Chapter 4

-oOo-

The little purple monstrosity had latched on to Draco's thumb, and it Would. Not. Let. Go. Draco had resorted to waving his hand in the air, trying to break the creature's grasp, when someone burst through his office door.

"Loo- Luna Lovegood! What are you doing here?"

She stretched her hand out towards the furry whatever-the-hell-it-was-called: "Raymond, come here!"

Raymond did not budge.

"I don't know what's got into him, usually he can't be diverted once he has found a scent." In some ways, it was a comfort to find she had not changed at all since – since everything. She did not start hurling abuse at Draco either, which was a welcome surprise.

"Have you got any Gurgling Plimpies in your pockets?" Lovegood asked instead. "He goes mad for those."

"Not to my knowledge, no. Kindly get Raymond off me, I'm sure there is somewhere he needs to be. Far away from here."

"Yes, I think we're done here, Luna," a familiar voice announced from the direction of the door.

Hermione.

As usual, his stomach did a double-flip and the blood in his veins seemed to have been replaced with champagne. Bloody Veela blood.

Lovegood and Hermione shared one of those looks one could fit a whole conversation into. Hermione flicked her wand and Raymond disappeared into Lovegood's pocket. His owner looked a little bit miffed, but thankfully she left the room.

Without offering them any Plimpies, which was a relief.

"So," Hermione began.

Nothing good began with a 'so', but for once in his life, Draco couldn't think about anything to say. Of course, knowing what the conversation was going to be about might have helped.

"It appears it is you who have been sending me all these mysterious gifts. That you so obligingly helped me scan for malicious magic, too."

Oh, fuck. It had never occurred to Draco how it would look from the outside – he had been too busy trying to find out what sort of chocolate Hermione preferred.

"I carried out all the checks just like I would have if they had been from someone else," he rushed to assure her. "There was absolutely nothing harmful in any of them, I swear."

Hermione looked smug, and Draco realised he must be the first Slytherin ever to be tricked into a confession by a Gryffindor.

"Not that I had anything to do with them, of course." He tried to retrieve the conversation, but she wasn't having any of it.

"I wondered why, of course, but then it came to me."

"It did?" Draco barely knew what he was saying.

"There was only one logical explanation." Hermione smiled, and even in his supreme confusion Draco could appreciate how her face was transformed. Unfortunately, seeing the golden specks in her eyes glitter demolished his defences completely.

"That I am a Veela and you are my mate?" he blurted out.

"That you – what?"

They stared at each other. If an Erumpent had burst in through the door and ran around Draco's desk three times, both of them would have been oblivious.

"I'm a Veela," Draco repeated. The shock must have been too much for her – it was a lot to absorb in one go. "As luck would have it you're my mate, so I tried to think of a way to do something nice for you without telling you."

Her smile was long gone, and in its place came an array of emotions Draco couldn't even begin to identify.

Except the last one – it was the same furious indignation he remembered from Hogwarts. He took a step back, instinctively – even at fourteen, her punch had been stronger than what he would have expected.

"You – you idiot! Veelas don't mate! The worst that will happen to you is a few spontaneous fireballs and a temporary beak – the mating theory was disproved by Newton Scamander in 1932. Just because your family refuses to pay any attention to people they don't agree with, doesn't mean they're wrong!"

Draco's lips moved soundlessly as he tried to recalibrate the past months from this new viewpoint.

Unfortunately, Hermione was not willing to wait for him to catch up. "You and your gifts can fuck right back where you came from. Do not contact me again, or you will be sorry!"

She swept out of his office in a cloud of righteous anger, leaving Draco behind with absolutely no idea what just had happened – for all he knew, he could have blacked out and missed the crucial part of the conversation.

One thing Draco did know, at least: it was just his luck to have Granger as a mate.

Merlin forbid anything in his life would ever be easy.

Draco stared morosely at his dragon-hide boots. They gleamed in the unseasonal sunshine, planted firmly on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. He had managed to snag a seat on one of the benches opposite Gringotts. As a side benefit of his current depression, the constant sighing had driven away the family that had occupied the rest of it.

He was all alone; just the way he liked it.

The empty grey space in his chest begged to disagree, but Draco dismissed it.

He had done his reading at last. Of course, Granger had been right – Newton Scamander had written a whole treatise on the subject, but as he also had mortally offended one of Draco's ancestors it was family custom to pretend Scamander did not exist as far as it was feasible.

It would have been really bloody useful if Draco had realised that Veelas did not mate a bit earlier, but as he never was going to speak to Granger again it didn't really matter.

"Morning, Malfoy." The voice was familiar, but the scuffed Muggle sneakers belonging to it suggested it was not one of Draco's closer friends. He looked up and found himself staring into the wide brown eyes of Ginevra Weasley. They weren't the right colour, though, not like –

"What are you doing here?" he said quickly, cutting off that train of thought right there.

"It's a free country. Look, I can even do this." She dangled a foot above his boots, and Draco couldn't help but smile.

"Why are you talking to me, then?" They had not become friends, exactly, that year after the war when Draco had gone back to school to put off his probation another year. Acquaintances, perhaps – people who could manage a civil conversation, as long as it wasn't too often.

"Millie says you're an idiot, but you usually mean well."

Draco groaned – Merlin save him from meddling witches. Millie had joined the Harpies last year, and somehow she had ended up bosom buddies with her Weasley team mate. The leap from Ginny to Hermione was small beer by comparison.

He stood up. "Right, it was lovely to catch up with you. We should do it again sometime."

The youngest Weasley didn't even budge. "Wouldn't you like to know why Hermione is furious with you?"

Draco's knees bypassed his brain and promptly folded. He sat down with a bump, not even bothering to feign indifference. "Do tell."

"You need to see it from her point of view," Weasley lectured as if he were a Hufflepuff first-year. "She isn't used to anyone making a fuss over her. Ron is – well, Ron, and they broke up years ago, and Terry Boot certainly never bothered his arse doing anything nice for her."

Filing away the unexpected information about Boot – someone should teach him to treat witches properly – Draco waited impatiently for the rest. It did not seem to be forthcoming. "What do you mean?"

A gigantic sigh from Weasley. "I'll explain it in small words, shall I? Given that someone actually went out of their way for her, researching what she liked and was so persistent about it, it came as a bit of a blow to find out you only did it because you thought you had 'mated' with her."

Draco stared at her in horrified fascination – she actually used her hands to make giant quotation marks. Did people really do that?

"Yes, yes, we all know she hates me. I was hoping for something more imaginative." Draco tucked away the sting of disappointment deep in his chest, far beneath his smooth Malfoy face.

"Are you even listening to me? Hermione didn't hate you two months ago when you weighed her wand every morning, did she?"

"She hates me because I thought she was my mate. Because I used to be a Death Eater." Why did he have to keep stating the obvious?

She-Weasley tossed her long red hair impatiently. "How can you breathe and walk at the same time with a brain like that? You don't think it could be your insistence that Draco Malfoy couldn't possibly have fallen in love with Hermione Granger, up to and including making up traits of magical creatures, to explain away the fact? You don't think she might have found that a bit hurtful?"

She paused for breath, not a moment too late – she must be running out of air after all that sarcasm.

"You think – I've actually fallen in love with Hermione Granger." Draco was lucky he already was sitting down, or he would have tumbled down like a broken broom.

"Ten points to Slytherin. Well done."

"Sarcasm is very unattractive, you know," he managed to get out without engaging his brain, which was still busy having epiphanies.

Weasley rolled her eyes. "Remind me to ask you what you think when I actually give a shit about your opinion."

Somewhat belatedly, it occurred to Draco that pissing off the one person who could help him wasn't the best move. "Is Hermione very angry?"

"I wouldn't approach her without a Shield Charm if I were you."

"What would you do then, if you were me?"

Weasley was here, anyway, so Draco couldn't be completely bonkers hoping she would help him. With what, he wasn't quite sure. He was just desperate to get rid of the sinking feeling he got every time he imagined Hermione thinking about how Draco had latched on to any possible explanation other than that he actually had fallen in love with her.

Malfoys didn't go for chivalry, as a rule, but even they had some standards. He could not allow Hermione to keep on believing he still thought she was beneath him, that he still was the same snotty idiot he had been at school.

He had his pride, if nothing else.

Draco was already halfway through what he later would refer to as The Plan before Weasley spoke, hoping capitalising it in his head would make it more likely to work. The pitiful dregs of a game plan he had in mind would have disgraced a Slytherin first year.

"Keep it simple," Weasley said eventually. "No elaborate schemes, no fancy ways to convince her. Just be honest."

Draco groaned. Why did he have to fall in love with a Gryffindor – had he not suffered enough during the war?

It would be helpful if his subconscious wasn't determined to punish him for past misdeeds.

Hermione looked suspiciously at her desk. She had popped out for coffee, refusing on principle to avail of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures' own supplies as they were still tainted by association with Malfoy. As he wasn't there to see it, the only person who suffered was Hermione, which did not put her in a better mood.

Finding 'Sorry' spelled out in sashimi on a tray hovering above her abandoned interdepartmental memo was the icing on the cake.

Hermione sighed. No doubt, the cherry on top was hovering in the vicinity. "You may as well come out. Presumably, this means you decided not to listen to Ginny."

"She told you?" Malfoy looked slightly more worn than usual – perhaps it was the indignity of hiding behind the door to her office.

"Ginny has been my friend since we were in second year – one of my best friends. If you'd ever had any time for Harry, you would have known that means something. If you thought she was going to talk to you behind my back, you're delusional."

"Did you – " He perked up a bit before Hermione could put him right.

"She told me afterwards. I didn't set her up to play Cupid if that's what you think. Now, if that is all, some of us have work to do –"

Malfoy vanished the sushi before Hermione had time to do it. The utterly serious expression on his face took her by surprise.

"I realise you have plenty of reasons not to give me the time of the day, much less go out with me. Before I go, I just need you to know this: I'm utterly rubbish at making you fancy me. As evidenced by the events of the last few months."

"Finally, something we can agree on," she mumbled.

Malfoy continued, unabated: "It doesn't change the fundamental facts. We could be amazing together. Not just for ourselves – if the two of us can overcome our differences, doesn't that mean something to the whole Wizarding world?"

Hermione couldn't contain herself any longer. "I'm not going to live my personal life for – for the Greater Good!"

"No, but a level-headed witch like you might consider all the advantages or disadvantages before making your decision." Trust Malfoy to sound smoother than a baby's bottom even when he was on the back foot.

"Go on, then," she said wearily.

"Ginny Weasley said something I think was important. She told me you did not hate me a few months ago when I met you at the wand stations every morning. If we can ever manage to meet without our respective pasts dictating our every interaction, what would we be like together?

"But –"

"It happened. All of it. You were a heroine, I was a bigoted idiot who ended up way over my head and learnt my father was an even worse idiot with homicidal tendencies. I also learnt that Muggle or wizard blood looks exactly the same, and I don't much like the sight of either." Surely, he would have to stop for a breath soon? Apparently not:"You learnt that old prejudices run deep and that not everything can be found in a book. We've changed, both of us. Maybe it matters more who we are today than who we used to be."

Hermione couldn't quite remember why she still was annoyed with him when he reminded her:

"And I'm sorry," Draco added belatedly. "Clearly I'm absolutely rubbish at all things romance, because I genuinely believed I had mated with you."

"I guess I should be grateful you didn't drag me to your cave by my hair." Some of the earlier Veela writings were rather graphic on the subject – wizard wish-fulfilment, presumably.

"I do have some sense of self-preservation. Slytherin, remember."

Draco was taller than Harry, but not as tall as Ron. Pointy chin, just like his father – a visual reminder of the boy he once had been. Grey eyes, surprisingly warm, surrounded by scores of faint lines. The war had left its mark elsewhere, too – not just on his arm, hidden discretely beneath his robes. A faint scar winded its way around his neck before disappearing under his white-blond hair. It was long, these days, almost reaching his shoulders.

He probably would be considered good-looking by someone seeing him for the first time. An objective observer.

Hermione found she was nothing of the sort – she had returned the smile lurking in his eyes without even noticing, and she was utterly incapable to consider Draco as merely a package of visible attributes.

Annoyingly, she seemed to be left with only one option.

"Fine," Hermione said. "One date. You get one chance to convince me I'm not making a terrible mistake."

She had never seen him smile like that before – like his heart was written on his face. "If you let me, I will spend a very long time indeed convincing you that you haven't."

"Smooth," Hermione muttered, but even she could feel the glow on her cheeks.

"Tomorrow night?" Draco was suddenly all business.

She raised her eyebrows. "If you're ready for it?"

"With you, I would be ready for anything." He bowed, swerved around and with a flick of his wand he returned the tray with sushi to its former place.

"Wait a second –" Hermione began, but Draco was already firmly ensconced in his office – he must have Apparated the last bit, if the soft 'pop' followed by a slamming door was anything to go by.

"If you think you've won me over just like that, you've got another think coming," Hermione told him through the wall, but she was smiling like she had just been awarded an Order of Merlin for services to house-elves.

THE END