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“Sorry, I am late, darling.”
Hermione heard Draco’s voice whisper in as he starts to appear in the entryway, near her foyer where he knows she prefers guests to apparate at. If he thought she was going to be oh-so accommodating to just greet him, even with the common courtesy, after being over an hour late for their first official date, he clearly didn’t know who he was speaking to.
“And why—,” Her tirade trailed after he seeing his face and collar stained in blood splatter, a darker red than the bouquet of roses he was holding. Nearly the entire right side of his face and into his hair was covered with it. “What happened to you?”
He didn’t seem to deign an answer immediately, Draco’s gaze was calculating and memorizing as he took in her dress that was now creased from waiting.
“Draco,” she called sharply, his gaze flicking her meet hers, “Are you okay? What happened?”
His face curved, something between amused and apologetic, “Well, I was holding my Pureblood sacrificial magical ritual in your honor, of course, darling.”
———
Three Hours Earlier, in Crêt de la Neige, the summit peak of the Jura Mountains, near the France-Switzerland border, infamous for being the leylines of the ancestral magic of the Malfoy Family.
———
Draco, as he’s gotten older, firmly believes that the dogma of his family was utter shite. But, he had to admire the beauty in the dramatic flair of his ancestors.
In order to truly be with Granger, a sacrifice of his own volition had to be made on the exact date his ancestors had been divinely blessed with magic. Which, Draco, had to admit, was a difficult task calculating the date as the Universal-Gregorian-Magical calendar hadn’t been set in. Which, meant to Draco, that his first official date with Granger had taken place a year too late in his opinion as the research had to be meticulously conducted.
To break his familial plague of forcing Malfoy descendants to marrying pure bloods, he had to turn to the cursed, Mons Lura Pur, inscribed strictly in runes found in the Malfoy familial codex. He was no Granger, as it had taken him eight months (where it would’ve taken her one, he knew) to decipher from the putative etymologies that the enchantment to be lifted.
It also deduced that he had to hike up the peak himself in his custom suit and cloak that he donned for his first date.
The air was thick with magic, clinging and whipping to his skin. His silver hair clung to his temple messily with sweat and he surveyed the peak half-deranged, finally where he smiled and saw his future that he got to share with love of his life.
The first part of the ritual was simple enough, a bonfire in honor of his witch. The ember was quickly assembled and amassed flames Draco thought were worthy of a witch like Granger. They danced and flickered with promises of the future as they quickly rose to 3 meters in height.
The second, the exchanging of the runes, was the culmination of his entire efforts.
The first rune, carved for unity, had to be given freely and of his own volition. His magic in service of hers, where he made the choice for their shared harmony. It roughly translated that by making his sacrifice he is affirming her as his true match, a match that runs deeper than the leylines of magic Draco stands on. That despite his familial history the branched off bloodlines, every sacred curse uttered by every Malfoy before him, any and all vows become forsaken so that his magic sees no conflict or any other path but the one following her. Draco’s magic becomes a tethering piece of hers.
The fire erupted, growing and spreading around him, burning the summit’s grass and foliage until all Draco can feel is his magic reaching out to her and the roar of the magic in the air.
The second rune was carved for power. By choosing her, he is rejecting the nature of his familial history. By marking Granger as his one, he puts his own power in her hand. Instead of his magic trying to claim dominance over hers, which inevitably would destroy each other, the rune and sacrifice becomes a bond thrives on the tautness and equity of the it power. Granger and his relationship will never be something common and mundane. Their power becomes a shared burden, intentionally meant to challenge each other, to become more than the old magic limiting who Draco’s family destined him to be.
The fire of the ritual bends and transforms to a warm glow, an embrace of something Draco has been craving since Granger reemerged in his life.
The final rune is something Draco had to conceive of his own violation. Inspired strictly by her, he spent hours measuring the depth of his loyalty to her. The desire to have her as only his. He isn’t unaware of his possessiveness of her. But he had to learn that — possession is tempered with devotion, a love, stronger than any ancestral magic he possesses. Above all, Draco wants to protect and cherish her heart, to be the man worthy of earning her. He takes his wand and slashes his right hand. A hand untainted and unmarked, as he carved his final rune, he feels his blood splatter across his skin and over the fire as he solidifies his future.
His final rune takes hold and where the land was burned was reemerged with blossoms of red roses. The entire summit remade and blossomed with roses of proof that his choice was granted. He gets to have a future. A future he won’t waste, a future, he realizes as he casts Tempus he is running late for. In hindsight, completing a magical ritual and a first date with the honoree of said magical ritual, on the same day, was not his smartest choice.
But it was a choice he didn’t intend to waste. Taking a dozen or so of the roses from the mountain, Draco readjusts the cuffs of suit and apparates towards a life awaiting for him.
———
One Pureblood Ritual Later, in the Granger-Crookshanks residence, London, England.
———
Hermione appraises Draco standing before her, bleeding and magically depleted.
“A Pureblood sacrificial magical ritual?”
“Of course, darling, what else would keep me running late from you?”
Hermione flushed at his words as Draco stepped towards her, “I brought these rose for you,” He gestures to the blooms and releases a quiet, stunned laugh.
She takes his offered roses and brushes her fingers against, looking up to meet his gaze, “They’re lovely, Draco. And very much worth the wait.”