His Veela Heritage by RiverWriter

13

He struggled not to squirm under the weight of his aunt’s gaze. She was the most intimidating witch he’d ever met, and that was including, well, his other aunt. Andromeda shared Bellatrix’s classic dark aristocratic looks, and his own mother’s rigid manners, but she had her own elegantly determined demeanor that had him convinced that amongst the three Black sisters she would have fared best in the face of the Dark Lord. She would never have worshiped him, nor crumbled to his will in fear. It had taken him mere minutes to understand why his fearsome mate admired this woman so. It was utterly terrifying.

He knew how to manipulate and charm, he knew how to intimidate in his own right. But he had no idea how to deal with a woman who most likely knew all of his tricks and was utterly unimpressed by them. Especially when this witch was a person whom his mate loved almost above any other, and with whom it was vital he at least came to an understanding.

Speaking of his mate, she had scampered off to put her godson Teddy down for the night, leaving the two of them alone. His mate who he was beginning to think, aside from the tiny issue of being the only magical person in her family, would have made an excellent Slytherin. Because he was absolutely certain she’d been planning this uncomfortable encounter for at least a week.

She'd been ecstatic to see the glen castle, or ‘Rivendell’ as he'd started referring to it in his head. Both because she'd kept repeating it in this awed whisper as they'd toured the house, and because she'd lent him a copy of that ‘Lord of the Rings’ book, and while the author didn't describe anything that resembled the actual magical world, the story was still fascinating. And he agreed wholeheartedly with her comparison of their own special refuge to Rivendell.

Her awe had made him smug, even though he knew he'd actually done very little to earn it; he hadn't built the place, but he had found it and brought her there. And he'd rejoiced in her reaction. He was also pleased that she seemed happy with the various pieces of furniture he'd chosen from his vaults and other Black properties to begin to fill the rooms. There was work to be done, he'd wanted her to have a say in the decorating, but she'd walked into a home and not a stone cavern.

She'd actually tackled him when she saw the library. All he'd done was transfer most of the Black collection (all the books that didn't make him shudder or hang his head in shame that he had a relative who would purchase such a thing) to the space he'd thought most suited for the purpose, along with a few special additions he'd found that he'd hoped she'd liked. Her happy tears had almost been too much for him.

And then she'd finally met Effie. His most faithful companion had made him promise that they wouldn't leave the castle without introducing her to her new mistress. Hermione had been gracious and loving. Effie had been over the moon. Somehow Hermione had gotten Effie to promise that she would share stories of Draco's childhood, and the elf had been even more pleased by that prospect. Draco didn't know if he was happy or horrified and was generally just baffled and thankful that Hermione had built a rapport with her so quickly.

After that they'd visited the glen elves, and if they'd been happy when he had arrived, it hardly compared to their reception of his mate.

“You will fill this glen with younglings again,” an elder had told him in an excited whisper after some of the elflings had dragged Hermione off to sit on the riverbed for a chat and to weave flowers through her hair; her curls had absolutely fascinated them.

They'd arrived back at her flat that night, her eyes alight with joy. They cuddled up on the couch and fed each other something she'd called ‘lo mein,’ she with two wooden sticks, and he with a fork, but it had been delicious nonetheless. Then she'd oh-so-innocently requested that he meet Andromeda and he hadn't even considered refusing.