His Veela Heritage by RiverWriter

chapter 23

“Honey, I’m home!” he called out jokingly after landing in the entrance hall.

They had finally moved fully into the castle and had quickly discovered that if you stood in just the right place inside the front door your voice would carry throughout the whole house. He was certain his ancestors had built it that way intentionally. And, sure enough, it was just a moment before a ghostly looking otter came gamboling down the grand staircase opposite the entrance and stopped in front of him. It did a happy little flip and winked at him.

“I’m in the library,” it informed him in Hermione's voice.

He rolled his eyes, he could have guessed that. He made for the stairs, taking them two at a time. It hadn't gotten any easier to be away from her for an entire work day and he was anxious to get back to her. The past few weeks had been a challenge, both more wonderful and more difficult than he'd imagined anything could be.

They'd gone public with their relationship a couple of weeks before via an exclusive interview with Rita Skeeter. Those hours they'd spent with her had been some of the longest of Draco's life, she'd practically salivated over them and he left the meeting feeling the distinct need to bathe thoroughly. He couldn't believe he hadn't realized how odious she was when he'd dealt with her as a teenager.

The article went over about as well as he'd assumed it would. There was vast speculation about what each of them had to gain from the relationship, some people thought it was an all out stunt. His parents support for them was considered to be nothing but lip service. And they were openly gawked at when they spent time in wizarding areas. Hermione at least had the support of her inner circle of friends, a few of whom had even been gracious enough to speak to the press and publicly back their relationship, but that had the unfortunate side effect of making the silence of the male two-thirds of the Golden Trio deafening.

Hermione hadn't spoken to either of her two supposed best friends since the night she'd told them about their relationship. She'd written Weasley a letter telling him that if he wished to apologize, she would hear it; he hadn't responded. And as much as he hated it for Hermione, Draco couldn't help but think that it might not be for the best. Because now that he knew what the other wizard had actually said to his wife, he wasn't sure he would be able to refrain from killing him if he ever saw him again.

Ginny had tried to force Potter to apologize but when Hermione found out she had said that she didn't want it unless it was freely offered. Draco got the impression that things were quite frosty in the Weasley/Potter household over the whole issue. Ginny, on the other hand, had been an unexpected boon. The three of them had dinner together as she had suggested, and after that she'd become a frequent presence in their home. He appreciated her obvious efforts to fill the gap that Potter and the other Weasley had left in Hermione’s life. Also, she was a sarcastic firecracker and Draco found himself liking her very much- a fact he did his best to hide by deriding her at every opportunity. In return she flirted with him shamelessly.

So, all in all, it could have been worse. Still, Draco missed the weeks before anybody had known about their relationship when he and Hermione had been in their own happy bubble shielded from the outside world and its derision. But he still had her, and in the end that was all that really mattered.

He entered the library to see that she was sprawled out on the floor in front of the fire surrounded by wedding planning materials; parchment, photographs, fabric swatches all arranged in what- he was sure- was some meticulous system Hermione had designed for maximum efficiency. She’d had lunch with his mother and aunt and by the looks of things, they’d been very busy. He tiptoed his way over to her.

“Careful,” she said absentmindedly, “I have a system.”

He rolled his eyes at her predictability and tossed the book he was carrying onto her lap before flopping down on the floor next to her. The witch was slowly leeching all sense of propriety out of him. His mother must not have realized that or she wouldn’t be nearly so fond of her.