Chapter Text
If Draco catching the snitch with his eyes closed had raised questions and concerns, his disapparating on Hogwarts grounds, despite the wards, caused even more.
There was an immediate uproar – shouts, accusations, fear, confusion.
As the mass of students continued to pour onto the pitch, and the level of tension rose tenfold.
Theo grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her close, ensuring they didn’t lose one another. She held firmly to his hand, like an anchor – preventing herself from being jostled about in the crowd, or drowning in fear and worry. So long as she had Theo’s hand – squeezed tightly between her fingers – she could keep moving forward.
Slowly.
Step by step.
The only problem was, her destination was unclear. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to find Draco. To soothe and comfort him. To ensure he was okay.
But where had he gone?
And how, in Albus Dumbledore’s name, was she supposed to find him when she couldn’t get out of the press of students all around her? They felt suffocating. She couldn’t breathe. She looked up at Theo and saw the same panic and worry reflected in his eyes.
Where was Draco?
And what the fuck did it mean, now that the whole school had seen what he’d done – had seen his red eyes?
Now they knew he wasn’t human anymore.
They continued to make their way down the stairs and out of the stands, pushed this way and that, with people randomly asking – shouting in Hermione’s face – if she knew her boyfriend wasn’t a wizard. Whether she knew she’d been dating a creature. Asking what kind of creature he was.
She didn’t answer them.
Didn’t have the capacity to do so.
It was taking everything in her power not to panic. To just stay calm. To make her way out of the crowd.
As they finally neared the pitch, Headmistress McGonagall’s voice boomed overhead, amplified by a particularly strong Sonorous, “All students are to remain calm and to report immediately to the Great Hall.”
There was a pause. Another surging push from the crowd.
“Remain calm,” the Headmistress’s voice rang out again. “Make your way to the Great Hall in a calm and orderly fashion for an assembly.”
Professor McGonagall’s entreaty somewhat worked.
There was less pushing. Less panic.
There was lots of speculation. Lots of theories floating about. Lots of students claiming the Slytherin quidditch win should be contested.
Hermione found her classmates" priorities decidedly questionable as she continued to fight her rising panic. She couldn’t go to the Great Hall. She couldn’t waste any time. She had to start looking for Draco now.
“Hermione!” Harry shouted from somewhere to her left, his voice strong and sure.
She looked up and scanned the crowd, unable to find him…cursing under her breath. Honestly, she was too bloody short.
“Over there,” Theo pointed with his chin – he was a good head taller than her – and pulled her towards Harry and Ginny.
They were welcome faces in the crowd. The only two who didn’t look at all surprised, or scandalised. Who didn’t immediately start asking questions about Draco.
They asked after her.
“Are you okay?” Ginny asked, immediately pulling Hermione in for a hug.
She nodded, feeling numb.
Technically she was okay. She wasn’t hurt. Not physically, at least.
But she was terrified.
“Did Malfoy give any sign something was wrong?” Harry asked. “This morning, I mean…”
Hermione reluctantly pulled away from Ginny, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.
She hadn’t realised she was crying.
“Umm…” she started, not knowing where to begin. She looked up at Theo hoping he could fill them in.
“Everything was wrong.” Theo shrugged. “His rut ended on Thursday, but…” He took a deep breath and frowned as someone pushed past him. It jostled him into Hermione, almost knocking her over.
“But what?” Harry asked, looking between the two of them.
“Like I said yesterday, his senses have remained heightened,” Hermione finished for Theo. “Excessively so. He’s been…overstimulated these last two days. Completely overloaded.” She bit her lips and looked around the pitch at the crowd. She shook her hands nervously. “We need to find him.”
Harry nodded, as Ginny rubbed Hermione’s arm soothingly. “Of course we’ll find him,” she cooed. “We’ll help,” she said, looking up at Harry.
“Absolutely,” Harry confirmed. “Where should we start—”
“The only place you’re all going,” McGonagall’s voice interrupted him, “is to the Great Hall.”
Really, how did she just appear like that – suddenly looming behind them?
“But Professor, we have to find Draco,” Hermione pleaded.
“I understand you’re worried, Miss Granger,” the headmistress started, her voice filled with…actual feeling and concern – which was surprising given how much she disliked Draco. “But Mr. Malfoy could be anywhere. We need to approach a search logically and systematically.” She raised her eyebrows, before adding, “And calmly.” She looked from Hermione, to Harry, to Ginny, to Theo, and finally back to Hermione. “Now, to the Great Hall. All of you.”
-
Once they’d arrived in the Great Hall, Harry and Ginny immediately made their way to the Gryffindor table. It was the obvious and natural thing for them to do.
Hermione, however, wasn’t so sure.
She stopped and hesitated, still holding tightly to Theo’s hand. Still relying on him to ground her. To prevent her from spiralling with worry. Somehow his presence – Draco’s best friend who’d been through so much with them of late – provided the comfort she so desperately needed.
He tilted his head. “Where to?” he asked, inherently understanding her predicament. Seemingly willing to follow wherever she wanted to go.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking at the Gryffindor table a moment. Then, she pivoted and pulled Theo with her towards the Slytherin table. She climbed over the bench and sat down, as close as possible to the end of it – near the Great Hall’s large double doors.
Theo climbed over the bench and sat next to her, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
She had, for all intents and purposes, picked a side.
Draco.
His house.
Slytherin.
A moment later, someone climbed over the bench on Theo’s other side.
Justin.
Hermione couldn’t help noticing how he slid his hand up Theo’s thigh and squeezed it reassuringly. She leaned over the table and caught his eye, nodding in greeting.
Then she turned her attention to the dais at the front of the Great Hall, bit her lips, and watched as Headmistress McGonagall made her way to the podium. The Headmistress cleared her throat, clasped her hands, and looked at the students, waiting. Her lips pursed.
It took a moment or two, but silence did eventually descend upon the Great Hall.
Absolute silence.
The headmistress cleared her throat, and looked very pointedly at each house table before beginning, “I understand that today’s events may be somewhat confusing – even concerning – to some. You have been told repeatedly that the school is protected by strong anti-apparition wards, applied by the very finest and most powerful witches and wizards.”
She paused meaningfully.
“And that is still, indeed, the case. The wards on Hogwarts were set up to prevent any and all witches or wizards from apparating on or off school grounds.”
Hermione closed her eyes, her breath coming in short bursts, knowing exactly where the headmistress’s comments were going. What they would be revealing. Unequivocally. Overtly. To the whole school.
“Mr. Malfoy, however, is no longer a wizard, and therefore the wards did not prevent him from disapparating off the quidditch pitch this afternoon.”
The Great Hall erupted into a cacophony of voices. Hermione could pick up fear, surprise, viciousness and loathing among them. There was even victory as a few students exclaimed ‘they’d known all along!’ She opened her eyes and looked around at the Slytherins who were decidedly quiet.
They’d already known Draco was different, of course, and as a house had intentionally kept it quiet. As a result, many of the jeers and comments weren’t specifically about Draco, per se, but about Slytherins in general. Their secretiveness. Their willingness to put others at risk to protect – or hide – one of their own. Their ‘disregard’ for anyone outside their house.
Many comments were directed towards Hermione, too. Did she know her boyfriend was a creature? What had he done to her? Was that why the Golden Girl was with Draco Malfoy, of all people? Allowing him to court her? In love with him?
They weren’t entirely wrong.
Hermione honestly didn’t think she and Draco would have taken up with one another if he wasn’t a creature. If he was still a wizard. A pureblood.
If she hadn’t smelled so good to him.
They’d have been made potions partners, and just barely tolerated each other. They’d have selected a difficult, but safe and predictable potion for their end of year project. They’d have brewed it to perfection. And then they would have left Hogwarts, never to cross paths again.
But Draco’s creaturehood hadn’t just changed him and his life. It had changed both of their lives. Irrevocably. Hermione couldn’t imagine her life without him, now. Couldn’t imagine a future in which Draco didn’t play an important – essential – role.
She tried desperately to ignore the comments – many of which were just plain rude or ignorant – including from her own house.
Specifically from Ron.
His were the most cutting. The most vile. Filled with hatred, disgust and loathing aimed at both her and Draco.
Was she Malfoy’s whore now? Was his creaturehood the reason she’d started behaving like a bitch in heat? Was she aware how pathetic she was? How much she’d debased herself?
That she was fucking an animal.
That she was disgusting.
“Silence!” Professor McGonagall commanded.
The hall quieted almost immediately, the tail end of Ron’s last comment “…you make me sick,” echoing through the hall.
All eyes returned to the professor.
“Mr. Malfoy is not the only student to have gained creature status since the war,” she went on. “In fact, Hogwarts is currently home to eleven werewolves, seven familiars, three vampires, one half-Veela and one unidentified hybrid.” She surveyed the students, whispering among themselves. Of course, they were all wondering who the other creatures were. Guessing who they might be. She continued, “The war has changed many of us. And not just physically. Hogwarts is also home to innumerable cases of anxiety, depression, insomnia, and what I believe the muggles refer to as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There have been more outbursts of aggression and violence this year alone than in the last ten.” She paused again. “We have all been affected by the war. We have all lost people we cared for. We have all witnessed and performed acts we never thought imaginable. But the war is – thankfully – over. We’re no longer fighting. No longer at odds with one another over the constitution of our blood.”
Another pregnant pause.
Another look around the Great Hall.
“And as a result, we all deserve empathy and support to get through this difficult time. To heal. Or, if healing is not possible, to adapt. And to be at peace with ourselves, and to accept others despite the fact the war may have left them…different .”
The headmistress cocked her head, as if waiting – or daring – anyone to disagree. To challenge her statements. They were, on the whole, far more accepting and magnanimous than Hermione had expected. Especially considering the headmistress so openly disliked Draco – didn’t seem to trust him.
She couldn’t help wondering if maybe seeing Draco in his moment of weakness on the pitch had finally convinced Professor McGonagall he wasn’t a threat to the students of Hogwarts, after all.
That it was really the other way around.
“Are there any questions?” the headmistress asked, her eyebrows high.
“What’s a familiar?” a young-ish student from Hufflepuff asked.
Hermione saw Justin noticeably tense. Theo’s hand instinctively moved to his back, rubbing it soothingly.
“A familiar,” Professor McGonagall started, “is someone who has been enchanted – or compelled – to feed a vampire and do its bidding.”
“What about an unidentified hybrid? What’s that supposed to be?” a mid-sized Ravenclaw asked.
The headmistress frowned slightly before answering, “It is exactly what it sounds like – a hybrid of unknown origin, and without an official name or designation.”
“Is that what Malfoy is?” The captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team, Hunter Shore, interjected.
“It is,” McGonagall confirmed.
“So does he, like, have some sort of creature reflexes or instincts?” the Hufflepuff persisted.
“What are you asking, Mr. Shore?”
“I guess I’m just wondering if he had an unfair advantage,” Hunter continued. “If Slytherin should be disqualified from winning the cup as a result of it…” he trailed off, amidst the exclamations of agreement from about three-quarters of the school.
Hermione held her breath.
Draco had gone out of his way – suffered – to play for his house today…if they were to take that win away? It would have been for nothing.
This – this spectacle – outing his creaturehood would have been for nothing.
Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes, considering. But before she could answer, one of Hufflepuff’s own chasers stood up a little ways down the table from his captain, shaking his head.
“Fuck, Hunter,” Elias Hemlock said. “If you’re trying to disqualify them because Malfoy is a creature — for being faster or, I don’t know…seeing or hearing better – you’ll have to disqualify us, too.” He shrugged. “It’s a full moon tonight. My senses are sharper than ever.”
Hunter frowned, staring at his teammate.
“I’m one of the werewolves the headmistress referred to,” Elias stated bluntly. He looked up from his captain, to the room at large. “Both teams had creatures playing today…”
The Great Hall broke out into exclamations once more, with more than a few students reciting quidditch league rules and attempting to determine if they applied to creatures, or not.
Lavender stood up at the Gryffindor table and nodded at Elias – a look passed between them – solidarity, admiration, pride. Hermione was convinced there was something else there, too. A spark, maybe? As far as she knew, the Hemlocks were a good family – slightly less prolific than the Weasley’s, but only just. Elias, she was sure, was the second eldest.
Additional movement drew her attention away from her musings – she looked around the Great Hall in awe as, one by one, nine more students stood up.
Seeing them all together, it seemed obvious – each and every one of them had significant scarring somewhere. Their hands, arms and faces. Presumably their bodies. The toll of their transformations.
These were Hogwarts’ werewolves.
Standing in solidarity with one another.
And…with Draco.
A fellow creature.
Elias shared a look with each and every one of them – were they a pack? – turned to the headmistress for a moment before continuing to pivot, his gaze finally landing on Hermione. “If you need help looking for Malfoy, we’re in.”
Hermione bit her lips, and nodded. Too overwhelmed to say anything.
Headmistress McGonagall – still at the podium on the dais – cleared her throat, drawing the assembly’s attention back to her. “Do sit down,” she told the werewolves, and then to the Great Hall at large, “With regards to the eligibility of students with creature status playing on their house quidditch teams,” she paused, a somewhat sour look on her face, “there are no such restrictions. One must simply be a student at Hogwarts, which both Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Hemlock are.” She looked pointedly at Hunter Shore, who nodded and had the decency to look slightly ashamed of himself for bringing the subject up. “Now, as for the whereabouts of Mr. Malfoy.” She clasped her hands again, and surveyed the students. “Locating him will be a matter for the school faculty and staff. Your offer of assistance,” here she looked at Elias, “is appreciated, but not necessary. Thank you. You are all dismissed to your houses, where you will remain until dinner time.”
She looked on as the assembled students stood up en masse and started moving towards the exit. “Erm, Miss Granger,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “Would you please stay behind?”
Hermione nodded, then looked up at Theo. “Stay with me?” she asked quietly.
“Absolutely,” he replied as he stood up and gave Justin a quick peck on the lips. “I don’t know how long I’ll be…” Theo told him, their fingers intertwined.
“Until you find Draco, I expect,” Justin replied matter-of-factly. “Good luck,” he added, holding and slightly tugging on Theo’s hand as he started walking away, before finally letting go.
Hermione watched as the Great Hall emptied out. Looked across at the Gryffindor table and smiled – Harry and Ginny had remained behind, too.
-
“I don’t recall having asked the three of you to stay behind,” the headmistress said with a frown as she surveyed Theo, Harry and Ginny approaching the dais with Hermione.
“Yeah, well, you might say we’re invested…” Theo started, then trailed off as Professor McGonagall’s frown deepened. “We’re here to support Hermione,” he switched gears, resulting in a curt nod from the headmistress.
All the professors had remained behind except for Hagrid, which seemed odd to Hermione, considering how close he was to Draco. It worried her. Hagrid was an ally. A friend. She wasn’t sure just yet if she’d need him.
“Now Miss Granger,” Headmistress McGonagall began anew, “had you noticed anything different about Mr. Malfoy that might explain his behaviour? His…” she hesitated a moment, “...his need to escape the pitch?”
That was…a loaded question. Hermione took a deep breath, and nodded, then went into a long and detailed explanation of Draco’s overstimulation and sensory overload.
“And you didn’t think to tell anyone?” the headmistress inquired.
Hermione frowned, then looked up at Professor Slughorn standing just a few steps behind her. “He did tell someone,” she finally answered. “In the Potions lab on Thursday. Draco mentioned it to Professor Slughorn.”
McGonagall turned to look at the professor, who’d taken a sudden interest in his fingernails. “Horace, is this true?” she asked.
Slughorn looked up, an innocent expression plastered across his face. “The boy might have mentioned something about his senses still being heightened. Being slightly overwhelmed.” He shrugged. “It didn’t seem to bother him that much…”
“He can barely tolerate being in the castle,” Theo piped up. “He can smell every one and every thing, his eyes hurt just to look at us, he can hear our blood circulating through our veins…I think it’s safe to say it bothered him.” He shrugged. “He’s just not the type to complain about it…to professors, at least.”
The headmistress took a moment to absorb this new information, then asked, “And were these heightened senses new, or had he been experiencing them throughout his recent…indisposition?”
“Throughout, it’s just…” Hermione stopped to pull a hair out of her mouth, and think how best to explain. “It’s just that he could get used to, or tolerate, it all when it was only one or two people…people whose scents and sounds are familiar to him.” She stopped when she heard the doors to the Great Hall opening and saw Hagrid making his way to the dais. “In class yesterday,” she continued, “he was at his absolute limit. He could barely function owing to the onslaught of sensory information he was experiencing.” She bit her bottom lip, and shrugged. “We tried to distract him, but it didn’t work.”
“To distract him, how?” The headmistress asked.
Hermione looked at Theo, her eyes wide.
“With me,” she said simply.
She did not go into any further detail.
Professor McGonagall’s nostrils flared slightly as she surveyed Hermione. “Nothing too foolish, I would hope?” she asked, clearly expecting the worst. “I read Madam Pomfrey’s report…”
Hermione felt the blood rush to her cheeks.
“Wait,” Theo interrupted. “She reported you?” He looked from Hermione, to McGonagall, and back again, in disbelief. “Because you were trying to be responsible?”
“Who reported what?” Harry asked.
“Responsible for what?” Ginny inquired at the same time.
Hermione wanted to die.
She closed her eyes and almost wept with relief when Hagrid cleared his throat, interrupting. “He’s no’ there,” he announced.
Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him. “Not where?” she asked.
“At me cabin,” he replied, with a shrug. “I though’ it might be bes’ t’ check the closest, an’ mos’ obvious place the lad might ha’ went.” He tugged on his beard. “I took a quick look in th’ fores’ too,” he added. “Asked th’ centaurs to keep an eye out for ‘im.”
“Thank you, Hagrid,” McGonagall said with a nod, then looked at Hermione, with a long, drawn out, exhale. “Now then,” she said, looking from Hermione, to Theo, Harry and Ginny, and back again. “Where do you think Mr. Malfoy might have gone?”
“Well,” Harry started, “I would have said wherever Hermione was, but she was in the crowd, and so that obviously didn’t happen.” He shrugged, pushing up his glasses.
“Whenever I’m really upset,” Ginny started hesitantly, “If I’m not going to Harry, I want my mum.” She took Harry’s hand and clasped it tightly. She shook her head just a little before adding, “I’m not sure if Mrs. Malfoy is the comforting type, though…” and trailed off.
Hermione frowned. “No, that’s good, Ginny…it seems… reasonable.” She looked up at the headmistress. “When he first transformed, he managed to acclimatise at home. We should check Malfoy Manor—”
“You want to go to Malfoy Manor?” Harry interrupted, sounding sceptical.
“I don’t want to, Harry, I have to,” she replied, looking at him pointedly. She pulled her hair back to cool her neck. “Draco needs me,” she added, more quietly, her eyes flicking from one person to the other.
Hagrid nodded. “Hermione’s righ’,” he agreed, looking at the headmistress. “No matter wha’s wrong, he wants ‘is mate. It should be Hermione who goes an’ looks for ‘im.” He shrugged. “If any o’ us were t’ show up, ‘e’d probably hiss an’ disapparate again.”
“Hiss ?” McGonagall asked, her eyebrows disappearing.
“Oh sure,” Hagrid replied with a nod. “Draco hisses, snarls, growls, ‘an purrs dependin’ on ‘is mood.”
The headmistress seemed rather taken aback – as if she hadn’t realised the extent to which Draco had, indeed, become more creature than irritating self-entitled pureblood wizard.
“Headmistress?” Hermione asked.
Professor McGonagall looked at Hermione and nodded. “Yes, Miss Granger. You have permission to leave the school grounds and go to Malfoy Manor to ascertain the whereabouts of Mr. Malfoy.”
“Someone should go with her,” Harry interjected. “I’ll go with her,” he amended his statement.
Hermione looked over her shoulder and smiled tightly at him. Harry could always be counted on to help, especially in a scary or difficult situation.
And this was both.
-
Hermione made her way towards the school’s main entrance with Harry’s hand clasped tightly in her own. It was hot and a little sweaty, but reassuring.
She looked up at him, her expression full of worry. “Thank you for doing this, Harry.”
His brows drew together slightly as he looked down at her. “Of course,” he replied immediately. “You never even have to ask for help, Hermione. I’ll be there for you. Always.” He pulled them to a stop, looking at her intently. “You know that, right? You and I…we’re family.”
“I do,” she responded, choking up. Feeling a tear run down her cheek.
He squeezed her hand. “We’ll find him,” he added as he led them towards the heavy double doors and pushed them open, squinting in the late afternoon light.
They descended the steps in unison, down to the long drive that would take them to the school’s main gates and outside the wards.
They’d only made it a few steps when a voice called out to them.
“Hermione! Harry! Wait!”
They looked at each other, and stopped. Let go of each other’s hands and turned around to find Lavender walking around the stone balustrade of the school’s front stoop. Elias Hemlock was at her side.
“I’m glad we caught you,” Elias breathed a sigh of relief.
“What is it?” Hermione asked tentatively, the look of concern on Lavender’s face worrying her.
“We know the headmistress said she didn’t want our help, but…” Lavender shrugged. “Our senses are more acute today.” She looked up at Elias.
“A few of us will have a look around the grounds. The forest.”
“Hagrid’s got the centaurs on the lookout,” Harry offered.
“Yeah, but the centaurs…” Elias grimaced. “They might be on the lookout for Malfoy, but like…not urgently, you know? They might try looking for him in the stars or something...” He opened his eyes wide, as if to imply the centaurs were a bit nuts.
Hermione nodded. Elias’ assessment fit exactly with Draco’s description of them. “Just be careful in there.” She looked towards the Forbidden Forest. “The acromantula have been very aggressive. They’re expanding their territory. It’s…” she hesitated a moment, then shook her head. The cat was already out of the bag. “It’s what Draco has been helping Hagrid with in the forest. Mapping out territories, and…he’s had some run-ins.”
“Wait,” Lavender exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing Hermione’s arm. “Was that what had happened to Malfoy way back? When he was brought to the hospital wing?”
“It was,” Hermione nodded. “He was…”
“Torn apart,” Harry provided. “Massacred,” he added, raking his hand through his hair. “I don’t expect you werewolves to be as resilient as he is…”
“What exactly is he?” Elias asked.
Hermione bit her lip, looking up at him. It wasn’t her place to share the details of Draco’s creaturehood. She shook her head slightly. “It’s not important,” she finally declared. Looking at Harry, she said, “We should go.” And to the others, added, “We’re going to Malfoy Manor to see if he’s there.”
Lavender nodded, and looked down at her hand, still grasping Hermione’s arm. “Just…” she hesitated, and looked up at Elias. He dipped his chin, and she took a deep breath before continuing, “Just be careful when you get back,” she warned them. “If it’s dark, I mean.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes. “This is the last full moon before we finish at Hogwarts. A bunch of us…” she cleared her throat. “Well, we haven’t taken our wolfsbane.” She opened her eyes wider. Meaningfully.
Hermione nodded. “Thanks for the warning, Lavender. We’ll be careful.”
Lavender squeezed her arm a moment before letting go and whispering, “Good luck.”
-
It was windy when they arrived at Malfoy Manor, apparating just outside the front gates.
Hermione looked at the imposing residence with hesitation, then up at Harry. “I’m right here,” he assured her.
They started off down the drive and through the wards – their soft bubbly caresses tickling her skin and rippling over her clothes.
“That…wasn’t what I was expecting,” Harry admitted once they were through.
Hermione shook her head slightly, “They had to pull down the majority of the manor’s wards after Draco’s transformation,” she informed him. “He couldn’t get through.”
“Fuck,” Harry exclaimed, shaking his head. “I’d never really thought about what Malfoy being a creature meant with relation to…” he waved his hand in the direction of the manor. “...to all of this…his life.” He looked down at Hermione. “He really has changed, hasn’t he?”
“For the better,” she said earnestly.
Harry nodded, his brows drawing together, as his attention was drawn to a solitary albino peacock strutting about on the lawns. “Yeah…I mean, he’s still an arse…”
“Oh without a doubt,” Hermione agreed. “But he’s my arse…” She couldn’t help a small smile. Took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Shakily. “I really hope he’s here.”
“He will be,” Harry assured her.
-
“He’s not here,” Mrs. Malfoy told them, her face lined with worry.
They were standing in the manor’s foyer, and Hermione was shaking like a leaf. “What do you mean he’s not here?” she choked out. “Are you sure?” She walked further down the corridor, her fear of the manor completely forgotten for worry. She frantically peered into doorways, Mrs. Malfoy and Harry trailing her. “He might have apparated directly into the manor…the school’s anti-apparition wards didn’t work on him, maybe it’s the same here?”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Draco’s mother crooned as she ran a hand up Hermione’s arm. “Even if he’d bypassed our wards, I’d still have been notified of his presence…I’m aware of every sentient being that comes and goes on manor grounds, be they witch, wizard, or creature.” She brushed Hermione’s hair back off her shoulder, and pulled her in for a hug. “They searched the school?” she asked, looking at Harry from over Hermione’s shoulder.
He shook his head. “Not the school – nobody thinks he’d actually retreat there if he were trying to escape.”
“Owing to his heightened senses?” she confirmed.
Hermione nodded as she pulled away from the older woman.
“The school – the smell of the students in it – revolted him,” she elaborated.
Mrs. Malfoy nodded in understanding. “When he first came home over the summer, he isolated himself in his room. Nothing comforted him. Not even me.” She clasped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers. “Not until he’d started acclimatising himself to the smells, sounds, and sights of the manor…” She looked at Hermione and Harry, her eyes filled with worry. “Only then could I provide any kind of help. But now?” She took Hemione’s hands in her own. “With a mate?” She sucked her teeth in a way that was all too familiar. “If he couldn’t go to you, I can’t believe he wouldn’t seek out some thing or some place that would serve as a substitute.” Her brows drew together ever so slightly – as if she’d spent a lifetime trying not to frown. “Your bed,” she concluded. “Your scent would be strongest there.”
Hermione took a deep breath.
“Hagrid checked his hut where we slept last night…” She looked at Harry. “I doubt he could get into the Gryffindor girl’s dorms despite his creaturehood…” She shrugged. “He’s still male…” She chewed her inner cheek, thinking. “I haven’t slept in the Slytherin dorms in weeks, besides which, I expect it would smell too much of his dormmates.”
“Hermione, how do you sleep in so many different places?” Harry wondered aloud.
She gave him a dirty look and closed her eyes, thinking.
Harry was right.
Where else had she slept lately? Where else did Draco have access to?
“My parent’s house,” she blurted out.
“Do you really think Malfoy would go to your parent’s?” Harry asked incredulously. “Without you? ”
Hermione nodded.
“Absolutely,” she replied, already getting excited by the prospect of finding him. “My whole house will have traces of my scent, or similar scents. My bedroom…my bed…will absolutely smell of me.” She nodded again feeling more and more sure of herself. “Plus he got on so well with my father,” she looked at Mrs. Malfoy apologetically, here. “I think he’d be comfortable showing up there in a weakened state…” She grimaced slightly. “Not so sure how my mum would feel about it, but…”
She looked up at Harry.
“It’s worth a shot,” he said, pushing his glasses up with a shrug.
“Hermione dear,” Mrs. Malfoy started, taking her hand. “Do let me know if he’s there? Even if he’s not…”
“I’ll send a patronus and let you know,” Harry assured her.
Draco’s mother looked up at him, tilting her head in inquiry. “A corporeal patronus?”
“A stag,” Harry replied, and scrunched up his nose. “It’s rather large.”
“I’ll look for it. Thank you,” she said, pulling Hermione in for one last hug.
-
They apparated into Hermione’s back garden, the thick hedges providing ample cover. The sun was low as she ran up the steps to the back door, her hands shaking. Her breath coming out in short bursts. Her anticipation palpable.
She reached out and grabbed the handle, pushed down with her thumb, and…the door was locked.
She cried out in frustration.
“I don’t have a key for the back door,” she breathed out, her sense of panic – of urgency – rising.
Harry came up the steps behind her and looked down at the door handle, then up at Hermione. “Alohomora?” he suggested, his tone gentle despite the sceptical look on his face.
Hermione breathed out, and nodded.
Of course Alohomora. What was she thinking?
She wasn’t.
She was panicking.
She took another deep breath and stepped aside, gesturing to the door. Harry implicitly understood, pulled out his wand and unlocked the door with a swish and an audible click. Hermione immediately grabbed the handle and opened the door, bursting into her kitchen, looking about wildly.
“Is he here?” she shouted, unsure if anyone was even home to answer her.
There was no need for one.
She could already hear footsteps on the staircase, and what seemed a blur of green as Draco – still in his quidditch kit – came rushing towards her.
His eyes were still red, the skin around them translucent and veiny. His jaw was clenched, his brows drawn, and he was grimacing in pain.
He looked awful.
“Oh, Draco,” she whispered, as he rushed into her arms, pushing her back against the wall, and pinning her there.
His mouth covered hers as his hands roved desperately up from her hips, over her breasts, and to her neck. He stroked it for a moment, running his fingers up her throat, a slightly plaintive whimper escaping from the back of his throat, then backed away to look at her, his eye twitching, and his face hardening. He grasped and pulled at the neck of her jumper, ripping the seam at her shoulder, to better expose the crook of her neck into which he buried his face.
He breathed her in deeply.
“Hermione,” he choked out, as she felt his cool breath, and his teeth graze her skin, followed by his tongue. It made its way up her neck to the spot just under her ear, where he stopped and sucked.
Hermione ran her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, up the back of his neck and into his hair. “I’m here, Draco,” she whispered soothingly into his ear, holding him close, and pushing herself off the wall and against him, as if to prove it. Looked over his shoulder at Harry, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Go tell Mrs. Malfoy he’s here?” she asked.
“Right, yeah, absolutely,” he replied, turning swiftly and heading out the back door, looking altogether relieved to get out of there.
Draco whinged again – a cross between a moan and a cry – as his hands circled around her waist and held on tightly. He slid his hand under her jumper and ran it along the back waistband of her jeans, then round to her front and started unfastening them. “Draco!” she cried out, her eyes going wide. “What are you…”
“I need you,” he choked out, his breathing uneven. Faster than usual.
“Hermione, is that you?!” her father’s voice called out from somewhere at the front of the house.
Her eyes opened wide with panic as Draco pushed his hand down into her knickers – her parents could not see them like this. “Draco! Not now — not here…” she exclaimed, grabbing hold of his wrist and attempting to stop it from reaching too far.
He moaned plaintively into her neck, his fingers pushing insistently between her legs to her slit, where he dipped one in slightly, and – oh gods – Hermione felt herself getting aroused, knowing full well Draco would feel it, too. He pushed his fingers in deeper, pumping his hand.
“Draco, please …” Hermione implored again, “...now is not the time.” Despite her protests, her body responded in the complete opposite manner, her desire accumulating and her pelvis pushing against his hand. “My parents…” she moaned, as he slid his fingers back through her folds, “…we can’t do this...”
He stopped, a hair’s breadth from her clit.
“But you’re bleeding,” he sobbed, removing his hand from her jeans – his fingers pink from her menstrual fluid and arousal – and sticking them in his mouth to suck on, a desperate, almost pathetic look in his eyes. He took her hips in hand and pushed her back against the wall, then sunk down to his knees holding on tightly to her legs – hugging them – his cheek resting against her pelvis. Panting.
Smelling.
Smelling her.
She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, absentmindedly stroking Draco’s hair as she attempted to compose herself before facing her parents. Took a deep breath, and called out, “Mum? Dad?”
Her parents emerged from the hallway a few moments later, her dad in the lead.
“You’re here!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t you hear when I called? Why didn’t you answer?”
Hermione continued to stroke Draco’s hair, and shook her head. “I just…couldn’t,” she finished lamely. “What happened?” she asked, attempting to sidestep the topic entirely.
The back door opened and Harry re-entered.
“Done,” he told her. “I sent a message to McGonagall, as well.”
“Thanks, Harry.”
“Hey, Helen. Charles,” Harry said in greeting to her parents. “What’s going on?” he asked with a frown, looking at Draco kneeling on the floor in front of her.
“I was just asking the same thing,” she replied, and looked at her dad, waiting.
Her dad looked from Hermione, to Harry, and back again. “Well, I was making a cup of tea in the kitchen when all of a sudden Draco just apparated onto the floor, curled up in a ball…” He shrugged apologetically. “I almost tripped over him, to be honest.”
“He didn’t scare you?” she asked, her voice laced with fear.
Her mother opened her mouth – clearly about to say yes – when her father reached out and stayed her, shaking his head. “No, no,” he said quite definitively. “It was obvious Draco was hurt, somehow.” He frowned. “We should be asking you what happened,” he added.
Both Hermione’s parents looked at her.
“Umm,” she started, wondering how on earth to explain everything that had happened since Easter. She took a deep breath, and ran her hands lovingly through Draco’s hair. “Draco went through a rut when we got back from Easter break,” she started telling her parents, still running her hands through her mate’s locks. “He desperately wanted to infect me…to mate with me….” She shrugged. “His whole appearance was altered – his skin looked thin and veiny all over, his eyes changed colour – and his senses became even sharper than they were before.” She looked down as a faint purr started up from deep within Draco’s chest, and couldn’t help a small smile. “He couldn’t go to classes looking as he did, so he spent his days in the Forbidden Forest, helping Hagrid. It…” She looked up at her parents again, tilting her head. “It allowed Draco to more fully experience his creaturehood. It changed him.”
“Changed him how?” her mother asked.
Hermione bit her lower lip, thinking. “He’s more of everything you previously found disconcerting, Mum…” She shrugged. “He’s faster. More abrupt in his movements. Stealthier.” She ran her hand along his cheek. “Twitchier. Almost like a bird, if I had to describe it.” Draco’s brows drew together at that analogy – the first indication he was actually following their conversation.
She looked back to her parents. “And though his rut ended last week, along with most of its side effects…his heightened senses have remained.” She frowned and slowly started prying Draco’s vice grip off her hips. “They’re overwhelming him,” she finished, and slowly slid down the wall until she was crouched down, in front of him. Facing him. She ran her hand through his hair, and along his jawline. His red eyes tracking her every movement.
“Is he going to stay this way?” her father asked.
“I don’t know,” Hermione answered honestly, her eyes flicking up to her parents. “They may fade away, or maybe he’ll adapt as he did with his initial transformation. Or maybe he won’t.” She cupped his cheek, and he leaned into her hand, his breathing still ragged. His eyes communicating everything he wasn’t able to say.
His love.
His admiration.
His adoration.
His desire.
“And if he doesn’t?” her mother asked, her expression doubtful. “If he becomes even more creature-like?”
Hermione looked up at her mother abruptly, frowning. “It doesn’t matter, Mum,” she replied firmly, her eyes flicking to Harry, her dad, then back again. “I don’t care who, or what, Draco becomes. He’s my mate. He’s mine,” she said, punctuating her last word by grasping Draco’s hair more firmly, and pulling him toward her possessively. He wrapped his arms around her, whimpering, holding onto her tightly.
“No matter what, then?” her mother followed up.
“No matter what,” Hermione confirmed, her voice cracking. Her love for Draco – her desire to defend him – overpowering her.
Draco squeezed tightly around her middle. She cupped his jaw and angled his face so he was looking at her – his red eyes glowing intently – and kissed him on the lips. “We need to get you back to Hogwarts,” she whispered. “So Gilly can feed you.”
A slight whimper was his only response.
“Do you think you can apparate? Or side-along?” she asked him, running her hand up and down his arm soothingly.
He winced.
Hermione nodded, and pulled him into her chest, hugging him. Allowing him to bury his face in her neck. Building her resolve.
“Okay,” she cooed. “I can help make you stronger before we go back to school…” she trailed off, steeling herself for what she was about to suggest. “We’ll form a connection, and you can feed off my magic to start healing yourself—”
“What?” Harry interrupted.
“We’ve done it before,” she said, in a tone that was far more confident than she was feeling. “I can use Draco like…” she paused, running her fingers through his hair at the back of his head, “...like a wand core.”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Harry exclaimed, dumbfounded.
Hermione shook her head, and smiled. “What everyone fails to comprehend, Harry, is that Draco isn’t just a magical creature now…” she backed up a bit so she could look at him, trailing her fingers along his jawline over his rough stubble. Run her thumb over his lips. “He’s a rare magical creature. Even rarer than a phoenix, a unicorn, or even a dragon.”
She looked up at Harry, and then her parents.
“He’s unique. Special.” She leaned over and kissed Draco’s cheek. “Phenomenal.”
Draco clenched his jaw, purring in response.
“And right now, I would do anything in my power to help him.” She took a deep breath and looked at Harry. “If I don’t break the connection with him – or if he holds on – I’m going to need you to intervene,” she warned him.
“What are you talking about, Hermione? What’ll happen if you don’t break the connection?” Harry asked, panic lacing his voice.
She swallowed. “Once he’s sufficiently healed,” Hermione explained, “our connection will…” she bobbed her head back and forth, thinking. “...it’ll reverse. And instead of him feeding off me, I’ll start to feed off him, resulting in my experiencing things as he does.”
“You mean the way Draco senses things?” her father clarified.
“Exactly,” she nodded.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” her mother interjected.
Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know…all I know is that it’s too much. Was too much, even before his senses were heightened. Now…” She opened her eyes wide, thinking back to those few moments in the potions lab. The roaring, burning, need and intensity of everything she’d been feeling with Draco’s mouth on her cunt.
She cleared her throat, and her mind.
“Okay,” Harry stated. “You heal Malfoy just enough so that he’s able to apparate back to the castle, and we’ll go from there.”
“Okay,” Hermione breathed out, cupping Draco’s chin. She leaned in for another kiss, relishing the soft coolness of his lips, and the almost imperceptible hum he made as their lips touched, then whispered “Periculum,” creating a small burst of red sparks.
The effect was instantaneous.
Like an electrical current running through her hand, up her arm, and into her entire body.
The magic flowing between them was palpable.
Draco reached up and held on firmly to her wrist. His grip tightened. Bruising. His red eyes locked on Hermione’s. Intense and piercing. Panting. Breathing deeply.
He licked his lips – his impossibly pink tongue brushing over his pale skin.
His fingers tightened even more on her wrist. Hurting.
His brows drew together and his eyes seemed to dim slightly. Their intensity diminished.
Hermione felt a shift in their connection.
A redirection.
She gasped.
It honestly didn’t take much.
Draco was so filled with magic now, even just a taste of it was staggering. Overpowering. She could smell Harry. Her parents. Their sweat. Their shampoo, and soap. Their breath. Their musk. The butter chicken they’d cooked last night. And the acrid tea her father had steeped for far too long earlier that afternoon. Her eyes hurt. The glare of the fluorescent kitchen lights harsh and unforgiving. She whimpered and the sound of it boomed in her chest. Loud and ear-splitting. She could hear everything. The sounds of swallowing and breaths being taken and hearts pounding too fast.
“Nngghh…” Hermione grunted, as the onslaught of sensory information increased. As Draco’s eyes narrowed, his grip on her wrist – holding her hand against him – remained firm.
And then she heard it.
Thump, thump.
A single slow heartbeat.
His.
She focused on it as best she could. Focused on Draco. On waiting for his next heartbeat with its steady rhythm. Its steadfastness. She clenched her teeth, determined to maintain the connection so long as Draco needed it.
So long as he needed her.
Thump, thump.
She looked into his eyes – still red. Still watching her intently. As if she were the only other person in the universe. The only thing that mattered.
She could lose herself in those eyes, no matter their colour.
There was so much feeling within them. So much communicated by them.
Still so much pain and suffering.
Thump, thump.
And something else, too.
Hermione breathed deeply, trying to maintain her focus. To just listen to Draco’s heart and to ignore everything else that was screaming for her attention.
She took a deep shuddering breath, and felt it.
Right between her legs.
Desire.
He’d told her their connection was intimate, hadn’t he? That it was arousing?
Despite the overstimulation, Hermione now felt it clear as day.
A pulsing, burning, need for her mate.
A need so strong, it…
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.
She lost her focus. Every single thing she’d been trying so desperately to drown out with Draco’s steady heartbeat came rushing back ten times stronger.
It was too much.
Far too much.
“Draco, nngghh….” Hermione moaned, attempting to remove her hand from his face. Panting. Suddenly desperate to break the connection. “ Please…”
He continued to hold on, moving closer without seeming to move at all. His free arm wrapped around her, supporting her as she felt herself crushed under the weight of his magic. His senses.
She had a vague notion that Harry was shouting.
Her mum, too.
She smelled fear and panic, only she couldn’t tease out the details. Couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to concentrate and focus once more on Draco’s heart. She grabbed a fistful of his quidditch shirt, wincing as she heard a long, drawn out keening sound.
It was pure pain vocalised.
It was her.
And then, just like that, it was over.
Draco had released her, and she crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll.
He pulled her back into his arms and hugged her tightly, whispering healing charms, amidst apologies, and declarations of love. She grasped his shirt in her hands and looked up at him, shaking. At his clear and vibrant blue eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her ear, kissing just beneath it. “Everything was so foggy, it was so fucking difficult to concentrate, I just needed to clear my head.” He resumed his incantations – including a few she hadn’t heard before – and Hermione could feel herself not only healing, but getting stronger – like he was somehow re-energising her.
She pulled herself up Draco’s chest and hugged him tightly, looking over his shoulder.
Harry was crouched down, his wand drawn, and the look on his face full of alarm. “Hermione, what the fuck was that?!”
“I told you it would be intense…” she started.
“You didn’t tell me he’d cast a shield around the two of you,” he replied, a hint of accusation in his tone. “I couldn’t do a bloody thing to help. To sever the connection…”
Hermione pushed back against Draco’s chest to look him in the eye. “Did you—“
“I don’t know,” Draco interrupted. Admitted. He shrugged slightly. “I think I was prepared to do anything to survive…” he paused as his shrug turned into a whole body twitch, “…to feel as normal as possible.” He looked at her, his face filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
She reached up and brushed his fringe out of his eyes. “You know I would do anything, give anything, to help you, right?” She cupped his cheek. “My magic, my body, my heart, my life…all of it is yours, Draco.”
He grimaced slightly, and pulled her against his chest, hugging her tightly.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said into her hair.
“Well, maybe not,” she agreed, the hint of a smile on her lips. “But you have me, just the same.”
-
Fifteen minutes later, they were standing in Hermione’s back garden.
Draco had apologised profusely to her parents – for showing up unexpectedly, for scaring them, for imposing upon them, and for scaring them even more when Hermione had channelled her magic through him.
It was obvious Hermione’s mother’s wariness of Draco – of his creature-like behaviours – had increased as a result of the evening"s events. It did not, however, appear to have changed her father"s opinion of him. If anything, he seemed even more fond of Draco than before – because, in a time of need, Draco had felt he could go to them for help.
Her parents stood on the back stoop to say goodbye. To watch them go. They’d already given Hermione and Harry large hugs. Even Draco got pulled into her father’s arms, and squeezed back a little too tightly for his efforts.
Hermione looked down at her feet – at the patio Draco had helped her father re-lay, and squeezed his hand, held tightly in her own.
“So we’ll apparate to just outside the castle gates?” Harry confirmed, pushing his glasses up his nose.
Draco looked at him, shaking his head. “No, Potter. We’ll go straight to Hagrid’s hut.”
Harry huffed and frowned. “I can’t apparate onto school grounds,” he pointed out, emphasis on the first word, his tone laced with irritation.
“But I can,” Draco drawled in response, and held his hand out towards his former adversary.
Harry looked at it, a slightly confused expression on his face. “You’re going to side-along me?” He asked, running his hand through his hair.
Draco sighed. “Yes , I’m going to side-along you. Now grow the fuck up and take my hand, Potter.”
Harry bit back a smile and shrugged.
“It’ll be fast,” Hermione warned, as Harry tentatively took Draco’s proffered hand, the latter’s long fingers wrapping around it. And then, without any preamble or warning, Draco apparated them onto school grounds.
It happened even faster than Hermione had anticipated – so fast she’d barely had time to register the tug behind her navel, or the sense of being pushed through a long tube made of air. It was almost instantaneous.
“What the fuck?! ” Harry exclaimed as they landed hard on the ground, just in front of Hagrid’s wood pile. He looked up at Draco, his eyes wide, and let go of his hand. He turned to Hermione, “When you said fast, I wasn’t expecting…well, I wasn’t expecting that,” he added, almost accusingly.
Hermione bit back a smile as Draco, still holding her hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed it before looking at Harry, and smirking. “Don’t tell me you were scared, Potter?”
“What?! No!” Harry replied defensively. “It’s just…” he took a deep breath, “I’ve side-alonged with Albus Dumbledore, and it wasn’t even remotely like that.”
Draco shrugged. “Yeah, well, Dumbledore was an old man, and a wizard. I am neither.”
Hermione couldn’t help looking at Draco with admiration. Awe. He really was remarkable.
He looked up at the dark sky – at the full moon – and clenched his jaw. Squeezed her hand and said in a much more serious tone, “We should get inside. I don’t think anyone’s taken their wolfsbane tonight – it smells like the fucking Magical Menagerie out here.”
“You can smell the werewolves?” she asked. “Lavender mentioned a bunch of them weren’t going to take their potions today…that they wanted to spend their last full moon at Hogwarts in the forest.”
“They reek,” Draco confirmed, scrunching up his nose. “Now let’s go in. I’m starving.”