hard, really). It seemed he would remain as such for a long time. Theo had not mentioned this at all—which considering the idiot kept trying to tell him about the bonding, he could have at least mentioned something helpful. (In Theo’s defense, Draco had kicked him out before he had been able to.)

Draco helped Hermione into the deep bathtub. He delicately wedged himself behind her in the tub, his cock pressing against her back.

“Someone’s still excited,” Hermione murmured with a chuckle.

“Sorry—I think it’s the bonding…I usually have more control than this.”

Hermione leaned against him. “It’s fine. I like to know I have this effect on you.”

Draco began massaging her hands. Hermione fell asleep shortly afterward. He continued to massage any part of her he could reach, basking in her presence. In the trust she had in him. Hermione awoke some time later, when the bath water was cooling. She turned and straddled him. She evidently quite liked this position.

“Will you heat the water?” she asked, sinking up on down his length.

Draco did his best, his mind wholly distracted by her body, dripping with water. Hermione rode him softly, sensuously, slowly. By the time they were both coming, Draco’s head pressed to her chest, her hands in his hair and running up and down his horns, the water had cooled again.

Draco dried her off, then she dried him off. He brought her to bed and they had a nice long nap after their debaucherous morning.

*

Their desire barely faded for two straight days. In fact, Draco didn’t think they had slept for more than two consecutive hours. All day they napped and fucked. Then when it was late into the night and they both finally collapsed into one another’s arms, Hermione was waking him mere hours later, cooing in his ear about how she needed him. Then it was Draco waking her, whispering how he would take care of her, how she was his, and how he was going to make her see stars every day for the rest of her life. Then she was waking him and bobbing her head up and down his cock, making Draco nearly pass out in pleasure. And so on and so forth…for two days without reprieve.

On the third morning, Hermione asked Draco to read to her, claiming that she found his voice relaxing. She somehow ended up touching herself as he read Pride and Prejudice. Draco had barely refrained from joining her, but she had insisted he only watch. He ate her out afterward, promising to read to her whenever she wanted.

On the third evening, Hermione sat on his face in the study, her arms braced against the reading nook wall, her hips gyrating against his lips and tongue. He could barely breathe and he had never been happier to be so close to the brink of death. He loved how demanding she was. He loved that he could give her whatever she wanted.

On the fourth day at lunch time, Draco fucked her into their picnic blanket halfway through their afternoon outing on the surrounding lands. Her screams of pleasure echoed through the adjacent fields. Draco almost wished they had close neighbours so that everyone could know how well he pleased his woman.

When they had calmed down, Hermione coaxed him into shifting into his dragon form and performing some dances for her. She muttered about needing to record them—but of course had not brought anything to the house with her except for the pie that had long been eaten. Draco was happy to dance for her, but reluctant to be so far away from her body. They were both happy to cut the dancing short and instead partake in another round of lovemaking under the rare British sun. Evidently, his dancing had turned her on.

While they did fuck near-constantly, they talked a lot as well. They stuck to more lighthearted moments, sharing joyous moments from their childhoods, Hogwarts, and even work life. Hermione got him to admit that he owed most of his muggle knowledge to the various women he had sex with over the years. She eventually admitted that she had been naughty with Krum back in school. That had made Draco pounce on her so she would forget the name Krum. Her moaning his name repeatedly calmed him down. Draco was a jealous man and while he thought the bonding might help him feel more secure, if anything, it had made him more possessive. Hermione did not seem to mind.

In the early hours of the fifth morning together, Hermione remarked, “I’m genuinely shocked Theo and Harry managed to visit us at all in the first four days. I can’t imagine putting clothing on and doing anything besides this for the rest of my life,” she murmured, lips landing on his fully healed bite mark.

“Promise?” Draco asked.

Hermione nipped him in response. Talking was quickly forgotten as Draco slid into her and ground their hips together.

*

“Oh. I think we have an owl,” Hermione remarked two days later.

“It can wait,” Draco grumbled.

“Draco—”

“Shh, love. It can wait,” he murmured into her ear, his hips slowly sliding against hers.

“Okay,” she sighed in agreement.

Draco’s fingers tightened on her waist, pushing deeper into her from behind. Hermione was face-down-ass-up in the middle of the hallway. They had been unable to make it further and neither cared much, though their knees might protest later. Add it to the list of sore and bruised body parts they both sported constantly. Between the grabbing, biting, sucking, and kneeling, they were both marked all over.

Draco brought his chest down to press against her back and laced his fingers through hers. She groaned, her voice hoarse.

“That’s it,” Draco coaxed, his hips slow but insistent.

Hermione started to clench around him. “I—”

“Come for me, love. I have you.”

Hermione’s ass ground back against him, her cheek pressed into the floorboards. “Draco. Draco. I—you’re so good at this,” she panted.

Draco bit her neck. His hips maintained their pace, deep, slow, and domineering. “It’s all for you, love.”

She clenched again. “Fuck,” she whined. “Fuu—uck.”

Draco bit her neck again and Hermione spasmed around him, letting loose a gravelly moan of pleasure. Her cunt pulling and squeezing him had him following her in short order, roaring above her. When Draco had recovered, he reached one hand down and rubbed at her clit a few times, knowing he could make her come once more with a few strokes. She didn’t disappoint, jerking and whimpering into the floor as she came again.

“That’s my girl.” Hermione whimpered in response.

Draco slowly pulled out of her. Hermione gasped as he left. With careful and gentle movements, Draco pulled her into his arms and brought her to the living room where an owl was pecking at the glass impatiently. He laid Hermione on the sofa where she promptly fell asleep. Draco smiled at her unconscious form.

They really needed to get a full night’s sleep—but how could he say no to her?

Draco placed a soft throw blanket over her, then opened the window to let the owl in. It hooted in annoyance as it landed on the perch set there expressly for owl post. Draco handed it a series of treats in forgiveness of their rudeness. The owl stuck out its leg in response.

Draco took the letter. It was addressed to him, so he joined Hermione on the sofa, placing her legs over his lap. She shifted and groaned, continuing with her nap. Draco stared at her for a long time, completely distracted by her.

“Merlin, I love you,” he whispered, trailing a hand over her shin.

She really was perfect. His wished her mark was darker. The bite marks were visible, but faded, and besides they would only be visible to magical creatures. He wished she had a tattoo across her face that said, “Mated to Malfoy”—that would make their situation far more clear. At least his mark left his scent on her, but Draco found he needed more to assert his claim. He wondered idly when was too early to propose. They had only been dating a few weeks and they hadn’t yet said ‘I love you’ but he still felt it was not soon enough when it came to declaring her as off the market.

The owl hooted softly, jolting Draco from his thoughts.

He opened the letter quietly, not wanting to disturb his sleeping woman. It read:

Draco, you tosser. How’s mated life?

 You see now how hard it was to tear myself away from Harry dearest? Anyway. Things are fine with the horde. The Weasleys are losing their patience, though. When can you return to complete their ritual? I say we just do them all at once, there’s enough of us now, we should be fine.

Pans is still being an obstinate troll. Poor Nev is depressed beyond belief. We’ll have to think of some strategy. I say we lock them in a room together—big enough for a dragon transformation just in case. Pans won’t be able to deny the attraction when faced with him again, I guarantee it. And seriously, what’s not to like? Nev’s fucking hot. Did you see his penis arms? My word.

I found that rune specialist and a Latin expert. Luna and Gryn are going a bit mad with his desire to turn human…When will you be back?

The apothecary is booming. Those new people you hired, Kate and Serena, are excellent. Well done. I’m working a couple hours every day when Harry insists on going to work.

Also, being a second is rubbish. Can I resign?

Re-open your floo, we want to visit!

That’s all for now. My boyfriend wants to tie me up now, so I should let him do that.

Talk soon (I hope). Your unwilling second,

Theo.

Draco heaved a heavy sigh. His little bubble of happiness effectively popped by Theo’s rude owl. He couldn’t stay mad at him though, since Draco himself had owled Theo multiple times when he and Harry first mated. It was Theo’s turn for payback.

Draco tossed the letter on the coffee table. The owl was roosting on its perch, clearly staying until Draco wrote out a response. He would take his time and let Hermione read it too.

Sometime later, they both woke from a nap on the couch. Draco had wiggled his way behind her and they were spooning. It was the first time that Draco did not awake with a boner since they had mated. Hermione noticed immediately.

“Oh dear, we haven’t lost our spark already, have we?” she shuffled her bum against his waist and Draco started to harden without further prompting. “Oh good. You had me worried for a moment.”

“You are insatiable,” Draco murmured in her ear. He trailed kisses up and down her neck.

Hermione spotted the owl sleeping in their living room. “Oh yeah. The letter.”

Draco ignored that and pushed into her wet cunt. She gasped. “Mm. Not. Not in front of the owl,” Hermione whispered, her hips moving despite her words.

Draco chuckled. “It’s asleep.”

Hermione swatted his arm that was descending toward her clit. “No.”

Draco huffed. “Owl!” he called authoritatively. It roused and blinked at them with its big eyes. “We need a few moments. Hunt for dinner and come back.”

The owl blinked some more, then spread its wide wings and flew out the window.

“Surprised that worked,” Hermione said.

Draco resumed his kissing and his gentle thrusts. He brought his hand around her front and began playing with her. Hermione gripped his free hand in hers.

“How do you feel so good, every time,” she sighed.

Draco nipped at her shoulder. “Because I’m made for you, Hermione. And you’re made for me.”

Hermione turned her head toward him and they kissed deeply while their hips rocked against one another. “Mine,” Hermione declared against his lips.

“Yours,” he agreed.

They came sometime later, in no rush, despite the fact that the owl might return at any moment. Hermione’s toes curled against his shins, her hand squeezing his so tight it hurt while she clamped down on him. Draco erupted within her, his tired balls doing their best to fill her to the brim. They kissed for a long time after that.

“We should clean up,” Hermione hummed against his skin.

Draco used dragon magic to wipe them both clean. He summoned their robes and helped her into hers. Hermione was flushed and smiling.

“God,” she mumbled. “How will we ever stop?”

Draco kissed her again. “We won’t.”

Just then, the owl flew back in. Draco sighed heavily.

“Thank you,” Hermione said to the owl brightly. To Draco, “Alright. Fine. Reality. What did the letter say?”

Draco handed it to her. She read it quickly. While she read, she tried to tie her hair up three times, only to notice she had no hair tie. Draco summoned one for her on the third attempt. She kissed him in thanks.

“I’d like to meet with those specialists as soon as possible.”

Draco’s hands roved over her body. “Whatever you want, darling.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Draco, don’t say stuff like that…I find it incredibly distracting.”

He leaned into her newly exposed neck. “As you wish, love.”

Hermione shivered. “You play dirty.”

He smirked. “Slytherin.”

Hermione pushed him away lightly. Draco frowned.

“Okay, this is our first attempt. We’ll see how long we can go without shagging.”

Draco scowled now. “Why?”

“I have to return to work eventually Draco.”

“No, you don’t. You have said for the past seven days straight that all you want to do is stay here forever.”

“Yes. I do. But I also do like my job. And there’s the dragon riders we have to figure out. And Gryn and Luna. And the Weasleys, and, and, and. We’ve taken the most time out of any mated couple so far. Don’t you think it’s time for you to return to the horde?”

“I don’t want to,” Draco complained. “All I want is to be here with you.”

Hermione clasped his hand. “I know. Me too. But unfortunately, the world is bigger than this beautiful home. Write Theo a letter. We’ll return in two days.”

Two days was more than he was expecting her to say. “Really?”

Hermione smiled coyly. “I told you; I don’t want to leave either. Today will be our last day of ridiculousness though. Tomorrow, we need to try to keep our hands off of each other.”

Draco nodded, determined to make her orgasm at least twice an hour with the time they had left. She seemed likewise determined, wasting no time in pulling him into the hallway—out of the line of sight of the owl—and hopping into his arms and onto his waiting cock.

*

Late July, 2007.

They readied themselves for their departure.

“Ah. Your horns,” Hermione reminded him.

Draco reluctantly made them disappear thinking about a conversation Hermione had had with him earlier in their debaucherous week where she had revealed how hot she found them.

“They make you look strangely rugged,” she admitted, “and I love holding onto them while your head is between my legs or when I’m kissing you. They feel so smooth. They remind me of Draca.”

Draco patted his head again to ensure they were gone. “Better?”

Hermione stuck out her lower lip. “I don’t know if ‘better’ is the right word. I do quite like them…but, since we are returning to human society—necessary. Okay. Take me home, Draco. I’m so excited to meet those specialists tomorrow!”

Draco obliged, more than willing to do literally anything this woman asked of him. Even if it meant returning her to a home they did not share which felt truly blasphemous.

They had done a lot better the day before, only fucking ten times, instead of their average of twenty a day. It would definitely be trying times when they both attempted to work a regular work day, but at least they could be clothed around each other now…barely.

Back in Hermione’s flat, they were immediately making love on her hideous sofa again, so their progress was not quite what either needed. But it was what they wanted.

That was a problem for later. For now, they were going to steal a few more minutes of each others’ pleasure and company knowing that their brief refuge from the world was nearly over.

Chapter Text

Late July, 2007

Hermione was all but sitting in Draco’s lap they were so close together on the bench in the Malfoy gardens. Narcissa watched on with a smirk. The older woman looked as elegant as ever, sipping on her tea.

“Welcome to the family, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa said, finally breaking the silence.

“Please, call me Hermione,” she reminded her.

Draco’s hand rested possessively on Hermione’s leg. She wished he would move it—it was distracting and enticing and she wanted it to be far higher on her thigh.

“I’m glad you’ve joined us,” Narcissa said with real emotion. “I can see how much joy you have brought Draco. And I cannot wait to be a grandmother.”

Hermione flushed and Draco let out a deep grumble from his chest. It wasn’t anger or aggression, but maybe some sort of…desire? Hermione wasn’t sure. The only thing she knew was that the sound made her panties drenched. Draco turned his head toward her, his nostrils flaring. His horns appeared on his head suddenly. Hermione blushed even harder. His mother was right there!

“And so we don’t know why I am not like you?” Narcissa asked, cutting the tension between them.

Hermione tore her gaze from Draco’s luminous eyes. “No—er. My working theory is that only one generation can have the curse active at a time…but I don’t know why that would be true…It’s a lot of guesswork since the magic was experimental to start off with,” Hermione rushed to explain, looking for anything to focus on besides Draco’s presence. “I am hoping to take more notes and even conduct some experiments to better understand the Dracun.”

“I look forward to your book on the subject,” Narcissa teased.

“As do I,” Draco said from beside her.

Hermione swallowed thickly. He needed to stop talking. His voice—

“I believe that your guests have arrived,” Narcissa informed them. “I’ll leave you to your dragon business. Though, you might want to make those horns disappear, Draco.”

Hermione glanced up at them, then quickly away. Every time she saw them, she was assaulted with the image of him between her legs while she held on for dear life.

The horns disappeared, to her dismay.

Narcissa left, going to greet their guests for them. Draco took advantage of the time by pressing a firm kiss to Hermione’s lips. She responded in kind, climbing onto his lap. Just as she was getting settled right where she wanted to be, a loud wolf-whistle cut through the air.

“Damn, Hermione,” Theo greeted, Harry’s hand in his.

Hermione scrambled off Draco’s lap, her face red. He didn’t let her go far, his hand back between her legs, gripping her thigh for all to see. All, happening to be Hermione’s best friend and his mate.

She cleared her throat. “I thought you were bringing the specialists.”

“We did. Narcissa is speaking to them. We assumed you two would need a moment to compose yourselves. And we were right,” Theo replied, taking a seat across from them and helping himself to a cookie.

Harry grinned at Hermione. “Congratulations,” he wished, face a bit pink.

Hermione grinned back. “Thanks.”

“Potter, come sit on my lap,” Theo crooned.

“Nott,” Harry warned.

Theo rolled his eyes. Harry sat down beside him instead. Theo mirrored Draco—a hand resting between Harry’s legs, gripping his lower thigh. Harry leaned toward him subconsciously. Theo passed him a cookie which Harry devoured in seconds.

“Ah, here they are,” Narcissa said, leading two strangers to their place in the garden. “Enjoy your tea,” she said cordially before taking her leave.

Gugol Tronslait was a short and stout white man who, frankly, looked like he studied Latin; old, boring, balding, glasses, tweed clothing in the summer. Ragnar Hansen was the opposite: tall, young, muscled, long hair tied into an intricate braid (though Ragnar was also white).

Hermione did a double take at the hot Viking rune expert. Theo guffawed. Harry elbowed him.

“What? That was my reaction too,” Theo muttered.

“Please, have a seat,” Draco said in greeting.

“Yes, I was very intrigued by your translation question,” Gugol began with no preamble, pulling a journal and quill from his pocket. He flipped a few pages. “Not many young people care for dead languages. It is always nice to see an interest. Especially when we rely so much on Latin for our spellwork, one would think that the average magical person would care more about the words that we use on a daily basis,” Gugol huffed. It seemed he had a lot he wanted to get off of his chest.

“I agree,” Hermione replied.

The others shifted uncomfortably. Gugol continued his rant, undeterred by Hermione’s shared opinion. “Really, the Latin is more than just a placeholder—the meanings are deep and have history which gives strength to the spells. How do most witches and wizards not know this? It is obscene to me how badly Hogwarts has failed our students. Back in the 1200s when it was founded, it was required to study Latin! Imagine if they were to institute the same rule today; the children would whinge and whinge. But the founders were right, you see—”

“Mr. Tronslait, I am so sorry to cut you off, but were you able to complete the translations?” Draco cut in, somehow not sounding rude at all.

Julius flicked through his journal again. “Right. Yes. The translation. I believe you want to say: dragon no more, dragon-human born, dragon-human wakes? Something like that? I must admit it does not make sense as a sentiment, but who I am to look a gift horse in the mouth?” Gugol conceded. Draco had offered him enough money to fund his personal research on Latin use in ancient spells for two straight years. “Right, it’s simple enough. Though, I must disagree with your translation for dragon-human. ‘Dracun’ should really be ‘homo draco’.”

Theo started to cackle. “Homo—Draco!” He was wheezing. Harry joined him in laughing and even Hermione and Draco were smiling. “Homo. Draco, you’re a—”

Gugol bristled. “Dra-co. Not Dray-co,” he admonished. “Pronunciation is key here. Mr. Malfoy’s name is anglicized after all, despite having Latin roots.”

Hermione nearly rolled her eyes. This guy was a real stick in the mud. Besides, she refrained from saying, the pronunciation of Latin remained unconfirmed since it was a dead language.

“Homo Draco,” Theo muttered with glee, wiping tears from his eyes. “I will never let him forget this.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Please, continue, Mr. Tronslait.”

“Indeed.” He shot Theo a look making it clear what he thought of his immaturity. “Draco corporis mutatio in homo draco. Homo draco—” Theo cackled again, “—nascor. Homo draco exsucito. Simple really.” He handed them a folded sheet of parchment. “I wrote it down for you and everything, including alternate translation possibilities and what they mean. But really, Latin is far more straightforward than any other language, especially English. As long as you have all the words, the magic will be correct.”

Hermione took the parchment and read his other translations, skimming over why he rejected them and she agreed with his assertion.

“Thank you, Mr. Tronslait,” Hermione said sincerely. “This will be very helpful.”

“I am rather curious about what you would need this for…” Draco shot him a look. “But, I know what I agreed to. I have no interest in the consequences that shall befall me if I break our contract. I will bid you all a good day, unless you have other questions?”

Draco looked at Hermione expectantly. She shook her head.

“We’ll be in touch if anything arises. Theo, will you show Mr. Tronslait out?”

Theo shot Draco a glare. “But the hot Viking was just about to start talking,” he whined loudly. Harry elbowed him. “Relax, Potter. You’re the only man for me—though I maintain that you should be more open to a threeso—ow!” Harry had hit him again.

“Theo,” Draco repeated in his Alpha voice.

Hermione felt goosebumps break out over her skin at his tone. It did things to her. Indecent things. Things she very much wanted to be doing instead of being in this meeting.

Theo rose begrudgingly. “This way, Tronslait,” he grumbled.

Ragnar watched Theo leave with a hint of a smile on his face. “This man is funny,” Ragnar commented in his Scandinavian accent.

“That’s certainly one way to describe him,” Draco replied. “Anyway. Mr. Hansen, thank you for joining us.”

“The pleasure is mine. But where is the beautiful woman who greeted me? Will she not join us?” he asked, looking around for Narcissa.

Hermione’s jaw dropped and Draco looked rather put out. Harry let out an incredulous laugh.

“Theo will be devastated he missed that comment,” Harry muttered.

“No, my mother will not be joining us, Ragnar,” Draco said stiffly.

“This is too bad. She is a silver fox, as you say in English.”

“Merlin’s balls,” Draco muttered. Hermione laughed in shock. Theo would really be upset he missed this. “Can we get to the reason that you’re here?” Draco grumbled.

“Yes. You English are all business. We need socializing sometimes too, no?”

Draco’s eye twitched.

“The runes,” Hermione cut in. “Do you agree with my translation? A simple reversal should convey the opposite message?”

Ragnar pulled a sheet of parchment from thin air. “Yes, Miss Granger. The smartest witch of her age. What they did not tell of you across the continent is your beauty.”

Draco’s hand on her leg became a vice. He actually growled at Ragnar and as Hermione watched, his horns appeared on his head. Ragnar seemed unsurprised, though concerned by the sudden hostility. “Don’t look at her,” Draco rumbled in his Alpha voice. “She is mine.”

Hermione placed a hand on him comfortingly, recognizing that they now had a big problem because Ragnar knew their secret—or knew at the very least that Draco had horns. Given the fact that the man was also privy to the translations they were working on, she was sure he could easily put two and two together. She sighed.

“Draco, it’s fine—”

“Why are your eyes still on her?” He stood and fully blocked Ragnar’s view of Hermione.

Hermione huffed in annoyance.

“I have guessed correctly,” Ragnar muttered. “You have already created these human dragons. Now you wish to reverse it? These runes cannot reverse this change. I do not believe the change is reversible.”

“Draco,” Hermione complained, “Do you mind moving so I can be part of the conversation again?”

Draco remained tensed before her.

“I will not look at your woman again, dragon-man,” Ragnar replied without inflection. “I apologise if I have offended.”

Draco stood obstructing her view for a few more tense seconds, then he stiffly sat down. He pulled Hermione fully onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her possessively.

“Draco, your horns,” Hermione said to him lowly.

“He knows at this point. No reason to hide it,” he responded.

“But how is it you have achieved this? Simply the runes and the Latin? This is so simple. No?” Ragnar asked, very curious. He looked at Harry. “And you, the famous Harry Potter. You are dragon-human too?”

Harry scratched at his elbow unsure of how to proceed. Luckily, Theo returned.

“Well—seeing as Draco’s looking all sorts of Alpha over there, I assume our dashing Viking knows our little secret,” Theo said in way of greeting.

Ragnar surmised, “You are dragon-man like Malfoy.” Ragnar was far too smart.

Theo shrugged. “Guilty.” For the first time, Hermione saw Theo with his horns as a human. They were white, about a foot long and angled toward the back of his head before they curved upward like Draco’s. Hermione glanced at Harry to see his eyes pool in desire. She almost giggled as she looked away from his obvious attraction to the horns.

Ragnar listened to Draco’s order and looked over Draco’s shoulder instead of at either of them. Speaking more to himself than anything, Ragnar said, “And these two. Yes. You must be bound together. You are the leader? Yes. You ordered him around before. This is very intriguing. I must know how it is done.”

Draco pulled Hermione tighter to him. “No. Answer us. We have an agreement. No questions.”

Ragnar did not seem intimidated by Draco, but he did back off. “Very well. The runes are correct as far as my knowledge tells me. Take the sheet.” He handed Theo a parchment, seeming to think he was the better choice than Draco who was still keeping Hermione in a death grip in his arms.

Theo handed Hermione the parchment. She read the runes and nodded. Like Nico had said—the ritual was fairly straight forward.

“I would like to be made into this dragon-human,” Ragnar declared.

Hermione was surprised by his declaration.

“No,” Draco said as Theo said, “Yes, please! Imagine this guy in our horde. Damn. I bet he’s bigger than you as a dragon, Drake.”

Draco bristled beneath Hermione. She wondered what his face looked like. “No,” he repeated stonily.

Ragnar crossed his beefy arms. “I honour dragons. I will be a good addition to your horde. I will find a woman as you have.”

“No,” Draco rumbled, his voice taking on an inhuman tone.

Hermione stroked his arm placatingly. “It is not a good time, Ragnar. But we thank you for your help.”

“Theo,” Draco ordered again.

Theo sprung to his feet. “You coming, Potter? Or will I have to deal with this bear of a man all on my own?”

Harry shot Theo a look. Theo shrugged and kissed his cheek. Harry sighed heavily. “Fine.”

“Threesome!” Theo stage whispered to Hermione and Draco. Harry smacked his arm in response.

Ragnar raised an eyebrow. “I do not sleep with men,” he replied, his tone casual as he eyed the couple.

“Yet,” Theo tacked on. “Never say never, all that. You know, once upon a time, I thought I would never sleep with men. Look at me know. Banging Potter at least five times a day.”

Ragnar looked shocked, then impressed. Hermione was mostly surprised they were down to only five times. She could not imagine being with Draco less than ten times a day…she really had become a sex fiend.

“This is what dragon magic gives you? Unending libido?” Ragnar asked, rising to his towering height.

Theo nodded. “Unending libido for my mate.” He kissed Harry again. “But enough about that. It’s time to bring you home and obliviate you.”

“What?” Hermione shouted.

“Theo,” Draco groaned in annoyance.

Ragnar, however, had quickly sprung into action. He was booking it down a garden path, clearly having no intention of being obliviated.

“Draco!” Hermione admonished. “You planned this?”

He shrugged. “They agreed to it, signed a contract and everything. I still plan to honour their contracts and pay them so much money they won’t know what to do with it but we can’t afford them keeping the knowledge. Especially with random wizards out there trying to control dragons—imagine if they got their hands on this ritual.”

“Hate to interrupt what is sure to be an entertaining moment of Hermione putting you in your place, Malfoy. But shouldn’t someone go after the Viking?” Harry asked.

Theo waved callously. “He won’t be able to get far. The wards, etcetera.”

Hermione turned around on Draco’s lap and glared at him. “You should have told me you were obliviating them! I cannot believe you would do that! You know I had to obliviate my parents. You know how upsetting, how terrible that experience was!” Hermione felt betrayed by Draco’s actions.

While they had been in their mating daze and sharing quiet secrets between their lovemaking sessions, she had revealed what she had done, and that her parents remained obliviated in Australia. How much it had hurt her, how much it still hurt her.

He held her comfortingly which she couldn’t help but lean into. “I know, my love. I’m sorry. I have to protect our horde. I have to protect the dragons. I couldn’t think of another way.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Well, you should have told me.”

“I didn’t want to upset you,” he murmured back.

“There has to be another way. Besides. He wants to be one of us.”

“You’re not a Dracun,” Theo pointed out helpfully.

“Shut up, Theo,” Hermione responded without turning around. “He wants to be Dracun. Why can’t we make him one?”

Draco sighed heavily. Hermione knew she had won. “Fine. We will not obliviate him. But he will have to do an unbreakable. Then maybe at the next full moon we can consider adding him to the mix.”

“Do you think you’ll still be his Alpha if you make a Dracun from scratch?” Theo wondered.

“Hmm,” Hermione climbed off Draco’s lap. “That’s a good point, Theo. I think Draco’s the Alpha because Helga gave Armand Malfoy her blood—and she was Dracun. But if Draco does not give his blood, will he be the Alpha…? And if he’s not, how can we control Ragnar? This might be more risky than I thought…”

“Which is why we should just obliviate him,” Draco muttered.

Hermione spun around to Draco who remained seated. “No. No obviation. We’ll do an unbreakable. We can even make him do an unbreakable to be in alliance with our horde if we have to.”

“Again, you’re not technically Dracun, Hermione,” Theo butt in.

“Nott, shut it,” Draco commanded. “My mate is part of our horde. As is yours.”

Theo raised his hands in defense. He glanced in the direction Ragnar had run off. “We might want to consider actually following him now—he runs fast. He might have reached a boundary.”

Draco shook his head. “He hasn’t. I would have felt it. Don’t worry, I’m on it. Stay here with Theo, love. I’ll be right back.” Draco kissed her far too quickly for her liking, then disappeared.

Theo shot her an assessing look. “I’m just now realizing something, Hermione,” Theo stated.

“What’s that?”

“You’re my real Alpha.”

“What do you mean?”

“Draco will do whatever you want. So really, you’re the Alpha of the Dracun horde.”

Hermione blinked at him. “That…I mean…huh.” That was a strange realization.

“Don’t tell Malfoy that,” Harry muttered.

“Oh, you mean homo Draco?” Theo said and chuckled again. “That Tronslait, what a guy. Anyway, yes. I will tell Draco. He needs to understand his new position as second. Hopefully that means I can be third.” Theo waggled his brows. “If you catch my drift.”

“Jesus, Nott. Are you ever not thinking of a threesome?”

Theo shrugged at Harry. “I just think you could open your mind to certain sexual adventures, Harry.”

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically and crossed his arms. “I thought I was all you ever wanted,” he muttered.

Theo pulled Harry into his arms bodily, one hand on his lower back, the other on the back of Harry’s neck. “You are all I want, Potter,” Theo growled, his horns glinting in the sunlight. Then they were making out.

Hermione didn’t realize she was staring until far too long into it. Luckily, Draco reappeared with a sweating Ragnar. Draco shoved the man into his seat.

“You’ll do an unbreakable, then we’ll be in touch shortly. I have things to do. Lots of horde business to handle. In a full moon or two, we’ll reach out.”

Ragnar was panting. He glanced at Harry and Theo wrapped in one another’s arms, then back at Draco who looked entirely otherworldly with his horns and his pupils in slits.

“I agree,” Ragnar muttered between breaths. “You will consider making me like you?”

Hermione nodded for Draco. “Yes, of course we will.” Her speaking for Draco reminded her of Theo’s words…was she the Alpha? Draco did not contradict her, even though he was clearly upset by her choice.

Ragnar’s eyes darted to her before quickly skittering away, remembering Draco’s aggression. “Okay. Let us do this unbreakable vow.”

“Potter, you serve as witness,” Draco declared.

“Why not me?” Theo whined. “I’m your second.”

“You hate being second, Nott,” Draco shot back.

“Yes, but now it seems like I get to do something important instead of just send around a bunch of owls.”

Draco crossed his arms impressively. His muscles strained against his sleeves. God, Hermione wanted him. His dragon eyes landed on her and he smirked. His eyes promised to ravish her as soon as they were done conducting their business.

“Go on, let Theo do his job,” Hermione coaxed.

Theo smiled at her. “Alpha Hermione,” he whispered.

Draco looked to Hermione. “Will you say the binding? I trust your brain more than anyone’s here to make sure this giant can’t squirm out of our agreement.”

Hermione shuffled under his praise. “It would be my pleasure. Give me a few moments to think it through.”

She stepped away while the men chattered on. Ragnar kept asking questions about the Dracun, Draco refused to answer, and Theo indulged him right away, which made Draco berate him. Hermione tuned them out and thought through what to include in the vow.

“Alright boys, let’s do this.”

*

One day later, Hermione attempted to return to work, she really did. But Draco bursting through her office door after being apart for a mere hour certainly derailed things.

“Draco, what are you doing here?”

“Bend over,” came his response as he pulled her from her chair. Draco rucked her skirt up and ripped her panties off. Hermione gasped. Her body went into overdrive.

He slid two fingers into her. “You’re so wet for me,” Draco rumbled from behind her. Hermione tightened around his fingers. He wasn’t wrong; just his presence alone made her panties damp.

“Draco,” she pleaded.

“I’ll make you come twice,” he promised, his fingers working her deliciously. “But only if you scream so loud everyone in this run-down office hears it.”

Hermione’s body heated at his words. “Draco—”

“Beg for it,” he ordered. “Loudly.”

Hermione groaned. Her hips rocked against his fingers. “Oh. Draco. Please,” she whimpered.

“Louder, Granger. They need to know who you belong to.”

Hermione bit her lip. His fingers danced up to her clit and she was coming, moaning Draco’s name far too loudly. She collapsed onto her forearms and noted that her office door was open a crack.

Hermione’s blissed out brain tried to catch up with reality. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she muttered.

A moment later, the head of his cock was nudging against her core. Hermione canted back involuntarily, her body perpetually lusting after his.

“Tell me I can fuck you,” Draco grunted.

Hermione pushed backward, the tip of him entering her. “You can fuck me. Please fuck me,” she begged.

“Say it louder.”

“W-why?” Her body quivered. He never denied her what she wanted.

“They need to know,” Draco growled. Hermione glanced over her shoulder and noted his horns were gleaming on the top of his head.

“Know what?” Hermione asked breathily. It should be noted she knew exactly what he was getting at, but she wanted to hear him say it. Two could play at this game.

“That you’re mine.”

“Fuck me, Draco,” Hermione called, her voice slightly above normal talking volume.

“Louder,” he groaned, sinking into her.

Hermione keened. “Draco, fuck me! Fuck me, please!” she was shouting now, any shyness forgotten by her need.

Draco rammed into her, rough and demanding. Hermione whined in pleasure.

“You make me feel so good,” she called to him. “Mm. Don’t stop.”

Draco’s hips slapped against her ass. Hermione looped her fingers over the front edge of her desk, knuckles going white. She moaned wildly with each press of his hips. Draco’s fingers were digging into their favourite spot on her hips, drawing bruises he gripped so hard.

“I’m so close,” she whimpered. “Oh God!” she shouted. “Draco.”

“You’re mine,” he growled again.

Hermione’s body tensed in preparation. “I’m yours! I’m yours! No one else. Draco. Fuck. I’m—!”

“That’s right, mate, come all over my cock. I’m going to fill up that pretty cunt,” he declared, his voice hoarse and low.

Hermione followed his order, clenching all around him and pulling him in deep while he shot hot jets of come inside her for long ecstasy filled seconds.

It was only when he pulled out of her and his mess was leaking down her leg that Hermione flushed a deep red. She could not believe she had just loudly shagged Draco in her office. With her door not even fully closed. Hermione was somewhat horrified but mostly she didn’t care. She felt too good to care.

Draco helped her up from her desk and turned her around. Draco looked all sorts of smug. His eyes landed on his come seeping down her legs. “Sperm sea,” he mumbled with a chuckle.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s S.P.E.R.M.C.,” she corrected without reflection.

Draco took a moment to clear up their mess with his wand.

“I guess I should install some sound wards,” Hermione mumbled, her hands running over Draco’s bare forearms.

He bent to kiss her. “Please don’t.”

Hermine laughed against his lips. “I didn’t realize you were such an exhibitionist.”

Draco nipped at her bottom lip, then laved at her mark on her neck. “Neither did I.”

“Oh?”

“I couldn’t handle the thought that they didn’t know. That you’re taken.”

Hermione laughed at first. Then leaned back to see that he looked stricken, worried. She laid a land on his cheek. “Draco. You have nothing to worry about. You’re the one for me.”

“But how will they know that?” he pouted. He kissed her lips again.

“Shall we put an announcement in the society pages?” she teased.

Draco’s eyes lit up. “Yes. That is the perfect idea. I’ll let mother know.”

“Draco, I was joking—”

A loud knock sounded on Hermione’s door. Her eyes widened. This is going to be awkward. She bent to pick up her destroyed and discarded panties, but Draco beat her to it, pocketing them with a wink. Hermione did her best to fix her skirt and Draco made sure his trousers were done up properly. Though he remained with his body wrapped around hers when Hermione called, “Come in.”

Rolf stood in the doorway, not meeting their eyes. He scruffed up his hair and stared at the ground. “Might be best if you stay home for a few more days, Hermione,” Rolf said awkwardly.

Hermione’s cheeks heated. Draco’s chest purred in pleasure. “Perfect,” Draco replied. He kissed her temple.

“Uh—about that, we’re so—”

Draco cut her off. “We’ll do the ritual for Gryn in five days. Meet us at the castle.” Draco’s hand sat far too low on Hermione’s waist to be decent. She was very distracted by it. “The full moon is in five days, right, love?”

Hermione reached for her agenda and Draco moved with her, keeping them connected. She flicked through it, amused by his need to touch her. “Yes. Five days. I believe 11:33 pm is its zenith. I’ll double check. We can’t do the both of you since it has to happen right at the full moon and they’re different rituals,” Hermione explained.

Rolf smiled in response. He was excited. “I’ll need someone to bring me to the castle,” he explained. “I’ve never been.”

Draco replied, “Luna will come get you. I’ll let her know. Come now, Granger, your boss has given you some time off and I plan to use it the fullest.”

Hermione couldn’t help her grin or the heat returning between her legs. They were truly insatiable. She wondered idly if she would ever be able to return to work…

“See you soon,” Hermione called cheerily as Draco dragged her from her office.

*

Early August, 2007

They were all gathered in Draco’s den and it was quickly becoming a tight fit (winky face). Theo was in dragon form, with Harry perched atop his back. Luna and Gryn sat tangled with one another. Neville was present, though despondent. Then, of course, there was Rolf, Ginny, Blaise, Ron, George, Lee, Angelina, and Fred. The Weasleys had insisted on attending since they were going to be joining the horde soon and wanted to be part of the affairs. Not to mention, Ginny and Blaise would also be turned that evening.

It was a cloudy evening, though the August heat was oppressive, even at nighttime.

“We’re going to have to do something about the horde living quarters,” Hermione said to Draco who was in human form, but sporting his horns.

Draco sighed heavily. “I know. I figure we’ll build something. I have enough land, but…”

“You don’t want to leave the Greens,” she guessed.

They had spent long hours that day exploring Noddfa together, Hermione on top of Draco’s back. He had introduced her to the Eastern horde and Hermione had been in true dragon nerd ecstasy. She took photos, filmed dances, and spoke to dragons. Her notebook was bursting. It had been transformational and oddly easy. Because of the Dracun being so friendly with the horde, the Greens had become entirely comfortable around humans. Indeed, it was not only Hermione asking a thousand questions, but the dragons asking her ones as well. And the whole time Hermione noticed how relaxed and happy Draco was being among his friends again. It warmed her heart.

Draco lifted one corner of her lips. “Yeah.” He scrubbed his face and Hermione thought again about how much he disliked being an Alpha.

“Could we not just build something here? I don’t see the Greens being opposed to our presence. They have already welcomed us.”

Draco shrugged. “Maybe, but there’s the business of how big this horde will get. Dragons don’t tend to have such large groupings. We might upset the Greens, even if they are generally very welcoming.” Draco paused. “But I would like to have our…den near to them. They are a fundamental part of my dragon identity.”

Hermione frowned. Another thing to figure out. “I’ll think on it,” she suggested.

Draco kissed her chastely. “Thank you, love.”

Hermione shrugged. “Of course. I mean there’s always…” her mind wandered. She shook herself. “Let’s focus on the rituals, tomorrow we can think on dens. The Weasleys can fit between this one and the throne room, right?”

Luna’s thoughts intruded into everyone’s minds suddenly. “The Throne room is my den with my mate,” she growled possessively.

Draco turned to her and crossed his arms. “We have to share for now. If you want privacy, go to the woods.”

Draco has never thought-spoken as a human. It was strange. The other humans gathered appeared to have heard Draco’s thoughts as well and looked around in confusion.

“I didn’t know you could do that as a human,” Hermione mumbled.

Draco shrugged. “Neither did I.”

Hermione was writing in her notebook before she had even realized she had summoned it. Draco smiled at her. But he returned his attention to the matter at hand.

“We are rapidly running out of space. My mate and I will figure it out. But for now, we’re sleeping in tight quarters. It’s not ideal. I’ll do my best to have something built by the time we finish with the Weasleys.”

“Built that fast?” Hermione was impressed.

Draco smirked. “We have enough money and magic to make it happen.” She rolled her eyes at his cockiness.

Hermione triple checked her translations. She had decided to ignore Gugol’s recommendation of homo draco (despite Theo’s pleas to keep it in) since it seemed that Helga and Nico had created a new word for the Dracun. It felt silly to change that all of a sudden.

Fred was teasing Harry about the twins’ birthday gift for him (a set self-tying handcuffs). Fred was asking loudly if he had used them since Harry got them on his birthday a few days previous.

Hermione cut off the twins’ jokes about Harry getting a taste of his own medicine. “Okay. Let’s go to the field,” she ordered. And everyone listened.

“Alpha Granger,” Theo declared, before leaping to the skies with Harry whooping in delight on his back.

Draco turned to Hermione expectantly. She cut off his hopes. “We can go flying later. I promise. I need to focus on this first.” He offered his hand instead and apparated them out into the field.

Everyone gathered in a rough circle. They planned to first deal with Gryn, needing to take advantage of the full moon’s zenith. Blaise and Ginny could be transformed on any day, so it didn’t really matter when. The duo had just succeeded in bullying Draco into doing it that night as well because it seemed to be the only time he had—he was too busy shagging Hermione.

 Rolf stepped right up to Gryn and Luna with no fear. He would fit in well with the horde.

Hermione handed out the chant to everyone present and told them to practice the pronunciation. Draco led them through this while Hermione had Rolf and Gryn cut themselves. Gryn had a harder time, so Luna shifted back to human form and cut against the soft skin under his chin, apologizing the whole time.

Luna took his blood and wrote the runes on Rolf’s forehead. Rolf took his blood and spread it across Gryn’s shoulder muscle. Hermione inspected the runes.

“Good. Yes.” She turned to Draco and he made everyone stop talking. “We’re ready.”

Draco, gestured for her to join him. She was wrapped in his arms seconds later. Draco began the chant and everyone joined in on the second round through.

Draco corporis mutatio in Draca. Draca nascor. Draca exsucito.

Seven times they said the chant and they all held their breath, Luna most of all staring at her dragon mate with hope glittering in her eyes.

A few seconds passed and nothing happened. Hermione crumpled in defeat. She had failed. Poor Luna. Poor Gryn.

No. She would try again, it would be—

A brilliant light exploded from Gryn’s green body, blinding Hermione. When she was able to see again, a man laid prone on the moonlit grass. Luna fell to his side, shaking her mate.

“Gryn? Gryn? Are you—”

He roused groggily and looked around. He clutched his head and moaned in pain. Hermione was by their side in moments, despite Draco’s attempts to hold her back.

Gryn’s human form looked to be tall, much like all the other Dracun. He had jet black straight hair, a strong jaw, thin, angular eyes, light brown skin, and—Hermione tried and failed not to look—a large penis. Gryn attempted to sit up with little success.

“Stay down for now, love,” Luna cooed, taking a blanket from Rolf and wrapping Gryn in it. “The transition is hard at first.”

“Hermione,” Draco growled and hauled her away from them. “Rolf. Get over here,” Draco ordered.

Rolf frowned but moved slowly toward Draco. It was good timing too, because Gryn exploded back into his dragon, by some miracle not hitting Luna. Hermione eyed him critically. Scientifically, he should have hit her. Then Hermione understood: magic. It was like when Draca had claimed he would not have hurt Hermione even when he was dousing the throne room in flames on the first day they met. Draca knew he could not hurt her. His magic would not allow it. Just like Luna could not be hurt by Gryn.

Hermione immediately wanted to know more about mate-bond magic. There was so much to know and so little time—especially since most of her time was eaten up by fucking Draco.

Gryn roared in pain, bringing them all back to the present.

“Humans,” Draco ordered. “Back to the castle. We’ll need a few hours. Then we’ll do Ginny and Blaise. Have a nap or something.”

They tried to protest, but Draco crossed his arms and shot them all his Alpha look and the humans obligingly trundled away from the field. Draco stared at Hermione expectantly.

“Oh. Me too?” she said with disappointment.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Draco emphasized. He squeezed her bum and kissed her cheek. “But I don’t want you out of my sight either…”

“If Hermione gets to stay, I get to stay,” Harry called from his perch on Theo’s back.

Draco looked ready to argue. “You’ll keep me safe, won’t you?” Hermione practically begged. Draco groaned and pulled her impossibly close to his body.

“Always,” he vowed.

“And Theo will keep Harry safe. We can stay,” Hermione reasoned.

Draco grumbled in annoyance.

“Hermione really is the Alpha,” Neville mused.

Draco growled but didn’t dignify Neville with a response. “Let me shift, love.” Hermione nodded.

Draco moved away from her and his magnificent dragon form appeared in a blink. Hermione grinned. She ran to him and awkwardly shuffled her way onto his back. He helped her up, as usual.

Safely situated on him, the horde settled in for a few hours of supporting Gryn through the pain of his new hybrid form.

Hermione took too many notes.

In the first hour, Gryn blinked in and out of human form nearly fifteen times. His transitions slowed down eventually in the second hour and Luna was able to actually communicate with him a bit, holding him in her arms as a human, then again as a dragon when he shifted.

By the third hour, Gryn only shifted twice, seeming to have some control over himself. Draco nodded in approval. “We can turn Ginny and Blaise now,” Draco informed everyone.

“Should we not wait until I have more control?” Gryn wondered, his thoughts tinged with pain.

Draco shook his head. “It will take days for you to have true control. It’s already the middle of the night. You and Luna stay here, we’ll do the ritual off to the side.” Draco swung his head to Neville. “Can you bring them?”

Neville took to the sky without a response.

A few moments later, only Ginny, Blaise, and Rolf had accompanied him. Hermione had assumed that if Draco said the chant around the others, their dragons would manifest as well. And as everyone was now acutely aware, there simply was not enough room for the horde in their current accommodations. So, the rest of them would have to wait.

Ginny, Blaise, and Rolf were all yawning, leading Hermione to believe the others had fallen asleep.

Draco remained in his dragon form this time. “Ready?” he asked Ginny and Blaise.

Blaise shrugged, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his nerves. Ginny, however, was her classic Gryffindor self—brave to the point of stupidity. She squared her shoulders and lifted her jaw.

They began the chant.

Watching the duo fall to the ground in pain while the chant went on wrenched at Hermione’s gut. But she kept saying the words, even as Ginny screamed and contorted. Then, the chant was done. And in a blink—two dragons lay on the ground before them.

Ginny was a Lion dragon and Hermione could not but help think it was fitting. Lions were smaller than European dragons, generally speaking, but had longer bodies, particularly in the tail. They only had two legs. Ginny had clawed paws at the ends of her sparkling red wings. Around her head was a lion-like mane of scales and fur.

Where Blaise had been writhing in pain lay an Egyptian dragon Hermione had only seen in books, an Akhekh. He had very long antelope-like horns extended from his head and golden-white scales. Like Ginny, Blaise’s body was longer than the other dragons gathered and far more snakelike. Though, unlike Ginny, he had four clawed feet. His tail was extremely long, curling around his body. His wings were smaller than Hermione was used to seeing on dragons, though he was no less fearsome or impressive.

Hermione was surprised that someone so tall like Blaise was such a small dragon. Compared to Draco and Gryn, even Theo, Blaise looked much smaller. She was also beyond curious about how their dragon forms were chosen. One would think someone as pale as Draco would have white scales and someone as dark as Blaise, black ones. Instead, the reverse was true. Meanwhile, Ginny’s red hair matched her dragon’s red scales. Then there was Gryn who appeared Southeast Asian as a human, despite being geographically from Wales…

Hermione’s fascination was quickly cut short by the newly formed Dracun shifting painfully back and forth. Resigned to the fact that she would not be sleeping that night, she settled in on Draco’s back for a few long hours before either of the new Dracun became aware of their surroundings.

*

Hermione found herself being gently roused awake by a dragon snout. She had no idea when she had fallen asleep on Draco’s back. It was morning, the sun peaking over the mountains. Before her, Ginny and Blaise were no longer broadcasting pain and confusion to everyone around them. Hermione did a double take. Were they hugging?

“Huh?” she asked eloquently, her voice gruff.

“It seems we have another couple,” Draco intoned. “We will leave them alone for now. They are not ready, but…”

Hermione looked and saw with equal parts horror and fascination that it seemed like Blaise was about to mount Ginny.

“They’re mates?” Hermione gasped. Then it was happening. Hermione slapped a hand over her mouth—the size of him. “My God.” And she had thought him small.

Draco chuffed. “Come, mate. We will return to the den.” Draco took to the skies without further ado.

Hermione only shrieked slightly. They were landing before she was even able to be fully shocked that they had been flying. Only her wobbly stomach confirmed that she had left the ground. Draco helped her off his back and shifted back to his human form.

The Weasleys were on him instantly. “Why can’t we see Ginny?” Ron demanded. “What have you done? Is she okay?”

Hermione looked around for Theo and Harry who were conspicuously absent.

Draco’s arm wrapped around Hermione’s waist and pulled her close to him. “Ginny is fine. As is Blaise,” he added on. “You are welcome to go see them. But they are in the middle of mating. So, it might be awkward for you.”

Ron’s face went red and his jaw hung open. “What?”

George and Fred burst into laughter.

“Fascinating,” muttered Rolf. He looked like he might go to watch. A fellow magical creature freak, Hermione understood the urge.

“They’ll be a while,” Draco sighed. “This throws a bit of a kink in the plan. Come back in two days. Hopefully we can separate them enough to bring them back to themselves…”

“Two days?” Ron asked in surprise.

“You sure we they won’t need more time?” Lee asked, waggling his brows. “You and Hermione took ages.”

“Are still taking ages,” Rolf commented.

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed.

Draco answered, “They will want more time. But we have to get them to remember they are human. They need some time to adjust to their new dragon bodies…Why can’t this ever just be straightforward?” Draco grumbled the last part. “Two days,” Draco repeated to the Weasleys. “Now, Granger and I need some time alone. You should leave.”

Draco pulled Hermione down a corridor without waiting for a response from those gathered. He pushed her into an abandoned study of some sort and against the stone wall. Draco was on his knees before her, ripping off her jeans and panties (literally) and attaching his lips to her core without further ado. Hermione threw her legs onto his shoulders, pushed her upper back against the wall for leverage and held onto his horns for dear life.

Later, when Draco had eaten his fill of her, he replaced his tongue with his cock and brough them both to orgasm, the stone digging into Hermione’s back.

As they calmed down, Draco muttered, “Been thinking about that for hours.”

Hermione played with his soft hair. “I think that’s the longest we’ve gone.”

“It was too long,” he complained. His tongue trailed over her mark. Hermione gasped. “Ready for another round?”

Hermione smiled at him. “You’re insatiable.”

“And I can smell how wet you are for me,” he replied, his words skating across her skin.

After Draco had had her three more times, he relaxed finally. Hermione lay on the ground on a blanket he had summoned for her and traced the freckles and scars on his bare chest.

“Do you think Blaise and Ginny are alright?” she wondered.

Draco nodded. “Oh. They’re alright,” he laughed. Hermione joined him.

“What are they…doing?”

“You seem awfully intrigued by dragon sex, Hermione…”

Hermione flushed and looked away from his knowing eyes. “It’s just never been observed before…”

Draco kissed her temple. “I’m sure you’ll get plenty of chances to observe it. I don’t see our horde being particularly shy with their activities.”

Hermione chuckled.

“Unless you wanted to…experience it?”

Hermione blinked at him in shock. “Draco—did you see the size of Blaise’s penis? My God. And he’s half the size of you as a dragon. You would kill me if—” He was laughing heartily at her.

“I meant you as a dragon as well, love.”

Hermione’s face heated. Right. That made more sense. She laughed awkwardly.

“Have you given it more thought?” he asked her when she did not respond.

Hermione shrugged. “I—it still doesn’t feel like what I want,” she admitted. “I lo—really like you as a dragon. But. I don’t know. I feel…” Hermione trailed off, not sure how to articulate herself.

Draco kissed her cheek. “No pressure, love. Just curious.”

Hermione changed the subject. “What are we going to do about the living situation? I mean…everyone has their own homes. But it does seem prudent to have a space that is large enough to fit dragons indoors. You know, for when they first manifest or for when you want the horde to gather…”

Draco heaved a heavy sigh. He buried his face in her neck. “Can’t I just make you come instead of talking about this?” He groaned.

Hermione giggled. “It’s important,” she replied.

Draco’s fingers descended down her body and landed on her clit making her hips jerk. “So is making you orgasm,” he countered. “In fact, it might be more important than anything in this world.”

Hermione gave in immediately, canting her hips against his fingers. Draco littered kisses up and down her neck while he leisurely played with her cunt. Much later, since he was in no rush, Hermione came apart, burying her head into his neck and moaning under his touch. In thanks, she rode him. Her tired thighs shook with the effort after a long night straddled on his back. But she got them both there, nonetheless.

Hermione laid on his chest. “We have to build something. This castle is crumbling anyway.”

He played with a stray curl. “Okay.”

“Can we ask the Greens to build here?”

Draco remained hesitant. “I do not like the idea of building on sanctuary grounds. I want it to be on Malfoy land.”

“Why?” Hermione wondered.

“The magic. The wards. It will be much easier to protect everyone.”

Hermione propped herself up on his chest and looked into his grey eyes. “You raise a good point.”

“I suppose I could purchase Noddfa,” he considered.

“That’s an idea.”

“But then the hordes might wish to leave. My magic will become part of the land…”

“Why not an area nearby? The mountains are massive. We can be neighbours to Noddfa, but be a different property?”

Draco considered that for a while, his fingers springing one of her curls back and forth. “I was also thinking about Kent…then the horde would be close to home.”

Hermione smiled, remembering their wild week there. “I like that Kent is just ours,” she whispered to him.

Draco pulled her tighter to him. “Not Kent then.”

“Besides, Draco. The Dracun are all magical. We can apparate back to Noddfa whenever we want,” she reminded him.

He sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll speak to my property manager about purchasing the surrounding lands. I like the mountains. They make for good flying and give natural protection.”

Hermione laid her head back on his chest and closed her eyes. “I like them too.”

“Good.”

“Wait where is Neville? He wasn’t in the den with the others.”

“He’s watching over Ginny and Blaise.”

Hermione rose and stared at him in shock. “What?”

“What? Someone has to make sure they don’t fly off and hurt themselves or kill some unwitting muggle by accident.”

“And that someone has to be Neville?”

“Well, I wanted to fuck you, so I was not an option,” Draco replied uncouthly. “Luna is busy watching Gryn. And Theo and Harry likewise needed alone time. That leaves Neville. One benefit of Pansy refusing to mate with him…”

It was Hermione’s turn to heave a heavy sigh. “What are we going to do about that?” she wondered.

Draco looked troubled. “I don’t know. But I meant what I said. No one in my horde will mate someone against their will. I feel terrible for Nev. But…it is Pansy’s choice.”

“I’ll have to make some time to visit her,” Hermione muttered. “But wait, about the place we need to build—who will build it?”

Draco shrugged, unconcerned.

“No because, they’ll have to be obliviated,” Hermione said with distress.

“Hm.” Draco linked his hand with hers. “We will find a different way.”

“Wait. Wasn’t…”

“No,” Draco replied.

“He is, isn’t he?”

“No,” Draco groaned. “Not him.”

“You just don’t like him because he’s taller and more muscular than you.”

Draco scowled.

Hermione laughed and kissed him. “You’re far more attractive,” she assured him.

“It’s still a no.”

Hermione blinked up at him with wide eyes. Draco growled in frustration. She knew she had won. “Let’s just send him an owl,” she said. “See if he’s able to draft up some blueprints.”

“There are no owls here, Granger. We’ll just have to wait a couple of days.”

Hermione swatted his chest and pushed herself off of him. Draco protested. She danced away from his reaching hands and stood above him, stark naked. “Let’s go to the Manor. We can send an owl, have a shower. Sleep in a real bed. Theo’s got this.”

Draco stood, grumbling under his breath. His eyes went blank for a moment and Hermione assumed he was talking to Theo who had to be somewhere nearby. “Come, love. We’ll send that stupid owl to stupid Ragnar Hansen. Then, I’m going to blow your back out in my childhood bed.”

Hermione tingled with desire. “We should probably eat dinner at some point,” she reminded him.

“Dinner in bed,” he countered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Draco, you can’t survive on my come alone,” she whispered, scandalized she had even said it.

His eyes went luminous. “I can certainly try,” he countered.

Hermione guffawed in response.

*

The next morning, after an indecent amount of sex, Draco brought them back to the castle. Hermione insisted they all share a breakfast together out on the field while Ginny and Blaise slept, wrapped around one another.

Theo, Harry, Draco, Neville, Luna, and Gryn all sat together, eating cheerily. Gryn had acclimatized very well to being human—though Draco still made him sit fifteen feet away, just in case. Gryn was shirtless for some reason, not that anyone was complaining—the man was pure muscle.

“How was dragon duty, Nev?” Theo asked, grabbing a biscuit.

Neville blushed. “Today, it’s your turn.”

Theo groaned. “Draco. How am I supposed to spend all day without my mate?”

Draco rolled his eyes, though he pulled Hermione closer to him. “You’ve been mated for weeks at this point. You should be able to. Besides, doesn’t Potter have a job?”

Harry was sheepish. “I should probably try to work today. Lots to do. Padma is seconds from killing me for skiving off so much.”

Theo’s eyes flashed and his horns appeared on his head. “I’d like to see her try,” he growled.

Harry patted Theo’s chest consolingly. “She won’t actually,” he placated his mate. “But Malfoy’s right. I should do some work today.”

Theo groaned in annoyance. “Can’t Luna watch them?” he whined some more. “Gryn’s totally fine now.”

Gryn grinned from his spot fifteen feet away. He clumsily fed Luna a grape. It seemed that he was still getting used to human limbs, especially hands. Hermione wondered idly if they had shagged yet. Her scientific side wanted to ask him what the difference was between being a dragon and a human. She refrained.

“We can watch our new horde members,” Gryn agreed. “But we will not do a good job,” he informed them. Theo shot him a glare. “I cannot take my eyes off my darling Luna. And I need to learn these new fingers,” he wiggled them before their eyes. “So, I can please her.”

Hermione chuckled in response.

Theo looked torn between amusement and annoyance. “Fine. I’ll watch the damn newbies. But I’m not doing all day. Harry can only manage six hours of work, then I’m done.”

Draco rolled his eyes heavenward. “Six hours, then. I’ll take over after that. Neville will take the night shift.”

Neville glared at Draco and crossed his arms. “How come I get stuck having to watching the shag all night, again?”

Theo raised his eyebrows. “All night? I wondered if being in the dragon form slowed you down or not…”

“It does not,” Luna told them, playing with Gyrn’s fingers and smiling widely. “We took…” she looked at him thinking. She nodded and laughed. “Yes. Two days almost non-stop. I think it was only three hours sleep total.” Luna kissed Gryn and he returned it somewhat sloppily. Hermione was amused by his clumsiness and her heart swelled at his eagerness.

“Then take morning watch,” Draco cut in, “I’ll do night.”

Neville looked relieved. “Please. Yes.”

“That means Potter, you can’t go to work until…” Draco checked his watch, “3 pm.”

Harry crossed his arms. “You know you can’t order me around.”

“Can’t I?”

Theo looked far too amused.

“You’re not my Alpha,” Harry added on.

“And yet, here you are, in my horde. Mated to my second. So, I can in fact command you, Potter.”

“Ho ho ho!” Theo cackled. “I bet you’ve wanted this since school, Drake. I won’t say I haven’t imagined it.”

In a well-practiced gesture, Harry elbowed Theo in the stomach.

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Harry countered. “You don’t have that…energy over me.”

But Draco liked to play dirty. “Theo,” Draco snapped. Theo turned his head to him without hesitation. “Make Potter wait until 3 pm to go to work.”

Theo glared at him. “No fair, Draco.”

Draco growled. “Theo.”

Theo turned to Harry. “Potter, listen, I’m loving this little power struggle between the two of you and seeing you so authoritative does make me want to get out those new handcuffs.” Harry flushed crimson. “You know how I love when you show me who’s boss.” Hermione was laughing heartily at this point. “But unfortunately, I think you’re going to have to wait until 3 pm to work today. But don’t worry. We’ll go shag in the castle right now. We got six hours.”

Harry looked rather angry.

Hermione intervened. “He’s not trying to power trip here, Harry.”

“Could have fooled me,” Harry grumbled back.

“Watch your tone when you talk to my mate,” Draco snapped, violence in his voice.

“Hey!” Theo snapped back at him. “Watch your tone when you talk to my mate!”

“Merlin,” Neville groaned.

“Okay! Okay. Let’s all breathe,” Hermione continued. “I meant he’s not just asserting his authority, Harry. You are part of the horde and Draco is just doing what’s best for everyone right now. Someone needs to watch over Ginny and Blaise and we all have to work together. There are limited dragons who are able to do it.”

Harry sighed and sagged back into Theo who still looked peeved. “Yeah fine.”

“I think we’re going to need to come up with some horde ground rules,” Hermione said, derailing whatever Theo was going to say to Draco.

“What do you mean, love?” Draco asked, his lips skimming her neck. Hermione pushed him away; his body was too distracting.

“Well, we might have a series of mated dragons soon and there are some important dynamics that we all need to understand as members of this horde.”

“Like?” Neville asked.

Hermione gestured between Theo and Draco, the former still looked murderous. “No insulting another person’s mate. Understanding the importance of giving couples time together,” Hermione gestured to Luna and Gryn. “Maybe some rules about privacy…There’s Draco’s rule about—” Hermione glanced at Neville, then away, “not mating anyone against their will. We also need to think about the treasure. Is it the hordes or is it just yours?” Hermione asked Draco. A crease appeared in his brow. “Are there certain times and hours people need to be available? What about security for the new fortress? Will there be patrol hours? And how about the rules about telling people about the Dracun?”

“Your mate makes a good Alpha, Draca,” Gryn called. “She is aware of the important questions.”

Draco grinned at Hermione in response. “She is the smartest witch I know.”

Hermione’s heart fluttered. She also found it interesting that he did not contradict Gryn calling her an Alpha. They ought to talk about that at some point too.

“Also, what standing do human mates hold in the horde?” Hermione questioned. “Must they follow your lead? Do they have the same access to everything that the Dracun have?”

“Easy enough to answer that one. Mates are part of the horde and treated as such,” Draco decreed. “And yes, they must follow our rules, darling. Obviously, they have access to all that the horde has to offer.”

“Including your treasure trove?” Hermione asked sceptically.

Draco shrugged. “This treasure is for the horde. I have my own personal treasure.” He kissed her. “Come, we’ll go to Nico’s study and start writing up some guidelines.”

Hermione shook her head. “I think we should come to these decisions as a group.”

Draco narrowed his eyes.

“We are coming up with how we want to live in community—should it not be collaborative?”

“I have final say,” Draco growled.

Hermione pat his chest. “Yes. You will. You do. But do you really want to rule with an iron fist or do you want to create a community?”

He searched her eyes. “How am I so lucky to have someone like you?” he murmured, then brought their lips together.

When Hermione pulled away, her skin was tingling. Draco didn’t usually kiss her for so long in front of others. She noted that Neville had walked away. She felt bad. He was surrounded by mated couples. It must be horrible for him. Draco distracted her by kissing her again.

“We’ll make these rules after the Weasleys have all manifested. Think on what you want them to be,” Draco said loud enough for Neville to hear from where he had walked off to. “Now, let’s leave. Ginny and Blaise are waking up, and I want to keep you safe.” Draco vanished their picnic with a few waves of his wand. “Will you come flying?” he asked her. Hermione nodded in response. “Horde? Care to join?” Draco asked the others.

Luna and Gryn declined, Luna explaining that they were instead going to go “train” Gryn’s fingers some more. But Theo and Harry were quick to join them in the skies. They flew for a long time, Hermione enjoying the feel of being on Draco’s back and seeing the beautiful landscape.

They spent the day at the castle, alternating between disappearing into different rooms to shag and thinking through plans for their new community.

Hermione passed the night with Draco surveilling Ginny and Blaise. She realized she was definitely a voyeur. Hermione felt like a creep, but her thirst for knowledge would not let her look away. And they did not seem to care. The dragon couple noted their presence briefly before ignoring them both and carrying on with their lovemaking. Hermione felt nothing while watching them except scientific intrigue and bafflement that Blaise could fit.

Dragon sex was no different than dogs, or most four-legged mammals. It did not seem that there were inventive positions. While they were coupled, the dragons’ tails entwined themselves.

The couple mated for long hours, growling and roaring, kicking up the grass, bellowing fire when they reached their climax. Only to do it all again almost immediately afterward.

Once she had observed the mating a few times, she lost interest. Draco conjured a mattress for her and wrapped his dragon form in a tight circle, keeping her safe. Hermione cast a silencing spell around herself so that she could sleep and drifted off under the starlight, wrapped up by her mate.

*

Early August, 2007.

Ragnar got back to them the same time the Weasleys returned. He agreed to meet them at the Manor in two days.

In the meantime, they focussed on bringing Ginny and Blaise back to the land of the humans.

It took some coaxing, but Hermione succeeded in convincing Draco to let her watch. She did have to stand nearly 50 ft away with Theo very close to her. Harry stood on Theo’s other side.

Draco patiently informed Ginny and Blaise that they were human. He shifted a few times in front of them, then invited the Weasleys out to start talking to Ginny. Blaise was confused but calm. As the time ticked on, Ginny became somewhat agitated. Then out of nowhere, she snapped into her human form. Blaise reeled back, then immediately put his dragon form between the humans and Ginny.

Their bond had certainly complicated things. It took a long time to convince Blaise that she was fine. It didn’t help that Ginny was dazed. Finally, Blaise relaxed. Ginny remained hidden behind Blaise, but he was no longer seconds from burning them to a crisp. The Weasleys continued their stories about Ginny’s life. Hermione and Harry added on where they could.

Hermione floated a robe to Ginny while Blaise watched with mistrust in his eyes.

Then Theo and Draco started in on Blaise’s life story. It was faster for him. By the time they had gotten to Blaise’s second father-in-law, the Egyptian dragon disappeared and was replaced by a man. No one had a robe for Blaise, so everyone was just staring at his naked body. He didn’t seem to care.

Blaise immediately looked to Ginny in shock. The robe hung around her body. She smiled at him weakly.

“You’re my mate,” Blaise said, voice hoarse.

Ginny nodded silently.

“It will take some time to adjust,” Hermione said tentatively.

Blaise glanced at the crowd around them. “You might want to leave,” he suggested, then, he was pulling Ginny to him and devouring her with his mouth.

“Thank fuck for that,” Theo exclaimed. “I thought we were going to have another Neville situation.”

Neville growled and took a running leap into his dragon form. He flew away into the afternoon light.

“Be more sensitive, Nott,” Harry scolded.

“Uh—can we go back to the castle now?” Ron asked, very uncomfortable as Ginny had climbed into Blaise’s arms and the couple was growling at one another. Mind you, Blaise was still very naked.

Back in the den, Ron asked an impertinent question: “What if you two mate with someone who’s not your spouse?” Ron asked Fred and George.

The group became quiet. “Fuck,” Fred said.

“But we’re married…surely…” George continued, thinking of his wife, Angelina. Everyone looked to Hermione for an answer.

She thought long and hard before replying. “We don’t know enough about the mating bond. But…Well, Theo really liked Harry before they bonded. And Draco and I both had existing attraction already. I can’t really speak to Luna and Gryn,” who were off somewhere ‘training his fingers’, “And as for Blaise and Gin…”

“Blaise thought she was hot before. Remember, Draco?” Theo said. “Something about a nice ass for a blood traitor.”

Harry punched Theo.

“What? I didn’t say it, Blaise did.”

“So, it’s possible,” Hermione carried on, “that the bond takes your desires into account…”

“But it’s possible that our spouses…we might mate with someone else?” Fred asked, stricken.

Hermione hated seeing the twins serious. It went against everything in her. It reminded her of the war. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Fuck,” they both declared again.

“You don’t have to become Dracun,” Draco said, surprisingly gently.

The twins rubbed their chests in unison. “I’m going to see Lee,” Fred decided and disappeared. George left a moment later, presumably to see his wife.

A somber mood overtook the gathering.

Draco scrubbed at his face. “Weasley,” he called to Ron. “Think about what community rules you want. I’m hoping to have the fortress done in a week’s time. Then I’ll turn you all. If your brothers still want that…For now, I need time with my mate. I’ll be in Kent,” Draco informed Theo. “You can stay with Blaise and Ginny?”

Theo nodded, not arguing or complaining for once.

“They shouldn’t need much at this point. When they calm down, we’ll coach them through shifting. But that might not be for a long time yet…Just keep an eye on them. Maybe try to tell them to stay in the area when they’re taking a break from each other’s bodies.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Theo agreed.

Draco stared at him intently for a long moment.

“Of course,” Theo replied aloud. Hermione wondered what Draco had said to him.

Draco turned to Hermione. “Shall we?” Hermione nodded and linked arms with him.

“See you all soon,” she called.

Chapter Text

Early August, 2007

In the morning, he made her come five times before breakfast, then apparated them to the Manor. Narcissa, the doll, never commented on the fact that Hermione always looked shagged within an inch of her life whenever she saw her.

As breakfast wrapped up, Hermione and Draco moved to the garden to await Ragnar. Narcissa had insisted she would greet the man when he arrived, to Draco’s annoyance.

“I just think it’s weird he would say that about my mother,” Draco whined. “She’s twenty years older than him.”

Hermione tried to stop herself from smiling. She kissed Draco on the cheek. “Oh, let your mother have some fun.”

Draco was stricken. “That’s a disgusting image, Granger.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “She’s not going to date him. She just wants to flirt with him.”

Draco grumbled unintelligibly under his breath.

Ragnar walked into the garden with Narcissa’s arm wrapped around his unnecessarily bare bicep. Narcissa wished him a good meeting before leaving them with a demure smile. Hermione nearly laughed out loud, but managed to hold it in.

Ragnar looked very much the same as when they had last met—almost bursting from his tight clothing that showed off his physique. He flashed his bright smile at Hermione, making Draco growl. Ragnar sat down, his eyes shifting to Draco’s.

“Good morning,” Hermione greeted.

“Good morning,” Ragnar replied.

Draco looked like he might rip the man’s throat out. Hermione found it equally annoying and hot. She held his hand placatingly.

“How are you?” Hermione tried to ask.

“Let’s not beat around the bush,” Draco cut in. “Did you bring the blue prints?”

Ragnar looked amused. “I did. Have you considered turning me?”

Draco’s eyes twitched. “I have.”

Ragnar clapped his hands together. “This is good news.”

“Only if the plans are adequate.”

Ragnar raised a blond eyebrow. “I am a renowned architect.”

“Then, show us the plans.”

Hermione held back an exasperated sigh. Ragnar did not seem annoyed by Draco’s antagonism at the very least. He summoned his plans and handed them a professional looking booklet with glossy pages. On his lap rested the actual blueprints. Hermione flipped through the mock up and could not help her jaw dropping.

It was perfect. And beautiful. And completely fit for dragons. And had room to grow.

Ragnar leaned back in his chair and looked smug. “I am a renowned architect,” he repeated.

“The plans look adequate,” Draco commented neutrally.

“Thank you, Ragnar,” Hermione said warmly. “This looks phenomenal. Perfect, really. The combination of dragon dens and human amenities, and the open-air meeting space, it’s just perfect. How long would this take you to do?”

“For the right price—”

“Your payment is becoming a dragon,” Draco cut him off. “Don’t push it.”

Ragnar laughed. “Yes. This is a good payment. But I must pay my workers as well. This will cost real money.”

Hermione’s forehead creased. “But we can’t involve anyone else. It has to remain a complete secret.”

“This is no problem. We will erase their memories. My people have participated in this kind of construction before.”

Hermione crossed her arms then. “Pardon me? Why on earth?”

“Many rich people do not wish for their grounds to be known or discoverable.”

“Oh,” that made a lot of sense actually. She uncrossed her arms. “Regardless, we will not be obliviating anyone. We’ll have to think of something else.”

Ragnar glanced between them. “This is the best way.”

“No,” Hermione replied.

“But—”

“My mate has said no. Come up with another plan,” Draco growled.

Ragnar looked annoyed. “I can do this alone. It will take me much longer. With my people, only a few days. Without them, weeks.”

Draco growled, “We don’t have weeks.”

“You want to build a fortress. Weeks is fast.”

“I hate this guy,” Draco muttered.

“Let’s brainstorm other options. Can you train us to help with the building?” Hermione asked. “I’m very capable with a wand and we have several others who can help. Right, Draco?”

Ragnar eyed them critically. “The brightest witch of our age, yes, you could do it. But the others…I do not know. Building magic has many intricacies.”

Hermione turned to Draco. “What about dragon magic? Do you think it could help the process along?”

Draco shrugged. “You’d know better than me.”

“Well, you said you just kind of imagine things and they happen. Couldn’t you try to imagine building?”

Ragnar leaned forward in interest. “I would like this magic. I could build so much better.”

Draco glared at the other blond. “You have to wait until the next full moon.”

“Let’s try it!” Hermione declared, ignoring the men.

She hopped to her feet. Draco followed without pause. Hermione gestured to Ragnar to follow her into the fields surrounding the Manor. They walked for a few minutes until they reached a stoney field. Hermione turned to Draco pointedly. He shifted into his dragon form in the blink of an eye. Ragnar fell back in surprise.

“You are a big dragon,” Ragnar grumbled from the ground. He pulled himself back to his feet.

“Just try to make the stones into a small wall or structure or something,” Hermione instructed.

Draco swivelled a silver eye in her direction before taking a deep breath into his massive lungs. A long moment passed. Nothing happened. Draco huffed out black smoke. He took another deep breath. This time, he blew hot air against the ground. A moment later, the stones sat  in a circle, stacked on top of one another, like a well.

Ragnar whistled lowly. “This will speed up construction. You have many more dragons, yes? We can start right away. It will not take long. You and the dragons can do the big parts: the foundation, the walls, the floors. I will do all the small, difficult things: the plumbing, the electricity, the design.”

Hermione ran her hand over Draco’s smooth scales. She loved the feel of them. “Okay. We started tomorrow,” she decided.

Draco shifted back. On the walk back to the garden, Hermione and Ragnar talked through the construction process in detail, splitting up responsibilities. Hermione and Draco walked Ragnar to the fireplace.

After a too short (in Draco’s opinion) trip to the bedroom, the couple ventured to Noddfa to explain the plan to the horde. Blaise and Ginny did not emerge from whatever room they were sequestered in—not that Hermione blamed them. Gryn was still in his human form attempting to tie Luna’s hair into braids and doing a surprisingly decent job. Harry was at work, so Theo was whiny.

Hermione sat on Draco’s back while he took Theo, Neville, and Luna around the castle to attempt to repair it and practice their dragon magic. Gryn opted to remain a human, emphasizing that he might switch mid-spell. It took the others far more attempts and concentration to hone their dragon magic enough to repair some of the broken walls and roofs, but after a few hours, they were all rather impressive in their construction skills.

Once they were done and Draco felt the horde was prepared to start construction the following morning, he flew Hermione over the mountain ridge to where he had purchased land. With his ever-shocking grace, Draco touched down.

Hermione looked around to note they were near the top of a mountain peak. It had a large flat green clearing which was where the fortress would go. Because they were at the top of the mountain, instead of in a valley, they were afforded more natural protection. Plus, the view was spectacular. Behind her was the actual top of the mountain, which obstructed most of what she could see, but facing south the mountain range spread out before her eyes, the green trees and blue rivers dotting the landscape. The view meant that they would have both amazing sunrises and sunsets.

Draco shifted to his human form once she had crawled from his back with slightly more grace than usual.

He kissed her firmly, completely sidetracking any other thoughts Hermione might have had in that moment. Instead of de-escalating the kiss, the next thing Hermione knew, Draco was sliding into her on the rough ground, casting a spell to cushion her body. Hermione whimpered into his mouth as he moved against her gently. Draco’s eyes were shining silver as they peered down into hers. No words were exchanged, they simply stared and sighed and gasped as their bodies danced together.

Hermione came on stilted cry. Draco grunted his pleasure shortly after, loud and masculine.

After they cleaned up, Draco pulled her back to her feet. “Sorry, love,” he murmured into her neck. “Had to christen the new place.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “This will be perfect,” she commented instead, taking in the landscape again.

Draco was holding his wand aloft. “I need to do the protection spells. I was wondering if you…wanted to as well?”

Hermione pulled out her own wand. “Sure! That’d be great!”

“It’s blood magic,” Draco clarified. “The Malfoy and Black ancestral spells. It’s a short ritual—but it will guarantee that only those who are invited or part of the horde can even find the place.”

Hermione hesitated. She did not want to voice her concern about dark magic, assuming it would offend him, but she also did not want to participate in dark magic.

“It’s not dark magic,” he clarified, as if reading her mind. “It’s grey magic. But there are no consequences. No souls involved. It’s just familial magic. Based on blood.”

“Oh.”

“And I thought you might like to…well…add yours. Because you’re my—” He cut himself off.

Hermione raised a brow. “Mate?” she hazarded, uncertain as to why he was being so strange.

“Yeah. Exactly. Mate.”

“You’re being weird.”

“Am I?”

“What’s the ritual?” she asked since it was clear she would get no clarification from him.

“It’s simple enough…” Draco explained the blood ritual and the chant they would use.

Hermione repeated after him and added a few drops of her blood to the land. As they chanted together, she felt a tingling sensation overcome her. She was momentarily overwhelmed by a sense of out-of-bodyness. She felt as if she were looking down at herself as she chanted the ancient words. Then, she snapped back into her body and staggered a step. Draco caught her. She took a deep breath.

There was a new awareness in the back of her mind. Of the land. This land. Her land. “Is this what it is like for you? Owning all these properties? Having them in the back of your mind at all times?” she wondered.

Draco paused. “Yes, I suppose so. I’ve been aware of them since father died—I forgot how weird it was at first. You get used to it quickly, don’t worry.”

Hermione’s awareness was already fading.

“It only acts up when someone who shouldn’t be on the land tries to access it. Or if there is some sort of massive destruction of the property—like a fire or an earthquake.”

Hermione loosened her grip of Draco’s arms, her mind settled again. “Strange.”

“Want to have lunch with the horde?” Draco asked. “Neville’s cooking.”

Hermione replied, “You can hear them from here?”

Draco shrugged. “It’s not far. They’re just over the ridge.”

“Still. That must the farthest yet. How far do you think we are?”

“Maybe…four kilometres? Five?”

“I’ll have to figure a better way to measure distance based on dragon flight…” she trailed off. “Yes, lunch sounds nice.”

Draco flew them back to the horde where they all settled into a nice lunch on the grass. Even Blaise and Ginny joined—for approximately ten minutes before they needed to retreat to shag again.

*

Draco was surprisingly docile the following day, even when Ragnar was ordering him around. Hermione wondered if it was because they had spent the better part of the night exploring one another’s bodies that he was so calm. But they did that every night, so she was a bit stumped. She joined Ragnar in “supervising” while the dragons cleared out the foundation and part of the mountain peak they would be building into. Ragnar had transported a fortress’ worth of pre-cut stone that was very thick and fire proof.

They started with the lower levels. The deepest floor would serve as a prison. Practically, it was possible that a dragon would get out of control and need to be contained. However, Hermione did not like it. Above the dungeons were store rooms, making space for treasure, food, and supplies alike. All the walls were built to be three layers thick and held in place with cement and dragon magic. Ragnar imbued the walls with a liquid that vanished as soon as it touched the stone. It would not allow magic to alter the structure.

The fortress rose several storeys into the sky. A massive walled in courtyard extended from the face of fortress. It would serve as an outdoor meeting area. The exterior wall would also provide extra protection. Along the walls were parapets with landing spots for dragons, reinforced to support their weight, as well as human sized walk ways and defensive caches. Lining the inside of the courtyard were outdoor bedrooms complete with walls, partial roofs, and small bathrooms. Many dragons preferred to sleep under the open sky, so they figured having outdoor and indoor bedrooms was a good idea. Ragnar made sure to add sound dampening magic into the stones themselves. (Hermione was taking furious notes about his construction spells.) Public toilets and showers were built into each side of the fortress walls for those who did not want to make it all the way indoors.

The actual fortress was built into the mountain. The first floor included the kitchens and the dining area/meeting room. Deeper into the mountain was the access to the individual indoor rooms. They were large enough to comfortably fit a dragon and each had a full bathroom and a window.

The second floor had a balcony big enough and strong enough for a dragon to land on. One half of the floor was the healing ward (the balcony provided one way for dragons to get in if they could not shift) and the other half was a lounge. The ceilings were nearly 20 ft tall to accommodate a dragon within the healing ward, though Ragnar also suggested saving an outdoor courtyard room for healing needs. There was another long row of dormitories on the second floor.

The next floor was much smaller and would house their library—Hermione could not wait to fill the shelves that Ragnar had casually installed.

The fourth day of work, they tackled the fourth floor, which consisted of Draco’s personal room—or rather, their room, as he informed her. This space was even smaller than the library, a much more reasonable size for a bedroom. The roof of the library served as an outdoor garden balcony.

Ragnar ensured all the construction bits were finished before he would even let them think about furnishings. He took them all around the fortress and examined almost every single inch of it. It was tedious and boring—but necessary. He found some weaknesses in the magic, shored up spells, reapplied potions, and had the Dracun move through the space to see if it was practical.

Ragnar was only satisfied that everything was in working order when the sun was setting. They planned to furnish the following day.

The morning work went well, with Ragnar and Hermione taking point on where to put furnishings and colour schemes. However, by afternoon, the horde had started claiming rooms and spaces and quickly peeled off from their assigned tasks. At least the bulk of the work was done. Ragnar likewise moved away and claimed his own indoor room.

Hermione and Draco spent some time bickering over their new shared space and where to place the bed and which towels matched the cushions better and so forth. It was good fun, especially since Hermione won.

The moment Hermione looked around and declared, “I think we’re done,” Draco was throwing her onto the bed, muttering about needing to christen the space.

They did not emerge from their room for a long time. Hermione was thankful for all the sound dampening magic in the castle, because she was anything but quiet while Draco feasted on her body and promised that he would do anything for her, give her anything, everything.

*

That evening, Draco and Hermione toured the castle, looking to see where everyone had settled in. Gryn and Luna had a space outside. Neville was nearby. Inside, Ragnar’s door was labelled with his name and impossible to open. On the second floor of the dormitories, Hermione ran into Theo and Harry who were just exiting their new room and looking rather dishevelled.

“Nice place,” Theo quipped.

“I think we all did a fantastic job,” Hermione concurred. “Really, could not have done it without—”

“Please don’t—” Draco grumbled.

“—Ragnar,” Hermione continued.

Everyone laughed at Draco’s obvious displeasure.

“Chin up, Drake,” Theo chimed, “When he’s one of us, you’ll be able to boss him around all you like.”

Draco sighed. Before he could respond, the massive bedroom door a few rooms down swung open and Ginny and Blaise walked out, hand in hand.

“Hi!” Hermione greeted.

The couple approached the small group.

“Hey,” Ginny said, her face flushed from her earlier exertions.  Blaise kissed her cheek.

“So…” Theo drew out, “how’s the new couple?”

Harry cast his eyes toward the ceiling, knowing, like everyone else present that Theo was about to be impertinent.

“Fantastic,” Blaise replied. His hand travelled up and down Ginny’s side.

“What’s your record?” Theo asked.

“Nott, can you not?” Harry groaned. “She’s my ex.”

Theo grinned. “Oh, is she? I didn’t know.”

“I swear, Theo—”

“Six hours,” Blaise replied looking smug.

Ginny swatted at him. “Blaise!”

He kissed her cheek again. “Six sweet hours of refusing to let this one com—”

“Okay!” Harry declared. “If you and Theo want to talk about your sex lives, fine. But, sorry, Gin. I have no interest in hearing it.”

“And I don’t want you to hear it, Harry,” she replied looking mortified.

“Great. That’s that. Let’s go have dinner. Leave these fools.” Theo reached for Harry, but he easily evaded him. “Besides,” Harry continued, “You need to start getting used to spending less time together. So that you can return to work.”

Blaise’s arm snaked around Ginny’s waist. “No.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Are they always like this?” she asked Hermione and Harry.

“Yes,” the friends answered at the same time.

“Oh, I have a good community rule,” Hermione piped in, “No talking about your sex lives unless everyone present is okay with it.”

Theo crossed his arms. “No fair.”

“Excellent rule, love,” Draco grinned. He kissed her chastely on the lips. “Dinner?”

“Who’s cooking?” Harry asked. “I’m not too bad in the kitchen. But I’m not used to cooking for an entire…well, horde of people.”

The group made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen space. Hermione was startled to find two house elves already there, putting the finishing touches on what promised to be a fantastic meal.

Hermione rounded on Draco. He held up his hands in self defense. “They insisted. I told them you wouldn’t like it.”

Hermione grumbled under her breath. “Fine.”

“We’ll take dinner in the throne room, dears,” Theo trilled at the house elves.

The horde sat down to a meal at their massive table, eating and drinking jovially. Luna, Gryn, Rolf, and Neville joined as well. Hermione couldn’t help but notice that Gryn seemed far more adept at eating with utensils than before. She supposed his “finger training” had proved fruitful.

Looking around the table at the horde, Hermione’s heart felt full. She was beyond amazed what they had created in merely five days and could not wait to spend more time in their new home, especially stocking books.

As the meal progressed, Hermione interrupted the casual conversation. “Have we thought of other community rules we want to put into place?” she called out to the group.

Draco placed his fork down and turned to her, ignoring Theo’s barb about his hair not looking as good as it used to. “I have my rules already. No bonding without consent. No offending people’s mates.”

“Hear hear!” Theo called.

Neville sighed. It wasn’t that he disagreed with the rule, Hermione knew, it was simply the constant reminder that he was alone.

“No talking about sex lives if everyone present does not want to hear,” Ginny added in, throwing a glare at Blaise. He kissed her in response.

“How do we feel about PDA?” Hermione asked.

The mated men were instantly on edge, pulling their mates closer to themselves. “You can’t stop me from touching my mate,” Gryn grumbled, his voice deeper than usual.

“Obviously not. I just mean…is there a line we should have? What if there are children around?”

In an impressive feat of magic, Hermione was seated in Draco’s lap. He had somehow summoned her directly onto his lap. His lips skimmed her mark, making her gasp. “You’re thinking of children?” Draco rumbled in his dragon voice.

The air in the room shifted palpably. Hermione squirmed in his lap. “No,” she replied firmly. “Not yet, anyway. I just mean, eventually someone will get pregnant. And also, we might want to bring family here and having a bunch of horny Dracun around will not always be appropriate. Besides, there are shared spaces—” Hermione gasped as Draco’s hand slithered across her waist. She cleared her throat. “Shared spaces to consider, like the lounge—people probably shouldn’t shag there.”

“Bit late for that,” Blaise muttered and Ginny glared at him disclosing more of their sex life.

“You take all the fun away, Hermione,” Theo complained. “I want to fuck Potter in every room in this castle.”

“Theo, we just agreed about the no sex details thing,” Harry said.

“No sex in shared spaces, done,” Draco commanded.

“Really, you’re not going to shag Hermione in that massive library?” Blaise questioned.

Hermione’s core clenched. She had been imagining it.

Draco’s lips skimmed her neck. “I’ll shag my mate wherever she wants me to.”

Hermione pushed herself from his lap. He scowled in response. “You’re too distracting,” she muttered. “Besides, that’s not the point, Draco. The point is that we all follow the rules.” He huffed black smoke at her through his human nostrils—it was bizarre to behold. “I think it’s unrealistic to say no one will have sex in public places,” Hermione conceded, unsure how her life had taken her to this point. “But we should have some sort of protocol in place so that people aren’t walked in on. And…not if anyone outside of the horde or children are on the premise.”

Everyone seemed to agree with Hermione’s idea. So, she decided to come up with a specific barrier spell that they could use to prevent people from walking in on one another. Add it to the list.

“What about meals and cleaning?” Hermione asked.

Blaise and Theo shot each other looks. “What about it?” Blaise asked, spearing his steak.

“Well, we should take turns,” Hermione suggested.

Theo and Blaise broke out laughing. Draco looked like he might join them.

“Hermione, babe,” Theo said, “Draco’s got enough house elves to keep this place fully functional. Why would you make us do work? Besides, we all have other homes. We won’t be here all the time.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “We could still help out.”

“I vote house elves,” Ginny chimed in, “Sorry, Hermione.”

In a matter of seconds, everyone had agreed except for Hermione. She turned her eyes on Draco. “If you feel so strongly about this, love, we can—”

“No way. It doesn’t make sense,” Theo cut in. “This place is massive. You expect us to clean it? It would take eons.”

Draco growled at Theo, “Don’t interrupt me.” Theo shot him a look. “Theo does have a point, love.”

Hermione grumbled in annoyance. She supposed this is what she got for insisting on community rules instead of imposing her own. She changed the topic. “How often should we spend time here? Someone should probably be here at all times. It seems odd to leave it fully empty.”

“Everyone is welcome here at all times,” Draco decreed.

“We’ll be happy to be the ones who live here fulltime,” Luna replied. “Gryn wants to be near the Greens and I’m not attached to my flat. I much prefer this place already.”

“That reminds me,” Theo cut in, “We need a name for our home. ‘The fortress’ is so dour. It needs a strong name.”

“Ooh, what about something honouring Helga?” Luna suggested. “We’re all here because of her.”

“Or her mate. What was her name?” Ginny offered. “She was the one who made Helga invent the Dracun.”

“Yhalis,” Hermione answered.

“Yhalis Hall?” Neville tried out.

“Helga’s Hall. That’s alliteration,” Theo threw out.

“Fort Yhalis,” Draco suggested and something about the way he said it rung true in the air.

“Fort Yhalis,” several of them agreed in tandem.

Hermione got shivers from it. There was definitely some magic there. “Okay but what about how often we should be here? Do we need patrols set up?” she asked Draco.

“Our wards will take care of that, but I suppose a patrol is never a bad idea per se,” he replied. “I would suggest at least one night a week to be on duty in case anything happens. And we should have a weekly meeting. Tuesday nights.”

“Why Tuesday?” Harry asked. “That’s a work night.”

“If we don’t choose a work night then I’ll be commandeering your weekends. Theo will never let me hear the end of it.”

“You’re right, I won’t,” Theo grinned.

“Sundays?” Hermione asked instead.

“Sundays are for snuggling in bed,” Luna refuted.

Hermione did not disagree. She loved a Sunday snuggle.

“Tuesdays it is,” Blaise agreed.

“Why do we even need to meet weekly?” Harry complained.

Draco glared at him. “In case there are important updates. And to make sure that we remain a strongly knit group.”

“We should probably talk about emergency protocols and…” Hermione trailed off, taking in the stares around her. “Okay, maybe we’ll do that on Tuesday instead.”

Everyone smiled in relief. They had already addressed quite a few issues, so she took the win for what it was. It had been a whirlwind few days, they deserved some time to relax. Everyone returned to their meals and conversations. The second Ginny was done eating, Blaise was lifting her into his arms and all but running down the wide corridor to their bed chamber.

“Hopefully they’ll be better in a few days…It will be very awkward for her brothers to know how much she’s shagging,” Hermione mumbled.

“Come, Granger,” Draco commanded.

Hermione happily hopped to her feet and let Draco lead her to their new bedroom, intent and having her on top of and against every surface he possibly could before he collapsed.

Chapter Text

Part 4: Nunquam Titilandus

Chapter 19: Property Damage

Mid August, 2007

A few days later, Hermione was in Diagon Alley with Pansy. Her goal was to get Pansy to give Neville a chance. She would fully support Pansy’s decision to reject the man—but only if Pansy actually understood what it meant to be bonded.

They were outside of Florean Fortescue’s enjoying a light lunch. Hermione and Pansy chatted amicably about the goings on of their lives. It was only when they were both indulging in some afternoon ice cream that Hermione finally broached the Neville topic.

“Listen, Pansy—”

“No,” She interrupted. “I don’t want to hear it. I’ve made my decision.”

“But you don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Something about giving Neville a chance?”

Hermione shot her a look. “At least let me say my piece.”

Pansy crossed her arms over her sun dress. “You won’t change my mind.”

“Pansy, I will respect whatever decision you make. But I think it’s important you make the decision with a full understanding of what you’re doing.”

Pansy looked away tersely.

Hermione took that as a go-ahead. She double checked her silencing ward, then launched into her spiel. “Being bonded to Draco has been the best decision of my life. I…well, I think I love him actually.” Hermione took a moment to be overwhelmed by that reality.

In fact, it was odd that she hadn’t realized it sooner. Of course she loved him. He was meant for her. He was kind, caring, loving, intelligent, incredibly attractive…

Hermione continued, “And he makes me so happy. I’m…safe with him. And honestly, the sex is, out of this world. I mean—wow.” Hermione laughed lightly, her face heating. “I was really scared about committing to someone I barely knew and used to hate. And the bonding feels so final—or it felt that way before. Now it just feels right. I know without a doubt he would never hurt me and he only wants the best for me. It is the same for Neville. And you would become part of the horde. You could join us at Yhalis and—”

“This is your big speech, Granger? I’ve already heard it. The night I found out.”

Hermione tried not to be annoyed at being cut off. “Will you at least tell me why you’re so opposed to bonding with Neville? It’s Neville! He’s amazing.”

Pansy snapped back, “I know he’s amazing. That’s why we can’t be together. This is like a broken record, Hermione. I already told you why I can’t be with him.”

“Pansy,” Hermione tried again, the emotion evident in her voice. “He’s not too good for you.”

“I’ve cheated before,” she blurted out. Hermione recoiled in surprise. Pansy continued, “I’ve cheated. Many times. I’m a terrible partner. I manipulate the men I date. I lie to them. Hell, sometimes I steal from them,” Pansy was rambling now, “And I really don’t need the money. I have never been a good girlfriend. I don’t even know how to be one. It’s not fair to shackle Neville to me.”

“Pans—”

“No. You don’t get it.” Pansy was cross now, but the tremble in her voice revealed her vulnerability. “It was different for you and Draco. You were the good one. You were in the clear. He is the one who had to suffer knowing you might never choose him because he was a piece of shit as a kid.”

“Pansy, that’s not—”

“I can’t handle it.” There were unshed tears brimming in the woman’s eyes. “The only reason Neville wants me is because of this damn dragon magic and—”

“You know that’s not true,” Hermione refuted. “You two flirt constantly. Or, at least you used to. He even took you to the werewolf ball. He has liked you for eons. And I’d say you’ve liked him for just as long.

Pansy didn’t reply.

“Since you found out, have you even tried to be with anyone else?”

Pansy pushed her hair behind her ears, revealing her diamond studs. “Obviously. It’s been a month.”

“And…?”

Pansy shovelled some of her sundae into her mouth in a very un-Pansy-esque way. Hermione waited patiently.

“I can’t come. Okay?” she finally admitted, the exasperation clear in her voice. “The only time I can get off is if I’m alone and thinking of him! It’s so annoying!”

Hermione tamped down on her smile; Pansy was actually distraught. “It’s because your body knows what it wants,” Hermione replied gently.

“Who cares what my body wants? My body is stupid. She wants all sorts of men she shouldn’t.”

“What about your heart?” Hermione tried instead.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’re so sappy ever since you bonded with Draco. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied, recognizing the truth when she heard it.

“Hermione…I just…” Pansy paused for a very long time. “I’m afraid,” she admitted finally. “I’m so afraid I’ll fuck this up just like I have with every other relationship I’ve had. I…” she trailed off, staring off in space.

“I know, Pans.” Hermione gently took her hand across the table. “It’s terrifying. But you deserve to at least try. Go on one date with Neville. Just one. And don’t have sex or you’ll start the bond. And if it feels wrong, then end it there. But…I have a feeling it will feel perfect.”

Pansy scoffed. “I can’t with how moon eyed you are right now. Love is so annoying.”

 “It certainly can be.” Hermione laughed. “Seriously, Pansy. I know you’re worried about cheating or being a bad partner to Neville, but once you’re bonded…I don’t think that’s even possible. Sure, Draco and I bicker and I could probably hurt his feelings still, but I have no desire to do any of that. I just want him to be happy and I know being with him makes him happy.” Hermione smiled softly.

“Maybe I’ll—” Pansy was cut off by a sudden shriek coming from nearby in the Alley.

They both turned at the sound, Hermione’s wand finding its way to her hand without hesitation.

There, hovering above the buildings of Diagon Alley were three dragons. For a brief moment the Alley held its breath. Then all hell broke loose.

*

Draco had been having a nice relaxing flight across the mountain range he called his second home. Neville, Luna, and Gryn were flying along with him, though Gryn was riding on Luna’s back in his human form, delighting in the different feel of wind on his skin. The new Dracun obviously enjoyed human body.

Draco had been having a lovely afternoon, even though he had not been by Hermione’s side. It felt as if they had finally started to be able to function as separate units again. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. Hermione seemed pleased, however, happy to go off and do her own thing. She was a very independent woman in most instances.

Thinking of her made Draco want to make her orgasm again. He wondered idly what time it was and when she’d be done with her lunch with Pansy. Surely their lunch must be done soon.

Draco had just veered left, moving to link up with the Western horde of Greens when a deep flash of panic jolted through his body. His whole body heated without warning and he felt like he was about to apparate against his will.

“Something is wrong,” Draco managed to say to his horde.

“We have to go,” Neville agreed.

“Go where? What’s wrong?” Luna asked, her white scales glinting in the sun.

Draco could not respond. His silver eyes connected with Luna’s in shock, then he disapparated. He had never disapparated as a dragon before.

He reappeared above Diagon Alley, still as a dragon, extremely disoriented, but his wings kept him afloat. He could sense Neville appear near him.

Draco looked down at the absolute chaos below him in shock. There were three dragons, all with riders on their backs, blowing hot flames down at the bustling street.

Hermione.

Draco’s heart started racing. She was here. Today. Right now. There.

He could sense her, his head whipping in her direction. But he could not see her. The smoke from the burning buildings was intense. If Draco had to guess, Hermione was taking shelter from the attack.

“Pansy!” Neville shouted.

“Wait!” Draco roared at him as Neville began to descend to the dragons who were threatening his mate. Neville barely paused for a half a second before ignoring Draco’s command and plummeting on top of the nearest dragon. “Fuck!”

Draco scrambled to think of what to do. He watched as the dragon’s rider was thrown from his back and the dragon writhed and screeched as it careened toward the ground with Neville’s talons in its spine.

“We need help!” Draco roared mentally. He hoped beyond hope his powers would somehow be augmented by his distress. But the horde was miles and miles away…

Draco couldn’t waste any more time. Neville was roaring in anger and pain as he clawed at the other dragon, the two massive bodies crashing into buildings. Draco turned his attention to the two other dragons. One remained undeterred in its mission to spread flames through Diagon Alley. The other had taken notice of Neville fighting its friend and was looking for a way to intervene.

Draco cut it off before it could. He shot toward the Lion dragon and summoned his fire. He aimed right for the rider, clad in dark robes that obscured them. The rider cast a feeble shield charm. It held for about one second before disintegrating, along with the rider. Draco had no time to reflect on the fact that he had just killed someone—ended a life in the blink of an eye. He had to protect Hermione. He had to protect Neville.

Draco’s claws scrabbled at the dragon as the two of them collided with the force of a tornado. Draco dug his claws deep into the red dragon who screeched in pain. He flew hard up into the air, doing his best to bring the fight away from the smouldering Alley. The dragon fought him with all its might. But it was much smaller than Draco, and he still had the upper hand.

Draco had no wish to fight this dragon, nor any real instinct apart from tearing with his claws. But he could sense Hermione’s panic and it was making him irrational and afraid.

“Stop!” Draco commanded the dragon.

The dragon shook its head and bared its teeth at Draco, his sides seeping dark blood from where Draco’s claws had gashed.

“I cannot,” replied the dragon morosely, then it shot a fireball directly at Draco.

The fireball did little to him, seeing as he was fireproof, but the impact did throw him off balance. Draco recovered quickly and threw himself at the dragon again, talons ripping at its body with an instinct Draco didn’t know he had. The dragon put up a fight, but he was no match for Draco’s sharper claws. When Draco pulled his claw from the dragon’s body the second time, the dragon’s wings faltered and he plunged to the ground, landing with a resounding crash that broke some shop windows.

Draco’s eyes quickly took in Neville and the other dragon. They were now far above him, tumbling over one another in the air. There was little Draco could do to help in this situation. All he could do was hope Neville came out on top. He turned to the third dragon, a Horntail, still raining down hell on the shops and crisping some unlucky brave idiots who thought they could withstand dragon fire.

“Stop!” Draco tried ordering again, putting all of his Alpha energy into the command. The dragon did stop and Draco almost thanked the stars. When it turned and began charging him, he realized his mistake in celebrating prematurely.

Draco barely dodged the dragon’s first lunge. He shot flames at the rider who disappeared into ash. The dragon was undeterred and far more aggressive than the Lion had been. The Horntail whipped its tail at Draco’s face and sent him careening through the air. He lost sense of which way was up until he crashed into the top of a building. Pain lanced through his left flank. Draco did his best to cast it off.

‘Protect Hermione,’ was the only thought going through his head.

He leapt back into the sky, the building crumbling beneath his weight as he went. The Horntail tried to capture his neck in its massive jaws, but Draco was quicker than her. He whipped around and slashed at the Horntail’s underbelly. She shrieked and lashed her tail at Draco again, throwing him toward yet another building. He was able to stop himself before he destroyed the building, but did not recover fast enough to avoid being slashed across his underbelly by the Horntail.

Draco roared in pain. His left flank was still pulsing and his neck and right shoulder were screaming from her jagged tail.

He blasted the Horntail with his own flames while it retreated a few wingspans. Then, they were wrapped in a painful embrace, both of their talons tearing at one another, necks whipping around and mouths shooting flames. Draco was not thinking, he was only reacting.

He had to protect Hermione. He had to take this dragon down. She was down there, he could sense her.

‘Hermione. Hermione. Hermione.’

Draco remained locked in the deadly embrace of the Horntail slashing for all he was worth and doing his best to dodge her attacks. The Horntail did not slow. She seemed to not even notice her injuries.

He could feel reality slowly slipping away as he lost more and more blood.

Draco was going to die. He could feel it with certainly as buckets of his blood poured from his wounds. He was going to die and fail protecting his mate. His worst nightmare was coming true.

“Hermione, I love you.”

“Draco!”

Suddenly, the Horntail pulled away from him and was crashing toward the ground. Draco tried to track what was happening—none of it made sense. For one silent moment, he felt relief; his mate was safe. He had protected her.

Then the world was tilting and the ground was shockingly close to his face.

With a sickening thud, everything went black.

*

The attack had truly come out of nowhere. The dragons had been not present one second, the next, they were blowing their molten hot flames into the crowded street.

Hermione had reacted without thinking. She cast a protego around herself and Pansy, even though she knew it would probably do nothing. Then she tackled Pansy to the ground and pulled the woman bodily toward the neighbouring building—Tanya’s Tea Shop. She had chosen Tanya’s instead of Florean’s because it had a brick façade, unlike the ice cream parlour.

The Alley was quickly ablaze and filling with smoke, alarms going off everywhere. She could feel her skin heating as they barely avoided being burnt alive during the long horrible moments while Hermione dragged them with all her strength to the damned tea shop. Screams and the smell of burnt flesh filled her senses, making her want to retch. Hermione shoved Pansy inside the shop first then stumbled in after her.

The people inside were stricken silent. Hermione’s heart pounded and she coughed and coughed and coughed, deep horrible painful coughs.

Pansy was shaking on the ground beside her. Her hair was askew, face covered in ash, sundress ripped and filthy, knees bleeding.

“Get away from the windows,” Hermione croaked at the patrons. “Is there a back exit?” she asked no one in particular. An old Black lady with dreadlocks and a tea pot in hand nodded shakily. “Get everyone out!” Hermion croaked again, then broke into another coughing fit. For some reason no one was moving. “Go!” Hermione ordered.

The woman finally jumped into action, running toward the back of the shop and telling others to follow her. Hermione went behind the counter and downed a glass of water quickly. It helped soothe her scratchy throat.

Hermione turned to Pansy who remained frozen on the ground. “Go with them, Pans,” she ordered. “Stay safe. I need to see what’s going on.”

“I can’t leave you,” Pansy countered, though in fairness she looked like she couldn’t move, end of sentence.

Hermione ushered her further into the shop, handed her a glass of water, then ignored her. She had to alert the Aurors. Hermione did her best to concentrate and summon her patronus, but the noise and panic were making it difficult.

The Alley shook outside and the glass in the window shattered. It sounded like…dragons were fighting? That made no sense, the dragons had all been on each other’s side. Hermione shook her head. She cast a bubble head charm around Pansy who looked even more terrified than before, then cast one on herself. She made herself focus in and ignore the roars and shrieks coming in from outside.

Hermione thought with all her might about when she had accepted Draco’s bond. Finally, an otter appeared. She instructed it to warn the Aurors to not apparate into the Alley but instead into a brick building, like Tanya’s or Gringotts. Her otter danced away without further ado.

“Pansy. Go out the back,” Hermione ordered again.

Pansy had gone catatonic. Her eyes were round and tear stains cuts paths down her soot covered face. Hermione couldn’t deal with her. As long as she remained where she was, she wasn’t a problem.

Hermione cautiously went to the broken window and looked up above the Alley.

Was that—Draco?

It was Draco, something inside her alerting her to that fact despite it being hard to recognize anything between the smoke, flames, and fast-moving dragons. Hermione’s heart clenched in fear. He was attacking the red dragon. As Hermione watched, it fell to the ground and shook the Alley as it made impact. Her eyes traced Draco’s form. He looked okay. She turned to the Lion dragon. It was definitely dead. She felt ill.

She looked back into the sky and narrowly avoided being burnt by a wayward blast of fire from a green dragon that was engaged in a battle with…Neville? Hermione’s fear spiked again. Draco and Neville were in danger. Her body began prickling. She had to do something.

Neville was wrapped around the Welsh Green, both of them ravaging each other mid-air. Pools of blood fell from their bodies. Hermione gasped in worry.

Hermione did her best to maintain her calm. She took two deep measured breaths, her gaze focussed on the deceased robed person.

Her eyes returned to Draco who was now similarly entwined with the remaining dragon. Draco was losing. Draco was losing!

The Horntail kept raking is claws against Draco’s soft underbelly, blood pouring from his black-green scales. Too much blood. There was no way he could survive all that blood loss.

Hermione was shaking. She had to do something. Her mate. Draco. She loved him and she had just realized. And he didn’t even know. He couldn’t die. Hermione shook as she stepped out into the carnage of the street. She tripped twice over charred debris and what looked like someone’s burnt arm. Hermione felt bile rise in her mouth.

She did her best to swallow it. Draco needed her. Hermione raised her wand and stared at the Horntail. She just had to down its wings.

“Right. If it worked for Oliver…”

Hermione found a sharp metal beam that had been displaced from its former building. She swish and flicked it so that it was hovering above the Horntail’s massive wing. It was difficult since the dragon was moving so much and Draco kept getting in the way.

Draco screeched, his flames painting the sky while the Horntail reared its tail back for another devastating blow.

Hermione dropped the beam. It sailed through the air right toward the Horntail. It moved—dodging it at the last second. Hermione swore. Sweat rolled down her back as she tried again. She sent the beam into the air quickly, then let it fall with little delay. There was no time, all she could do was pray it would hit.

This time, the Horntail either didn’t notice it or was too slow. The metal tore through its wing like a hot knife through butter. Blood poured from the massive hole in its wing and the dragon quickly loosened its hold on Draco, roaring and plummeting to the Alley.

Hermione nearly vomited again.

Hermione dove back inside the building as dust was kicked up from the Horntail’s landing. Hermione’s hands were scraped and bleeding from landing on broken glass in the tea shop, but it was the least of her concerns. She heard a series of stunning spells being shouted. The Aurors, most likely.

Hermione’s head was pounding. She heaved herself to her feet with difficulty. Pansy was beside her suddenly. “I think…is Neville here?” Pansy asked in confusion, the bubble head charm giving her face a strange shiny quality.

“I think so,” Hermione replied, a bit dazed from the impact of the Horntail. She was seeing spots in her vision.

The women staggered to the broken windows and looked into the street. The Horntail was frozen on the ground, ten Aurors around it, still casting stunning spells, just in case. The Lion dragon was dead on the other end of the Alley. And as Hermione watched, Neville succeeded in throwing off the Welsh Green, which plunged to the Alley with another earth-shaking boom. Hermione and Pansy fell to the ground at the impact.

Hermione ignored the stinging in her hands and knees from yet more broken glass cutting into her. Her vision was clouded and the Alley itself was full of smoke and dust, making it hard to see.

Hermione searched for Draco in the sky and saw him. Falling. “No!” she shouted, running toward him without a coherent thought.

“Hermione, I love you,” Draco thought to her. It sounded like a goodbye.

“Draco!” she called back, too overwhelmed to think of anything else.

Draco’s descent was slower than the Horntail, his wings still out and holding him aloft, barely. He smashed into two buildings on his way down and blood was pouring from him like a river. Someone was screaming.

He slammed into the cobblestone alley far too quickly. His body was seeping blood from several wounds. Hermione clambered her way through the debris to get to him.

“Draco! Draco!” Her whole body was shaking, making it even harder to scale the rubble. “Draco! Please. Oh, God.”

Another earth-shattering quake threw Hermione to her knees. She looked around in a daze. Neville was beside Draco, in a similar state of oozing blood.

Hermione was back on her feet as fast as she could humanly be, which was far too slow for her liking. Pain lanced through her. She ignored it.

She made it to Draco’s side at the same time as some Aurors who raised their wands at him.

“No!” Hermione shrieked. She threw her body in front of Draco’s abused one. “He was protecting us! Don’t hurt him! No! No! No!” she was hysterical, she knew she was. Her voice didn’t sound like her own and the world was blurry.

The Aurors looked at her in confusion. Their wands were raised, but they did not attack Draco. Hermione thanked her lucky stars for the sway she held as a war heroine.

“You can’t hurt him!” Hermione screamed, tears obscuring her already cloudy vision. Hermione turned to Draco and sobbed. “Please be okay. Please,” she begged.

Hermione placed her hand on Draco’s flank and in a flash—he shifted into his human form. The Aurors shouted in shock. Hermione’s eyes protested as another bright flash lit up the Alley. She ignored it and focused on her mate.

Draco was wearing his regular black ensemble, but it was ripped to shreds. His usually pale skin was deathly white and it was clear as day that he had lost far too much blood. The wounds were open, deep, and jagged all across his body, including one on his jawline.

“Please. He needs help! Please. We need a healer!” Hermione’s vocal cords were raw.

“What the fuck?” someone exclaimed and another flash went off.

“Please!” Hermione looked around trying to find an emergency responder. Hermione held up her trembling wand arm and tried to start healing his wounds. She barely got one to slightly knit itself back together. “Focus, Hermione,” she scolded herself. But it was no use, she was too rattled.

A healer materialized beside her and was disappearing Draco’s clothing without a word. The woman started knitting back together his very deep wounds with calm skill. Hermione was shaking and begging, her hand gripped tight around Draco’s. The healer patched him up with an impressive speed and moved on to Neville who—oh, he had also shifted back to human. Neville was covered in deep wounds as well. Pansy was beside him, holding his hand and sobbing.

The healer worked away in silence. Everything was suddenly very silent now that Hermione was no longer screaming. Hermione looked down at Draco, her mind fuzzy and the world unsteady.

Then everything went dark.

*

Draco awoke to intense pain. He felt like he had just fallen out of a building. It took a moment of him blinking a bright and blurry world into focus to realize that he had fallen from higher than a building. Draco groaned and tried to shift his body. It protested violently.

“Draco?” Hermione nearly whimpered. She was hovering over his face a second later. “Oh, Merlin. You’re okay. Are you okay?” Hermione was crying.

Draco feebly lifted a hand to her face. “Don’t cry, love,” he murmured, his arm protesting in pain. Draco ignored it; he had to comfort her.

Hermione started crying harder. Draco did his best to wipe at her tears with his one thumb.

“I’d kiss you,” she said, “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

Draco smiled at her. “You could never hurt me.”

Hermione was still crying. “I was so worried. I thought. Dear God. Okay. You need. This. This potion. These potions. They said they would help. Theo made them actually. Let me help you sit up.”

Draco protested weakly, but the fact of the matter was that he was in no shape to sit up on his own. Hermione did her best to wrangle his heavier body into an upright position. Draco thanked her. She squeezed his hand and was feeding him a series of potions that went down with varying smoothness. The acid green one was the best.

Hermione then forced him to drink a full glass of water. Draco was already feeling better, his whole body no longer protesting being alive and instead feeling like he did after a very long day of Quidditch.

“What happened?” Draco asked. “Where am I?” he looked at the curtains around him before it clicked. “Yhalis.” He was in their newly made healing ward. He hadn’t recognized the view from his sick bed.

Hermione sighed. She sat on the large bed beside him and kept his hand in hers. She looked tired, sad, stressed. Draco felt everything in him reacting to a need to make her feel better. With his newly functioning body, he pulled her into him, wrapping his sore arms around her shoulders and tucking her head into his neck.

Draco breathed deeply. Hermione started shaking, then sobbing. Draco’s heart clenched. He soothed her and whispered sweet reassurances into her wild hair. Actually, her hair was filthy. It smelled like ash and had random debris in it. He wondered how long it had been since the attack.

When Hermione finally calmed down, Draco kissed her sweetly, not igniting a passion, but instead looking to comfort and reassure her.

“How come I’m not filthy?” Draco asked, noting his own skin was much cleaner than Hermione’s.

“I cleaned you up while she slept,” she said.

“Thank you, love.” Draco silently returned the favour and cleaned her skin and hair with his dragon magic. He was far weaker than normal and it was incredibly taxing, but at least now she wasn’t completely covered in soot.

Hermione looked down at her clear skin then into his eyes. “I love you,” she said.

Draco felt a warmth slowly bloom from within him and overtake his whole body. He felt dizzy. His body was tingling. And he was getting hard.

“You what?”

Hermione smiled shyly. “I love you, Draco. I was so worried I would never get to tell you.”

His chest was vibrating in delight. “You love me?”

“Yes,” she was grinning now, though more tears were falling as well.

“I love you more than the air that I breathe. More than the wind beneath my wings.”

Hermione was on him then, kissing him deeply. Draco poured his soul into this kiss, into her. He heaved her body on top of his, forcing her to straddle him, not that she was complaining. Her tongue tangled with his as she canted her hips against his cock, gasping. Draco’s pulse pounded throughout his body, but mostly in his head, where he still had a pretty severe headache. He did his best to ignore it.

Until Hermione suddenly pulled away. She was half disrobed, sitting in her bra and panties, her dress forgotten. Her breath came out harshly. “Draco. Not now. We can’t. You need to heal more.”

Draco pulled her back to him, bringing their lips together and relishing in the feel of her pressed against him. He would never tire of this. He loved her. And she loved him. By Merlin, she loved him.

“Draco,” she moaned or warned, he couldn’t tell. “The healer. She said. Mm.” Draco’s fingers has slid into her. “Draco,” she sighed into his mouth. “We can’t.”

“We can. Just be gentle with me, Granger,” he teased.

Hermione apparently didn’t need to be told twice. She was suddenly nude and scrabbling at his slacks, then briefs. She barely tugged his clothing down before sliding down onto his cock. Draco’s eyes rolled back. Hermione brought her lips to his and set a very slow, intimate pace. With each roll of her hips, Draco felt himself getting more and more lost in her.

“Say it again,” he begged, his end near.

“I love you,” she moaned into his ear. “I love you.”

Draco bit at her neck, not breaking skin, but definitely bruising. Hermione keened and shuddered on top of him. Her orgasm flashed through her. The feeling of her shaking on him, pulling him tight into her—it did it every time. Draco groaned deeply as he came.

They panted in each others’ arms for a while after that. Draco kissed her lazily. “I love you,” he murmured against her flushed face. “I love you so much, Hermione.”

Hermione kissed him back. She eventually climbed off of him and pulled her dress back on, though she didn’t bother with the underwear. Draco blinked at her dress and took in the tears, soot, and dried blood.

Hermione seemed to be doing the same thing. They both shared a laugh at their antics.

“I did clean up your hair and face a bit,” he informed her, “but I don’t think I have it in me to fix your dress as well.”

Hermione kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry, I can change later.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Hermione launched into her story, explaining the battle from her perspective. Draco added in his, explaining how he had apparated to her against his will—not that he regretted it. He also explained how there were very obvious dragon riders on the dragons. Hermione said she had not seen any until the one fell to the ground. They puzzled over that for a while.

Hermione recounted how Healer Drizek had patched up Draco and Neville. Hermione gestured beyond his curtained off area and Draco vaguely hoped she had cast a silencing charm before they had fucked. Neville was somewhere in the large healing ward too, apparently with Pansy who had refused to leave his side. There was potentially some good news there, at least.

Hermione explained how the Aurors had lost their minds when they saw them both shift. How they didn’t know what to do with them since they couldn’t bring Draco or Neville to St Mungo’s in fear of them shifting forms. How there was even talk that Draco and Neville were the ones who had attacked. Luckily, Harry had arrived at that point and was able to squash that speculation. From there, Hermione had convinced them to let Draco and Neville return to their homes. Healer Drizek had accompanied them. Apparently, the woman was somewhere on the premises waiting for the Dracun to recover.

“So, the secret is out,” Hermione reiterated. “Not only did the Aurors and other random people in Diagon see you two shift…it was caught on camera. Both of you.”

Draco groaned. “Fuck…”

Hermione sighed. “Yeah. Fuck.”

“Well…nothing to do about it now. How long does Drizek think it will take us to heal?” he asked her.

“She wouldn’t say. Said it’s hard to tell since you’re hybrids. Probably only a day or two.”

“How long has it been?” Draco asked. It still seemed like daytime.

“Only a few hours,” Hermione told him. “I…I didn’t want to leave your side.”

Draco kissed her hand. “Thank you, love. I love waking up to you.”

Hermione smiled in response. “But I should get Drizek, and I really need to bathe. And you need new clothing. Let me get her and Theo.”

Draco pulled a face. “Why Theo?”

“Oh, stop it. You love him. And he’s been worried sick, mind you. The real reason I want to get him is so that you have company while I go clean myself up.”

Draco nodded at her in agreement. “Fine. Abandon me to my annoying second.”

Hermione leaned toward him and pecked his lips again. “I love you,” she said again, the thrill still running through Draco at the words. “I’ll be right back with the healer and Theo. Okay?”

“Or you could stay in bed with me and we could do another round.”

Hermione danced out of his reach. “I told you. Drizek specifically said we should not sleep together for at least 24 hours. Your body needs rest Draco. You almost died,” she nearly whispered the last part. “I was so scared.”

Draco was hugging her again, Hermione’s need to leave replaced by her need to be in his arms. He comforted her for long minutes, promising that he would never leave her, that he would always be there to care for her, and that he was fine.

Eventually, Hermione crawled out of the bed and opened the curtains around him. She left the healing ward with decisive steps.

*

Once Healer Drizek examined Draco in depth, it became clear that he was already healing very well. The middle-aged healer had long black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail that rivaled Lucius’. Theo, looking uncharacteristically serious, lingered while Drizek spoke. Draco did not enjoy seeing Theo so solemn.

Hermione promised to return after she bathed and left the healing ward.

Theo sat down on the visitor’s chair. He stared at Draco with wide eyes. Draco sighed and laid back.

“What, Theo?” He asked.

“You almost died,” Theo said hollowly.

“Yes,” Draco replied.

“Draco. If you died…I’d be left in charge. Me.”

“Your concern about my death is limited to how it would impact you…?”

Theo did not rise to Draco’s teasing. “Obviously not, Draco. If you died, I’d be…well. I can’t lose you again. Those three years without you…” Draco chanced a glance at Theo who was staring blankly at his cotton sheets. Theo cleared his throat and attempted a smile. “You can’t leave me in charge, mate. Imagine me being left to lead the Dracun! Big mistake, huge. So, that’s decided. No dying.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Draco’s lips. “Sure, Theo. No dying.”

Theo let out a long, slow sigh. “Okay. Now that that’s decided, what on earth are we going to do about our top secret secret being out in the wide world?”

Never one to be good with emotions, he was happy to move on from his near brush with death and Theo’s reaction to it. “No idea. Any thoughts, second?”

Theo shrugged. “We could always host a press conference,” he offered. “I feel like I’d really shine at a press conference.”

Draco chuckled. “I’ve no doubt you would cause me all sorts of unexpected problems if you were at a press conference, Nott.”

Theo grinned. “Me, cause problems? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“We’ll have to call a meeting of everyone. Determine what to do next.”

“Hermione is really rubbing off on you—you’re not just deciding for everyone? How unlike you, Malfoy.”

In response, Draco rolled his eyes. “What time is it?”

Theo pulled an ostentatious pocket watch out of his muggle jeans, a ridiculous juxtaposition. “Half seven.”

“Okay, send out the word, we’ll meet first thing in the morning. Over breakfast. Hopefully, I will have healed enough by then to be able to stand…How’s Nev?”

Theo scrubbed at his face. “Slightly worse off than you. But, healing well. If you open your curtains, you two can talk to each other.”

“Are these curtains by chance spelled with silencing charms?” Draco asked.

Theo shrugged. “No idea. That’d be a Ragnar question.”

“Ugh.”

Theo laughed loudly. He stood and opened Draco’s curtains. Draco took in the healing ward with its many empty beds and the one a few over with the curtains drawn. Theo dramatically pulled Neville’s curtains open. Unfortunately, it seemed that Theo had forgotten that Pansy was visiting (or maybe he hadn’t forgotten—we all know Theo was a voyeur).

Pansy and Neville were wrapped in an intense embrace, hands roaming, lips touching and clothing starting to be unbuttoned.

“Ahem!” Theo cleared his throat dramatically.

Pansy wrenched free from Neville, though he held onto her so that she was unable to fully distance herself. Draco took in her red face before politely turning his head away for a few moments. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pansy attempt to right her hair and her dress.

“Things are going well, I see,” Theo teased.

“Oh, fuck off, Nott,” Pansy snapped back. “Don’t you dicks have mind reading capabilities? You could have just tapped in to what was happening and not interrupted.”

Draco had indeed forgotten about his capacity to read his horde’s minds; he was rather addled by all the potions, in his defense. Draco noted Neville’s possessive hand around Pansy’s waist. At least one good thing would come from the dragon attack.

Theo plopped himself on an empty bed between Draco and Neville, with his arms behind his head casually.

“How you doing, Nev?” Draco asked.

Neville grinned. Draco took in his bruised eye, and the wicked scar that was overtaking his left cheek. “Right as rain. You?”

“Eh. Alive,” was Draco’s response. “You heard we were sighted?”

Neville nodded. “Yeah.”

Draco shrugged. “Nothing to be done. It’s not like we were capable of stopping ourselves.” He shot Neville a pointed look. “Or listening to commands.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Oh ho ho ho! Missed out on some drama, it seems I have. Do tell.”

Pansy seemed content to listen and not join in. She snuggled into Neville’s side and he pulled her closer to him.

“We were pulled to Diagon. I assume because our mates were in danger,” Draco glanced back at Neville. “It was like…there was a call to apparate but I had no idea where I would end up. I just knew I could not fight it.”

“Same,” Neville replied. He glanced down at Pansy’s head. He kissed her hair (which did not look quite as filthy as Hermione’s, reminding Draco that Pansy would not be caught dead looking less than immaculate). “I knew it was about Pansy somehow, but…I didn’t even know we could apparate as dragons. Weird sensation, that.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I want to try,” Theo moaned. “How come you always get to do the cool stuff,” he muttered in annoyance.

“Almost dying is ‘the cool stuff?’” Draco asked.

“Obviously. I didn’t even get to show off how manly of a dragon I am to my mate,” Theo complained.

“Anyways,” Pansy cut in, “What happened?”

“We were summoned to you,” Draco continued, “And then we saw the dragons. They had riders and they were attacking Diagon. I told Neville not to attack until we had made a plan, but he just dived in head first. How did you not follow my command?”

Neville shrugged. “Had to get to Pansy.”

“Neville fought off the Green. I took out the other two. The Horntail was a bitch. Nearly killed me. I was almost able to control the Fireball, though. I told it to stop and it hesitated, then said that it couldn’t.”

“Hmm…” Theo pondered loudly, scratching at his chin. “What did you say exactly?”

“Stop.”

“And it said?”

“I cannot.”

“Hmm…” he mused further.

“And he tried to call on the horde,” Neville weighed in. “Did you hear?”

Theo shook his head. “I felt…something. Anxiety, stress. A need to go somewhere and do something. But…well, nothing else. It was very destabilizing, actually.”

“I wonder if we can get better at that over time,” Draco reflected, wondering what Hermione would think. “Anyway, we took care of the dragons, but barely and we all went down. I assume we changed when we passed out and fell to the ground?”

Pansy perked up. “Actually, you stayed dragons. It was when we touched you. Hermione and me. You became human again.”

“We weren’t naked, were we?” Neville asked.

“No,” Pansy replied. “Fully clothed.”

“Pity,” Theo said, “Would have loved to see your ass on the cover of the evening Prophet.”

Everyone chuckled good naturedly.

“Wait,” Theo cut in, his tone serious again. “Does that mean you…I mean, you killed humans and dragons?”

Draco did not respond. He felt nauseous. He had been doing a decent job in repressing his own terrible acts. He had escaped the war without killing anyone. But now he was a murderer. Granted, these people were trying to kill his mate and did kill innocents—it still did not sit well with him.

No one said anything for a while.

“Sorry to bring the mood down,” Theo mumbled. “Let me change the topic. I have the apothecary brewing us a more robust set of potions for the healing ward here. I don’t think we’re well stocked enough in case of emergency, which today proved.”

“Right. Thanks, Nott,” Draco replied. “We should rest. We’ll meet in the morning to strategize on how to address our sudden appearance to the world. And what to do about this dragon threat.”

Theo hopped up and closed the curtains around Neville’s bed. “Make sure he drinks his potions, Pans, and that is not a euphemism.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. The curtains closed and the healing ward became very quiet. Draco was relieved that the curtains appeared to be charmed. Theo came and closed the curtains around Draco’s bed. He sat in his bedside chair, legs up on the bed.

“Right, Malfoy, we need to discuss your newly found hero complex. It is very dangerous to your well-being.”

“Nott, go to bed.”

“Nott a chance. Get it?” Draco rolled his eyes. “Hermione told me to watch over you until she comes back. And I must listen to my Alpha after all.”

“I’m your Alpha,” Draco threw back.

“Barely.”

“What about your mate? Don’t you want to see him?”

“Oh, Harry. He’s Auror Potter right not. Lots to do what with a massive dragon attack on Diagon and all. Actually, I wanted to tell you something. We can communicate with each other, even when I’m human. Can you and Hermione do that?”

“I did it that one time in Noddfa with everyone, remember?” Theo nodded. “So, you can communicate with Potter right now?”

“I wonder if you can hear it.” Theo closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Potter. Are you almost done? I want to have my way with you.”

“Theo,” Draco chastised. “Please don’t involve me in your foreplay.”

“Uhh…Malfoy?” It was Potter who was responding.

Draco jumped in surprise. “It worked!” he exclaimed.

“How are you talking to me…or, I guess we’re not really talking.”

“Babe. Answer my question,” Theo cut in.

“No, I’m not almost done. Three dragons attacked Diagon and at least fourteen people are dead. I’ll be out all night.”

“All night?!” Theo bemoaned. “What on earth am I supposed to do on my own…?”

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. “How do I cut off this connection?”

Theo shrugged. “No idea. We only just figured out how to talk to one another like this.”

“Well, how did you loop me in?” Draco asked.

“I just thought of you. And Harry, of course. Are you sure you can’t dip out for a quickie, love?”

“Theo. I swear to God. I won’t do that thing I promised to do if you don’t stop.”

Theo gasped aloud. “You wouldn’t dare. You want to do it more than I do. Anyway. Fine. I think if I…”

Draco suddenly could not hear anything in his mind. He concentrated and could sense Theo’s mind near his and a strange secondary spark that was linked to Theo, but very far away. When he tried to think-speak to Theo, he hit a wall. Draco was impressed with Theo’s mental fortitude, though Draco was still drugged up and not on his A-game. With enough effort, he could have probably broken the wall Theo had placed. Instead, he retreated. He gave Theo a few minutes to speak to Potter. When it was clear Theo was not going to stop anytime soon, Draco closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

He awoke when Hermione eased her way onto his bed. He blinked at her blearily. She smelled clean and like herself—warm and comforting. Draco hugged her to his body.

“Hey,” Hermione greeted quietly.

“Hey.”

“Go back to sleep, you need rest,” she coaxed.

Draco listened, pulling her closer to him and burying his nose in her hair.

*

The horde (transformed and not) came together for breakfast the following morning. Draco was still very sore, but able to hobble around with the aid of Hermione and his many potions. Theo had been uncharacteristically shy when Draco had thanked him for making their potions. The Slytherins were really terrible when it came to real emotions.

Draco, Neville, Hermione, and Pansy took turns explaining the attack. Neville’s scar had receded exceptionally, but still marred his face. It was unlikely to be more than a few faint lines after a few weeks—they were both lucky for Healer Drizek’s speedy work.

“I still vote press conference,” Theo intoned, once the story was done.

“He’s got a point,” Ginny replied from her perch on Blaise’s lap. “Ferret’s out of the bag and all that.” The Weasleys and Potter chuckled to themselves over their little joke. The latter looked worse for wear, having spent the entire night dealing with Auror shit. Theo kept feeding him food and making him drink water.

“I don’t want to do a press conference. Besides, the ritual cannot be shared,” Draco spoke with authority. “The ritual must remain a secret. This type of knowledge in the wrong hands…We don’t know how it might be used for evil. What if Death Eaters transformed themselves and then we had hybrids who could kill muggles with dragon fire and were very difficult to kill?” A sombre mood fell over the cavernous dining room, all memories of ferret jokes gone.

“Why no press conference?” Fred asked.

“The less the public know about us, the better,” Draco replied.

“Not necessarily true,” Hermione said back. “They will fill in the blanks on their own. And that could be more dangerous for us.”

“Hermione, we can’t tell them about the ritual.”

“No. Of course not,” she agreed. “But we could settle on a blood curse—it’s not inaccurate. We can give some background about the hunting of dragons by your ancestors and how we found a journal outlining a blood curse on all the worst perpetrators of dragon hunting.” Draco reflected while Hermione kept talking, “They don’t need to know about the ritual, we’ll just say we don’t know how it manifested.”

“But won’t that scare people more?” Rolf commented. “People will be afraid that they could become a dragon at any second, would they not?”

Hermione frowned. “That’s a fair point,” she muttered. Draco almost chuckled at how annoyed she seemed to be that there was a hole in her plan. He rested a hand on her knee.

“We just have to tell the truth,” Luna suggested. “Blood curse, activated by a ritual. Everyone who manifested did so by choice.”

“Can the Ministry prosecute us for making hybrids?” Rolf asked Hermione.

Hermione crossed her arms, her frown deepening. “No…Dracun are an unregulated class of creature because they did not know that we exist.”

“We?” Theo commented. Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, I know, ‘shut up, Theo,’” Theo said before Draco could.

“So,” Hermione continued, “As of right now, there are no laws to break. Everything was voluntary. Even becoming a werewolf is only a crime if it is involuntary. In fact, we should probably do our best to trnasform all those we can find now before the Ministry tries to regulate us.”

“Excellent. Let’s hop to it, then,” Ron commented. “We’re ready.”

“Have you decided?” Hermione asked Fred and George, who were both previously worried about what the mate bond might do to their already present partners.

The twins looked at one another, then their respective spouses. They nodded.

“A press conference is a bad idea,” Ragnar piped in from the end of the table. The man had remained silent for most of the meeting.

Draco glared at him, on principle. “Why’s that?”

“Too many questions. Right now, we have privacy and we control the narrative. A press conference opens us up to questions from people like Rita Skeeter,” Hermione answered for him. She made a good point. “We publish a news article then,” Hermione suggested.

“Personal interview style or we submit our own?” Rolf questioned.

Hermione turned to Draco. “What do you think?”

Draco had to fight his grin at her asking his opinion on anything. It was amusing to him how she was truly the one in charge. He quite liked it.

“Interview might make us seem more…approachable?”

“Are we revealing all of us, then? Because they only know about Malfoy and Longbottom,” Blaise remarked. “Is it better if they know about less of us, or more of us?”

Draco looked at his horde. “Whoever wants to come forward can. I won’t expose anyone’s identity who wishes to remain hidden.”

“And what about the other dragons?” Blaise asked.

“Yeah. Why did they attack?” Ron questioned.

“Are we at war?” Fred asked.

Draco held up a hand to stop the questions. Silence fell and eyes turned to him. He did enjoy having a certain amount of control over others. “At war…I don’t know about that. But they are problematic,” Draco intoned. “We don’t know who they are, how or why they had riders, or why they attacked Diagon. I’m assuming Potter will be our insight into the attacks.”

“Oh, so now you want me around,” Harry grumbled.

Draco rolled his eyes. Before he could respond, Theo said, “Why yes, Auror Potter, we need your expertise! Perhaps we could hire you as a consultant?” Theo wiggled his brows.

Harry adjusted his glasses and ignored Theo. “Obviously everything I know is highly confidential.”

“As if you’ve ever cared about confidential information, Harry,” Neville replied.

Harry laughed in response. “I’m telling you it’s confidential. So don’t go blathering outside of this room.”

Draco slipped into his deeper register, “No one will share anything we discuss in this room with anyone outside of the horde, unless they have my express permission.” The room nodded in response.

Draco could sense a wave of interest coming from Hermione. He shot her a look and felt his horns appear on his head.

“Keep it in your pants, Malfoy,” Theo shouted and the room laughed at him.

Draco rolled his eyes heavenward. “Potter, can you enlighten us about the attack?”

The bespectacled man cleared his throat. “Not much to add. All the riders were dead. So, no interrogations. If there’s a next time, try not to crisp them all,” Harry suggested.

“It’s not like we had much of a choice, Harry,” Neville replied as Draco felt the deep remorse of ending lives overtake him again.

“He makes a good point,” Hermione jumped in. “We need information. So, everyone should be putting out feelers. Especially you, Rolf. Use your underground smuggling connections.” Perhaps he had underestimated the oddball magical creatures expert.

“What else, Potter?” Draco asked once Hermione was done speaking.

Harry hesitated. He glanced at Theo who nodded his head. Draco assumed they were having a silent conversation with one another. “The one body we recovered had a Dark Mark.” A heavy tension fell over the room. “It was on the man’s back, not his left forearm,” Harry clarified, “but it was the same as Voldemort’s.” Everyone except for Harry and Hermione shuddered.

“So, they’re…?” Ginny asked quietly.

“Neo-Death Eaters,” Harry confirmed. “Seems to be. It was a true tattoo, not a charm. It looked new as well. Impossible to know if the others had it or not…”

“Who could be leading them?” Ron asked. “I thought we killed or rounded up all the rest of them.”

Draco had a similar question. Harry took off his glasses and placed them beside his cleared plate. He scrubbed at his face. “We’re not sure. We never found a few of them: Travers, Yaxley, Mulciber, Dolohov.”

“I thought Mulciber and Dolohov were killed in the Final Battle,” Blaise countered.

Draco clenched his fist, remembering that it was Dolohov who had cursed Hermione and left her with a dormant dark curse on her chest. He would burn the man alive in retribution.

Harry looked exhausted. “We never found bodies. Only a few unconfirmed stories that they were killed. And we know Yaxley got off the continent before he could be found. That’s where we’re starting.” Harry looked directly at Draco. “If you know anything or have any ideas of where we could start. Tell me.”

Theo looked shocked and pulled away from Harry. Draco was touched that his best friend was so offended by the idea that Draco could know where escaped Death Eaters were. Draco wasn’t offended though. Potter was an Auror and he was checking off his boxes of potential leads. It made sense to ask Draco. Hermione and Theo both seemed to disagree.

“Harry, how dare you ask Draco that?” Hermione chastised.

“Draco is not in contact with those people,” Theo continued.

“He would never hide their whereabouts from the authorities,” Hermione continued. “To even think that is—”

“Hermione, love,” Draco cut her off, “I’m not offended. Potter’s doing his job. And no. I have no idea where any of them are, Potter. But I can see if mother has heard anything. I doubt it, since she likely would have told me. But you never know.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, making no move to apologize for his assumption. “We don’t know how the Death Eaters were controlling the dragons, but they appear to be full dragons, not Dracun. At least, that’s what we think. If Hermione can come in to confirm as our dragon consultant, that would be helpful.”

“Sure. This afternoon?”

Harry nodded. “Great. Robards will be so pleased.” Hermione smirked in response. “I don’t have any other news. There was a lot of property damage. Fourteen dead. Thirty injured, three severely.” More grim silence overtook the room. “We’re in the middle of developing a response plan should another dragon attack happen. The DRCMC is up in arms. I assume you’ll be getting a series of owls, Hermione.”

She nodded. “Do we know who died yet?”

“No. We’ve only determined there were deaths because we took the memories of eye witnesses. There were very few…remains.”

An uneasy silence overtook the room.

“We’ll also have to start drafting legislation,” Hermione thought aloud. “We can submit it to the Wizengamot as soon as possible. And we can hope for rights before they try and regulate us. Rolf, Luna, and I will work on that,” she delegated. “Draco, you, Neville, and Theo draft a short missive to the Prophet. Then, we’ll sit down with the Quibbler and give an interview,” Hermione decided. “Harry will keep us in the loop about the attack and anything they learn. Rolf, work your contacts. Draco, reach out to Narcissa. If anyone else has any leads at all, bring them to me.”

Theo chuckled and few others smiled.

“If that’s okay with you, Draco,” Hermione added, flushing.

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Of course, love. Whatever you want.”

Ron groaned while others laughed at Draco’s devotion.

“In the meantime, we transform everyone as fast as we can,” Hermione continued, spurred on by Draco’s approval. “The Weasleys today, if we can. We should seek out the other ancient families, see if we can find them. We’ll also have to reach out to Percy, Charlie, and Bill,” Hermione continued, “Since we can assume they’re also Dracun.”

“Oooh! I want to go to Romania!” Luna clapped in excitement. “Can we come?” the blond asked Hermione.

Hermione looked between Luna and Draco. “I mean…sure?”

“Excellent! Gryn, you will not believe how many dragons they have at the sanctuary,” Luna began gushing. “They’re all so fantastic. And the dragon tamers there—” Gryn growled in such an aggressive manner, Hermione thought that he might sporadically transform back into a dragon. Luna laughed at his ire. “Don’t worry, love, all in the past. But you will adore them. Such lovely people.”

“Today?” Ron cut in. “When?”

“How much time will you need to write the article, Draco?” Hermione asked.

He had no idea. He wasn’t much a writer and was confused as to why Hermione was commissioning him for the task, but he had no desire to challenge her leadership. “Perhaps a few hours?”

“It’s just a short paragraph or two. Explain who we are and say more information will come, we mean no harm, that sort of thing.”

He blinked at her. “So…maybe an hour?”

“Okay, great. We’ll do the ritual around 10:30?” Everyone around the table nodded. “Ginny, you’re in charge to informing Bill and Percy. They’ll be up next after Fred, George, and Ron.”

Ginny saluted Hermione. “Aye, aye, Alpha.”

Draco stated, “Get your affairs in order, Weasleys, you’ll need a good two weeks off of work.”

The horde went about their separate ways armed with their different tasks. Hermione kissed Draco goodbye a tad on the indecent side, then left to go to the library with Rolf and Luna. Theo, Neville, and Pansy joined Draco at the table (Potter slunk off to bed) where they spent a solid hour writing out one paragraph. Really, it took far too long to achieve their goal. They were all rubbish at their task. It didn’t help that Theo kept making absurd suggestions and Neville and Pansy were entirely distracted by one another.

Finally, when Hermione came down just before the ritual was about to start, she read his paragraph and gave him a sharp nod. She changed a few words here and there, but otherwise, she told him to owl it to the Prophet.

It read:

The Dracun: A New Species

As many of you have been made aware, there is a new hybrid species that is both human and dragon. You will have noted that this new species, the Dracun, put a stop to the attack on Diagon Alley this past Thursday. The Dracun are peaceful and do not seek to attack humans or dragons. The Dracun will be donating funds to help with the repairs incurred during the rescue of Diagon Alley. At this time, Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom ask for their privacy. In the coming days, both will sit down to an exclusive interview about the Dracun.

Chapter Text

Mid August, 2007

The transitions were fairly seamless. By that point, it was old hat for the Dracun to run a ritual. Fred and Geroge were both Swedish Short Snouts, entirely indistinguishable one from the other, much like their human bodies. However, now that they were part of the horde, Draco had the innate ability to sense who they were and knew getting them confused would not be a problem. Ron was a Welsh Green, to Gryn’s surprised delight. Theo, Ginny, and Blaise were tasked with watching over the new Dracun (much to Theo’s annoyance).

Draco forced Lee and Angelina to stay away during the manifestation for two reasons. The first was that, while they all hoped Fred and George’s current spouses would turn out to be their mates, there was always the chance they would not be—which would have some pretty intense fallout. The second was that, if they were each other’s mates, there would be another repeat of Blaise and Ginny, which no one wanted to deal with. So, the spouses would not be allowed to return until the Weasleys had some semblance of control over their dragon forms.

The interview with Xenophilius was planned for the day after the three Weasley’s transition. It had to happen quickly not just because of the overwhelming number of owls that Neville and Draco were getting, but also because Neville and Pansy were going to complete the mating as soon as the interview was done and were barely holding on. Also, Neville had to return to work shortly. He had requested a delayed start from McGonagall citing “personal reasons” and she had readily agreed to push Herbology classes to mid-September, buying him some time. Draco wondered what she thought about Neville’s hybrid identity, but then again McGonagall was friends with Hagrid, so…

Draco invited all of those willing to participate in the interview to join him in the lounge that night. Neville, Luna, and Gryn were the only ones who joined. Draco could not blame his horde for their reluctance with going public. Hybrid species were notoriously oppressed and shamed in wizarding society. Besides, if one of the Weasley’s revealed themselves, they would all be outed, since it was known to be a blood curse.

“What’s the plan?” Neville asked Hermione who was perched on Draco’s lap.

Hermione played with his hair absently. “You’ve all already seen the questions Xenophilius will ask,” Hermione answered, “Just stay on script. He’s not Rita. He’ll make sure that our story is accurate instead of a series of lies.” Draco stroked her hip, hoping to calm her down. She always got riled up whenever she talked about Rita Skeeter.

“Yeah, dad will be great,” Luna contributed.

“Are you sure you want to participate, Luna?” Hermione asked. “It’s a big deal.”

She kissed Gryn’s cheek and smiled. “Of course! I don’t care how anyone views me. The ones who matter already know.”

“You told your dad?” Neville asked, surprised.

Luna nodded. “This morning.”

“How’d he take it?” Draco asked.

“Well,” Luna replied, she looked to Gryn for confirmation. “What did you think?”

Gryn nodded. “Phil likes me.”

“Phil?” Hermione asked.

Luna chuckled. “Gryn says his name is too long. He calls him Phil. Dad likes it. He was very curious about the ritual and all that, but I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Gyrn?” Draco continued, “You want to be in the interview?”

“No,” the man replied as if it were obvious.

“Then…?”

“I go where my Luna goes,” Gryn said simply.

“So, you’ll be at Xenophilius’ tomorrow?” Hermione clarified.

“Yes, Alpha woman.”

Draco chuckled at Hermione’s awkwardness at the moniker. She got so self conscious when the others referred to her as their leader. Draco did not understand why. He liked it immensely. It validated how important she was.

“Excellent,” Draco spoke, “We’ll all meet there for 1 pm?”

“And—er—what are we saying again?” Neville asked. He had an awkwardness about him that Draco had not seen in years. It reminded him of Neville from school.

Luna placed a comforting hand on Neville’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Nev. Dad’s really easy to talk to, remember?”

“Keep to the basics,” Hermione said. “Blood curse; you can control yourselves; you are different from the dragons who attacked Diagon; you came to our rescue and saved many lives.”

“And when they ask about how we became Dracun?” Neville inquired.

Hermione glanced at Draco who nodded for her to keep talking. “Well, this is still tricky. We don’t want people thinking they might just randomly wake up as a dragon, because that won’t happen. But we don’t want to talk about the ritual too publicly.”

“I’ll take those questions. I’ll say that a spell is needed to activate the curse in the blood of those affected,” Draco said. “And that it requires the consent of the person afflicted. I stumbled across it in an old book in the Manor and transformed myself. Something like that, right, Hermione?”

She nodded at him. “It’s the best we can do to make people not worry they will become a Dracun randomly and to show that we are not forcing people into it. I just hope we can get these laws put into place in the next year.” Hermione sighed heavily. “Why is bureaucracy so slow?” she bemoaned.

“Nothing about mates, right?” Neville continued, evidently still worried about the interview.

“Correct,” Draco replied. “The less we can say about ourselves, the better. Right now, people are afraid enough as is. Learning that they may have some mystical dragon mate will not help our case.”

“How’re you feeling about the bonding?” Hermione asked with a smile.

 Neville’s cheeks darkened. “Oh. Well. Uh. Excited.,” he muttered to the ground.

Luna clapped her hands in delight. “Neville, I’m so happy for you!”

“It does feel a bit rushed. But—er school starts soon, so I kind of need to get this done now so that I can return to work.”

Draco highly doubted Neville would be able to return to work any time soon after the bonding. But he supposed the man didn’t work a normal 9-5 and only had a few classes a week. He could apparate to Hogwarts for class, then spend the rest of his time in Pansy’s arms. That’s what Draco would do in his shoes.

“Any—er—questions?” Hermione asked. “About the bonding or the interview?”

Neville’s cheeks bloomed again. “No. I’m all set. Theo gave me a long talking to…”

Draco rolled his eyes, not sure how helpful Theo could have been.

“We’re all set,” Luna replied brightly.

Neville stood to his full height and stretched. “I’m exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gryn stood as well and pulled Luna bodily into his arms. “Good evening,” the man called to the group. Instead of making for the door, like Neville, Gryn turned toward the balcony outside of the lounge and leapt into the air with Luna. The two of them transformed mid leap and flew off together.

Draco, following Gryn’s lead, pulled Hermione into his arms and carried her to their palatial bedroom.

Hours later, as Hermione caught her breath, she asked him, “Are you worried about the interview tomorrow?”

Draco kissed her nipple making her squirm. “No. I’d rather not do it. But it has to be done.” Draco snuggled his head into her chest. She kissed his hair. “Are you worried?”

Hermione took a moment to respond. “Yes,” she admitted. “I hate the press, even if we can trust Xenophilius, who knows what the others will publish? And I’m not quite ready for the hatred that I know will be directed our way. I’m sure there are already articles, I’ve just been avoiding them at all costs.”

“We’ll face it together,” Draco promised. Hermione’s arms tightened around him. “Can I ask…”

“What?” her voice was sleepy.

“Why are you so uncomfortable when the horde calls you our leader.”

“I…” she remained silent for a while. “I mean. You’re the leader. Aren’t you?”

Draco said, “I am. But so are you. We lead together.” She did not reply. “Unless, the reason you hate it so much is that you don’t want to be the leader.”

She brushed that idea off. “No, I want to. I just don’t want you to feel like I’m taking over. This is your horde. I’m just your mate.”

Draco pulled back so that he could look into her worried eyes. “Hermione. Love. First of all, this is our horde. We are all part of it and responsible for it—that’s part of our rules, remember? And secondly, you’re far more than ‘just my mate’. You’re a genius, you’re excellent at organizing people, and your status as my mate gives you as much power as me.”

She blushed in response. “Does it?”

“Of course. You are my mate. You are not only chosen by me, you are chosen by our horde. I did not command them to listen to you, but they have all elected you as their leader. Because you are good at it.”

It was Hermione’s turn to snuggle into his chest. He held her comfortingly. “You mean it?”

“Yes, love.”

“Draco Malfoy is a sickening romantic,” Hermione muttered into his chest. “Who would have thought?” Draco chuckled at her.

*

THE QUIBBLER

EXCLUSIVE: Dark Dragons, Dracun, and Defending Diagon

August 19, 2007

Last week, Diagon Alley was rocked by an all out dragon attack during the lunch hour. The street was busy with families preparing for the school year and no one had expected their normal day to turn into tragedy. In an exclusive interview, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, and Hermione Granger gave information about the attack. Malfoy and Longbottom have reached infamy for their transformation from dragons to humans that was captured on camera. Granger joins us as a victim of the attack, giving an on the ground perspective.

Here is what we know: the dragons that attacked Diagon Alley did so unprovoked and were being controlled by Dark magical folk. The dragons opened fire on Diagon Alley seemingly with no plan, apart from destruction. Fourteen were killed by the Dark dragons and twelve more injured. Auror reports have confirmed no minors perished in the attack.

Malfoy and Longbottom were near the Alley when they heard the screams. They took to the skies as dragons and fought off the Dark attackers, killing the dragons and their respective riders. Granger describes the scene as a violent, bloody battle.

Malfoy and Longbottom were both badly wounded in the attack and were only able to sit down to talk with the Quibbler today.

In the attack, numerous buildings were destroyed and a whopping 500 000 galleons of damage has been tallied in Diagon Alley due to destroyed products and building repairs. Malfoy has announced that his personal vault as well as his Apothecary (Nott Your Average Apothecary) will be donating the cost of the damages to help with the restoration efforts.

The Auror Office has not commented on the recent attack beyond their statement made to the Daily Prophet last week. They continue to reassure the public that they are investigating the incident and for everyone to stay on guard. Fireproof clothing has never sold out so fast.

I was left with many burning questions, which Malfoy and Longbottom answered.

As we well know, it is impossible to be a dragon animagus or transfigure oneself into a dragon due to the magic required—so how did Malfoy and Longbottom achieve it? The answer appears to be simple: A blood curse.

Though neither know why they have this blood curse, they reassured me that while others may have it as well, it cannot be activated without a spell. In Malfoy’s own words, “The spell requires the consent of the afflicted. You can’t just go around turning people into dragons against their will.” When I asked how one knows if they have the curse, Malfoy simply replied, “Tell them to send me an owl. I’ll let them know.”

Rather cryptic of an answer. He reassured me that I do not carry the curse. However, my own daughter does! Luna Lovegood sat in on this interview and explained that she, like Longbottom, consented to undergoing her transformation and she calls her new identity “a blessing.”

This new hybrid species calls themselves the Dracun. They are able to shift between human and dragon form at will and with no harm to themselves or others. Granger and Lovegood explained that as magical creature advocates, they are working closely with the Ministry to create new legislation around this new class of species.

Malfoy assures us “the Dracun do not wish to harm humans, magical or otherwise. We are here to protect humanity against this new threat of cursed dragons.”

The Dracun do not seem to know any more about the cursed dragons, nor their riders, but they encouraged any citizens who might have heard of anything remotely suspicious involving dragons to reach out to them or the Auror Office.

The Dracun can be reached at the address below. The Dracun have requested that no mail be forwarded to their personal addresses, as it will be returned unread.

“This is new to all of us,” Longbottom said, “We need to time to adjust and to understand our role in society. But we are here to help.”

- Xenophilius Lovegood, Ottery St. Catchpole.

*

Draco found himself not spending nearly enough time in Hermione’s presence in the following days. She was stretched thin between working with the Ministry, writing out Dracun legislation with Luna and Rolf, and still trying to do her regular job to get the werewolf sanctuary off the ground.

It was a tough a few days without being constantly at her side. They spent the evenings in Kent wrapped in one another’s arms and making love. During the day, Draco began planning out combat training. It was clear from their attack that the Dracun were sorely lacking when it came to combat skills, a fact which would need to be quickly be rectified, especially if the Death Eaters had managed to get more dragons to somehow obey them.

Draco also spent his time conversing with the hordes in Noddfa, asking about dragon fighting techniques (not that they knew many, being such a peaceful species) and asking if they had ever heard about dragons being controlled by humans. Draco learned a few helpful combat tricks when it came to angles of attack and protecting the neck, though they were fairly intuitive. The Greens had never heard of humans controlling dragons and were aghast. They asked that if more of these “abominable humans” were found, to bring the Greens along to the fight. Draco agreed, albeit, hesitantly. He did not want to put his friends in harm’s way.

*

THE DAILY PROPHET: OP-ED

The Dracun: Are they really our saviours?

Lavender Brown

August 22, 2007

All of our minds are abuzz with the recent exclusive interview given to the Quibbler by Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Hermione Granger. The Prophet has reached out to the Dracun reception and requested an interview but we have not yet received any comment.

I, like you, dear readers, am left with many questions about the Dracun. Are they really here to help us face this new threat of dragon attacks or are they really the cause of these attacks? Before we had ever seen the Dracun, there were no dragon attacks and now when a random dragon attack occurs, it happens to be when the Dracun reveal themselves? A coincidence…?

There are many details lacking about this so-called “blood curse”: Who is afflicted? Why? How is Malfoy able to tell if one is afflicted? Is there anything we can do to stop the curse from infecting us?

And why should we believe Mr. Malfoy who lied to the public upon his return from his so-called coma? Was he hiding this blood curse all along?

As summer break comes to a close, I am left wondering: is it safe for a member of an unknown hybrid species to be allowed to teach our children? How can we trust Longbottom will not harm those most vulnerable, if even by accident? As the man admitted, he has only recently accepted his curse and turned into a “Dracun.” This author is left wondering why on earth he would do so.

While I would never want to imply that non-human intelligent beings do not merit to be full members of society, it is worth questioning a species that has never existed until a few days ago. How do we know what they are? What are their strengths, weaknesses, life spans, magical abilities? This author will get to the bottom of it.

The Auror Office has refused to comment as this time.

• Lavender Brown, London

*

Hermione walked into the dining room crumpling up the Daily Prophet in frustration. She lit it on fire and disappeared the ashes with wandless magic, impressing Draco.

“Lavender is so annoying!” she screamed.

Draco prepared a plate of food for her, instead of responding. He knew carbs would help with her mood, since she had skipped most of breakfast and only opted for a banana—not enough sustenance. Hermione absently thanked him.

“Can you believe her?” she grumbled to Neville who was seated across from Draco, Pansy on the former’s lap. Draco had been shocked to see Neville and Pansy emerge from their bonding bedroom. But the way they were hyper connected emphasized that they would not be anywhere near ready to go about their days individually yet.

Hermione took her seat at the head of the table, where Draco always insisted she sat.

Neville was annoyed, they had been talking about it before Hermione arrived. “I’m not surprised,” Neville said to Hermione. “We knew it would be bad. There is no way to stop her kind of thinking. People know werewolves can have medicine to render them entirely safe and they still see them as abominations and are forced to hide their true identities. The fact of the matter is that we will be subject to the same treatment now…maybe forever.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “No. I refuse to let that happen. This is our chance to start fresh! We have to publish something clarifying that Lavender’s statements are fear-mongering and dangerous and how on earth was it even published as news?!”

Draco tried to hand her a fork, she batted his hand away.

“It was published as an op-ed,” Draco told her.

Hermione grumbled, “I’ll show you an op-ed.” She stood from the table and started stalking away.

“Hermione!” Draco called. “You need to eat.”

Hermione stopped walking and spun around on him. She sulked heartily. “Fine. But then I’m going to write an op-ed and it’s going to be published in the Daily Prophet and Lavender Brown is going to regret the day she picked up a quill!”

Draco smiled at her. He loved when she got all righteous.

“I’m so sorry, Neville,” Hermione said after a few bites of food. “I didn’t even think to ask how you’re feeling. Surely, they won’t be firing you. McGonagall would never.”

Neville shrugged. “She knows I’m Dracun. It was why she granted my delayed start to school. But…there is the board of directors to contend with.” He sighed. “I could be fired.”

Draco could tell the man was downplaying his worry. He loved teaching and it might be ripped away from him.

Pansy cupped his cheek. “I’ll blackmail them all,” she vowed. “You would not believe the dirt I have.”

Hermione stood up again. “I’ll owl her first. There is no way she can cave to pressure to get you sacked. I refuse. You are completely safe. It’s not like you’re going to go feral and attack children or something!”

“Hermione, sit down,” Draco ordered.

She plopped back in her seat without meaning to. Hermione frowned and looked at him. “Don’t Alpha me,” she said with narrowed eyes.

“Please,” Draco raised his hands placatingly. “Just finish your plate. Then we can go pay a visit to McGonagall in person. You just need to eat first.”

Hermione muttered under her breath in annoyance and cleaned her plate with an impressive speed.

As Draco, Pansy, Neville, and Hermione made their way to the apparition spot, they ran into Blaise. He was sporting a box full of envelopes. The man was without Ginny for once and looked as pissed as Hermione was.

“Draco, a word,” Blaise said.

“We’re in a bit of a hurry, Blaise,” Hermione replied for him.

Blaise raised his perfect eyebrow at Hermione but refrained from saying anything annoying, for which Draco was thankful. He turned his body back to Draco. “I need help,” Blaise said with no preamble. “I can’t be the only one assigned to reading through all this shit. Besides, what if it’s cursed? You know I’m shit at detection spells, let alone breaking curses…”

Draco tapped his fingers on his thigh. “Theo. Theo can help you. He’s not amazing at counter-curses, but his detection spells should be strong thanks to our mastery courses.”

“He’ll complain the whole time,” Blaise said.

“All Theo does is complain. And Ragnar. Get Ragnar to help too.”

Hermione shot Draco a surprised look.

“What? He’s here most days anyway. Might as well put him to use.”

Neville laughed. “Good luck, mate.”

Blaise called after them as they walked away, “You know I never agreed to do work!”

Draco grinned back at him. “Sorry, mate. Comes with the territory. You gotta pull your own.”

“I’m already doing stupid patrols once a week,” Blaise shouted as they got further away.

“Good luck with the mail. If there’s anything pressing, call me.”

Blaise shot him the finger. Draco winked and turned back forward. As they descended the steps, he called out to Theo mentally, unsure where his second even was.

Draco pulled out his mobile phone and awkwardly tried to navigate to Theo’s contact. Hermione wordlessly took the phone away from him, dialed Theo’s number, and put it on speaker phone. Hermione (via Draco’s money) had outfitted the entire horde with muggle mobile phones. Draco found them tricky to understand, but incredibly convenient.

Theo picked up on the fifth ring. The sound of people talking was loud in the background.

“Draco, you would not believe how busy the apothecary is this morning. Everyone is trying to see if you’ll show up. I keep telling them you have turned into a silent partner but nothing seems to be working. I fear we’ll have to install some sort of charm that will only let those in who actually want to buy something,” his best friend moaned in annoyance. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“Fuck. I forgot you’re at work.”

“Yes, Draco. At our apothecary. When can I expect you to start working here again?”

Draco rolled his eyes. He had actually been spending a few hours there a day since returning to the real world after mating Hermione. The dragon attack had just disrupted things rather spectacularly.

“Well, I’m hardly interested now that people are showing up just to gawk at me.”

“People always gawk at you. It’s your unnatural hair colour,” Theo commented. Draco scoffed.

“He’s not wrong,” Pansy commented.

“Is that Pansy?” Theo asked. “How’s the new mate, love?”

Pansy smiled coyly at Neville. “He’s great,” she commented.

“I need more information than that, Parks. What’s he like in bed? I know we’ve been speculating for years at this point—”

“Theo,” Draco cut in. “Not the time.”

Changing gears, Theo replied, “So, tomorrow, then? I can put you on the roster, Draco?”

“Theo, shush, that’s not why I called.”

“Oh, well make it speedy. I have to get back out there. Figure out how to cast a charm that will repel gawkers…hey is Hermione near you? I bet she could figure it out.”

“Hi, Theo,” Hermione chimed in brightly.

They had reached the courtyard and were standing around the phone.

“Hermione, darling. How is your day?” Theo asked.

Hermione shot Draco a look and laughed at Theo’s tone. “Oh, just off to secure Neville’s job then destroy Lavender Brown’s career.”

“And this is why I love you, Hermione,” Theo replied. “Such a badass.”

“Aren’t you in a rush, Theo?” Neville asked.

“Who is that? Nev? Oh, that makes sense. So give my your opinion on the bonding, Nev. Scale of 1 to 10.”

“Nott, can you please focus for one second,” Draco groaned.

Theo laughed. “Sorry. Listen, Neville, it’s all tosh what Lavender is saying. Don’t worry. Hermione’s on the case, she’ll fix it.”

“No pressure,” Hermione muttered.

“And if the board tries anything,” Pansy reminded them, “I have the blackmail necessary to put a stop to that.”

“Right, so when you’re done at The Prophet, will you swing ‘round the apothecary and see about creating a charm to help me out?” Theo asked.

“Hermione is too busy for that,” Draco cut in. “She’s still working on five different high priority things. Our apothecary will have to wait.”

“Figures you’d say that.”

Hermione suggested, “Give Bill a call. He’s a curse breaker. He can probably help.”

Draco said to Theo, “Forget about the spell. I need you here, helping Blaise with the mail.”

“The mail? Draco, no.”

“Theo. Yes.”

“Draaaaacoooo,” Theo whined. “No. I need to be here at the shop. Things are wild.”

“Theo,” Draco warned.

Hermione, however, placed a hand on his arm. “Theo,” she said into the phone. “Stay at the store. You’re needed there. Ragnar will help Blaise. Luna and Rolf can help too. They were taking a break when I left for lunch.”

“See, Hermione always knows best. Okay, ciao bellas, I need to call a Weasley,” Theo replied and the line disconnected.

Draco called to Luna and Rolf mentally. Both agreed to tackle the mail with Blaise. Draco pulled Hermione close to him and nodded at Neville. The four of them disappeared to the Hogwarts gates.

*

McGonagall looked old. Older than Draco remembered. But she was still spry. She greeted them all happily and wasted no time in diving into the subject at hand. No-nonsense, as always.

“You’re worried about your job,” McGonagall stated. She pushed a grey hair behind her ear.

“Yes,” Neville replied evenly.

He and Pansy were doing a decent job at acting normal. They were only holding hands and sitting a tad too close instead of Pansy being fully on his lap.

“No need,” McGonagall responded. “You will always have a job here while I am headmistress. Though, you should know a few board members have already reached out. Most are in favour of keeping you or have no opinion, but three are staunchly against. I will deal with them.”

Pansy stiffened.

“Thank you, Minerva.”

Draco shuddered. It was weird to hear her first name and even weirder that Neville called her that.

“But I must ask, do you still want your job? I imagine you are managing a lot right now. Will you be able to handle teaching on top of everything?” McGonagall peered over her spectacles at Neville.

Neville turned to Draco.

“We’ll make sure it can work,” Draco replied.

“I would like to try,” Neville said to McGonagall. “It’s a bit late to back out anyway.” He reflected for a moment, “Don’t we have that mastery student who requested to do their studies here? I could take them on. They could help out with teaching. Or fill in if anything happens to me.”

A silence stretched on at the implication that Neville would be chased out of the job or otherwise incapable of working due to some unforeseen attack.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Pansy said decisively, the conviction clear in her voice.

“Be honest with me,” McGonagall stated, “Is it Death Eaters?”

Hermione replied. “Yes. One of them had a Dark Mark on him. We don’t know if they’re original followers or some new group using his symbol. All we know is it takes extreme Dark magic to overpower and control a dragon like they did. The dragons did not want to attack. But they could not fight it.”

McGonagall nodded. She sighed and stared off, looking even older. “As I feared.”

“Are you not curious about the Dracun?” Draco asked despite himself.

McGonagall looked at him. “Of course I am, Mr. Malfoy. But my curious mind has gotten me into far more trouble than I can account for. And at my age, I know when it is time to ask a question and when it is not. Clearly you are not ready to reveal more about your situation than you have already.” McGonagall eyed Draco’s hand in Hermione’s, then Neville’s in Pansy’s. “But I know Hermione will probably be publishing a textbook on the Dracun species. And I, for one, cannot wait to read it.” Hermione smiled at her former professor. “Apart from that, know that we are at your disposal.”

“We?” Neville asked.

“Why yes. Myself, and the members of the Order of Phoenix. If we face another Dark magic threat, be it Death Eaters or others, the Order will stand with you. Always.”

Draco felt a strange prickling overtake his body. He had never been on the good side before. It was…nice.

“Thank you, professor,” Draco replied.

McGonagall inclined her head in response.

“So, that’s really it?” Neville asked suddenly. “I-I don’t have to worry about my job? I’m still employed?”

“Of course, Neville. You are a fantastic herbologist. The students love you. And the staff would be devastated if you left. We’ll see you in two weeks.”

Dismissed, the foursome thanked McGonagall for her time and made their way through Hogwarts.

*

THE DAILY PROPHET: OP-ED

Hermione Granger

The Fight for Justice for Magical Creatures

August 23, 2007

As someone who works for the Society for the Protection of Endangered and Rare Magical Creatures (S.P.E.R.M.C.) and a former high-ranking employee in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, I can say that I have years of professional experience under my belt fighting for equality and justice on behalf of magical creatures. I know the struggles of magical creatures and I understand how de-humanizing magical folk can be. I refuse to sit by while this de-humanization happens again from this very news journal.

Yesterday’s Op-Ed by Lavender Brown was an example of discrimination and fear-mongering at its best. While I can appreciate the fear that many may have, as the Dracun are a new species, immediately assuming that they are going to harm innocents or that they are unfit to teach children is pure discrimination.

Lavender Brown’s accusations may lead to the Dracun being harassed, attacked, and chased from their employment. They have done nothing wrong. They have defended magical kind and saved countless lives in Diagon Alley last week. We know that the threat comes from the Dark magic users who are forcing dragons to attack against their will.

The fact that the Prophet let such an incendiary Op-Ed be published is frankly an embarrassment to the news journal. Selling papers should not outweigh the importance for accurate news. Fearmongering has no place within rigorous journalistic standards. I, for one, hope to never see such blatant discrimination in the Prophet again, or I will be unsubscribing from the journal.

As a magical creatures expert, I have been granted access to the Dracun to help understand this new species, as well as enshrine protective laws into our constitution. As noted in the Quibbler article, please direct all correspondence to the Dracun’s security box at Gringotts.

• Hermione Granger, London.

*

THE DAILY PROPHET: RETRACTION

The Dracun: Are they really our saviours?

Gordon Hungpike

August 25, 2007

As Editor in Chief of the Daily Prophet, it is my job to ensure the journalistic rigour of our news journal. However, a recent opinion editorial by one of our regular contributors should never have been published. In future publications, whether they be news reports or op-eds, the Prophet will ensure that our contributors are not inciting fear, violence, or using discriminatory language. We have committed to reviewing our journal’s policies as well as reviewing all of our contributors. We thank the wizarding community for their patience with us as we strive to remain the most trusted news source in the United Kingdom.

• Gordon Hungpike, London

Chapter Text

Late August, 2007.

Draco found Hermione frowning down at a suitcase in their bedroom in Kent. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “It’s only one night, Hermione.”

She sighed. “But what if I end up needing ten pairs of underwear?”

Draco laughed at her. “Then I’ll conjure you some. But for some reason, I doubt that you’ll need any underwear at all,” Draco murmured into her ear, his hand descending down her stomach.

Hermione’s breathing sped up but she stepped away. “None of that right now. I need to finish packing.”

“Just a quick round?” Hermione crossed her arms. “Fine. Let me help you pack,” he offered instead.

Draco sifted through her clothing and teased her for packing far too many outfits. He pulled out several items of clothing from her overburdened suitcase. When he reached her scandalous bathing suit, he turned to her, holding it up.

“What’s this for? Not that I’m complaining.”

“They have hot springs,” she explained. “They’re divine. Did you not pack any swim trunks?”

“I could always go in nude,” Draco suggested.

Hermione shoved his chest and laughed. “Other people will be there, Draco.”

“Fair point.” He summoned his luggage and opened it. A quick flick of his wand had his swim trunks folding themselves and being added to the small bag.

Draco returned to her luggage. “I think you’re ready now. A reasonable amount of clothing.”

She rolled her eyes but she also thanked him heartfeltly. “We should head down. The portkey leaves soon.”

Draco took both of their bags and held them with one hand, using his free one to hold her hand. Hermione teased, “Show off.”

“You like seeing how strong I am,” he replied, pumping his eyebrows. The faint scent of her desire confirmed his assertion.

Draco apparated them into the Yhalis courtyard. Luna, Gryn, and Theo awaited them in the entryway.

Theo started talking before they could say anything. “Are you sure I can’t join you?”

“Yes, Theo,” Draco repeated for the nth time, “You are needed here. And your mate is here. There’s no way you want to be so far from him.”

Theo crossed his arms and sulked. “Second duties are so boring.”

Luna ignored him. “I can’t wait! Gryn has never used a portkey before. I think he’ll be sick, so I gave him a potion.”

“It did not taste good,” Gryn commented in his deep voice. Luna laughed at him.

Theo held their portkey in a handkerchief. Draco took it from him. “Hold down Yhalis, Theo. If anything, call me.”

Theo wiggled his phone. “Same goes for you,” Theo replied.

“Keep an eye on—”

“Yes, I know, Daddy Draco. Keep an eye on the Weasleys, on Rolf, on Yhalis, on potential threats, on Harry—no, you never said it, but I know you mean to include him on your list. On the Ministry…the list goes on.”

Draco smiled despite himself. “You forgot the apothecary,” he commented.

Theo shot him a look. “No, I did not. I’m still there once a day. You, on the other hand, are a terrible business partner.”

Draco laughed good naturedly. Theo surprised him by pulling him into a hearty hug. “Be safe,” the tall brunette muttered.

Draco hugged him back.

“It’s almost time,” Hermione warned.

Theo planted a wet kiss on Draco’s cheek. “Be good!” he wished them.

Draco shoved him away and wiped at his face in displeasure. “Nott, for the love of—” Hermione was suddenly shoving his hand to the button in the handkerchief and they were spinning off in a swirl of colours.

Draco landed roughly, not having taken a portkey in years. Hermione and Luna were on their feet and Gryn was retching on the grass. Luna bent to Gryn and pat his back comfortingly.

“That’s it, get it all out,” Luna murmured in a soft voice.

Hermione helped Draco to his feet. “Alright?” she asked.

Draco wiped at his still wet cheek. “Fucking Theo,” he muttered.

Draco looked around and took in the mountainous area. It was similar to Noddfa but the mountains were much taller and craggier. A short distance away was a very large building that was evidently the sanctuary commons. Farther along, Draco saw what looked like smaller cabins and even a Quidditch pitch. He raised his eyes and saw a few dragons flying off in the distance.

“Beautiful, no?” Hermione asked.

He wrapped his arm around her waist. “Nowhere near as beautiful as you,” he murmured.

Hermione grinned back at him. “I love you.”

Gryn had stopped retching and was standing on shaky legs. Luna remained pleased, despite the rough start to the trip. “Shall we?” she asked in her dreamy voice.

Hermione took Draco’s hand and pulled him toward the stone building. As they neared the double doors, someone opened one and stepped out. He was obviously a Weasley. Given the context, Draco assumed Charlie Weasley. The redhead sported a single dragon fang earring, tight leather pants, and a button up shirt that was barely done up. Draco let loose a long suffering sigh. Theo would be insufferable about Charlie, Draco could already tell.

As they got closer, Charlie rubbed at his chest at the same time as Draco. He frowned momentarily but his smile quickly overtook his face when he pulled Hermione and Luna into a three-way hug.

“Luna! Hermione!”

“Charlie!” the women declared.

Gryn and Draco were none too pleased with the touching, though it was clear Charlie, being the most obviously gay man one could ever see, posed no threat to their claim on their respective mates.

Charlie pulled out of the hug. He offered his hand to Draco. “Charlie Weasley.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco replied, shaking his hand. A spark of energy shot between them. Charlie frowned again but let it go.

He offered his hand to Gryn. “Charlie Weasley,” the man repeated.

“Gryn,” Gryn replied.

“Just Gryn,” Luna clarified. She was once again wrapped around Gryn’s tall body. “I’m told dragons don’t really do last names. But if he had one, it’d be ‘of the Eastern Horde.’”

Charlie stared at Gryn, his hand still in the man’s. Gryn’s pupils flashed to slits for an eerie second. Charlie stumbled back a step.

He cleared his throat. “So…the Prophet…it wasn’t fake?” Charlie glanced at Draco.

“Lots to catch up on,” Hermione cut in. “Let’s go to your cabin.”

Charlie was by far Draco’s favourite Weasley. The man did not ask a single follow up question, he just led the way, pointing out the different structures as they went. Behind a copse of trees were the famed hot springs. Draco was distracted thinking about Hermione in scraps of fabric.

Charlie brought them to his cabin which he unlocked with a few waves of his wand. The group shuffled inside the small space. It was made entirely of wood (which felt silly in a dragon sanctuary) the room was open concept with a queen bed, a two-seater sofa, a small dining table with two chairs, a kitchenette area and a door that Draco assumed led to a bathroom.

Charlie took the bed while Luna and Gryn sat on the sofa and Hermione and Draco the chairs. “Tea anyone?” Charlie asked.

“Do you have any ginger?” Luna asked. “Gryn could probably use some.”

Charlie busied himself with the kettle while Hermione and Luna prattled on about random updates from European sanctuaries, avoiding the topic at hand. When Gryn was sipping on tea, Charlie turned to Hermione.

“Your owl said it was pressing. I assume it has to do with Draco Malfoy on the front page of the Daily Prophet changing from a dragon into a human.”

Hermione smiled. “Buckle in,” she advised.

The four of them launched into their well familiar tale of Helga and the Dracun. Gryn contributed rarely, only when it had to do with Luna or his own transformation. They recounted the attack and that Charlie was most definitely a Dracun, how the youngest Weasleys had been turned, and how they were trying to figure out what was going on with the Death Eaters.

Charlie did not interrupt. He sat and listened intently to their story. When they finished, he nodded. “Right. I’ll start packing.”

Hermione laughed at him. “We’re staying the night, Charlie.”

“I need to fly around with Gryn,” Luna explained. “He wants to see how others live. He’s never left Wales before.”

“Yes,” Gryn replied. “And I wish to see these waters that are hot. My love has rope she calls a bathing suit that she wishes to wear.”

Charlie laughed heartily at that. “And so, wait—you two are…?”

“Oh, yeah. Mates,” Hermione launched into that explanation. Charlie once again took everything in stride.

“So how can I help?”

“Have you heard anything? Any rumblings about dragons being controlled, going missing?”

“Humans controlling dragons should be impossible,” Charlie replied. “It goes against everything we know.”

“The dragons I’ve spoken to have said it’s impossible. I’m hoping to ask those here as well to find out what they might know,” Draco explained.

“And the others here. Can they know about you?” Charlie asked.

“Well, everyone already knows about me,” was his response. “As for Luna and Gryn, that’s up to them.”

“They already know about me too,” Luna replied. “If they read the Quibbler. Besides, we don’t care.”

Charlie jumped to his feet. “In that case, please show me your dragon forms.”

“Wait,” Hermione interrupted. “Have you heard anything?”

“Hmm? No. I mean, actually, yes. A few dragons have gone missing from some other sanctuaries. We thought they had just left, though. They are not rehabilitation sanctuaries like Romania. Dragons come and go as they please.”

“Where?” Hermione pressed.

“I believe Albania, Japan, and New Zealand.”

“How many?”

Charlie thought for a few moments. “Maybe seven? I can confirm with Fiora. She had the intel.”

“It would be great if we could talk with everyone here, and see what they know,” Hermione explained. “We need more information if we want to prevent any future attacks.”

“I’m sure everyone will be excited to speak to a new dragon species,” Charlie replied.

“Maybe we should summon everyone and transform all at once so that we don’t have to do it twice,” Hermione suggested.

“Are you a Dracun too, Hermione?” Charlie asked in confusion.

“No, she is our leader,” Gryn explained.

Hermione blushed and looked at Draco awkwardly. “No, Draco’s our leader,” she corrected.

“Still unclear here, are you or are you not a dragon?”

“I am not Dracun,” she clarified. “But I am part of the horde, as Draco’s mate.”

Draco’s hand tightened around hers. “You are the most important part of the horde.”

Charlie laughed. “You are so cheesy. So then why did Gryn say she is the leader if Draco is the Alpha?”

Luna re-braided one her long braids. “Hermione is the brains. We listen to her.”

Charlie scratched at his chin. “Alright, then. I’ll get everyone to come to the courtyard.”

A few minutes later, a small gathering of dragon wranglers could be found on the open grass where the foursome had landed. They all looked on sceptically. Draco, Luna, and Gryn walked far away from them all. Draco could hear a few mutter about a waste of time and how there was no way they were actually dragons. He smirked in reply.

“Shall we?” Draco asked his present horde.

The Dracun transformed and the crowd just about lost it. Draco could hear Hermione laugh in response. A few dragon wranglers moved far away. Others took steps closer. A few looked terrified, but most were highly intrigued. Dragon nerds.

The horde shifted back to human form. The crowd gasped. They shifted a few times. Gryn and Luna stayed dragon while Draco returned to his human form but kept his horns visible.

The crowd descended on them and the questions were nearly as unending as Hermione’s. Luna interrupted when it was clear they would not stop.

“Gryn and I want to go flying,” she said. The crowd gasped again, since they could hear her talk in their minds. “We’ll answer questions later. Charlie come, you can sit on me and show us around.”

“Should we go with them, Hermione?” Draco asked.

“Oh yeah! I can’t wait to see and talk to the other dragons!”

“Talk to them?” Fiora, the famed dragon gossip asked in shock.

“Yeah. Dragons can communicate with humans. They just choose not to,” Hermione responded.

“Can I…ride on one of you?” Fiora asked, a hush falling over the crowd.

Hermione winced. “Sorry. Riding another dragon is uncommon. And it’s also only something people do with those that they know and trust.”

“But Charlie…”

“Charlie is my good friend,” Luna replied. She shook her neck impatiently. “Can we get a move on?”