His Veela Heritage by RiverWriter

chapter 15

“Draco, darling, how good of you to join us,” his mother greeted him the next night when he arrived at the Manor for dinner.

Draco sighed. ‘Dear,’ ‘dearest,’ and even ‘my dragon’- when she was feeling particularly nostalgic- were perfectly normal terms of endearment, but when Narcissa Malfoy called her only child ‘darling,’ he knew he was in trouble.

“Isn’t it good of him to join us Lucius? You do still live here don’t you Draco?” she asked bitingly.

He had wondered when she would confront him, he had been rather MIA for the past month, and he knew she'd been growing increasingly annoyed by his frequent unexplained absences, but he’d had a witch to woo. She was going to have to get used to him being elsewhere anyway, he loved his mother but he wouldn't shackle Hermione to this house for her sake.

“I apologize Mother, it’s been a busy few weeks. I promise you I have a good explanation.”

“Is that explanation the reason you wanted to speak with us?” his father said icily, taping his walking stick against the toe of his boot in a sure sign of impatience.

Lucius was in a mood. Wonderful. Not that that was unusual, but it was the last thing he needed.

Draco kept his features schooled as he bypassed the drinks cart without pouring himself anything, nor did bother to take a seat, but just stood before his parents and began to unbutton his robes.

“This discussion requires you to disrobe?” Lucius asked, voice still haughty but also faintly disbelieving at the idea of his son undressing in one of the formal sitting rooms.

He paused briefly and met his father’s gaze, refusing to be cowed by the man’s attitude, “why yes Father, actually it does. Don’t worry, I needn’t undress completely, but I don’t think there’s anything improper about my own parents seeing my bare chest.”

Lucius merely cocked one brow in his direction, in his younger years that would have sent him scurrying, today he had no trouble ignoring it. Draco set his robes aside and started on his shirt. Once that was gone he turned his left arm so that it was facing upward, and extended it towards them. His mother gasped out loud.

He looked up to see that she had a hand over mouth and her eyes were rapidly filling with tears which she appeared to be working hard to keep from falling. His father had just gone completely still.

Following the Dark Lord’s death his Mark had faded slightly so that it appeared to be almost purple in color, but it had also bubbled up and developed into ropey scar tissue that made it almost more hideous than it had been originally. Though, at least it had no longer moved. He avoided looking at it at all costs.

So, over the past few weeks, when it appeared to have started to fade again, he'd chalked it up to wishful thinking. Until this morning.

He’d spent the night with Hermione, unwilling to part from her, and she seemed to feel the same way. They’d been awake into the wee hours of the morning kissing and touching and whispering their love for one another. It wasn’t the first time he’d spent the night, but it was the first time he hadn’t felt like a visitor in her bed. It had been a revelation.

His wake up call hadn't been nearly as wonderful. He'd actually been brought back to consciousness by the sound of his beloved weeping. It had given him an entirely new definition for the word ‘terrified.’

But then he’d followed her line of sight to his arm and saw the mark, which had faded to a light grey, his skin as soft and smooth as it had ever been. He nearly started crying himself.

“Look what we did, Draco,” she’d sniffled when she realized he was awake, running her fingers over his forearm reverently, “look what our love did.”