Chapter 21: Stories About Wolves

Seven days passed before Hermione returned to Andromeda's little cottage in the woods, but she was not idle in that week. Although she did not smile and although she stared wistfully out the window at the still-frozen world, she continued to work. She chopped herbs and she measured out tinctures and, on the seventh day, the potion was ready.

With a heavy heart and heavier hands, she poured the potion into a little glass vial, placed the little glass vial delicately into her wicker basket, threw the cloak around her shoulders, and threw a fist full of powder into the fireplace.

"Hermione!" Andromeda called out when she arrived. "We were worried."

"We thought you'd finally grown bored with us," came Madame Malfoy's cold voice from the corner.

"Nope, just been busy," she replied tersely, forcing her lips up in a rough approximation of a smile. "Now, like I said, I'm busy so I'll just show myself out." With that, she stalked past the witches and out into the garden where she found Draco precisely where she thought he would be.

He leapt to his feet at the sound of her approach. "Well, well, well," he sneered, although his tail wagged and his ears were flattened with anxiety, "So nice of you to deign to visit again."

"I've brought you something," she said breathlessly as she walked up to him. She was glad for once that he could not see her face.

He froze, his nose twitching delicately. "You have been crying," he said. It was a statement, not a question. "What has—"

"Never mind that," she cut in quickly, rummaging with shaking hands in her basket. She didn't hesitate for even a moment for fear that she might lose her nerve entirely. "I brought you something," she said and drew the little glass vial from her wicker basket.

His ears remained flat against his head. "Hermione—"

"No, it's a surprise," she said, forcing cheer she didn't feel into her voice. She unstopped the vial and pressed it into his hand. She closed his hand around it. "Here, drink this."

His sightless eyes were intensely fixed on her face and every feature— his eyes, his tail, his mouth, and his ears— were turned toward consternation and confusion. She wondered, in a faraway sort of way, when she had learned to read his moods so clearly. Had it been when they were trapped together in Bellatrix's prison? Sometime in the last few weeks, here in this timeless garden, with nothing between them but all the things they didn't say? Or had it started even before that, back when he was nothing but a mystery and she was just a riddle he couldn't solve?

"Hermione, what is—"

"Pray, don't ask me what it is," she cut in, her voice wavering, "Because if you ask me, I'll surely tell you and I would much rather you just trust me. Just this once. It's all I'll ask of you."

Unsteadily, as if he wasn't sure how far away she was, he reached out with the hand that did not hold the little vial. He cupped her cheek gently and said, "I don't know what's upset you so much, but if it will help to have me drink this potion, that I will do it gladly. I'd do anything you asked of me, Hermione. I—"

"Don't," she cut in. She had a notion that whatever he was about to say would have been very kind. Uncharacteristically kind. And she found that she did not want to hear it. Not when she was so close to losing him forever, for surely, he would not feel so kindly toward her very soon. But he looked like he was going to argue with her and so she amended. "Not yet. Tell me once you've drunk the potion."

"Hermione," he said. He sounded annoyed, despite the worried set of his ears. "I haven't seen you for a week, and in that time, I've done a lot of thinking. Do you swear that, once I've drunk this potion, you'll hear what I have to say?"

She could not stop the quaver in her voice when she said, "Whatever you want to tell me, once you've had the potion, if you still want to tell me, I'll hear it."

This seemed to satisfy him, for he raised the potion to his lips and drank the entire thing in one big gulp.

She managed to catch him before he toppled sideways into the rose bush. Already the magic was working. He was unconscious, but his breathing was slow and steady as if he were in a deep sleep. Fur was falling from his changing face in great tufts and the black claws at the tips of his fingers were shrinking back into hands. By the time she gently, carefully laid him in the grass beside the rose bush, he was more man than beast.

She waited until the transformation was complete, stroking his lightening hair out of his elegant face as the bones moved and skin shifted to accommodate a long, straight nose and wide, indulgent lips. His robes, suddenly several sizes too big, pooled around him like a mighty blanket. He seemed in that moment impossibly, breathtakingly beautiful, something utterly inhuman dozing beneath a rosebush when all the world outside was wrapped in snow. At that moment, Hermione reaffirmed that she preferred blond hair to all other colors and the sharp blades of his cheeks to any other face she had ever seen. Her soul called out to him, but her heart broke, for she knew that, now that he was returned to his former glory, he would have his pick of all the witches in the land and he would surely not choose a muggle-born witch.

She hated him for that but, even more, she hated herself for allowing her heart to belong so freely to one who would write her off for foolish reasons. Yes, they had grown to be friends. Good friends, in fact, and she knew that he valued her opinions on many things, but she dared not hope for more than that. No, she knew that their friendship would end with his self-imposed exile to this cottage. Now he would be free to go where he willed and see whomever he wished. And he would not see her.

Without another word and with tears streaming unchecked from her eyes, she fled from the garden and did not stop, not even when Andromeda called to her from the kitchen, until she had flooed back to the Burrow.

She exploded from the fireplace sobbing almost hysterically. She had hoped that she would be alone in the Burrow's well-scrubbed kitchen when she landed, but alas, Harry and Ginny had been seated at the table playing exploding snap when she appeared. They sprang to their feet and ran to catch her as she stumbled out of the fireplace.

"Hermione," Harry began, clearly mystified, "What happened?"

"Did that bastard do something do you?" snarled Ginny.

In the two and a half weeks since Ginny had awakened, she had proven herself to be as fierce and as loyal as any of the Weasley's with a temper to rival Ron's and a caring nature that bested even Molly's. Hermione had never before met a girl as wonderful as Ginny— magical or otherwise— and was lucky to count her as a friend.

"N-no," stammered Hermione, sniffling heavily against Ginny's shoulder. She was embarrassed by her emotional outburst and even more embarrassed by her friends' unquestioning care. "I g-gave him the potion."

Harry and Ginny blinked at her in surprise. "Which one?" Harry asked, slightly mystified.

"The only one that's ready yet," sniffled Hermione, trying to get her emotions under control.

"The anti-fluff potion?" Ginny asked as she patted Hermione back in soothing circles.

Hermione nodded.

"But that's a good thing, isn't it?" Harry asked, still confused. "Wait," his eyes narrowed slightly. "It is a good thing, isn't it? You weren't...ah...attached to all that fur?"

"Harry," hissed Ginny sharply, but Hermione giggled.

"No," she said, giving the two a watery grin. "Although I think I might miss the ears. They were so much more honest than he was."

"Is that why you're crying?" asked Harry, still looking puzzled. "You'll miss the ears?"

"No," she warbled. "Oh, it's so silly," she sniffled.

And that was when Ginny made the connection. "You don't think that he...Hermione, you fancy him, don't you?"

"Oh," Hermione chanced a glance at Harry, who was goggling at her, mouth open. "Well, perhaps a bit."

"And you think this changes things?" Ginny pressed.

"Well, I mean," Hermione hedged, "It's not like I ever had much of a chance in the first place," she murmured.

Harry spluttered. Ginny tutted softly. "Hermione Granger, you're being ridiculous."

"But his mother said—"

"His mother is ridiculous. You'll see." Ginny held Hermione out at arm's length. Her eyes glittered. "When's the last potion going to be ready?"

"Oh," Hermione sniffled but was glad for the distraction, "Five days. I was going to just owl it to them when it was ready."

There was mischief in Ginny's eyes. "I bet, before the week is out, you'll see the truth. One good turn deserves another, and I'm sure that all your good deeds will come back to you. Soon."

So Hermione, who was broken-hearted but not beaten, dried her eyes, washed her hands, and went upstairs to work on the final potion. At least it was something to do.

For five days Hermione did her best to laugh and smile, but in the quiet moments she sat too still and stared too forlornly out the window. Not even reading could shake her dark mood. She felt as though she had been scattered to the four corners of the earth. It was hard to focus on any one thing at once.

On the fifth day, right on schedule, her final potion was finished brewing. She poured the foul-smelling liquid into a third little glass vial and stoppered the concoction. From the doorway came the sound of a throat being cleared. She turned and found Ron leaning against the doorway.

"Is that for Malfoy?" the youngest Weasley son asked.

"Ah," Hermione said, acutely aware that there was no love between any of the Weasleys and the Malfoy family. "Yes."

Ron's ears were steadily turning as red as the setting sun. He cleared his throat again. "I never apologized," he began, much too loud. Then, catching himself, he tried again at a much more reasonable decibel. "I never apologized. For leaving. In the woods. You know, when you and Harry and I were looking for the phoenix."

"Oh," she replied. She hadn't thought about that in months. "Don't worry about it. Water under the bridge, you know? Everything ended up ok. I'm not mad anymore."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. "Harry said that, ah, that Malfoy helped you get the firebird."

"He did," Hermione replied, nodding her head and wondering where this was going.

"Well," Ron said. His ears were solidly red now and the blush was making its way across his cheeks. "I can't say I like him. He's a slimy, ferret-faced bastard, but he helped my sister and so, uh, yeah." He nodded like he'd just finished saying something important.

"Ok," Hermione replied slowly. "Well, I've got to go see if Errol will take this for me, so…" she tried to move around him in the doorway.

"I'll take it to him."

She gave him a stony look.

"I will. I promise I won't destroy it or pour it down the drain or…or anything. I know how hard you worked on it and I'm trying to give him a chance. Please, Hermione?"

And it was only because she could see how hard he was trying that she nodded her head. "Alright," she said at last and handed the little glass vial over to him, "I'll just clean up in here, but if I come to find that Draco Malfoy didn't receive that exact potion in exactly the condition I will hex you in ways that you have never even considered. Do not test me on this, Ronald Weasley." She brandished her wand at him.

He watched the wand in her hands. "That's not the one you got with Dad, is it?" he asked.

She paused. "No," she confirmed, "It isn't."

"You're still using his wand, then?"

She tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Suppose so," she said at last.

Awkwardly, he gingerly patted her on the top of the head. "It'll all work out," he grumbled, "You've done a lot for everyone and one good turn deserves another."

"Thanks, Ron," she said, giving him a real smile and trying to pat her hair down.

Once she had finished scrubbing out her cauldron, she made her way down the stairs where she found Harry pacing restlessly, tapping his wand against the side of his leg in a way Hermione recognized as nervousness. When he heard her footsteps, he turned to look at her. His eyes were wide. His face was pale.

"Harry," she said slowly, "Is everything alright?"

"Look," he said, "You've done so much for everyone here, and one good turn deserves another, right?"

"Harry," she repeated and wondered if she should be reaching for her wand. "You're the third person to say that to me this week. I'm starting to get a little concerned."

"Right," he said, looking anywhere but at her. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Harry pointed his wand at her and said, "Petrificus totalis!"

Thankfully, he caught her before she hit the ground and mumbled, "Just remember, this wasn't my idea."

And with that, he carried her frozen form to the far corner of the kitchen.

Hermione, more than a little angry, watched as Ginny flounced into the room, gave Harry and Hermione a brilliant smile, and then opened the door.

Although she had been struggling against the curse, she froze when she heard a very familiar voice drawl, "Is this the home of the Weasley family?"

Her brain began to work double-time even as she struggled to breathe even more quietly, lest he discover her presence. Whose plan was this? Surely, it was Ginny's. Neither Harry nor Ron were devious enough to come up with something like this, but oh! how Hermione wished she could be anywhere else right now.

"Come in," Ginny said, stepping to one side and smiling broadly.

"If it's all the same to you," drawled the bored voice of Draco Malfoy, "I think I'd rather stay out here. I may be blind, but that doesn't mean I'm suddenly stupid enough to suddenly buy your happy friends routine." He paused, then, added, "You must be the Weaslette."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and Hermione could see the way she was grinding her teeth behind her smile. "If that is your wish, sir," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet.

"Right, then let's get this over with." A pale hand appeared in the doorway. "I received a summons from Hermione. Apparently, she left something for me with your," he paused as if it were a great struggle to find a word that would not be insulting, "Family," he said at last.

"Yep," Ginny said stiffly. "Look, will you please come inside? This will be so much easier if you just play along for now."

She would not have succeeded in her plan if Crookshanks had not chosen that very moment to pad into the kitchen, walk up to Draco with a happy trill, and rub himself against the blind wizard's leg.

"Is that Crookshanks?" He asked, although he already knew the answer. He reached down to scratch between the cat's ears.

"Indeed it is," Ginny replied.

"Is she here? Hermione, I mean. Is Hermione here as well?"

"No," Ginny replied, glancing over her shoulder at them, "But if you come inside and stay a while, she will be along in time."

There was a pregnant pause. "Fine," said Draco tersely, and stepped uncertainly over the threshold, Crookshanks just a step ahead of him.

Hermione told herself that it was a good thing that he was handsome. His well-tailored robes fit him perfectly and his blonde hair was tied back from his face with an elegant black ribbon. The only flaw on his otherwise peerless face was the milky gray of his sightless eyes. In his right hand was a black-lacquered cane, which swung from side to side a few feet in front of him. Hermione wished she was not here to see this.

"Won't you have a seat?" Ginny offered in uncharacteristic politeness.

"Weaslette," Draco sneered, the corner of his mouth curling up, "Even if I knew where the chair was, I wouldn't sit. Give me what Granger has left with you and I will be on my way."

"So distant," chided Ginny, her hands falling to her hips. Hermione did not need to see the way Ginny's foot tapped to know that she was growing annoyed. When Draco made no response, "Alright, I'll make this quick," the young witch grumbled. Then, rallying, she said, "Marry me."

All the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Even if Hermione had not been frozen in place, she would have been unable to move. Around her shoulders, she could feel Harry's grip tighten, but he, too said nothing.

At long last, Draco seemed to find his voice. "I'm leaving," he said flatly, and turned, reaching for the doorknob.

"No, hear me out," Ginny said, holding the door firmly shut.

Draco grew very still then. A wand was in his hand although Hermione had not seen him move. Hermione's eyes widened as she recognized the soft brown of the wood. It was vine wood, just over ten inches, worn smooth where her thumb rested against its handle. "Weaslette," Draco said very softly, "I will do you the courtesy of a warning because Hermione favors you, although I personally do not understand why that is so. She has always spoken highly of you. So here is your warning: Allow me to leave unhindered and in return, I will allow you to remain alive. You have until the count of three. One."

"I'm a pureblood witch," Ginny said quickly, "And I don't care that you're blind. I don't have money, but I do have status. It would be a favorable union."

"Two."

"And I know how to give you back your sight."

Draco paused at this and turned his face towards Ginny's then. "How?" He asked in a voice barely more than a whisper.

"There's a potion," she said quickly, "I'm the only one who has it."

"And you will not give it to me unless I become your husband?"

"Yes," Ginny said. Again she glanced to the corner, and Hermione knew that she was locking eyes with Harry. This only confused Hermione further. She began to struggle anew against the bonds of the curse. Even being discovered would be better than being here to listen to this.

"Then my threat remains intact, but I will restart my count because I am a generous man."

"Why not?" Said Ginny. "Give me a good reason and I might give you the potion anyway."

"I would not trust the word of a witch like you, but much may it satisfy you to know this all the same: I cannot, will not, marry any witch but one, and you are not her. One."

"Who is she?"

"I owe you no more answers. Two."

"Just tell me her name. I need you to say her name. Out loud. In words."

Draco's useless eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Ginny was clearly nervous now. Her eyes were wide and fixed upon the wand. She knew as well as the rest the role Draco had played throughout the Dark Lord's reign of terror. She knew what a wand could do in hands such as his. "Because I'd really like to know. I'll give up on you if you tell me."

"Who else is listening?" Draco persisted, turning his head from side to side as if trying to pick up on some sound he hadn't noticed before. Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought she might have seen him sniff delicately, like he was looking for a scent his nose was no longer capable of picking up.

"No one," said Ginny, but she said it too quickly.

"Mrrrp," said Crookshanks.

Draco's face turned down toward the cat for a moment and then a look of resolve came upon his face. "For anyone who might be listening," he said, more loudly than he'd said anything else, "The witch I want is Hermione Granger, who wears a little red riding cloak. I will have no other. Not for gold or silver or even my own sight. I have been trying to tell her as much for some time now, but she's rather dense for how brilliant she is."

Ginny leaned back, arms folded across her chest, smiling smugly. "Now was that so hard?" She asked.

"Finite," said Harry beside her and she stumbled forward but caught herself on the edge of the scrubbed kitchen table.

At the sound, Draco's head snapped toward them.

"Hermione?" Draco said, staring unseeingly towards them.

"Hello, Draco," she replied. And then, because she was Hermione Granger and as clever as the day is long, she turned to Ginny and said, "Your brother didn't owl the potion this morning, did he?"

"Ah, no," Ginny coughed delicately, "But he did send a letter."

"Of course it was Weasley who sent it," Draco scoffed, but Hermione wasn't fooled by the coldness in his voice. Wordlessly, on shaking legs, she walked over to him and slipped her hand into his. His sneer did not change, but he gripped her hand tightly in his own, as if afraid she would slip away again if he let her.

"Where is the potion now?" She asked Ginny, one eyebrow raised.

Ginny had the decency to look a little embarrassed. "We knew you wouldn't believe it if you didn't hear it yourself," she explained quickly. She fumbled in the pocket of her robes and pulled out the little vial Hermione had so carefully bottled earlier that day.

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione said, "We'll talk about this later. For now, Draco and I are going to have a little chat. Outside. In private," she added, in case there was any confusion on that subject.

The snow crunched under their feet as she led Draco to a little bench beneath a juniper tree. Somewhere, up in the wide branches of the tree, a little bird was singing.

"Hermione—"

"The potion's going to knock you out for a couple of days, and when you wake up, you'll have a beast of a headache," she said conversationally. "The headache is supposed to last three or four days after that but it might take up to a week to improve."

"About—"

"So I'm going to want to say this now. Before you take the potion. Because I think I've already waited much too long to say it."

Draco stilled.

High above her, the little bird sang. For some strange reason, Hermione felt like it was cheering her on.

"Madame Greengrass was not my grandmother," she began. "Her granddaughter, the proper one, was my best friend. Her name was Astoria Greengrass and that red cloak was hers. She gave it to me to wear while I brought supplies to her grandmother in the woods. The day I met you, it might have been her instead. As it happened, it was I who went into the woods that day. Astoria was killed along with my family and the rest of my village. I wonder what it would have been like if it had been Astoria who had met you in the woods instead of me. She was very beautiful, you know, and a gifted witch in her own way."

"Hermione, you are—"

"No, don't say anything until I'm finished. I'm not making a comparison. Just because I say she's pretty doesn't mean I think I'm not. Just because she was a talented witch doesn't mean I can't be, too. All I'm saying is, sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if she had gone instead of me. Would she have done all the same things I did? Would she have run into you in the woods? Would she have thought to go looking for a firebird? Would she have been captured by Bellatrix? Would she have fallen in love with you too?"

The silence stretched taut like a bow between them.

Eventually, "Can I talk now?" Draco said, his voice sounding strangled and distant.

Hermione gave a nervous laugh and pulled her hand from his.

Unwilling to lose contact with his chosen witch for even a moment, Draco stretched his hands out until he cupped both of her cheeks. "I don't know anything about your dead friend, but I cannot imagine ever meeting a little red riding hood other than you and I cannot believe that a cloak that suits you so well could ever have belonged to another. Hermione Granger, you are the most stubborn, difficult, wonderful witch I have ever known. You bewitched be that first day in the woods and I have been powerless to fight the hold you have over me. You have changed my world and rewritten my stars. There is no future for me but one I can share with you. I have no idea how I might learn to live with you, but these last two weeks have shown me that I have even less of an idea of how to live without you. If you don't agree to marry me now, I don't think I'll ever manage to catch you, and I do not think that I could survive that. So I'm going to ask you now. Properly. Hermione Granger, would you marry me?"

Hermione smiled like dawn breaking over a troubled sky. "Yes," she said.

And then his lips crashed down over hers and her world exploded into light and sound. His lips were cool and soft and his mouth was warm and confident over hers. His hands curled into her hair and hers pressed against his chest and she marveled at how real and solid and here he was.

When they broke away, he pulled her against his chest. "Hermione," he murmured against the top of her head, "My little red riding hood."

She laughed breathlessly, her ear pressed over his heart. "Draco," she said, and she could hear the way his heart hammered faster when she said his name. "My wolf."

High overhead, the little bird trilled happily and flew far, far away.

Two weeks later, as soon as the headache from Hermione's potion had passed, Draco returned to the Burrow, bearing a litany of gifts for Hermione, Crookshanks, Harry, and all the Weasleys.

As Madame Weasley and Ginny oohed and ahhed over a length of beautiful green silk, "I've come to make arrangements for the wedding," he said, bowing low to Mister Weasley.

"Her father is no more," Mister Weasley replied with equal seriousness, "So I will make arrangements on her behalf."

"My demands are as follows: As a dowry, I demand Hermione's hand, the cat Crookshanks, what books and belongings Hermione calls her own, and her little red riding cloak. In exchange, your family shall want for nothing for the rest of their days."

Although Mister Weasley nodded vigorously Hermione, who was not familiar with wizarding customs and so did not know that brides normally didn't have a place in the bargaining, said, "I can't do the cloak. Bellatrix took it and I'm sure it's been destroyed."

Draco's eyes flashed with mirth as he lifted one ornately wrapped package from the stack and passed it across to her. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said.

And so she opened the box and inside lay none other than Astoria's slightly battered red traveling cloak on a bed of paper so fine she could see right through it.

"My mother held onto it after I was taken," he explained, "She seemed to think it might be important someday."

Hermione's expression darkened. "And how does she feel about your marriage proposal?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "She isn't thrilled, but she'll come around. Once she has grandchildren, nothing else will matter."

"Grandchildren?" Hermione echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Who said anything about grandchildren?"

"You said you wanted kids," Draco shot back, looking petulant.

"When we were imprisoned in your aunt's castle! I didn't think I had a future at all! And of course I want children. I just don't want them right now." Her hair was beginning to expand with building ire.

"Tomorrow, ten years from now, it doesn't make a difference to me," he said with an imperious wave of his hand, "It's mother who—"

"I'm not doing anything just to make your mother happy. There's so much I want to do first. So many things to learn. And we haven't even talked about opening a school yet and—"

"School?! What school?"

"The school for witches and wizards of all backgrounds to learn together. I'm sure I mentioned it."

"I'm equally sure you didn't! Where would you put it?"

"I was thinking the Castle Black might be a—"

"You want to what?!"

And then, more to break up the impending fight than anything else, "Let's discuss the ceremony now," Mister Weasley cut in.

So they lived.

Within the year they were married, and within two they were expecting their first child. Hermione lived like a queen at Malfoy Manor and, true to his word, all the Weasley family and Harry Potter never wanted for anything for the rest of their days. Most of the time, they were happy. Some of the time, they were not. But always, they had each other and this, more or less, made up for everything else.

The end.

Fairy tales used in this chapter: Beauty and the Beast; Tsarevich Ivan, the Firebird, and the Grey Wolf; The White Snake; The Juniper Tree

A/N: There. It's done. A huge thank-you to everyone who has waited patiently for this installment, particularly to hoshiakari7, who has been my most consistent reviewer and most loyal reader. Also a huge thank-you to my beta. I know you said not to mention you, but I'm doing it anyway. Thank you so much. I owe you one. Liked it? Want to see more? Want to scream at me about how I ruined your favorite fairy tale? I'm on twitter (ImAllTeeth), tumblr (Vitreous), and my own website (thunderandhunger dot com) and I'd love to hear from you! Have a great day.