Summary: More things than a Crumple-Horned Snorkack bite may be healed by the admixture of blood.
Towards the Admixture of Blood (PG-13; Luna/Draco, original Crumple-Horned Snorkack, Narcissa; 430 words)
The Snorkack's fur was soft, as Lovegood was soft; Draco shivered to remember her secret, silken places—and then shook his head to clear it of his sentimentality. He'd never had Lovegood; she only came for him in dreams.
I never should have agreed to this, he thought, scowling as he surreptitiously observed Lovegood speaking to his mother and the preserve's other patrons. Mother only insisted that I apprentice myself here for the good of the Malfoy name.
A hideous mistake, that, one that had led to inevitable articles discussing Lovegood's confinement at the Manor during the war, his having to get his hands dirty in the cleaning of Snorkack pens, and countless frustrating dreams.
Just because we work well together doesn't mean that Lovegood would ever want me, not after what—"Ow!"
Draco drew his hand out of the Snorkack's cage and winced before sucking his bitten, bleeding finger into his mouth, noting sourly that his mother hadn't even bothered to glance in his direction.
"Let me see that."
"It's fine," Draco snapped, blinking in astonishment as Lovegood thrust her hand into Pickle's—so named for his love of them—cage and allowed the creature to bite her. "Why would you do tha—oh!"
Pressing their fingers together and massaging them, Lovegood beamed at him. "You've forgotten orientation, haven't you? Crumple-Horned Snorkack bites won't heal unless another bitee is willing to admix his or her blood with the first one. On the expedition, we didn't figure that out until it was almost too late for Rolf."
Rolf. The tautness of Draco's trousers slackened to hear Lovegood speak of her fellow magiozoologist.
Scamander—there was nothing poor about him; aside from wealthy, he was everything that Draco was not—well-built, gregarious, and . . . vital. Lovegood spoke of him often.
"I suppose you saved him?" Draco asked, with ungrateful sharpness.
Don't be jealous. It isn't nice, and isn't that why you're here? To be nice?
His eyes widening as he realised that he'd heard Lovegood speak, but in his mind, Draco gasped.
And call me Luna, Lovegood continued silently, because when I'm alone at night, I don't dream of Malfoy. With a wink, she relinquished Draco's hand and returned to the others, leaving him harder than he'd ever been, and feeling a genuine affection for Pickles.
Summoning one, he fed it to his charge and smiled to know that that night, Luna would not be alone.
He was so preoccupied by the "soft" turn of his thoughts that he failed to notice his mother's expression of victorious satisfaction as she followed the other patrons away from the pens.