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Summary
Hermione has two frequent visitore: Harry and Draco.
Harry visits to consult her about a case concerning a Veela.
Draco drops by for tea and biscuits, as well as some advice on how to handle Harry without the need to strangle him.
What happens when both collide and Hermione finds out the identity of Harry's Veela?
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She rereads the registration form for the twelfth time.
Name: Draco Malfoy
Species: Veela
Status: Unmated
Mate: Hermione GrangerShe had no idea… Why didn’t he tell her?
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Completed: December 14, 2024
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"Do you have any last words?" She says, as the blur of her face turns towards his. "Before I start?"
Her hands clench around each other, the pink stain of pressure spreading over her pale skin. Holding onto herself the only way she can.
He has thousands of them. Words he should have said and didn't, words he never gave enough gravity to, words that were whispered instead of shouted, words held back by worn-thin restraint. Words he choked down and swallowed, left to grow bitter in his throat, the corrupted roots sinking into his chest and twining around his heart.
"I'd do it again," he says, and she flinches at the truth. "That's all."
Winner of "Best Tragedy" for the Dragon Heartstring Hozier Flash Fest.
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Draco was surprised she had been so interested in his tattoos, but he supposed a swot like Granger probably thought he was an idiot for marking his body like that and had never known anyone as stupid as him before.
It was certainly a surprise when she appeared in his broken greenhouse the next day, just as he was inking another rune to his wrist with his wand.
‘What are you doing here, Granger?’ Draco asked, not unkindly. He turned back to his arm, his wand raised as he carried on with the rune he was tattooing in place. For a moment she didn’t reply, but he waited.
He had time.
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And then she saw it.
A set of black, Auror robes—or whatever was left of it, was discarded all over the room, like confetti from the Muggle birthday parties she used to attend. Shreds and pieces of the thick fabric were scattered everywhere she looked, her eyes flickering from one corner of the room to another. The black shirt was hung across the iron rails of the bed, missing its sleeves and parts of the fabric in the back. Her trained eyes noticed the darker, damp spots on the fabric almost immediately. Blood. Lots of it. In fact, the whole room reeked of blood and decay, but she was so used to the smell she didn't realise it at first.