Chapter Text
Nearly Three Weeks Earlier
“Goodbye, Ron.”
He watched as his wife disappeared with a faint crack, the sound of the pain in her voice echoing into the room for what felt like minutes. This wasn’t how he had meant for her to find out. He had planned to wait until she had come home, to sit down with her. To discuss the reasons they had failed and why he needed to move on. To give her the divorce papers himself, filled out and ready for her to sign.
Not like this.
The pain on her face had been evident. Even though she schooled her emotions, he could feel her anguish. And then she was gone.
Ron had plans to end their marriage. Hermione was a practical and smart witch, she had to be aware of the fact that their marriage was over with. That it had drawn to a slow and quiet end. That they were beating a dead centaur by staying together; neither of them were happy together anymore.
It was a farce of a marriage. Barely even a friendship at this point.
The home they once shared together suddenly felt cold, as if a draft slipped through it and Ron realized his error. His missteps. Hermione had been the optimistic one. She had not viewed their marriage as he had. And now he realized that he had broken her in one swoop.
The bedroom door behind him creaked slightly as it opened, bare feet coming up behind him.
“You told me it was over.” A woman’s voice reached his ears, her tone accusatory.
Ron didn't even turn to look at her. He couldn’t look at Susan, not right now. There was a lump inside his throat, pain and remorse he hadn't expected to feel. This wasn’t going how he had planned and he was caught off balance.
“It is over.” He replied roughly.
Susan stepped around to stand in front of him, clad in only one of his t-shirts that hung to her thighs. Her light auburn hair was thrown into a bun atop her head and her brown eyes looked up into his. It suddenly struck him how similar she looked to Hermione and his shame only grew. They were completely different in personalities, which was why he enjoyed his time with Susan. But they were also similar. Rather than trying to repair what he had with his wife, he simply had gone out to find someone to replace her. To renew the spark he had once felt.
“It looks like you said it's over and she didn’t even know, Ron.” Susan said quietly. “What I just heard… She had no idea you meant to leave her. And now I am a homewrecker because you lied to me. You swore to me your marriage was already over.”
“Susie, I swear—“ Ron started, reaching for her, but the witch shook her head sharply and stepped out of reach.
“You lied to me,” she repeated, her jaw clenching.
“Susan—“ Ron tried again, but the redheaded witch had already stepped around him to dash down to the bedroom. He moved to follow her but the door slammed shut on its own. In only moments, she wrenched it open, fully dressed down. Her purse clenched in her hand and wand in the other, she glared at him. “Don’t call me again.”
Susan swept past him in a huff and disappeared with a resounding snap, leaving Ron alone in his empty and broken flat.
Present Day
Fully clothed, Draco had to reconcile with the fact it felt odd to be traipsing through the woods in the middle of the day. As a man. He hadn’t worn shoes in years and the leather felt confining against his feet. He normally donned a robe to keep the chill away, but being fully clothed felt… odd. The pants hugged his body, perhaps a bit more loosely than they used to. The soft fabric rubbed against his skin. The shirt felt entirely too tight. A simple, cotton t-shirt, no less. His arms remained bare this way, much to his pleasure. He rather liked the feel of the sun against his skin, warm like a lover's caress.
It had been easy to forget the sensation of it.
What he did not appreciate as much was the bite of branches and leaves against his human skin. As a dragon, his scales protected him from such minor harm. The marks stood out against his pale skin and he wondered how swiftly he would heal in this form. In draconian, he found his injuries were short lived. Only the deepest of wounds would leave scars. How had the new bond with Hermione affected him?
But now it seemed as if other magic was at play, as well.
It was no longer a curse that ravaged his body, but something more.
Something from Hermione.
The trek down the mountain from his cave to where their camp was didn’t take long. Not that he ever found the trips to be tedious. Just his thoughts now accompanied him along the way.
Familiar and yet strange faces greeted him as he stepped into the camp. Curious expressions crossed their features at the fact that a man had burst out of the forest. His attire, Draco knew, indicated he was not a resident of the local village.
“Looking for Granger,” Draco stated bluntly.
An older gentleman, slightly shorter than Draco himself, rose to his feet from where he sat on an upturned log. His thick brows furrowed together.
“Who may you be? You don’t look like a Weasley.” The man stated in a deep voice.
Ah, of course.
It would likely be assumed her husband— soon to be ex-husband— would come looking for her at some point. How many days had it been since the original attack and the fall of the camp? How long would it take for word to reach London and the ministry? Would that idiot Ronald even bother to come? What about Potter? From what Draco knew, Hermione was still friends with the lot of them. He would be surprised if none of them didn't show up at the continued absence of their friend. He couldn’t remember if she had told him she was expected to check in, or if he had overheard it.
It very well wasn’t his fault if he had been eavesdropping.
He couldn’t very well control how well his ears picked up human voices, or just how loud Hermione spoke.
“I’m Draco Malfoy,” he stated simply in return to the man's question. Draco didn't need to go into detail about who he was, or how he came to be here. “And I am looking for Granger.”
The man was quiet for a second, then he jerked his head towards the side. “They are off that way.”
They? He wanted to question; but he didn't. Somehow draco knew who he meant to be her company.
He didn't reply, turning in the direction the other wizard had directed. A small path lay there, and the two he searched for were just a couple feet into the woods. He felt an odd surge of something curling through him at the sight of the two. Charlie’s hands were gripped on Hermione’s upper arms, holding her close to him. Her hands, fingers sprawled wide, against his chest. A subtle burst of anger exploded inside of his chest as he stepped forward, roughly grabbing the older wizard by the back of his shirt and yanking him backwards.
“Hands off my witch, Weasley.” Draco snarled, his voice dropping to a gravelly growl.
The look from both Hermione and Charlie was immediate and starkly different. Wide brown eyes met his, at the same time blue ones narrowed as he tore himself free from Draco’s grip.
“She isn’t yours, Malfoy.” Charlie snapped, but his words fell silent as Hermione held up a hand, catching his arm.
“Stop, will you two? Charlie, stop antagonizing him—“
The redhead was affronted; “Me?! I’m not even—“
Hermione ignored the interruption, “And Draco, just stop. I know you aren’t doing this on purpose and it’s just instincts, but you need to figure out how to get a grip.”
“I’m not even—“
“Just knock it off. I mean it. Both of you. I don’t know what’s gotten into either of you but it needs to stop.” Now. The word remained silent but the look she gave them was enough to momentarily still them.
Charlie was the first to recover from her scolding, jerking his chin towards Draco; “If he’s a fucking dragon, what’s gotten into him is you. Rather, his need to hoard everything. I’ve warned you he was exhibiting possessive mating behavior and— holy shit, you shagged him, didn’t you?” A look of disbelief crossed the man’s face, and then realization, “That’s why he is acting like a total prat. He can’t help himself. You two mated and he now is bound to you, and you to him.”
Her face was turning a brilliant shade of pink, freckles standing out as the color crept along her cheekbones. Her eyes danced between them, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. He felt a low, burning sensation somewhere deep inside him at the sight of her, and at Charlie’s words. Because Weasley wasn’t wrong. Draco had never experienced such a possessive streak before. He had never greedily wanted to stow the witch away.
“Oi, Charlie! We have incoming!”
The three stopped and turned towards the voice that travelled up the pathway.
“Incoming?” Draco repeated, albeit sounding rather stupid to echo such a simple word.
Charlie had already broken away from them, tossing over his shoulder; “it means people are here, dumbass.”
Ouch.
Ron released the portkey-hammer, his knees shaking as he pressed a hand to his stomach. The woods swam around him momentarily as he righted himself. He always hated traveling by portkey. It was a nauseating experience, but it was also the fastest way to travel great distances.
It had been nearly three weeks since Hermione had come home and found out about the shambles of their marriage.
He had expected her to stay away for at least the next cycle before the portkey would bring her home. That was a full week for her to vent and cool down.
But then a second week crept by.
Ron had owled Harry and found out that she had not even spoken to him or Ginny. In fact, there had been no communication from her at all. Not at the office or to anyone.
But, her department head had claimed there was an active portkey. They would just have to wait for it to return on its designated day and they could go to her research site in Romania.
It was easy to lose track of time in the field, after all.
But that second week of her absence was followed by no portkey. The rusty bucket never appeared in its marked location.
Which was unusual.
They were usually fairly reliable, sometimes appearing early or late by a few moments but the magic that created them was fairly secure.
So with the lack of communication and now lack of transport, a follow up investigation was opened. The only reason a portkey would not appear would be if it was deactivated; which in most cases, meant it had been destroyed .
Which, according to Harry, was quite a task to do. Most portkeys, while inconspicuous and mundane objects, were charmed to be nearly indestructible.
Harry gripped his arm above the elbow and dragged him to his feet, frowning as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His raven hair was disheveled as always, but otherwise the Auror looked completely unbothered. “A bit out of practice there, eh? Seems working at the shop has made you a bit weak in the knees.”
Ron shrugged him off; he had not been as affected the last time he had used a portkey, but perhaps it was just because this one was new and had never been used before. Or, more likely, because his stomach had already been turning over in discomfort. He had not seen his wife in weeks, not since that incident. Not a single word exchanged with Hermione. The paperwork was signed by him and he was still intending to divorce her, but it was hard to not worry and care about her. They had been wed for five years and friends even longer. Ron would have to be a monster to not give a left tit that Hermione had fallen silent.
“Oh, piss off Harry.” Ron muttered with an exaggerated eye roll.
Their friend was aware of the discord in their marriage, but only to a point. Ron had brought up the discussion of divorce, but the wizard had dismissed it stating that all relationships have bumps and it could be repaired.
If only Harry knew just how damaged it was.
That Ron had been so eager to move on that he had replaced Hermione with Susan.
And then Susan had left him as well. The witch had ignored every owl, every attempt of communication. She had pointedly snubbed him in public.
Straightening, Ron cast a glance around the clearing he had left his wife in weeks prior. It no longer looked the same; it was charred and burned. Branches were withered and barren of leaves. The earth beneath their feet was blackened and covered in a fine layer of ash.
“Bloody hell…” Harry was saying as he turned in a slow circle, taking in the full extent of the damage. “What do you think did this?”
“Dragons.” Ron said without hesitation.
He broke into a fast walk up the path to where his brother's camp was, the short journey revealing to be no better. Everything around him was burnt and destroyed. Trees had snapped as their trunks burned to ash. His stomach dropped with the heavy feeling of dread; no longer at coming across an irate Hermione but not finding her at all. Or worse.
The camp was gone.
The twisted remains of the tents was all that remained. Melted and twisted plastic and metal. White ash covered everything like a fine layer of snow.
Everything was gone.
Ron gripped a hand to his mouth as he looked around wild eyed. He should have followed her.
He should have stopped her from returning.
He should have—
He should—
Ron should have been the husband she needed and she wouldn’t have left home in search of some adventure.
She wouldn’t be—
“Over here!” Harry called, the raven haired wizard having made a quick pass through the remains of the camp. Shrewd eyed and practical, the Auror had wasted no time wondering what-if and should-have . He had already switched into investigation mode. “They’ve been gone for days. All the fires are cold. This attack isn’t recent.”
“Harry, what if—“
Emerald eyes snapped to his, “Don’t do that. This isn’t time for pity or remorse for whatever the fuck happened. We need to find them. Dragon fire is destructive but I don’t see any sign of human remains. Which means they could have gotten away.”
“Or they are dead.”
“I wasn’t going to be the one to say it, but yes.” Harry stopped his pacing to cast a shrewd eye around them once more, scanning the burnt tree line. He paused, eyes focusing on a break in the trees. He lifted a hand, motioning towards it, “There. A path. Let’s go that way first.”
Ron nodded his head, eager to move out of this clearing that could be the final place Hermione had been. Eager to force his legs forward to look for her and hopefully find some answer to what had occurred here.