CHAPTER 3 - Consummation

The time between Draco existing as a human and becoming a monster grows shorter. It has only been four days. Each night she has kissed him and allowed him to hold her. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement; a kind of symbiosis. He shows his gratitude in eager touches, in acts of pleasure, drawing joy from her with deft and clever hands and a filthy mouth. She does not reciprocate and makes no comment when he disappears to the bathroom. She is almost asleep by then and unconscious fully when he returns and curls around her. She sleeps well like this, no nightmares, just a sinfully comfy bed and the blanket heat of her beast of a husband.

His body keeps her safe, but what of his heart? His soul and his mind? There are whispers in their shared magic, a longing in his eyes, the scent of fear and sadness. Hermione does not allow herself to ponder on it as she prepares to fight for her job.

It is the night before her tribunal. She has spent long hours since receiving the summons each day at her office while Draco stalks her home. He reads Muggle books and attempts to make real coffee and finds new ways to taunt Crookshanks, as well as the ever present aurors posted outside. She knows he lets in the house-elves to cook when she's not there, but she never sees them and he serves her dinner as if he has made it himself.

It's late and the food is cold when she returns. The flat is dark and she sees his large silhouette standing by the window.

"What time?" she asks. (She is keeping a mental record of the hours when his transformation occurs.)

"Barely after sundown." She is used to his voice. It does not grate but passes through her as a rumbling vibration. "They almost saw me too." He must be watching whoever stands guard on the street through the part of her curtains.

"Did you parade around naked again?"

She sees the reflection of the streetlights catch on his fangs. He must be smiling. "It's what I always do."

"Feed me," she says, collapsing at the table. "I'll deal with you later."

"Did I neglect to tell you? Tonight's menu is kneazle cassoulet."

Crookshanks is winding round her ankles, seeking shelter. She caught Malfoy holding him up to his gigantic mouth just yesterday. He made no apologies, except to say he promised to cook the fleabag first.

Her hand reaches down and scratches behind an ear. "Sounds delicious," she says as her familiar purrs.

"It was."

Crookshanks hisses at the voice and darts into her lap. She lets Malfoy serve her a plate of stew (pork sausages and duck, as it turns out), ignoring the sounds of his wings catching on every surface. He is working on his coordination in the small space, on dulling his magic, on pretending to be quiet.

Clumsy oaf, she thinks, but doesn't object when, eyes and body drooping in her seat, he scoops her up with one arm and carries her to bed.

He lies down beside her, taking off her shoes and unfastening her robes. "I want to come with you tomorrow," he tells her.

"It's not safe. You might change."

"I want to protect you."

"From who?"

"Everyone."

"That's sweet." She's yawning as she touches him. He lies her on his chest and she listens to his heartbeat, stroking his scaly skin and pressing light kisses to it. She sinks and rises with each respiration. The steady movement feels so soothing. "Stay like this," she says, "just for a bit longer."

"You're taking advantage of me."

She laughs, lets him comb his long claws through her hair. "S'nice."

"Now you're purring like the furball."

"I can't help it."

"Kitten." He's taken to calling her that, claims it's because she's small and likes to scratch. "Sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

"Goodnight, Gargoyle."

She has a name for him too. It relates to the curse. Narcissa had a book delivered from the Manor library about the seventh century legend of La Gargouille, a dragon-like beast who terrorized the French town of Rouen. Draco translated for her. (She had to resist the urge to touch herself as his expert tongue slipped between two languages, occasionally three for the bits in mostly latin, although that is something she understands herself). The beast would destroy villages and attack ships, only being placated by the offer of a human sacrifice; a virgin maiden was preferred.

It was a priest who killed him and burned the corpse. But being a fire-breathing dragon, the head and neck survived and were later nailed to the cross of the town's new church.

"Violent Muggles," Draco concluded.

"But it fits, my cursed dragon. My sweet Gargoyle."

The Muggle legend is a fudge of the truth. There was no priest but a witch, rejected by Draco's early ancestor Felix Malfoi. The reason? A lack of purity, though in terms of chastity or blood (or maybe even both), Hermione isn't sure.

He's playing music when she gets home the following day. Dark Side of the Moon. Her father's record. She's no idea how he worked out how. Music fills the space. He's lying on the ground, demon now, eyes closed, wings spread as far as they will go in her tiny flat. Not far. Crookshanks sleeps atop one, tail flicking with the beat. She kneels down and strokes Crookshanks as Malfoy stirs.

"How'd it go?" he says.

"I lost. They won't let me practice."

"I'm sorry, Granger. What can I do?"

"Hold me." She crawls on top of him. Large and impossibly strong arms close around her. She cries against him, falls asleep for a while. When she wakes, she's lying on the sofa. He's playing the Carpenters. "I love this one," she says and cries again. Superstar makes her cry on the best of days but now she's thinking of her parents and what she's lost and how her husband makes her feel indescribably alone.

"Dance with me," he says and pulls her up, off her feet. "Your Muggle songs are depressing," he tells her as he twirls her around, her legs dangling. She laughs.

"What am I going to do?"

"Drink. Pass out. Start again tomorrow."

"I'm stuck with you."

"Yeah."

"I've got no one else. No job. Friends who don't trust me and watch outside my door. A public who hates me."

"They hate me."

"Same thing now."

"What do you want from me, Granger?"

Her arms are around his neck, her head pillowed on his shoulder. She sighs. "I don't love you yet. I like you less because I lost my job, which isn't fair. But you did this. It's your fault."

He's growling. "I'm trying."

"Do you like me?"

"Not right now."

They keep dancing anyway. Close to You drives him close to insane and she thinks he scratches the record when he shuts it off.

"They belonged to my parents," she tells him when he's sat her on the counter and he's called several house-elves over, no longer bothering with pretense but making sure that she's fed. He pours her wine then firewhisky. He runs her a bath and removes all her clothes and it's the first time that he's seen her naked.

"What happened to them?" he asks her when she's drowning in bubbles, his body contorted to somehow fit into the bathroom doorway.

"I erased their memories of me to protect them during the war. But now it's too late to reverse and they don't remember who I am. They live in Australia and think they never had a daughter. When I play their records, it reminds me of home, of being loved and safe."

"I'm sorry."

"What reminds you of home?"

"Voldemort sitting at our table feeding Muggles and blood-traitors to his snake."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"What about before then?"

"Fire. We'd always have a fire burning and Mother would rest her head on Father's lap while he read."

"Do you like your father?"

"He's my father."

"That's not what I asked."

"He's what I aspired to. And I guess he's who I've become."

"Have you really?"

"A secret monster."

"Was he cruel?"

"He loves my mother."

"Was he cruel to you?"

"He got things wrong. I don't hate him, Granger. I think he was a misguided fool and we've all suffered for it. I'm mad he didn't protect me and Mother. I wish he made me braver and stronger but he made me a coward. Spoiled me and failed me. But still, I wish he wasn't in prison. I wish Mother wasn't sad because she misses him. I wish he hadn't given me this stupid curse."

"You regret it all."

"What?"

"All you did."

"I apologized, didn't I?"

"I don't think that you're your father, Draco."

She stands up from the bath and calls a towel with her wand, casts a spell to dry and twist up her hair.

"I don't think you're a mudblood, Granger."

"What a compliment."

"You're beautiful."

She lets him paw her tits as she lies in bed, fingers carding through his hair, tugging on his pointed ears, pressing her pads to the tips of his fangs until she draws blood.

"I think you're beautiful, too," she tells him. "On the outside. On the inside, you're confused." She tells him this as she kisses his ridged brow and, when he's human and desperate, eating her out like a starving man served up a nine-course meal, she reminds him, "I know you're trying, Draco." But it's not enough. It can't be enough, though she comes and she's crying again.

How will it ever be enough?

The days after she has lost her job become the hardest. Hermione Granger cannot function without a compass and no map. She needs a cause and it hasn't been Harry or the war for a long time and now she's denied the means to make it what she wants, all the magical creatures, even her cursed husband.

She agrees to meet Narcissa for lunch. Draco no longer goes out but he sends and receives many owls, claiming he has to oversee the family business. "I have to placate the board." Always the board, mysterious board and company that does who knows what.

"Go see my mother," he orders and so she does out of a desperate boredom.

They meet in the same French place Draco took her to when they were wed. There is privacy and quiet. Narcissa looks well-rested and perfectly poised and made-up. Hermione is tired. She wears Muggle clothes. She refused the bath Draco drew the night before and her hair is tangled and she hasn't eaten in even longer.

"What can we do about your job?" Narcissa says.

"We?"

"You're family."

"I'm a mess."

"I can see that. How is Draco?"

A pain in the arse, she thinks. More monster than man. Trying to the point of destruction. "He's great," she says.

"Hmm." Narcissa calls over the waiter and orders a bunch of dishes not on the menu. "This will keep you strong. You need to be strong for my son."

"Why me? Why's it suddenly my responsibility?"

"You're his wife."

"I'm his keeper. And his prisoner to boot."

"Don't be so melodramatic, Ms. Granger."

"I appreciate you calling me that, though Hermione is fine."

"Yes, well, I can accept some breaks in tradition. Though not all. Why have you not consummated your marriage?"

Hermione chokes on her water.

"Is my son not attractive? Does he not please you?" Narcissa says, hiding her displeasure at such poor manners while Hermione dabs a napkin to her face.

"This is all none of your business."

"When it comes to maintaining his life, it most definitely is. I'm certainly more patient than Lucius. He's still waiting for your visit."

"I thought that was no longer necessary."

"Not before. But this isn't to relay a message. He would like to meet his daughter-in-law."

She has nothing better to do than a visit to Azkaban. She doesn't tell Draco where she is going. He sits amongst piles of scrolls, sending off more owls and ordering around house-elves. If this is how the rest of Malfoy Industries conducts business then Hermione doesn't want to know. She doesn't ask him either, though she does make comment on his reading glasses, transfigured to fit his gargoyle face.

"You look cute."

He mutters something about the price of wolfsbane and can she clear out and what the hell's for dinner. He's in a good mood then, she thinks, still not very hungry herself and unnerved by yesterday's lunch with his mother.

They parted with a hug initiated by Narcissa. "You'll be good for him," she said. "Lucius will see."

Hermione feels no reassurance as she arrives outside the prison fortress. A masked auror apparates to meet her and disapparates them in. She's discombobulated and nauseous as they take her wand and the rest of things and go through a long checklist ticked off with black-feathered quill by a witch the size of a house-elf. Hermione rarely feels tall but the glare of the shorter woman is still enough to cow her.

"What is the nature of your relationship to Lucius Malfoy?"

"Daughter-in-law," she says.

"Not related by blood?"

"I am family."

She feels the judging stares of the many guards around her. More questions are asked and a lock of hair and a pinprick of blood are taken "for the records", which translates to mean they'll make her leave a pensieve of her visit when she's done.

Once the tiny witch has completed her inquisition, a giant of an auror takes Hermione roughly by the elbow and through a maze of doors and stairs as confusing as an Escher drawing, all meant to disorientate should she be planning a prison break. She wants to laugh at the thought.

The final door is made of scarred wood with a small window formed by metal bars. The large wizard taps his wand against the wood three times and the door swings open.

"You got ten minutes," he says and shoves her in.

She shudders as the door bangs shut behind her, blinking against bright lights. When she can see, she finds herself in a square and incongruously pristine white room with a single table and two chairs. Lucius Malfoy is chained to one of the seats.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he says.

Her first thought is how much he looks like his son, despite the lost weight and increased lines to his face and receding hair that has thinned and hangs in greasy clumps. Merlin, please let Draco keep his hair, she silently prays, but she can see that there is still a handsome man lurking under the toils of incarceration, a proud and deceptively intimidating wizard. The Malfoy blood runs strong.

"It's still Ms. Granger, but you can call me Hermione, Mr. Malfoy," she responds.

He gives a small and frighteningly familiar smirk. "Please take a seat, Hermione." There is no reciprocal offer to call him by his first name.

"Your wife said you wished to see me," she says once she's sat before him.

"I wanted to offer my thanks and condolences."

"Which first?"

"I believe it is always preferable to dispense with the bad." His fingers—long and elegant as Draco's—steeple atop the table. "I was sorry to hear of the loss of your legal practice. The Ministry is cruel and vindictive."

"Some would say it's apt punishment for getting into bed with your family." At the arch of a single blond eyebrow, she amends with a blush, "Figuratively I mean."

"Ah, yes. And so to the thanks. You have saved my son."

"Not yet."

"But you shall."

"How do you know?"

"It is in your bleeding heart nature. And if you don't, I will find ways to act my vengeance from my prison cell."

She should be scared by the threat but another thought hits her. "You love your son?"

"Did you expect any less?"

"Yes, I think I did. If I may speak frankly, your family is not what I'm used to."

"Then you should get used to it."

"Is that another threat?"

With the slightest of shrugs, he says, "Call it friendly advice."

"And can you get used to a Muggle-born witch for a daughter? A half-blood for an heir?"

"Are you with child?"

"No!" She's deeply disturbed by the interest Draco's parents seem to take in his sex life, as much as she may understand the reasons for their concern. "But I can't tolerate your prejudices," she goes on. "I won't expose any child I have to it."

"Do you love my son, Ms. Granger?"

"No."

"Then you must learn to."

"But he doesn't love me either."

"Oh but he will."

"How can you say that? Is it to do with the curse?"

"The curse does not create the bond of love, but love is a powerful thing, some would say stronger than magic."

His words surprise her. Everything about this exchange has left her more lost than before. She knows less and less. There was no chastisement about her blood status as it seemed unimportant. Though the threats were expected, their motivation was not. Blood is thick with the Malfoys. Heavy in loyalty and protectiveness, tempered by all their history and sullied by their myriad mistakes. But it goes on and on and she will not be the one to break it, not if Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have their way.

"I think I understand," she says as the giant of an auror taps three more times on the door to announce that their ten minutes are up.

A strong hand wraps around her arm and she is dragged from the room, Lucius Malfoy's parting words echoing down the corridor:

"Welcome to the family, Hermione."

"What a creepy fucker," the auror says.

"I got you a job."

"I met with your father."

"WHAT?!"

Their cries echo in unison, though Hermione's voice is drowned out by the boom of her gargoyle spouse. Crookshanks leaps down from Draco's shoulders at the noise. There are spots of ink embedded in the orange fur of his head, which Hermione later comes to learn is due to Draco rubbing behind his ears with a quill. She is unsure at what point a détente was called and relations thawed to the point of uneasy friendship, but she has bigger concerns right then.

"What do you mean you got me a job?"

Hands on her hips and intonation at her bossy and displeased best, this usually worked on Ron and Harry. Draco simply lifts her by the elbows and growls in her face. "You went to Azkaban?"

"Your mother asked me to."

"It's too dangerous."

"Says who? You've never been!"

"I don't want to! And I don't want you to go either."

"Well go conjure a time-turner or accept what's in the past. It's done. We spoke. He only threatened me twice."

"You caught him on a good day then."

"I think he's happy for us. Or he's just glad you're not dead. He really cares about you, Draco."

Draco emits a monstrously loud snort and drops her to her feet.

"Hey!" She smacks at his chest then goes back to her hands-on-hips position. "So what about this job?"

"Do you care?"

"Is that what you've been doing?"

"I've made a new department for magical creature relations."

Hermione's arms go limp. Her mouth drops.

"I can dismantle it, okay? It's barely real, just an idea I had to argue with the board over. Since our potions have expanded into wolfsbane and we have so few contacts with werewolves anyway and this is your thing. It doesn't matter, it was a stupid idea. The board all hated it but I—hey!"

She's launched herself at him and he catches her on instinct, arms holding her gently as she clings to him, pressing kisses to his face. "That's the sweetest thing someone's ever done for me," she says.

"Well, I am your sweet Gargoyle."

"Thank you, Draco."

She feels the rush of magic and he's changing, her body lowering as he grows smaller. Still he doesn't let her go and her arms and legs stay wrapped around him.

"That worked quickly," he observes but she's too busy hugging him, enjoying the feel of his warm flesh and his delicious scent.

"You earned it."

"I did?"

There's a knock at the door. "Perfect timing," Hermione groans but he won't put her down as he goes to answer. "Draco, wait!"

She's still hanging from his shoulders and one arm is tight about her waist as he opens the door with the other. "Auror Weasley, always a pleasure."

Ron and his shift partner demand to enter and want the full story. There are scheduled visits every few days but the racket of their argument must have triggered this impromptu call. It's been getting harder and harder to make sure Draco is at least human, if not always presentable, when they come. Though his clothes are torn and he's shirtless, he puts it all down to the ardor of his wife. "She's a wild kitten," he says, tugging on her hair and smiling with genuine glee at Ron's discomfort.

"Be more careful," Ron grumbles, studying Hermione for a long while as Draco pulls her close.

"You heard Auror Weasley, learn to control yourself, Granger."

She discreetly stamps on his foot and he holds in his scream until Ron and the other auror are gone.

"Jerk!" she yells as he calls her a bitch and tosses her over his shoulder, limping back to their bedroom where he gives her an extremely detailed breakdown of all that her new job will entail.

She hates it.

That isn't true.

There's so much potential and possibilities; even if she can't act as a lawyer, she can advocate and find other lawyers who can. She understands the Ministry enough to guide different creatures through various loopholes. She can lobby for changes in the law. She can order the manufacture of potions and other items that will better conditions for some. She can help find employment. She can even put in bids for tracts of land that will protect wolf packs and mer colonies and centaur forests and unicorn reserves. She has money and, more importantly, real political power at her fingertips. She has never felt anything like it before.

And it's all down to Draco.

He sets up a floo network between her flat and her new office and sneaks in for lunch every day, even if he's in demon form. They sit and go over her proposals, sometimes with her curled on his lap while he feeds her. It's so intimate and strange between them. She wants him near. She wants to hear all his thoughts. She wants him to take care of her like he seems so wont to do, since she's always been the sort of person doing the caring. Maybe this marriage will work. Maybe this is what it's supposed to be.

They still argue and he hates when she takes a cause too far, like wanting to go meet an unregistered werewolf pack in person or suggesting some centaurs stage a sit-in until they get a fair hearing at the Ministry.

"It's like you enjoy being in danger."

"I do not. But I'm not afraid to take risks."

"Same thing."

"What can you do to stop me?"

Sometimes his hand drifts up her skirt or he tears her shirt right open and toys with her breasts until she's pliant and helpless in his arms. Sometimes he punches the wall. Sometimes he simply begs. She learns how he worries and it's beginning to mean the world to her.

"I promise I'll be careful, Draco."

"Not careful enough." But he relinquishes eventually (after he's made her come and repaired her clothes or the crack in the wall or accepted the reassurance of her kisses) and leaves her to the rest of her day.

She really tries to be careful.

The press still express interest in their marriage. She holds one official interview at the start of her job to promote the new department. But all anyone wants to know is the most intimate details that she won't and can't share. Some things are secret between them, not just to protect Draco and the truth of his curse, but because they are theirs and no one else can understand and she doesn't want them to. She wants to keep this secret of a fragile marriage between them, the rickety little house they have built of misunderstandings and good intentions and all that constant erring and learning. Every bit counts, every single crumbling and ill-formed brick. And it's solely theirs.

But she's still called a traitor and a frigid virgin and a slut. Malfoy is a monster who can never be trusted and should be forever locked away. People voice these views in public. Harry tries to speak out in support of her but even the good word of the Boy Who Lived is not enough. Brightest witch of her age and the Wizarding World's greatest disappointment. Their marriage isolates them. She wishes they were an island but that's not really her; she's never been one to hide away.

So she isn't afraid when she takes this particular meeting. An anti-werewolf group who she has crossed paths with before; they have strong contacts on the Wizengamot and have lobbied hard to block the laws she has supported. She does not believe this is an olive branch but she does not see the benefit in denying them their say. Perhaps she can persuade them and isn't it better to know and understand your enemy? Sun Tzu would have been a Slytherin, she is sure. And she will not succumb to blind prejudice like so many others. Isn't that what started two wars?

They agree on neutral ground and meet at her old law office, which has been cleared out since she lost the right to her legal practice. The appointment is in her diary and her secretary is aware. But she keeps this one from Draco, unable and unwilling to deal with his overreaction. She will tell him when she is done.

The delegation consists of three men she has never met before. They shake her hand and accept the transfigured chairs and tea service she retrieves from her bottomless bag. The introductions are polite and perfunctory. The order of business nothing she has not prepared for. They are concerned by the new line of wolfsbane potion being produced by Malfoy Industries in an agreement with the Ministry. How will the unofficial rules be applied? What is the nature of the proposed law?

She's in her element. She's too at ease. Then the questions starkly change.

"What about your husband, Ms. Granger?" the oldest man says. He is tall with a thick black beard and beady pale blue eyes that seem never to blink as they stare at her.

"What about him?"

"Why isn't he here?"

"I'm in charge of this department. I don't require his presence—"

"But he would let you meet us alone and leave you so vulnerable?"

"Vulnerable?" Alarms sound in her head. Her gut instinct screams Danger! but it's too late. Too late!

"Has he mated you, Ms. Granger?"

She reaches for her wand but the bearded wizard snatches it first with a wordless Accio. The two other wizards are out of their chairs and have hold of her arms. They are not as tall as their leader but make up for it in brute strength. She can only struggle futilely as they twist her wrists and drag her onto the table.

"What are you doing? Let me go! Let me go!"

They silence her first then bind her limbs with more wordless spells. She lies muted and squirming, eyes wide in fear as the wizards look down on her.

"Werewolves are no longer what we fear," the oldest wizard says. "Your husband is a monster, an abomination, and yet you gave yourself freely to him. So why has he not been seen in public since? You have not broken the curse, which leads us to believe you remain untouched."

One wizened hand drags along her leg, from shin to knee and under the hem of her skirt. Tears fill her eyes. She wants to scream. She wants to scream for Draco.

"If you are no longer a virgin, would it kill him, Miss Granger?" The hand grips her thigh unkindly. "Is that the only way stop him?"

Eyes squeezed shut, she hears the words of a spell to remove her clothes. It is never finished. There is a loud rumbling and the sound of the door blowing open and then she hears her name.

"I'll fucking kill you all."

Draco's voice is low and certain. He stands in the smoking remains of the doorway, perfectly human but entirely drenched with murder. His wand sparks in his hand, green and ready for the first Unspeakable to be cast. The three wizards fire hexes at him. He blocks two but one lands, slicing open his chest. Blood pours from the wound but there is more in his eyes, glowing brighter as he bares his teeth and emits a terrible howl.

The windows shatter. Hermione feels the magic inside her reach out to him as the transformation starts. She is released from her bindings and her voice sings free, calling his name, calling her wand to her hand, the first wandless and wordless incantation she has ever achieved.

"Draco!"

She aims at the three wizards as she ducks under the table. Draco is screaming louder than she has ever heard, his wings spreading and breaking through the ceiling, sending wood and plaster down.

"Draco, stop! I'm okay!"

Then she hears it. Con-FRING-go! She is thrown, along with the table, by the force of the explosion, colliding with a wall. Her ears ring. Her vision is blurring. The room is filled with smoke and dust. And through it all steps out Draco, the tall older wizard raised in one large hand, claws ripping through his throat. Blood pours like struck oil and the body is thrown with enough force to break through the outer wall and fall into open air below. The remaining two wizards crawl forward and there are more voices from outside, footsteps on the stairs and pounding in the corridors. Aurors are entering the building, she is sure. We have to get out of here, she thinks. But the wizards are firing new hexes at Draco and at her.

"Hermione!"

He hovers over her, wings curved protectively around her like the first time she met this version of him. He is covered in blood and glowing with magic, a terrifying monster, the most beautiful creature she has ever seen. He gathers her up in his arms and turns towards their assailants.

"Close your eyes," he whispers and she does and there is heat and fire and burning and the loudest sound she has ever heard. Then air and coldness and the great heavy flap of enormous wings.

She looks for a brief moment and the world is upside down and far below and Draco must be above her, she supposes, but then she closes her eyes once more and opts for oblivion instead.

She can smell the sea. This is her first thought. Seagulls holler in cacophonous melody and she can feel a warm breeze on her face that must be bringing in the salted air. She is covered in a soft sheet and lying on an even softer bed. Her head is sunk into thick pillows. She snuggles deeper and then opens her eyes, sitting up suddenly to survey her surroundings.

She is in a white room, not the sterile space in which she had met Lucius, but a wood-panelled structure from floor to ceiling, with every surface painted the same. A large window is open before her with thin drapes billowing inwards to reveal a bay of sparkling blue sea. She rests on a large canopy bed dressed in the same virginal aesthetic. And to her left, huddled against the wall by the bed is a monster.

Her monster.

"Draco."

He blinks at her, red eyes unseeing, hair singed and blackened with soot. He smells of fire. His skin is crusted with dried blood. She holds her arms out to him.

"Draco," she says again.

He rises, the tips of his wings catching the rafters on the ceiling. And he gathers her up.

"You're okay?"

She cries as he holds her, body sinking back down to the floor, clawed hands stroking her hair and her face, wiping her tears away.

"What happened?" she whispers. "How did you…?" With a hiccup, she finally manages, "How did you know to come for me?"

"I had you followed." She starts to scream but he covers her mouth with one finger. "Let me finish, witch. Lacey was keeping an eye on you. I know you're going to kill me for this but I can't stand being trapped in that flat every day, never knowing if you're safe. She saw you go to your meeting and as soon as they had your wand, she apparated to me and brought me there. As for the rest…"

She tugs on his hand until he lets her speak. "Did you kill them?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"With fire."

"You breathed fire."

"Yes."

"Fucking dragon."

She rests her head against his chest and lets him hold her before she's asleep again. She wakes in bed alone. The sun is still shining outside but lies low with an orange light casting the room in phantom flames. She thinks of her dragon husband. Gargoyle monster. Holy hell. And stalker. He is right; she will kill him for that. And she thinks that this means there is no bond; he's just a possessive crazy asshole and, lucky for her, his possessive crazy asshole-ness saved her life.

But where is she?

He left her in her work clothes, minus shoes and with several tears in the fabric and smoke marks too. She checks for injures and finds most of her cuts and bruises have been healed. There are faded finger marks on her inner thigh and she begins to shake at the realization of what was almost done.

"Draco!"

She shouts for him. Mad as she is, she doesn't want to be alone right now.

Instead of her seven foot husband, a house-elf appears. "Buena sera, Donna Hermione. I am Gio. Don Draco asked me to fetch you for dinner."

"You're Italian?"

"Yes. You are in Italy."

"I see."

She follows the elf down winding stairs that lead to a narrow rustic kitchen and out onto a terrace. Hermione gasps at the view. A beautiful bay she had only caught glimpses of before now spreads out before her, the ragged cliff edges rich in trees and the bright blue water dotted by small bobbing yachts moored before rows of colorful houses.

Portofino, she thinks.

"I'm sorry I couldn't bring you here under better circumstances."

She turns to find Draco standing at the terrace edge looking out at the water. He has a glass of white wine cradled in his hand, which he downs too fast, liquid dripping from his fangs.

"I'm so fucking mad at you," she says.

"I was waiting for that." Gio appears with a pop and refills his glass before offering one to her. Hermione accepts. "You're fucking welcome, too," Draco says.

"Let's not argue."

"Wonderful idea."

"I'm saving up hours, probably days for a proper argument about how far out of line you were, but for now I want you to make me feel safe." She sips her wine and finds it cold and delightful. She takes a larger gulp and says in a small voice, "I was so scared."

He tosses his glass to the side, letting it smash on the ground, as he slowly stalks towards her. "I will always keep you safe. I'm sorry for how everything turned out."

"Me too."

She lets him wrap her in his arms and his wings. "Are you hungry?" he asks her, face nuzzling her hair.

"Starving."

"Gio's an even better cook than Pob. Although he only knows the local fare. I hope you like fish."

"I love it."

They sit at a small iron table drinking their wine and watching the sky change as the sun fully sets. Gio brings soup and pasta and stew and it is perfect and delicious and Hermione entirely understands why Draco would imagine his honeymoon here.

"How can you be outside?" she asks. "Don't you worry you might be seen?"

"This house is protected by old family wards. No one can see us, not even wizarding folk."

"They'll be looking for us, Draco."

"I know. I just wanted to take you far away so you could recover. At least for a few days. It doesn't matter—"

"What?"

"Whatever happens to me, I'll make sure you're taken care of, okay?"

At such words, she finds herself in his lap once again, touching his face and kissing his chest and willing the universe to give them this little island of peace and calm before its hit by an apocalyptic storm.

"I know I said I was mad, but thank you for saving me."

She can feel him starting to change beneath her.

"I'd kill them again," he says. "And again and again. Anyone that would dare to harm you."

"They'll put you in prison."

"I don't care."

Human and beautiful once more, he stands them from their seat and leads her back to the bedroom and onto the bed.

"Make love to me," she says as he lies down beside her.

"Don't be daft. You've had too much wine. I'm not doing anything to you until you tell me you're okay."

"I don't know yet."

"Would you like a bath?"

"Is that your answer for everything?"

"For Circe's sake, I'm trying here, you impossible witch. I won't even start to explain what hearing you say 'make love to me' has done."

"You won't be joining me in the bath then?"

He throws a pillow at her head before disappearing to the bathroom.

She's half-asleep by the time she's clean and changed, wearing nothing but one of his white shirts. He's lying behind her, arms keeping her close enough that she can feel him blowing her hair out of his face.

"You're going to kill me in the night with this mane," he mumbles, sounding as sleepy as she feels.

"Before you die, can I tell you something?"

He sighs. "If you must." He winces when she elbows him. She saw the pink mark on his chest before, where the slicing hex had hit; another scar to add to many of the Sectumsempra curse. "Get on with it then." At least he heals fast.

"I shouldn't keep saying I don't love you. I think it's a lie. I think it's always been. Ever since this started between us, I've felt something for you. A lot of it negative, yes, but always something and always strongly. The truth is I'm glad we got married. I'm glad I have you in my life. And, even though lots of what you do is outrageously wrong and drives me mad and you've turned my whole life upside down, I don't think that I could imagine it without you."

She lies in the silence and waits for him to respond. In this dark there are few answers except for the quickening of his heartbeat and the increased tension in his arms.

"Draco?"

"Quite the romantic, aren't you, Granger?"

"Oh my god—"

"Shut up! I love you too, okay. Now go to sleep."

Somehow she does.

His hands are cradling her face and he's staring down at her when she awakens. "I meant what I said." He kisses her once. "They're trying to break down the wards. Don't know how they found us so fast. Bloody Potter." He kisses her again. "But I mean it, Granger. Every damn word."

"Say my name."

A kiss to one cheek. "Bloody Granger." And to the other. "Hermione, okay?" One quickly to her forehead. "Hermione Malfoy." He picks up her left hand and thumbs the ring then presses his mouth to her knuckles. "Violent kitten," he says with a smile, leaning down until his lips meet hers, this kiss long and soft and heartbreakingly final.

"My wife."

And then he is gone.

Before she can follow, Gio pops by her side and apparates her out to where around two dozen aurors are waiting, with Harry leading the charge. He grabs her as she struggles and screams for Draco, dragging her to back of the crowd. But she can still see him step out the front door, still human and scarred and so fucking vulnerable. His arms are held wide and how she wants to run into them but Harry won't let her, whispering that it'll be okay, that she's safe when she's not, not without him, not without her husband. How can they make her watch?

At least twenty stunners hit him before he finally goes down. He is restrained in the goblin-made shackles and apparated away while she is taken to St. Mungo's, determinedly mute and defiant.

Harry and Ron pace around her bed, the healers having completed an assessment and deemed her well enough for visitors, despite her never uttering a word.

"Say something, 'Mione, please," Ron says. "What did he do to you?"

Harry tries a more diplomatic approach. "If you tell us, we can help him. He's not saying anything too, just wants to know that you're safe."

"Does he have a lawyer?" Hermione says with cracked lips that still vibrate from his kiss. They are her first words in six hours.

"No—" Ron begins until Harry glares at him.

"No? You cruel, incompetent bastards! I bet you wanted to arrest him as soon as I could no longer practice. What took you so long? Did it take me almost being raped to stir you into action?"

"He tried to—?!"

"No, Ronald! Bloody no! Never! If it wasn't for him, those men would've hurt me. He killed them to protect me. It was in my defense. He's not a monster; he's my husband. And if I can't see him then he'll die and I'll never speak to either of you again, do you understand? This is on your heads, all of it!"

She folds her arms and sits back. "You better go. I feel tired. The healers said I need rest."

"We'll be back in the morning," Harry promises, looking like a scolded dog with its tail between its legs.

Ron looks even more regretful. "I'm sorry, 'Mione. We just want to make sure you're okay."

She won't see them the next day or the day after that. She's declared fit and well and free to go home. There are no charges against her. Just a lot of questions and confusion and incomprehension from her supposed best friends.

She takes the hospital floo back to her flat. There are press outside and an auror protection detail. She shuts all the curtains and wards all the windows and doors, finds Crookshanks grumpy and unsettled but somehow fed and with water. Bloody elves. The place is spotless and there are prepared meals left in the fridge. She grabs her cat and sits on the sofa. "I know you miss him, too, boy," she says.

She calls for Lacey and thanks her for getting Draco in time to save her. She holds back on asking just how much she trailed her the rest of the time. The poor elf is tearful enough at what is going to happen to her master. Soon Hermione, Crookshanks and Lacey are sitting huddled together, wondering what will become of them all.

Eventually she has to call for another elf to bring her the last three days' papers. The one after the day of her attack bears a vivid front page image. A ball of fire can be seen destroying two walls of her office building then Draco emerges from the smoke with her unconscious body in his arms and disappears into the sky. It looks like a violent kidnapping rather than what actually occurred and that's exactly how the press frame it. The one following his arrest proclaims the aurors' success in her daring rescue, the former Golden Girl no longer public enemy but now innocent victim of a dangerous brute. And today's edition talks of his indefinite imprisonment as he awaits trial for murder. The Wizengamot refuse to set a date, claiming all of the facts must be gathered first.

But Hermione suspects that their motives are far worse.

Because it's less than eight weeks until Draco's twenty-fifth birthday.

That's less than eight weeks to come up with an infallible plan.

Hermione has all the parts in place by six.

There's still no date for a trial but a preliminary hearing is due to take place in three days and there's no time like the present. She gives Lacey polyjuice to take her place and wait in the apartment. Every few hours she's been instructed to glance out the window so the aurors will see and perhaps a reporter will take her photo. Hermione has already spent the last few days glancing out every now and then so her behavior won't seem unusual. Then she waits for Harry. He arrives via floo from Grimmauld Place with the requested package in hand.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

She bites her tongue and even refrains from rolling her eyes, much like she did at the start of all this. Harry is understandably nervous and she has asked for so much from him, she's not sure that she can ever repay him.

"I have to see Draco," is all she says and she puts on the invisibility cloak.

Harry apparates them both to the Ministry then goes down to the holding cells to wait for the evening change of shift. There are even more aurors on duty outside than before and Harry has told her they have had Unspeakables creating new and supposedly impenetrable wards. She watches as people greet Harry, exchanging casual words. The outer door opens and the day shift emerges. The freak has caused them no trouble tonight, they say and wish Harry and his colleagues a quiet night. Hermione hopes for one as well, trailing behind Harry, who makes sure to hold the rear and close the outer door behind them. The lights flick on and off as the locks slip back into place and the wards reset. One of the aurors carries a tray of food and water. Another stoops to open up a panel at the base of the inner door with their wand but Harry stops them.

"Can I? Need to clarify a couple of things before the hearing."

"Be my guest," the guard says. "You'll be okay?"

Harry grins. "Voldemort, remember? This is a pussycat next him."

Arrogant prick, Hermione thinks but thanks Merlin for it. Where would she be without the Boy Who Lived?

Harry takes the tray as the inner door opens. The rest of the team move back and Hermione edges along the walls and into darkness.

"Dinner time, Malfoy," Harry calls, placing the tray down. The door shuts behind them and the overhead light comes on. "You in a talkative mood?"

"Get bent, Potter." The voice booms from a hidden corner, still as strange and terrible as she remembers, but her heart races with a different kind of excitement now.

"Still trying to sweet-talk me?" Harry says.

"Get out before I eat you!"

"Fine, but we still need to have words at some point." He bangs on the door and is let back out until the room is plunged into darkness once more.

Hermione can hear a metallic shuffling like chains being dragged. "I've got some words for you, fuck-face," the voice mutters and Hermione has to cover her mouth before she laughs.

The shuffling stops. "Who's there? Potter?"

She can't breathe.

"I smell something." A large hand reaches out and grabs the tray of food. It's followed by a loud sniff. "Merlin!" The tray goes flying and smashes against the now locked door.

Hermione keeps surreptitiously moving, palms pressed to the cold, damp stone. Cloaked in shadow and invisibility, she prays she's not noticed until she can reach him properly. Unfortunately, her foot catches on a heavy chain and she hisses.

Shit.

She hears him move before she can feel him, but she's too close to escape. Those large familiar hands grab her and pull her close. She's crushed to his chest as he breathes her in.

"I think I've lost it."

"Quiet, Draco."

He goes perfectly still and she can move enough to pull out her wand and cast the strongest silencing spell she knows. She adds several disillusionment charms for good measure.

"Let me see you," he begs.

She pulls off the cloak and he's lifted her to his face. "What the fuck are you doing? Is Potter in on this?"

"Saving your life, you ungrateful fool."

And then she's kissing him and touching every part she can reach. She can't stop and the magic flows, stronger than it ever did, more heady than that first time that they touched. They're both sinking to the ground and she's lying on top of a sleeping angel, pale and too thin; he's lost weight. Well, if he treats every meal in the same way… Merlin, she has to get him out of here.

"Draco?"

Her eyes have barely adjusted to the darkness but she can see when he wakes and he looks at her with that beautiful pair of grays. "Hey." She strokes his cheek. "I had to see you."

"You're without doubt the most insane witch I have ever met." He drags her down to him and kisses her fully. "Fucking brilliant bossy insane genius witch." It's like their wedding day kiss but better. It's like every kiss they've ever shared but a million times greater than any kiss ever. And she's kissing him back and she's taking off her robes. "What are you doing?"

Her hands trace his throat down to his chest and pinch his nipples. She grinds down against him as he hisses. "Making love to you," she says. "I'm not asking this time."

"I'm not going to stop you."

He's hard beneath her. She can feel him as he grabs her hips and guides her down, hands stroking her thighs and disappearing under her skirt.

"Fuck me," he says when his fingers meet bare flesh.

"I didn't want to waste time."

"So don't."

There are shackles around his wrists and ankles, making it hard to move, making their movements noisy, but he won't be deterred. There's a frightening degree of strength that he holds, even in this weakened state, especially with their magic is so close that she can feel it purring together. He lifts her up as she unfastens his pants and gets her first feel of him. Her small hand struggles to wrap around him, dragging up the smooth hot length as he curses and begs.

"You sure you're ready?" His fingers reach between her legs to find her practically dripping. "What were you thinking about?"

"You, you bloody idiot."

"Keep talking dirty to me, Granger."

"Prat."

"My virgin slut kitten." And he lines her up with his length. "Tell me it was worth the wait."

"Not if you make me wait any longer."

He guides himself in slow and fast.

"Ah!"

"That's it. Fuck. You feel amazing. You okay?"

She can barely talk. There's a pain and a fullness and a building inside her. Her magic is singing with his, screaming, growing desperate. Move, she thinks and he somehow hears her. Her hands fall to his chest as he lifts her by the ass, guiding her up and down, moving his own body beneath her. The friction is too much, too good.

"You can touch yourself," he says and she does as he keeps her going. Her fingers roll over her clit and her first orgasm breaks, pulsing around him, sucking him further in as her whole body melts against his.

"Good girl, darling girl. Fuck, love, you are made for me." Words are tumbling from his mouth, fast and incoherent as his building movements. "Mine. Can you feel it? Hermione, my Hermione." The tension is growing again, somehow faster and greater than before. How can she survive this? "I'm nearly there, I'm nearly—hold on."

"Oh my god, Draco."

"Say it, keep saying it."

"Draco—"

"Hermione, fucking fuck."

His fingers are gripping her hips so hard, she thinks they might pierce her flesh, penetrate inside her like the rest of him and she wants him to. There's no end and no beginning, just the building and the breaking and she's falling down and coming apart and exploding, lights behind her eyes, magic flowing from her hair to her toes.

Draco makes an inhuman sound but it's nothing like the demon, more an animal, wild and newly set free. His hips hold flush with hers and she's filled by liquid heat. It seems to never stop and she's all liquid too, a mass of flesh atop him.

"Holy fuck," he keeps whispering, "holy fuck," his hands entwined in her hair until he has her face raised to look at his. "Holy fuck, you incredible demon."

"I thought that was you."

"You're a beast. I fucking love you." And he kisses her. Sweet and hot with salt and need.

She lies with him there, slowly kissing, languidly feeling the flesh of the other. He's still inside her and she wants to keep him there but she has a mission too and time is an ever-changing creature, not like this constance and eternity that seems to exist between them.

"I love you too," she tells him and reaches for her wand. She can Accio without it now and so it comes to her as she stares down at him. "Do you trust me, Draco?"

"With my life. It belongs to you."

"And mine to you." She kisses him like he did to her in their bed in Portofino. "I mean it, every word," she says and her wand hovers by his face. "I'll see you soon, my love."

"What are you doing? Granger—!"

"Obliviate."

Hermione takes her seat beside Narcissa for Draco's hearing. No press or general public are permitted in the council chambers, only those immediately involved and an excessive number of aurors. After all have risen and the Chief Warlock announces that court is in session, Draco is brought in, still in his goblin-made shackles but wearing dress robes at least. He looks better than she's ever seen him, taller maybe. What is going on with his height and his weight? Why is he still growing?

Narcissa grabs Hermione's hand and whispers, "What did you do to him?"

"I—"

"He looks wonderful," she beams.

The ten guards surrounding Draco chain him to the stand. The Chief Warlock and the rest of the Wizengamot all stare oddly at Draco, seemingly confused.

"Ah—" the Chief Warlock begins then stops. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are charged with three counts of murder, kidnapping, destruction of property, attempted assault of law enforcement officials while resisting arrest, and numerous violations of the terms of your probation. This hearing is to establish the basic facts of the charges made against you and plan for an appropriate trial date. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your Honor."

The hearing begins. A prosecution lawyer goes through the charges and the barest details of—what is to Hermione, at least—the Ministry's flimsy case. Hermione bristles in her seat. Her husband has no lawyer, no representation to ensure that he is treated fairly. As the prosecution rests, she stands. "If I may, your Honor?"

Murmurs ripple through the court. She sees Ron gawp wide-eyed and Harry uncomfortably fiddle with his glasses. Draco only glances at her with the barest of smirks.

"If you may what, Miss Granger?" the Chief Warlock says.

"I wish to make my statement as part of the evidence-gathering process. Due to the effects of my ordeal, I have not been able to until now. But if it would please the court?"

"Very well."

Hermione takes the witness stand. She takes an oath. A brief discussion occurs over whether there is a need for veritaserum but in the interests of time and so as not to distress the supposed victim further, it is decided against. When the court is ready, the Chief Warlock asks Hermione to recount for the record the events of that fateful couple of days.

And so she enacts the final part of her plan:

"Your Honor, on the day in question I was lured under false pretenses by supposed members of an anti-werewolf lobbying group. What started as a discussion over the planned production of wolfsbane by Malfoy Industries quickly turned into inappropriate questions as to the nature of the relationship between me and my husband. I had my wand taken and was restrained with threats made of an inherently sexual nature. Before anything too awful could occur, Draco Malfoy arrived and began dueling with my three assailants. I managed to break free and retrieve my wand in all the chaos. And then…" Hermione lowers her eyes. "I am not proud to say this but I cast what would turn out to be lethal curses. I was only trying to protect my husband and myself. I thought I could control the Fiendfyre but it took over the room and blew out the walls. It was only due to Draco changing into his creature form that he was able to save me. I think he panicked because I was hurt and flew me away to somewhere I would be safe. I woke up in his house in Portofino, healed and cared for. I was scared over what might have happened and asked that we stay there until I felt better. But after only one day, the aurors arrived and took Draco away. I was too distressed to even speak to anyone. Not until now. Your Honor," Hermione stands, "Draco did nothing wrong. And you can see for yourself, he is in total control of his curse. There is no threat from his magic. Our marriage was consummated early on to ensure it. This is all my fault. Charge me if you wish but please let my husband go."

"I'm going to kill you."

These are Draco's first words once he is released and they are home and she explains everything as he paces and curses and narrowly avoids kicking Crookshanks, who is only trying to rub against Draco's legs.

Stupid cat. Insufferable husband.

How she loves them both.

"If you would just calm down—"

"Calm down?"

The court had decided the only way to verify Hermione's statement was to question Draco under veritaserum. So they did. Everything he recalled matched exactly with her version of events. She had made it so via a more sophisticated and undetectable version of the spell she had used on her parents. It had taken most of her weeks of planning to get right. But it is one of the best pieces of spell-work she has ever done.

"You didn't let me finish." She rises from the sofa and moves to stand before him. She barely reaches the top of his chest now. Since they consummated their marriage and seemingly broke the curse, he has taken on new physical characteristics, being taller and stronger than ever, as if some of the beast still lingers within.

She pushes up on her tiptoes and holds her wand to his head. "I made sure it was reversible, my sweet impatient Gargoyle," she whispers and says the words and performs the movements that will give him back everything that was forgotten.

His eyes go wide and blank for a moment and then he is blinking down at her. "I still want to kill you," he says, "but after I fuck you through the mattress." He picks her up by the waist, her arms and legs wrapping around him as he carries her to their bedroom. "How dare you try and make me forget what an epic fucking shag you are."

"You had me stalked by a house-elf," she says in between kissing his face and removing his shirt.

"Understandable." His voice is partly muffled by her breasts. "You needed rescuing five minutes later."

"Officially I handled it myself."

"You're a psycho," he says, vanishing their remaining clothes away.

"So are you."

"I guess we're made for each other," and he does exactly what he set out to do.

Her husband—Draco Malfoy—is a man of his word, after all.

And his wife—Hermione Granger-Malfoy—is also a woman of hers.