His Veela Heritage by RiverWriter

chapter 21

Aside from the fact that he was separated from his mate- his wife, a term which had immediately taken precedence in his mind as it was a product of her choice, and not fate- when all he wanted to do was sequester her in bed for at least a week, Draco was actually having a good night. He would never forget the look of pure joy on his mother's face when he informed his parents that he and Hermione had sealed their bond. Even his father hadn't looked completely appalled. And his mother’s grateful expression when he further explained that Hermione still desired a bonding ceremony and hoped that she would be willing to help plan it nearly broke his heart? She'd had so little to enjoy these past few years.

They had just sat down to dinner when a resounding clang sounded throughout the Manor, signaling that the wards were being breached. He felt the moment somebody surpassed them but they hadn’t failed like they would have if somebody was trying to get through them entirely by force. This was somebody who already had - restricted- access to the property. He knew immediately that it was Potter and Weasley. He hadn't thought they would take the news lying down, but this seemed a bit excessive.

“What have you done to her!” a voice bellowed.

Potter.

He was the auror in charge of his father’s probation and at one time Draco had actually felt grateful for it because, to give the boy-who-lived credit, he had at least treated his parents with respect and given them their dignity back. But now it was backfiring on them. Because it meant that he had access to the Manor, to their home.

He quietly urged his parents to let him handle the situation and to go wait in their suite. His father looked defiant, but he saw his mother elbow him in the ribs and then practically drag him out of the room. He trusted that she would keep him under control until he could get rid of the trespassers.

There was a time when he would have loved to wind Potter and Weasley up further, transform and terrorize them a little bit in retaliation for this tantrum. But he knew, he'd felt how much Hermione had agonized over her confession to her friends and the last thing he wanted to do was make things worse for her. Before last night he might not have been able to resist, but as of today her wishes were as settled in his soul as his own. And they were no real threat to him. As much as it would amuse him to scare the chosen one and his obnoxious tag-along out of their wits, he could resist. He rather liked the idea of being the bigger person.

He just waited quietly, and with no fanfare he took out his wand and cast the strongest shield he knew in front of himself. Not because he was frightened. He was just quickly trying to figure out how to best moderate this situation without alerting the Ministry or Hermione and if he had to cast any defensive spells that would probably be impossible.

Potter appeared in the dining room less than a minute after he'd originally called out. And despite what Draco had assumed, he was alone, no gangly redhead in sight. He looked a little deranged; jaw set, clothes askew, and for the first time Draco considered that those famous green eyes were the same color as the killing curse. Because if looks could kill, Draco would be dead.

“What have you done to her!” he repeated with a roar.

He sighed. “She's not going to thank you for this, Potter.”

“What do you know? You don't know her,” he spat, his face turning an ugly puce color.

“Until about a minute ago I would have conceded that I didn't know her as well as you do, I haven't been lucky enough to have half the time with her that you have. But now I'm starting to think that you're actually the one who doesn't know her at all. Like I said Potter, she won't thank you for this. She can fight her own battles, not that there is one to be fought here. I would never hurt her.”