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Tales of The Dragon and The Bookworm	By : cpetnm Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 58350 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Title: The Mating
Words: ~5,900
Summary: My take on Beauty and the Beast with a Dramione twist.

A.N. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

@ starr: Thank you! Cute is good and it’s nice to mix it up. This one is just slightly darker than the last.

@ Victoria: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! You made my day. Your reviews actually made me laugh in that I got a review on another site recently that said there was too much sex in one of my stories and I was like, WHAT?? There can never be too much Dramione sex! Ever.

@ General Crow: I never even thought of the “love in an elevator” reference, damn it! I’m losing my touch. ;) I’m glad to hear your Aunt Tami is recovering. I’m also glad to hear I’m helping you stay in touch with yourself, so to speak. Lol!

Hermione looked around the dim forest, using her wand to help her find north. The trees were so dense and tall, she had begun to lose her idea of where she was at least two hour before. The fall air held the steely cold of impending snow and as it was twilight, she was beginning to worry that she’d have to camp in the woods. She continued to trudge through the thick brush, hoping that eventually she’d come to the edge of the forest and Apparate back to her little flat.

She’d never even found the injured unicorn she’d set out to help.

Through the indigo light, she thought she saw a cabin. Could it be that someone might be able to help her? She continued to walk towards the dim light coming through the windows and eventually found herself in front of a stone, thatched roof cabin. The wooden door was solid and she knocked as precisely as she could. Something about the little dwelling made her nervous. No one answered and she knocked again, this time more forcefully. Hermione listened carefully and made out sounds within the cabin.

“Hello?” she called. “I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I seem to be lost.”

She waited another minute and heard footsteps approach the door.

“If you could just open the door for a moment, I promise I mean no harm. I’ve lost my way, you see.”

“You’re close to the edge of the forest. Just keep walking along the brook that starts a few meters north of this cabin,” said the gruff, but oddly cultured voice of the man on the other side of the door.

This was likely the best she’d get from this fellow, Hermione thought despondently.

“Alright, well, thank you,” she said and made her way in the direction the wizard had pointed her towards.

An hour later it had begun to snow. The air was mild now, but as the night wore on the temperature would get colder and colder until the little brook would begin to form an icy crust along its edges.

Draco found himself worrying for the young woman who had knocked earlier. He’d really been doing her a favor by not inviting her in, he reasoned. Once she’d seen him and this hovel he called a home, she would have been terrified and the last thing he needed was for her to report him to the Aurors. Perhaps he could just make sure she made it out of the woods.

He followed her scent, which reminded him of Hogwarts, he thought with a rueful smile: parchment, ink, old texts and the warm, sweet scent of beeswax candles. Underlying the obvious smells was the smell of a sexually mature woman, slightly musky and sweet at the same time. After his attack, the perfume most women wore made his eyes water, but this woman didn’t use anything other than a mild soap.

She was sitting on a rock, digging through a little handbag when he saw her. She looked up at the crunch of his boots on the forest floor. Her wand was out and pointed at him in a split second.

“Reveal yourself,” she said in voice slightly tinged with fear.

Draco moved into a blacker shadow so she would not see him. “It is I, the person whose home you came upon. I wanted to make sure you found your way to the forest’s edge.”

She took a shallow breath, her eyes trying to make him out in the darkness. “Am I far? I can’t see a thing, even with my wand lit.”

“The edge of the forest is about four kilometers from here. You don’t have a broom?”

He saw her shake her head. And against his better judgment, he made the decision to help her. He would not have another senseless death on his hands.

“Come back to my cabin,” he said, turning and walking back to his home. He didn’t wait for an answer, but eventually heard her quickening her pace to follow him.

I wish I could see his face, but he’s had his back to me the entire walk. The snow had begun to fall in earnest and the clouds obscured any moonlight. Hermione thought the man held his body as if he was young-ish. Well, he wasn’t old. For some odd reason, he reminded her of Remus Lupin, who had always had the demeanor of a man who was used to being kicked while he was down.

“What is your name, sir?” she asked with a bit of trouble as the man walked quickly through the snowy landscape, while she was trying her hardest to keep her balance amongst the brush, rocks and odd divots in the forest floor. He continued his fast pace and after several moments, she didn’t think he planned to answer her. Perhaps it would have been better for her to have built a fire and made her way to the edge of the forest in the morning. But the air had become cold and her hands were beginning to tingle with the chill.

He slowed slightly at the sound of her heavy breathing. “Draco.”

Draco Malfoy? It was assumed he had died after a werewolf pack ravaged him when he left Azkaban. His body had never been found, but…one did not normally survive that level of violence.

The woman said nothing, so Draco thought she didn’t recognize his name and breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled the hood of his cloak up as they finally approached the cabin. He left the door open for her and made his way into the dim interior, heating water on the cast iron stove, which doubled as the main heat source for the room.

Hermione entered and found herself in a room with a cozy chair, a table and wooden chair and stacks and stacks of books. It was clear Draco Malfoy led a most isolated existence.

“Please sit at the table and I’ll get you some tea.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. He still had his hood up and had yet to look directly at her.

“Will you sit with me? I believe I have some Frog Cards in my bag, if you’d care for a sweet.”

“Frog Cards?”

“My nieces and nephews like them,” she said with a smile. “But I feel I could do with a bit of chocolate just about now.”

He didn’t say anything else, just collected a cup and a loaf of bread from his cupboard.

“Do you recognize me?” Hermione finally asked.

He stopped moving at her voice. “It would be better if you didn’t look at me, Granger. There’s a very good reason I don’t go out in public any more.”

He bid her goodnight after he made her tea and served her two slices of bread with butter. He left her with a pillow and blanket and transfigured his chair into a small bed.

For the first time in many months, Draco did not wake up drenched in sweat and shaking, but rather oddly comforted from the sounds of the woman in the other room.

The absolute quiet of the forest had woken her when the muted light began pushing aside the black of the night. She went to the window to find it still snowing, the landscape a white frosted wonderland. There was no way she would be able to leave today.

She used the loo, washed up as best she could and used her wand to Conjure a hair tie for her hair which she had braided. Hermione wasn’t a vain woman, but she did her best to look neat and clean. If she’d known she’d be away from home for several hours, and maybe even a day or two, she’d have at least packed her toothbrush.

Draco’s little kitchen had basics like eggs, bread, and sugar, so Hermione began to make French toast. She was amazed at his ice box, which looked very small, like a dormitory refrigerator, but had an extension charm on the inside which made it as large as a regular sized fridge. He had a jar of raspberry preserves hiding in the back, which she planned to use as a topping.

Malfoy came into the main room to find Hermione patiently waiting to flip a piece of bread on a pan.

“Good morning,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure if you’ll be able to leave today.”

“I figured,” she said, putting the toast on a plate. What had started as a gentle snowfall the previous evening had steadily kept on all night. The result was a third of a meter of snow with no signs of the snow stopping.

Draco sat at the table where she put a plate of French toast in front of him. The warm raspberry preserves acted as a sauce and the whole meal looked delicious. He took care to keep his hood over his face, even as he ate. No reason to punish her with the sight of his scarred visage.

Hermione had so many questions for him, but she knew he was hiding and didn’t want to push him.

“Where do you get your food?” she asked out of curiosity. He had said he avoided going out in public.

“My parents have a box sent to me every week.”

“Why don’t you live at Malfoy Manor?”

Draco stood and began to wash his dishes by hand. With his back turned to her, he finally answered.

“They don’t think it’s safe for me to live with them.”

Hermione had seen no indication that Draco was dangerous, but werewolf attacks had strange outcomes. If he had become a werewolf, which she didn’t think he had based on his isolated life, he could be dangerous at certain times, but Wolfsbane helped many afflicted with Lycanthropy to lead a normal life. Others, like Bill Weasley, had increased strength, but also increased anger, which was triggered at times of stress. She’d even met a man, Dagmar, who had been attacked by a werewolf, and had spent years as a tracker of lost people. He worked in the Muggle world with a specialized dog, which was mostly for appearances, but every so often when the Aurors were having trouble with a missing person case, they’d bring in Dagmar.

She wanted to ask him why they thought he was dangerous, but didn’t want to pry. He’d opened his cabin to her and she really was grateful.

Hermione transfigured Draco’s comfy chair into a loveseat and spent the day reading through his copy of A History of the Berserkers in Scotland. He went in and out of the cottage, getting firewood periodically, although Hermione thought he was trying to stay away from her. When the snow stopped for a few minutes in the middle of the day, she offered to try to make it to the forest’s edge, but Draco assured her the weather would pick back up within half an hour, which it did. In fact, the sky was so grey and ominous, Hermione sent a Patronus to Harry assuring him she was safe and had found a friendly wizard willing to share his home with her until the snow let up. His stag told her not to take any chances and he’d see her when she got back.

“What was that?” Draco asked from the doorway.

“I let Harry know I was safe, but I didn’t tell him I was with you. I can see you like your privacy.”

“I’d rather people continue to think I was dead rather than this thing I’ve become. I appreciate your discretion.”

“Malfoy, it can’t possibly be as bad as you think. Maybe I can help?”

Draco added wood to the fire and stood. He was huge: tall, muscular and totally imposing. Hermione suspected this was the result of the lycanthropy for him, changing his body and making him larger than life.

“Werewolf damage cannot be disguised by spell or fixed by potion. But the worst part of the attack is the way it changes your body. I’m always on alert, always ready to fight an attacker. I don’t rest well and you’d be smart to keep your distance from me. You never know if my body will interpret you as a threat before my mind realizes you aren’t.”

And suddenly the pieces fell into place. Lucius Malfoy, who’d always used his cane for show, was suddenly leaning on it for balance in the months following his son’s attack. Draco had attacked his father, interpreting him as a foe rather than a friend. Narcissa held her husband’s arm, not for propriety, but to offer him another source of strength.

“They must have known you’d be changed by the attack. There were precautions I’m sure they took…”

Draco sat at the table with his head down. He seemed so sad. Hermione wondered if this was the first time he had talked to someone about what had happened to him.

“We don’t need to talk about it, Granger. It’s in the past. You’ll be on your way as soon as this weather clears and I’ll go back to my life. Please say no more.”

There was something about Draco Malfoy’s plea that spoke to Hermione. He’d yet to say an unkind word, though he was cautious around her. He’d been honest and open about his situation, although he was still hiding his face. The way he spent his days working outdoors, exploring the forest, and reading would have been idyllic had the circumstances been better. He seemed to have no one, but he’d eked out an existence for himself.

“Alright, Draco. But, if you know anything about me at all, you’d know appearances mean almost nothing to me.”

He mumbled something under his breath and stalked out of the cabin.

When he returned nearly three hours later, Hermione could tell he’d been running. The salty smell of his sweat permeated the small space and he ignored her, heading for his bedroom and then the loo, where the shower was turned on.

After finding food suitable for dinner, Hermione pan fried two chicken breasts and roasted a pan of potatoes, carrots, and onions. She wasn’t the best cook, but if she was staying here the least she could do was help with the cooking and light housework.

“I made dinner. I hope you don’t mind,” Hermione said when she saw him lingering in the doorway of his bedroom.

“No, but won’t your ginger git mind you cooking for another man? That must be the highest form of betrayal for a pig like him.”

Hermione froze, mouth agape for a few seconds until she began to giggle. Oh. My. God! Ron would’ve found this highly disloyal if she had been with him, which she hadn’t been for many, many years. In fact, Ron had married a woman so like Molly, Hermione had been glad Harry and Ginny had supported her decision to end things with him.

“Ron! Gods, Malfoy, did you really think we’d end up together?” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Ron and his wife live at The Burrow with his mum and dad, if you can believe it. Merlin, can you imagine trying to get in the mood with Molly yelling things to Arthur and people constantly running up and down the stairs?”

Draco found himself smiling, actually smiling, at the sight of the incredulous woman before him. Well, he would have been surprised if Hermione’s good sense led her to the Weasel, but stranger things had happened.

Hermione continued to chuckle as she set the table with heaping plates of food and cutlery. She’d even found a dusty bottle of wine in the cabinet and placed it upon the table to breathe before she served it.

“I know you weren’t making a joke, but I haven’t laughed that hard in, Gods, years.”

He served them each a glass of wine. “Thank you for dinner.”

She held up her glass to clink it with his. “Here’s to getting lost and found. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

After dinner, Draco offered to clean up while Hermione took a shower. He’d lent her one of his shirts to sleep in. He had to admit, it was nice to have someone around, even if only temporarily. As a former felon and one of the afflicted, he was less than desirable as a friend, or anything else, to ninety-nine percent of the population. Hermione had been so bloody normal around him, he felt, for the first time in years, like his old self.

Deciding it would be better to end the evening on a high note, he stoked the fire in his cast iron stove and then made his way to bed, quietly shutting the door behind him.

The next morning dawned cold and snowy. Draco woke before Hermione and carefully made his way to the loo so as not to wake her. He hadn’t worn his cloak since he knew she was still asleep, but when he left the bathroom to dress for the day he turned to find her looking right at him. Her eyes were wide with horror as she studied the dark pink scars on his face, which shredded the skin from his forehead to his chin. Half of one ear had been bitten off, but the very worst was his right eye, which had been punctured and now looked permanently red and angry.

He stood defiantly before her, pleased to have shocked the words from her ever-prattling mouth. After what felt like ages, she looked away and he released a breath he’d been holding and went back into his room.



After that incident, he ignored her knocks at the door, beckoning him with scrambled eggs and ham. By lunch, he needed to eat or risk making himself sick. His semi-werewolf state required him to ingest more food than he ever had in the past.

“You must be hungry,” she said, not looking up from her book.

He hummed in agreement and found a plate of food under a stasis charm on the counter. He wore his cloak, as not to subject her to his monstrous visage and tucked into the meal she’d made.

They barely spoke the rest of the day and after murmured goodnights, they went to sleep. It had been the type of day filled with tension, but boring, so Hermione found it hard to sleep. He still looked like Draco Malfoy to her and his scars didn’t bother her like they so clearly bothered him. But her cursed Mudblood scar didn’t bother most people, either, and she found the scar almost unbearable to look at after a nightmare. Her scar was associated with one of the worst days of her life, so perhaps that was Draco’s problem, too. Her scar could be covered with a long shirt, but his face was harder to hide without bringing attention to himself.

There was something oddly enticing about him now. He was raw, but infinitely humbler and his massive physique was beautiful. Wizards were, in general, a less physical bunch due to the use of their magic in place of certain physical labors, so she had gotten use to thinner, flabbier men. Her Muggle upbringing must have ingrained on her psyche some desire for a more robust man, but her logic had pushed that aside when she imagined a partner.

When it was almost midnight, she finally fell asleep.

She awoke to a low moan that got louder and more frantic. Everyone who had fought in the war had terrible nightmares and she knew he would be no different, although it had been ten years since the war ended. When he started to scream, she could not sit by and decided to wake him.

Hermione opened his door to find him thrashing. He’d warned her he could be dangerous, but after the time they’d spent together, she had begun to feel protective about him. She edged closer to his bed, whispering his name and thought he was beginning to relax when his hand shot out and yanked her on top of him. She knew to let her body go lax, so he wouldn’t interpret her as a threat, but in doing so she molded herself against his muscular form. One of his hands was grasping her arse while the other fisted her hair and exposed her neck to him. His eyes were still closed, but his breathing had quickened and he buried his nose in her exposed neck, right at her pulse point. She tried to extricate herself from his grasp, but he growled and began to rock his burgeoning erection into the valley between her thighs.

This is wrong. He’s reacting to instinct, not choice. Gods above, he feels so bloody good!

She called to him and stroked his face with her hands, ever conscious not to awake the drive to fight. He was grinding into her, his huge cock rubbing her clitoris through the fabric of their clothing. And through no fault of her own, she came, gasping and moaning through the waves of pleasure that seemed to keep going and going. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, a look of predatory glee piercing her hazy mind.

And then he bit her neck, hard, and she screamed in pain. Distantly, she realized he had come from the hot dampness seeping through the thin fabric of her knickers.

He stilled, continuing to hold her against him as his tongue soothed the sting of his bite.

“You marked me,” she whispered, tears of shock beginning to wet her eyes.

“I told you to stay away. You were warned.”

The next morning, she was gone.

Two feet of snow had hardly bothered her as she trudged along the brook in the direction of the forest’s edge. After Apparating to her little flat, she’d taken a long, hot shower and examined the dark purple bruise surrounding the area of the bite. He’d broken skin and then licked the site repeatedly, like an animal trying to heal a wound.

She’d yet to return to work after her days with Draco Malfoy. Her bed became her refuge and for the first time in her adult life, she couldn’t see her path anymore. Her low-level job, as she could finally admit to herself, wasn’t really helping magical creatures. The accolades she’d earned from the war had faded and many wizarding societal norms she’d hoped to challenge had become de rigueur once again. All of her friends had settled down, while she had been relegated to the role of an old maid at the age of twenty-nine.

He split wood, fished, repaired his roof and scrubbed his little cabin from top to bottom. He hadn’t realized what he was doing until he found himself adding a closet to his bedroom, which was asinine since he had few clothes. Draco was making room in his home for Hermione. His “other side” as he referred to it, was fully expecting that she would return.

One week passed, then a second, and by the third week he started to worry. The sense of purpose he’d had began to wane as the days ticked by.

For the first time in several years, he would venture from the solitude of his cabin to finish the mating dance they’d begun weeks before.

She finally returned to her job at the Ministry, a mountain of paperwork welcoming her back after her leave of absence. This was the last place she wanted to be, but she needed the money.

After work, she made her way along the streets of London. The crowds, the cars, and the lights should have helped her to feel protected from scrutiny, but she could swear she was being followed. The wizards who had wanted to eradicate her kind so many years before had left her alone for the most part. Occasionally, she’d receive hate mail, but it was a well-documented fact that her dueling skills were not to be trifled with. The tingling at the nape of her neck continued, so she slipped into an alley with the intention of Disapparating to her flat when she was pushed against a wall, her wand arm held behind her.

“I have no intentions of hurting you, Granger. Will you attack me if I let go?”

She said nothing as Draco’s body pressed her into the wall and his breath tickled her ear. An odd, feral thought came to her as her body hummed from their contact. He had tracked her to this Muggle London neighborhood, away from everything that kept him safe and in his mind, other people safe. She let her innate, instinctual magic free and blasted him back.

Catch me if you can, Malfoy.

She darted into the busy, dark street, quickly making her way to the next block where her building was. The tingling sensation of being followed was more intense than before, but adrenaline helped her navigate the streets as quickly as she ever had. He had the lupine advantage of strength and smell, but she knew this area and he did not. Her heart was thumping from both excitement and a tinge of fear.

A young man was exiting her building and let her in, recognizing her from a few brief interactions over the months he’d lived there. She knew the door would lock behind her and took the elevator to her flat. The door pinged and opened on her floor and she rounded the hallway corner to open her door, her key falling to the ground in her haste. Finally, she opened the door and began to enter when both her arms were wrenched behind her.

“Did you really think you’d outrun me? Hmm?”

Draco pushed her inside and kicked the door shut. He grabbed her wand from her coat pocket and put it in his cloak.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her body instinctually relaxing against his. His free hand began stroking her long neck, finding the area he’d bitten and rubbing it with the pads of his fingers.

He chuckled darkly, taking a whiff of her thick hair. “We have unfinished business, pet.”

His free hand began to unbutton her coat, his fingers grazing her breasts, causing her to gasp.

“What do you mean?”

She felt his lips graze her ear, his nose nuzzling into her hair. “You left before we could finish our mating. I’ve grown tired of waiting for you to come back so I had to take matters into my own hands, Hermione.”

He’d released her hands and continued to undress her. “I’ve felt your longing, your loneliness. You don’t have enough here to keep you tied to this life.”

“You don’t know that,” she protested weakly.

“I do,” he growled. “You were fated to find me.”

“Will you hurt me?”

“Not intentionally,” he admitted. “I will try to be careful.”

She stilled, allowing him to finish unbuttoning her shirt. Her back was to his chest as he palmed her breasts over her simple white bra. She tried to turn to face him but he held her tightly, his cock pressing into her back.

“No, no, no princess. I’m in control now.”

Her soft voice was uncharacteristically submissive. “Will you kiss me?”

He led her to the sofa and used his wand to darken the room. Light from the city filtered into the flat.

“It’s still too bright,” he said with frustration.

“We’re to become mates after this process is completed, right?”

“Yes, mates are bonded pairs. They can feel each other’s emotions and read some rudimentary thoughts from the other person.”

“I’m sure you will find this hard to believe, but I find you incredibly alluring. You have an incredible physique. While the extent of your scars surprised me, they don’t repel me in any way. If anything, they remind me of your will to survive and thrive in your new circumstances.”

He had stilled at her words, the basic bond they’d established discerning her intentions. “You really do feel that way.”

“Yes. We shouldn’t hide from each other any more.”

Stepping back, he unhooked his cloak and let it fall to the ground. She didn’t turn, even when she heard the fabric of his safety blanket hit the floor, but began to walk to her bedroom. If what had happened in the cabin was any indication, the mating would be intense. Draco followed behind her the short distance, his focus on the woman forcing him to confront his fears. When they passed the threshold, Hermione turned and looked at him with such fire, he forgot his scars and his worries of hurting her. Two steps in her direction and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his tongue immediately stroking hers, relishing the intimacy and warmth she offered him.

As his mouth plundered hers, he ripped her clothes off her body, his brutal strength tearing the fabric like sheets of paper. Her hands roamed over his chest, arms, and back, amazed at the strength of his muscles. She began to unbutton his shirt, but he walked her towards the bed, even as they continued to kiss. When her legs hit the mattress, he broke the kiss to remove his clothing, revealing his scarred, but god-like body to Hermione. Her hands began to explore the pale skin, her touch gentle but firm.

“Your body is a work of art,” she said breathily, taking his cock into her hand and mapping his hardness with her soft fingers.

He brushed her hand away and nudged her further down the bed. She shocked him by getting on her hands and knees, her legs spread slightly to reveal her slick center. He positioned himself behind her, his big body covering hers before he pushed into her, a howl of triumph erupting from his lips. She was gasping at the intrusion, whining at the incredible feel of his prick filling her like nothing ever had. He thrust slowly to allow her to adjust to him, then began to pound into her in earnest. His heavy balls slapped at her clit, while the ridge of his cock stimulated her eager G-spot.

“Ohhh!” she screamed as her body began to pulse around him.

It had been so long since he’d been in a woman’s body and his instinct roared at him to claim her. He surged into her and as he began to feel his orgasm force his seed into her body, he sunk his teeth into the skin between her neck and shoulder.

Instead of the scream of pain he’d expected, her body tensed and she shuddered, her quim pulsating around his penis as she screamed his name.

He pulled her into a spooning position so he could lick at her wound. The magic of the bond satisfied, the newly mated couple basked in the pleasure they had just shared. She rubbed her smooth, nude body against him, the heat of his skin keeping her warm against the chill of her flat.

With a final lick and a gentle kiss to the bite, he snuggled into her.

“Do you regret it?”

She shook her head. “No. I wanted this. You?”

“You are a blessing unto me,” he murmured. “I will do whatever I can to ensure our mating is successful.”

She breathed in the cold forest air as she stepped out of the cabin to get more wood. The morning after the mating, she and Draco had talked and he had urged her to take a leave of absence from her job and join him in the forest. Part of her wanted to resist leaving the life she’d led, but she knew her future was with the reclusive wizard who had marked her as his mate.

Said mate was getting home from a run, his blond hair glinting in the clear winter sunlight. He looked so happy, a satisfied grin turning his mouth upwards.

“I’ll get that,” he said, jogging to the woodpile and grabbing more logs.

“Thank you, love,” she said, pressing a quick kiss into his cheek as he went to work.

They went back into the cabin, which was homier with the addition of Hermione’s couch, personal affects, and the warm touches he knew made her feel the space was her space, too. She’d even brought her Muggle telly and DVD player so they could watch movies, a pastime Draco enjoyed immensely.

While the mating bond helped Hermione feel more secure, centered, and loved, Draco felt a sense of peace he hadn’t had since he’d been a boy. After so many years of being the odd man out, he was finally with someone who wanted him, even with his scars and detestable past. The bond also increased their sexual compatability, always making intercourse powerful. The first week they had been at the cabin, they’d hardly left the bed, except for trips to the loo and food.

As they ate a lunch of sandwiches, Draco noticed Hermione picking at her plate. The night before, he’d noticed her scent change slightly to include a fruity note of green apples. He moved to kneel before her, putting his ear against her stomach.

“What are you doing?” she said with a laugh. Some of his more wolf-y tendencies still caught her by surprise.

“Shh,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose into her. His incredible sense of hearing allowed him to hear a fast paced rhythm along her slower heartbeat.

They’d been mated for just over three months. Everything had happened so fast for them, but a baby…since he’d been attacked, he never thought he’d have a mate, let alone a family. He knew his mate loved children and wanted babes of her own, but it was so soon. But the bond they shared told him she would welcome the news.

He looked up at her serene face and basked in her affection for him. This was the best result of the mating, a child to love and bind them further.

“What is it, Draco?”

He cupped her face, fingering the smooth line of her jaw.

“You’re pregnant.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. They looked at each other and finally he could not help the smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners. Her return smile was watery, her mouth tremulous.

“Are you okay?” he asked, putting his arms around her.

She nodded, burying her nose in his silky hair. He smelled like pine forests and snow, like home.

“It’s really happening, you know? I was starting to think I’d never get the chance to be a wife or a mother, but you changed that for me, Draco. You’ll never know how glad I was to have gotten lost in your forest.”

He understood because he felt the same way, a beast of a man given a chance by a woman renowned for not only her brains, but her heart. She had saved him from becoming more animal than man, from losing his humanity. And in return, he gave her love and loyalty, yes, but dose of passion her life had so sorely lacked.

He kissed her and when their lips met, he knew all the things he felt for her she reciprocated.

All will be well.
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Tales of The Dragon and The Bookworm