The Unwanted Tutor
Author: lj user= “vegetasbubble”
Summary: Hermione Granger, smartest witch of her age, is asked by Headmistress McGonagall to help tutor a certain classmate in a very particular field. Post War. DH compliant, though EWE.
Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: 9148 (not including quotes or author’s notes)
Contains: Veela!Draco/Vampire!Draco, Sassy!Hermione, Course Language, Sexual References, Scenes and Situations, minor blood play, friendship-turned-relationship.
Authors Notes: Written for the 2013 Dramione Valentine’s Love Fest lj user=”dramionelove” based on prompt 44. Graciously beta read by lj user= “unseen1969” and Lothair. Enjoy and comment.
Vampires have always held a very seductive kind of lore and have always been some variety of attractive, whether it’s attractiveness that’s born of just the physical attributes that they have – this kind of ethereal beauty or translucent pallor – or whether it is more to do with the way they carry themselves.
Before vampires were aesthetically appealing, they were physical anomalies and ostracized outsiders whom we banished to the dark, and they didn’t have the appeal that they do now.
Hermione Granger cracked her knuckles as she lent back over her chair, her spine and body moving backwards as she stretched. A now weekly ritual, Hermione was engaging in one of the various tutoring sessions she held for her younger schoolmates, an activity the Gryffindor girl thoroughly enjoyed.
Upon her return to Hogwarts for her unofficial seventh year, Hermione had approached McGonagall about tutoring the younger children McGonagall had been quite ecstatic with the idea and agreed whole-heartedly, scheduling Hermione into a library nook each Friday afternoon from five to seven.
Harry and Ron, who had chosen not to return to Hogwarts for their final year, instead sitting for their Auror placement, had encouraged her with the idea, understanding that Hermione needed to do something. Since the War ended, the three of them had travelled to Australia to retrieve Hermione’s parents, they had celebrated with family and friends and Hermione and Ron had finally engaged in their relationship physically only to end it a week later.
Ron had told Hermione he was still hung up on Lavender, his ex-girlfriend who, sadly, had been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione had cried as she watched him walk away from her after breaking the news. She had found out a few days later that Ron was staying with Charlie in Romania, training dragons for a week before returning to begin his Auror training.
His return had been a confusing one, and while Hermione held her head up and continued to value Ron as one of her best friends, she couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of her. Harry had encouraged Ron to join him for Auror training as soon as he returned from Romania and, while the boys spoke of tracking down rogue Death Eaters and learning from the best Dark wizard catchers in the world, Hermione packed her suitcases for Hogwarts.
The first week of her tutoring session, a cold December afternoon, had resulted in the appearance of only three Third Year Gryffindor’s who wanted to speak to Hermione about the War. Her second session, during the week of Christmas, yielded no one in need of tutoring – which was expected on her part. Upon school resuming in late January, however, Hermione noticed a number of students attending her sessions more often. For two weeks, the last week of January and the first week of February, Hermione had to extend both sessions by four hours to speak to and help them all.
February 10 found Hermione once again organising her bag for her tutoring session. She’d heard that students from various houses would be turning up tonight and – she had a feeling she was in for another long session.
She could only fit two Potions texts in her bag, so, carrying four more books in her arms, the brunette witch descended from her tower, one she shared with other returning Gryffindor’s of her year, including Neville, Dean and Seamus. Ginny continued to stay in the normal dorms but saw Hermione often, along with Luna, with whom Hermione had formed a close bond. Hermione made her way through the portrait, down a flight of stairs and made her way to the library.
“Miss Granger! Oh, Miss Granger!” came a happy voice. Hermione turned around, careful not to spill the books from her hands and recognised Professor Flitwick, Charms and Ravenclaw Head of House, as he approached, taking small and fast steps. “Miss Granger, so glad I caught you.” The part-goblin smiled as he reached the young woman, catching his breath slightly. “Professor McGonagall is asking for you. She requires you in her office at once.”
“But Professor, my tutoring session is in a few minutes.”
“All has been dealt with. She had asked me to take over in your stead, though I suppose not many will stay when they learn of this.” He retrieved his wand from his robes and cast a simple levitation spell, the books from Hermione’s arms and bookbag floating before her. “Off you go, I’ll get these back to you by the end of the day.”
Hermione watched the small man as he walked down the corridor and turned into the library. Then she made her way to the third floor, down the corridor to the large stone gargoyle standing in the middle of the hall. “Black Cats,” Hermione said, and the gargoyle began to move, closing its wide wings and moving to the side, revealing the tall, circular steps. She made her way up and knocked ever so gently on the door marked, “Professor McGonagall – Headmistress.”
“Enter,” she heard, and she pushed the door open. Professor McGonagall, the old woman, stood before her, looking frailer than ever before. Hermione imagined the war had been hard on her also, as she had suffered much and lost so many, just as they all had. She wore robes of green and black, her hat sitting on her desk behind her. “Miss Granger,” she welcomed, stepping forward. “Come, sit.” Hermione nodded and followed McGonagall over to a small couch off to the side of her office. Since McGonagall’s promotion to headmistress of Hogwarts, the school had taken on a different face. While inter-house animosity was still an issue, riffs and arguments were at an all time low, and Hermione supposed and hoped it had something to do with the War coming to an end.
“Miss Granger, I’m sorry to pull you away from your students, but I have a very important and rather difficult question for you. I know that you have always been one for challenges.” Hermione watched the old woman’s mouth rise in a small grin and wondered what she was thinking.
“Recently, a student alerted me of a predicament they are in, one they are unable to change or modify. This student has come to me for assistance and I agreed to help, though upon hearing more and more, I am now aware that I am unable to provide aid. This is where you come in.”
“Me, Professor?” Hermione asked, her head full of questions.
“The student I am referring to has recently come into his Veela genes, ones that have been passed down through his family for hundreds of years. Though the specifications are a little, different. You see, Miss Granger, though Veela are young, beautiful humans, their race descends from one of pure and absolute evil.”
“Vampires,” replied Hermione. McGonagall simply nodded her head. Hermione had heard the legends, which told how, upon reaching their age of maturity, a Veela must find and feed from a willing partner before the week is out, or else turn forever into a dark and horrible copy of themselves, a Vampire.
“Yes. And this student has let me know that their maturity date was, well, today.”
“Today? As in, if they don’t feed from a willing partner sometime in the next seven days, they will turn into a Vampire on Valentine’s Day?” Hermione asked, shocked that something like this could ever happen to anyone. “Well, that’s a conundrum. May I ask what you wish of me?”
“Hermione, my dear, I need you to help this student.”
“Help them? Find a partner? In all honestly, Professor McGonagall, I don’t think my matchmaking skills are the best to be asking this of me,” she replied, wondering why she, of all people had been asked.
“No, no, my dear. That is the last resort. The student already knows who they are going to ask. What I am asking of you, my dear, is that you help the student transition into their Veela form casually and be there, just in case there is a danger of Vampirism.”
Hermione silently nodded, rather confused but intensely interested. Though Hermione was friendly with Fleur Delacour and had attended her wedding to Ron’s brother, the subject of her Veela heritage never came up. Her curiosity had grown after meeting the girl on friendly terms, soon after she’d become engaged to Bill. Hermione had researched Veelas relentlessly and found that most, Veelas were female, but a select few from a family with Veela heritage were male. It was the male Veelas, uncommon and close to extinction, who were most at risk of becoming Vampires.
The transition from full human to half Veela was a long and slow one. In four days, the person would grow a small set of sharp teeth, ones that could retract and appear when they wanted them to. Though most thought the teeth were for drinking blood, most Veela used the teeth during love making with their respected partners.
Hermione had even heard of a few Veelas offering bites in brothels, men feeling absolute pleasure and even sometimes, insanity.
The Veela would also develop their Harpy-like features, including long, scaled wings and cruel-birdlike heads, though these features only appeared when they were more angry than happy, and was very rare in only half Veelas.
Male Veelas, although rare, were known to be very appealing to others’ eyes once matured. Hermione remembered giggling as she thought of a male Veela being ignored one minute and loved the next, just because he came into his Veela heritage. They were also known to have flawless skin, the ability to cause a feeling of complete pleasure just by touching, and it was also whispered that they have caused many to fall in love on sight with them. Though Hermione put the last option down as a fairy-tale, told to small children, she couldn’t help but be interested and intrigued by the creatures.
“So what would I do?” Hermione asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know who it is, first?” McGonagall asked. Though the thought had crossed her mind, Hermione had already decided to help the person, whoever it may be. The War was over and bigotry and hatred because of other people’s race and blood were far from her mind. Hermione shook her head, but allowed the older woman to speak. “The student in question is Draco Malfoy.”
When Hermione was seven years old, she had fallen out of her parents’ oak tree in the backyard and scraped her knee on a root protruding from the ground. All she had wanted to do was climb into her bed, hide and bawl her eyes out.
It’s what she felt like doing just then.
“Pardon?” Hermione asked, hoping she hadn’t heard right.
McGonagall stood and walked over to the wooden door on the other side of the room. She opened it and Hermione watched as Draco-freaking-Malfoy entered the room, the smirk on his aristocratic face still the same as it was when they first met, seven years ago.
Though not as feared or respected as much as they had been in earlier years, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson had returned as the only seventh years to Slytherin house. While Goyle kept pretty much to himself after the death of his best friend the previous year, Malfoy, Zabini and Pansy had remained close and took the new title of “The Slytherin Trio.”
Though some had wanted Malfoy thrown into Azkaban with his no-good father for his involvement in the war the year before, Harry had spoken up at the trial on his behalf. He testified that, while Malfoy hadn’t helped them escape from Malfoy Manor, he also hadn’t given them up, and although Narcissa Malfoy, famed wife of Lord Malfoy, had been involved with Death Eater business, Harry’s pronouncement that she had lied to the Dark Lord about his apparent death had saved her from spending time in prison. Lucius Malfoy had not been as lucky and was trialled and sentenced to fifteen years in Azkaban Prison.
McGonagall had been apprehensive at first to allow the Slytherins back but her good heart outweighed that of her hatred of their families and allowed them all to return, giving them a separate tower from their fellow Slytherins like Hermione and the other Gryffindors had. Though Hermione knew they were back at school, the young Gryffindor hadn’t seen hide or hair of the Slytherins, unaware of their movements or what they had been doing. She had heard from Dean and Seamus that Slytherin had re-employed Malfoy and Zabini for the Quidditch team and though Gryffindor had used Dean and Seamus, the two teams were yet to face each other.
Though the boy before her was the same one she remembered from previous years, something about him was off. The remembrance of McGonagall revealing his Veela heritage only moments ago reminded her of why. Malfoy’s features were more defined, more noticeable than they had been in previous years, because of his transition. His Veela maturity must have happened that day.
“Malfoy?” Hermione questioned again, unaware that his eyes were on her as she looked to her Professor. “You’re telling me I need to work with…. Him?” Without Harry and Ron around, Hermione felt small and vulnerable and though she knew that McGonagall wouldn’t allow for anything to happen, the thought of what he could do worried her.
“Now Miss Granger, I thought you, above all others, could understand the severity of the situation. Mr. Malfoy has agreed to work with you; I should think you’d allow him the same curtsey.”
Making a sound somewhere between a snarl and an obnoxious gruff, Hermione stood and gathered her bag. “Fine, but only because you asked me,” she said, gesturing towards the Headmistress, “But we do this on my terms, you understand me, Malfoy?”
The boy, who, until that moment had remained silent though the whole scene, chuckled. Softly, in a voice Hermione had never heard him use before, he replied, “Of course, Granger. Who am I to ignore the request of the Headmistress and the Brightest Witch of our Age?” Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blond, annoyed that he would try and flatter her after so many years of bigotry and hatred. She moved to leave and caught his eye.
“You will meet me in the Library in an hour. If you are late, I am not helping you. You use any words that are in any way hurtful or rude, I am not helping you. You mention my friends in any way that is derogatory or nasty, I am not helping you.” Not waiting for his reply, she left the tower, knowing that she should have just said no, but letting her curiosity get the better of her.
Fifty-five minutes later, Hermione was tapping her fingernails on the desk in front of her, books on magical creatures, namely veelas and vampires piled before her. He was going to be late, she knew it. Or not even turn up, which would be worse. She had taken a chance on him, trusted that he would turn up on the word he had given McGonagall, but unlike so many of her friends, she had fallen for his lies like the kind-hearted person she was. Another minute later she stood, grabbed at the books on the table and moved to return them.
“Granger.” Whipping around she saw him standing there. The blond wore his uniform like no other male at Hogwarts, she noticed. His crisp white oxford shirt hugged his Quidditch toned body and while he wore his Slytherin tie, it hung loose and undone around his neck. His eyes, though open and awake, looked tired and old and Hermione could tell he hadn’t gotten much sleep. He eyed the books in her hand and frowned. “You said an hour. I’m here, aren’t I?”
Glaring at him, she tossed the books onto the table and pulled the chair out, the scraping sound making her regret the movement. She had said an hour and here he was, on time, and she felt horrible. Yes, this was Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. He wasn’t sweet or caring or even trustworthy, but he had said he’d be here, and he was. She should have been more patient.
“This book has everything there is to know about Veelas going through their maturity transition,” she said, handing it to him. He clasped the book in his hand and pulled his own chair out, only to lean away from the table, the book held in his hands as he bent over slightly. She eyed him, wondering why he was sitting hunched over, when his eyes caught hers.
“The wings, Granger,” he whispered, low enough so as to not let anyone hear him, “They hurt when I sit straight.” Nodding quickly, she grabbed another book. Hermione was confused. Why did he have his wings? They were only supposed to appear long after his maturity stage and only when he was angry.
“Are you upset?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t spoken the words as soon as they left her mouth.
“No,” he calmly responded, eyes on the book.
“But your wings?” she questioned, hoping he wouldn’t yell at her.
“I’m new, I’m transitioning. They’re growing before retreating inside my skin. It’s unknown to most that that’s how it happens,” he replied, lifting his eyes to hers and staring. “After tonight, they will only appear again when I am angry or upset — or when I mate.”
The word made him smile, turning back to the book and making Hermione blush. Sure, she had had sex with Ron, but that had been so long ago and not enough times to make her feel sexually experienced. The way Malfoy had said it sounded so casual, like it was something he did on a daily basis. This made Hermione angry for some reason. Why should Draco Malfoy, Death-Eater and general asshole get more of a love life than her, Gryffindor Hero, Hermione Granger? She made a gruff sound and concentrated on the text before her.
An hour later, Hermione placed her book down and eyed the young man before her. He was standing now, had been for half an hour, holding the book with one hand while the other held the small of his lower back. Trying to ignore the way his muscles gripped his shirt and the way his trousers looked, Hermione shook her head. “Malfoy, can I ask you something?”
He turned and lowered the book, keeping his other hand on his back. He must have been hurting. He lifted his eyebrow, the slim line lifting high into his hairline. “Depends on the question.”
“From whom do you get your heritage, your mother or father?” she questioned. She watched his eyes tighten; his fists clench and his chest rise and fall with strained breaths. He moved to sit on the seat across from her, leaned over, his arms crossed tightly on the table. Narrowing his eyes at her, Malfoy spoke with a hardened, cross voice. “How is it any of your business, Granger?”
“I’m just curious, that’s all,” she asked. “I’m hoping you could tell me.”
Sighing heavily, Malfoy leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “My mother,” he said sternly. Hermione nodded. Narcissa Malfoy was a beautiful woman, and now that she thought of it, Hermione realised that she was indeed Veela. “She’s part Veela, and her mother was full Veela.”
“So you’re only a quarter Veela?” Hermione asked. Malfoy nodded raised an eyebrow again.
“Does that change things?” he asked her, unsure himself. Lifting an eyebrow of her own, Hermione shook her head.
“Not really, your emotions and feelings will be just as high, but the only person that will be willing to be your partner is your true mate. It’s very rare for most male Veela to find their true mate. You won’t be able to make anyone fall in love with you, either. It makes this a little harder, that’s all.”
Sighing heavily, Malfoy stood and pushed his chair in. Turning to leave, Malfoy stopped after taking a step. “Granger, don’t worry, this is too much for you to handle. I’ll deal with it myself.” He moved to leave again, unsure if he really could do this.
“Malfoy,” her voice came, making him stop and turn back to her. She hopped up and moved towards him, looking up as she stood before him. “I want to help you, I promise you that, Malfoy. But you have to trust me.” She lifted her hand and touched his shoulder. “Please sit down,” she asked him gently. He eyed her, suspicious of her change. “Malfoy, I want to help. Please.” Her urging made him sigh again before he nodded.
“Good, come on then,” she said, smiling and turning back to the table. “This text explains how to find your True Mate, but it’s going to be a hard road. We only have seven days to find her for you. This is going to help us.”
He joined her back at the table and slumped down in the chair. Grinning, she handed him the book, opened at a specific page. “You emit these pheromones that will attract your mate, depending on how close they are to you. Your mate will smell and feel different things depending on their attraction to you. Like…let’s say I was your mate. I would say that I could smell green apples, spearmint toothpaste and aftershave.” Hermione watched his face, unsure of how he was feeling. Blushing slightly, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But that’s just an example.”
He nodded and looked to the text. “I have to feed from her before next week, Valentine’s Day.” Groaning, he handed the book back to her. “Or my animal instincts kick in and I turn into a vampire. Fan-fucking-tastic.”
Though Hermione had grown up with boys, she hadn’t heard swearing like Malfoy swore. So casually, like it was normal language. Narrowing her eyes, Hermione returned to the text. “Some people believe that Veelas can sense their mate and know who they are, but this also is very rare.”
“I know who she is,” Malfoy replied, grinning. Hermione rolled her eyes, unsure whether she should ask or not, but more annoyed that he was gloating. “And I don’t think she’s going to like it.”
Ignoring his comment, Hermione tucked the book into her bag and stood. “Malfoy, I think that’s enough for tonight. We know that we have to keep you in check, keep an eye on your pheromones and since you know who your mate is, you should be spending more time around her.” Malfoy stood as she went to move past him and caught her arm. “Granger,” he whispered.
“Let me go, Malfoy,” she hissed back. He had been rather nice, until now. The hold he had on her arm wasn’t tight, but it was possessive.
“Granger, listen to me, I…” He hissed his words and grasped his chest before finishing. Howling loudly, Malfoy fell to the ground, clutching at his chest with both hands. “GODS!”
“Malfoy!” she shouted, dropping to her knees and grabbing at his face. She made him look at her. “Fight it, Malfoy. Fight the urges. Your wings want to expose themselves… they want to show the world who you are.”
“No!” he shouted, “I will not let it take me! I am not my father!” Hermione gasped, holding his face in her hands. Hermione watched as he roared once more, the small pointed teeth appearing and growing slightly larger as he yelled.
Fifteen minutes passed and Malfoy finally calmed. Hermione didn’t remove her hands from his face until the teeth shortened and his breathing returned to normal. Taking deep breaths, Malfoy moved away and lent his head back. “That fucking sucked,” he swore again and this time, Hermione didn’t mind. She understood his worry and annoyance at the situation. Remembering his words earlier, Hermione spoke softly. “Malfoy, you said you wouldn’t be like your father. What did you mean?”
Sighing heavily, Malfoy leaned back on his hands, taking deep breaths. “My father…. The same bastard who turned me into a prat who hated people for their blood… was a fucking Vampire, alright, Granger?” Malfoy jumped to his feet quickly left the library. Hermione, sat on the ground for a moment, confused and alone after his sudden admission. She finally found her feet, snatched her bag from the table and ran out the door, trying to find him.
Not seeing him in the hallway, Hermione decided that he must have been heading for bed, and descended the stairs to the Dungeons. She knew she shouldn’t have been there, but she was worried now, after learning of his father’s heritage. Hermione wondered if Lucius was turned, or if he had inherited Veela tendencies from a family member. If he had, Malfoy would have an even harder time with his own transition. Appearing at the stonewall that led to the Slytherin Dungeons, Hermione whispered the password, “Serpent Tails,” and the stone wall slowly opened.
Being Head Girl, Hermione was given the passwords for each of the common rooms, except for the returning “eighth year” students’ towers. She hoped to find someone that could help her, or hell, even Malfoy himself. Watching the stones rise and part slowly, Hermione took a deep breath, hoping she was doing the right thing.
“Excuse me,” Hermione asked a younger student, one she recognised from a tutoring session. He was a fifth year, with dark hair and eyes. “Have you seen Draco Malfoy?”
The student looked her up and down and narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you doing here?” he spat. Hermione was a little shocked when he snapped at her.
“Excuse me,” Hermione said, “But you will not speak to me like that.”
“I’ll speak however I want, Mudblood.” Hermione paled. The word still stung; even after the War and the downfall of the Dark Lord it still hurt to hear the word. “Now get your fucking ass out of here before I kick you out on it.”
“Caleb!” a voice shouted. Hermione turned and saw Malfoy, standing with Blaise Zabini, the dark-skinned boy looking dark-eyed and weary. “Move away, now,” Malfoy stated. Hermione’s eyes flicked from the younger boy to Malfoy to Zabini and back between each of them, “Or I will move you.”
Caleb, being a smaller boy, should have stepped down, moved off and run to his room scared and embarrassed. But he didn’t. Narrowing his eyes, the boy stalked up to the older Slytherins. “No one is scared of you anymore, Malfoy,” the younger boy spat, “You fucking coward.”
A second later, Hermione watched as Malfoy’s fist lurched into Caleb’s face. Jumping back slightly, Hermione wondered if she should leave. Zabini, eyes never leaving her, quirked an eyebrow. The dark-skinned young man was still as quiet as she remembered, though he seemed to have come out of his shell a bit. Malfoy stood above the smaller student, his fist now at his side. Hermione spotted the blood on his fist and her eyes flicked to his mouth. The small fangs were slightly larger and his face seemed more pointed and fierce. Realising his anger, Hermione moved forward, grasping at his hand and pulling it down. “Malfoy, calm down,” she whispered, unsure if Zabini knew of his situation, “Calm down, it’s me,” She reached up and grasped his face in her hands, stroking her fingers over his cheeks and one thumb even grazed his mouth.
“Granger,” he said in a strained voice. Nodding, she pulled his face closer and smiled.
“Calm down,” she whispered, “Please.” Stroking a finger over his face again, against his mouth and over his chin, she shot a look to Zabini. “Can you take us to the Slytherin Tower, please?” Zabini, in all his years at Hogwarts, hadn’t spoken a word to her and she was yet to hear his voice or know his opinion. “Zabini… Blaise, please.”
He nodded and moved forward, taking Draco’s arm and throwing it over his shoulder. In a soft whisper, Blaise muttered, “I know what he is, Granger,” before lifting Malfoy and making his way towards a darkened bookshelf. Blaise hissed the password and the two made their way up the stairs, Hermione following Zabini, who carried Malfoy like he weighed nothing. Hermione found this odd, as both boys were tall, muscular and strong.
They entered the room, where there was a fireplace lit and Hermione noticed Pansy Parkinson sitting on a couch with a textbook. She jumped off the couch when she noticed the three enter and when she saw Hermione, her face fell. “What the fuck, Blaise?” she snapped. Zabini shushed her and lowered Malfoy onto the couch.
“Shut up, Pans,” he hissed, “Granger knows and she’s helping him.” Zabini jumped up and moved to grab his wand off the coffee table. Hermione seated herself beside Malfoy, lifting her hand to his face and smoothing her palm against his cheek.
“Granger,” Zabini said, moving back to kneel before Malfoy, “You need to watch this to understand, you hear me?” Hermione nodded, frozen to her spot on the couch. Blaise lifted his wand to his wrist and muttered a spell that Hermione couldn’t recognise and watched as the skin split and blood wept out. Eyes focused on the blood, Hermione watched as Zabini lifted his wrist and placed it at Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy, who had been half awake for most of the event, clutched at Zabini’s wrist and with eyes locked on Hermione’s, he began to drink.
“Blaise is…” came a soft voice and Hermione turned to see Pansy standing behind them, arms wrapped around herself as she watched the event before them, “Blaise is a Veela too, Granger. He came into his maturity last summer… during the War. That’s why he wasn’t involved.” Tears forming and slowly falling down her face, Pansy smiled weakly. “I’m his mate,” she whispered, Hermione realising the relationship between the two. She supposed that Malfoy must not have been very happy, what with the relationship he’d shared with Pansy for almost all of their Hogwarts years. The Veela bond wasn’t one that could be broken or undone.
“Draco, mate,” Blaise whispered, making Hermione’s eyes turn to the two friends. “Draco, that’s enough, buddy.” He reached up with his free hand to touch his friend’s cheek. Malfoy moaned and moved his mouth off of Zabini’s wrist. Hermione watched as Zabini’s eyes closed. The dark-skinned boy smiled and whispered a short spell, the skin on his wrist healing instantly. Catching Hermione’s eye, Zabini smirked. “It’s a Veela thing. It heals us faster than human blood.”
Hermione nodded and stood up. “I should get going. I just wanted to check that he was okay. He seemed upset and I was worried.”
“Granger, wait,” Zabini whispered, making sure he didn’t wake his friend. “You should stay. Pansy and I will be in our room, and he’ll wake up soon.” Hermione stopped and turned, watching as Zabini held his hand out to Pansy. The dark haired woman walked across the room and joined her boyfriend. He wrapped his arm around her. Hermione watched them as they made their way upstairs, leaving Hermione alone on the couch with Malfoy, the fire being the only light in the room.
Hermione eyed his face, the soft angelic look making him seem more at ease. Slowly, she reached out and touched his face with one hand, trailing her hand down his cheek. Hermione wondered if it was the Veela in him that was attracting her but that couldn’t be happening, surely. He could only use him Veela attraction on his True Mate. Just then his hand shot out, grabbing her hand and making her jump.
“Merlin, Malfoy,” she whispered, smiling a little when she saw the smirk that graced his face. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry Granger,” he whispered back, lifting a hand to touch her face. “You’re still here.” Smiling, the Gryffindor girl nodded. “I thought you had left.”
“Not until I knew you were okay,” she replied, leaning back against the couch next to Malfoy’s feet. “I didn’t know that Zabini was a Veela, let alone dating your ex-girlfriend.”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah well, you know the Veela thing,” he replied. “You can’t stop it.”
“Yeah, I know,” she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I just thought Pansy might have been your mate.”
“I told you, I know who my mate is,” Malfoy responded, reaching up and touching her face again. “Trust me, Granger… I think she just might accept me.” Smiling gently, Hermione watched as his eyes drifted closed. Hermione gathered herself and soon left the Slytherin tower, making her way back to her own rooms.
Dean and Seamus were in the Common Room upon her arrival, chatting about Quidditch. Apparently, from what she could catch of the conversation, the next game they had was against Slytherin. Hermione made a note to herself to ask Malfoy about the game. She even wondered if he would play. Waving to them, she made her way upstairs, reaching her room and dropping her bookbag on the floor. Noticing the owls at the window, Hermione realised she had three messages and hoped the owls hadn’t been there too long.
Handing a treat to each of them, Hermione untied the letters and waved the owls off. Unrolling the letters, she read each slowly and carefully.
Because of your current situation involving Mr. Malfoy, I have asked Professor Flitwick to take over your tutoring classes for you until February 15th. If you have any questions with your current assignment, my office door is always open.
Headmistress of Hogwarts
PS. Feel free to use the Library until midnight each night during the week and ten o’clock on weekends.
Hermione smiled and read the next letter.
We really hope that this letter finds you well. Ron sends his love. Our training is going very well and our trainers hope to graduate us to full Aurors within three weeks. Ginny sent me a letter that said you’ve been doing a great job with your tutoring. We’re so happy for you. We’re going to be visiting Hogwarts next week, just after Valentine’s Day, to see you all.
Can’t wait to see you,
Love, Harry and Ron
Grinning to herself and realising how much she missed her friends, Hermione placed the letter on her bedside table, happy memories coming back to her. The third and final letter lay on the windowsill. Carefully, she opened it:
Thank you for tonight. See you tomorrow.
Grinning like a loon, Hermione fell onto her bed. She still had a smile on her face when she fell asleep.
The next day found Hermione once again in a rush. Morning classes followed by lunch and then afternoon classes made Hermione flustered and tired. By mid-afternoon she had finally relaxed under an old oak on the outskirts of the school, a book on Veela mating habits in her lap, when a shadow appeared over her.
“Keep reading that stuff and I’m going to think you care,” came a voice. Without looking up Hermione knew to whom the voice belonged. Smiling, she wordlessly patted the spot beside her and soon he sat down, his back leaning against the solid oak trunk. Hermione looked up from her text as she heard a soft sigh. Eyeing him, Hermione noticed the hard lines and tired look upon his face. “I barely got any sleep,” he answered her silent question, realising her concern and worry for him. Eyes still closed, he smirked. “Blaise and Pansy’s shagging woke me up and I haven’t been back to sleep since.”
Hermione nodded and returned to the text. “Malfoy… there’s something you need to know about your transition.” This made him open his eyes and he looked directly at her then. Blushing slightly, she pointed to the text she was reading. “You have to make love to the woman who is your True Mate when you take her blood. Your heart and soul must be hers, and hers must be yours at the exact moment when you take her blood. This is what will stop your Vampirism taking form.” He nodded gently, taking in each of her words with open ears. “Malfoy, you said your father was a Vampire. Was he turned, or was he a Veela also?”
“No Granger,” Malfoy replied, smiling wanly. “My father wasn’t a Veela. A few weeks before my fifth year, he was turned by one of Voldemort’s vampires. Something about making his Death Eaters stronger. Because my mother and I were already part Veela, Voldemort knew I would eventually come into my heritage. To strengthen our family, he turned my father.”
“Well, that’s horrible for your father, but good for you,” Hermione announced, making him quirk an eyebrow, “If he were also Veela, then it would be harder for you to keep calm. Being only one quarter Veela may lower your pheromone levels and your ability to attract your mate, but should you have turned out to be half, your anger and frustration would be ten-fold.”
Malfoy, who had turned to watch her when she spoke, was about to say something when a voice startled him. “Excuse me… Draco Malfoy?” They both looked up to see a willowy young Gryffindor, long black hair falling to her back and a soft smile upon her face. Hermione noticed her as Romilda Vane, the Gryffindor who had tried to seduce Harry in their sixth year. Malfoy, standing, ignored the look of annoyance on Hermione’s face.
Blushing heavily, Romilda handed something to Malfoy before running off, her robes flying behind her as she did. Malfoy chuckled and opened the parchment she had given him. “Stupid twit,” he said, crumpling up the note and pocketing it.
“What was that about?” Hermione asked, curious at his behaviour.
“My mother is here to see me. She’s waiting in McGonagall’s office.” He turned back to her, made eye contact and grinned, holding his hand out for her. “Will you come with me?” Hermione wondered if he was trying to bait her. Not even a day had passed and though he still had elements in his personality of the cruel bastard she had grown up with, the man before her now was sweet and caring and had more on his plate than she ever imagined. Smiling sweetly, she took his hand, allowing him to lift her off the ground. He even bent down to retrieve her book and bag for her, handing them both to her with their hands brushing slightly. “Granger… if this is going to work, this… friendship, well, I think… I think we need to change some things.”
“What’s that, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, placing the book in her bag and slinging the heavy material over her shoulder. He took the bag from her and placed it over his own shoulder, turning her quiet.
“Granger… Hermione. I want to be friends. I want to forget about the last seven years, about the War, about my father. What you’re doing, helping me, well, it takes more than I ever thought you had. I wish to consider you a friend, mend bridges, if you will.” Now, this was just weird. The man before her, Draco Malfoy himself, was actually asking to be her friend? Though she would assume that after last night they were no longer enemies, she never considered them friends. Nodding her head, she moved past him.
“Alright then… Draco.” At the sound of his given name, she watched his face light up, like she had just said he was smarter than her, or that he was the greatest flyer in the world. She realised then how important this was to him and that his Veela tendencies were acting strong in regards to her. He raced to her, took her small hand in his and stopped her walking.
“I don’t want this to be a friendship of convenience,” he rushed, hoping his voice didn’t sound tired or strained. “I want it to be real. I want my friends to like you, I know that Potter and Weasley will never like me, but I will try… for you, Hermione, I will try.” For a moment, Hermione wished him to kiss her. Shaking her head, she realised that it was the Veela pheromones.
Freezing, Hermione paled. Draco noticed this and grabbed her face with his hands. “Hermione… what’s wrong?”
“No….n-no one should be able to smell your pheromones but your True Mate,” she whispered, looking up at him, tears in her eyes, “Yet…yet, I can smell them. I smell them and I want you to kiss me and hold me and take me…”
“Oh Hermione,” he replied, taking her in his arms and holding her close, “Finally… Finally, my love!” Hermione’s eyes widened as he lowered his lips to hers, realising what had happened. He had told her last night that he already knew who his mate was, and she guessed that McGonagall knew as well. This situation they were in was planned. It wasn’t for her to help him, it was for her to realise she was his. His one. His only. His True Mate.
His mouth was warm on hers, lips and tongue moulding perfectly to hers and Hermione could only groan and pull him closer, wanting and wishing for more. Freeing his mouth from hers, Draco bent his face close to her ear and whispered, “My love, I have longed for you, craved you. Do you know how hard it was to not just take you? So many times I wanted you. Needed you. Now you are aware. Now you know.”
“Draco. Draco, I-” She knew what she had to do, she knew that in five days he would need her blood, if not sooner. His reactions the previous night, with the younger Slytherin, had explained that anger to her. “… I know you need this, and I am going to help you, but now is not the time. Your mother is here.”
He played with her hair, the hair she had taken so much pride in over the years. The bushy main was now sleek and controllable and though Harry and Ron had told her many times to cut it, Hermione had always had another voice tell her to keep it long. “I love your hair,” he whispered, lowering his face to her hair and taking a deep breath, “So long… inviting. I can run my fingers through it when we…”
“Draco,” she purred, wrapping her arms up around his neck, “You’re distracting me again.” She smiled, wanting never again to leave the warmth of his arms. He pulled away with a heavy sigh and took her hand in his.
“Come then,” he said, walking up to the castle, her hand tightly clutched in his own. “I suppose mother is here to talk about my Veela heritage – again.” Hermione chuckled as she followed him the short way up to the castle. Without thinking, Hermione strolled into the castle with Draco, unaware of the eyes watching them and the voices gossiping about them. Surely word would soon spread to Harry and Ron, but she didn’t care. A Veela bond was one for life.
Reaching the Headmistress’s office, Draco knocked strongly against the wooden door. “Enter,” greeted them as they heard McGonagall’s voice. Draco pushed the door open to reveal two women, the headmistress and his mother, standing in the middle of the office.
“Draco, my darling,” said Narcissa, and Draco dropped his love’s hand to engulf his mother in a much-needed hug. Hermione supposed that since his father had gone to prison, Narcissa would be lonely and Draco would be the only one she could count on. She tried to remember the last time she had seen Narcissa Malfoy out with anyone else. Hermione couldn’t think of a single time. “I have missed you.”
“So have I, Mother,” Draco replied. Releasing her, Draco turned back to Hermione. He held a hand out and she took it, stepping forward to stand beside him. “Mother, this is Hermione Granger. My True Mate.” Narcissa gasped, her small hand covering her mouth, McGonagall’s eyes twinkling like the trait her fallen Headmaster once had.
“Miss Granger,” Narcissa whispered. Slowly, the older Malfoy took her hand and pulled her close. “Thank you,” she whispered again, “Thank you for helping my son.”
Later that night, Hermione found herself once again in the Slytherin Common Room, wrapped in Draco’s arms as he spoke to Blaise and Pansy about their relationship. Blaise had been accepting; he’d never cared for any of the blood hatred or prejudice. Pansy had been angry at first, but at the behest of her mate, she accepted the union.
Blaise and Pansy retired to their room leaving Draco and Hermione alone in the Common Room to talk. He led her to the small couch and cupped her face in his hands. “I need you now,” he whispered, leaning her back down on the couch, his kisses growing heavy and hot. Hermione remembered her first time with Ron – it had been awkward, sloppy and uncomfortable. Though they had tried, sex had ruined their relationship. Pulling away from his lips, Hermione whispered, “Draco, I want this with you, I really do. But we have to focus on what’s important. You need to take blood from me. We will be locked forever in each other’s minds, hearts and souls. You can only do this if you want me entirely.”
He chuckled and kissed her forehead, bringing her up close against him, tightening his strong arms around her. “I do want you entirely, my love,” he whispered to her, “but do you want me?”
“You know I do,” she replied, “but our relationship has started so quickly. For seven years, I have known this bastard who was a prat to my friends and me, and now there is a man before me without whom I cannot live my life. The Veela bond is strong, and it’s only now that I realise that when I first saw you in McGonagall’s office I instantly fell for you, only to have my feelings clouded by the years of hatred and hurt between us.”
“I know, Hermione,” he whispered back to her, trailing a hand down her arm. “If you wish, we can leave the… consummating of our relationship until the very last moment. We can love and kiss and be close for now, and then, on Valentine’s Day, when I am at my full maturity,” a wicked grin crossed his face, “I will not stop from shagging you senseless and taking your blood.”
The Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch match was scheduled for the next day and Hermione found herself secretly wearing her green panty and bra set from Victoria’s Secret under her jeans and cardigan. At five o’clock in the afternoon, she and Neville made their way to the stands, sat in the Gryffindor side with Luna, and watched as Dean, Seamus and Ginny took to the field with their teammates. As Hermione watched the Slytherin team emerge from the locker room, Neville turned to his friend. “Hermione, are you dating Malfoy?” he asked her plainly and to the point. Blushing, Hermione tried to hide her face.
“Neville,” she started, but was unable to finish. Her feelings towards the Slytherin boy had changed in two days and she blamed the Veela bond but loved it all the same. Though right now her friends could not understand or see why she was feeling this way, she hoped that one day they could accept it.
“She loves him,” Luna piped up from beside Neville. The petite blonde sat quietly next to her boyfriend for a long while, the Gryffindor hat she always wore to games hiding her blonde hair. “He is quite attractive.”
“Hush, Luna,” the taller boy hissed. He eyed Hermione again. “Is it true?” Hermione stayed silent, her eyes on the game in front of her. Dean was currently playing Seeker for the team and he and Draco were racing for something. Was it the Snitch? “You are, aren’t you?”
The rest of the game was a quiet one between the three friends. Though Hermione shouted and yelled for her team, deep down she wished she could cheer for Draco. His eyes had caught hers many times and though the air was still cool from the winter, Hermione felt hot flushes whenever he did so. The game ended an hour and fifty-five minutes after it started. Dean caught the snitch and won the game, Neville and Luna snogged in happiness and Hermione felt sad for her Mate. “Coming, Hermione?” Neville asked her, the first words he’d spoken to her since earlier. She nodded and gathered her bag and coat and followed the two down the staircase to the ground. They made their way slowly back to the castle, Hermione wishing Draco would just appear and take her away.
Neville and Luna made their way into the Great Hall for dinner while Hermione stayed back in the front foyer, waiting to see Draco walk in. He did so, half an hour later, with Blaise and Goyle, talking about Quidditch again. His eyes locked with hers and smiling, he mouthed, “Hey There,” as he walked past. Full of anger and annoyance, Hermione marched upstairs and fled to her room, throwing things around and scaring Crookshanks once or twice.
An hour later, an owl appeared at her window.
Tomorrow we will mate. My urges for you are too strong to hide anymore. I love you. Dream of me.
Dream of him she did and the dreams held promise of what was to come. The following afternoon, she announced herself in the Slytherin Common Room and made her way up to the Tower where Blaise and Pansy lay snogging on the couch. She walked straight past them and made her way into Draco’s room – where she hadn’t yet been. He was sitting on his bed, legs out, letter in hand, reading something important. He looked up as she entered and the instant their eyes met he was up off the bed and in her arms.
Their lips met in a sea of kisses and licks and Draco managed to manoeuvre them to his bed, the soft feeling under her calming her greatly. He nipped at her ear as he made his way down her face. The buttons to her blouse were undone, the fabric pushed aside for him to knead and caress her breasts. She reached her hands up and unbuttoned his own shirt, the material falling off his body and his soft, perfect alabaster skin it was revealed. Her hands explored him, each and every crevasse and inch. He unclasped her bra and disposed of it quickly, laying soft and beautiful kisses to each breast. When his lips touched her nipple, she arched against him. He took that moment to sneak his hand down between them and undo her jeans, push them down her body and dispose of her panties. She soon lay naked beneath him, her caramel skin against his own white alabaster.
“I don’t wish to hurt you,” he said moments later as they lay naked against each other, his hard member knocking at her entrance. She smiled a sweet smile up to him, at once full of innocence and mischief.
“You won’t,” she replied. He understood her meaning and kissed her again, touching her body to ready her for his size and strength. When he finally nudged at her, his mouth found her neck.
“I must bite you as I enter,” he whispered, breathing deep and licking her neck, “it will not hurt if you accept it, will it. Do you?”
“I do,” she murmured, in a husky voice she had never used with Ron. What she felt with Draco, with her mate, was stronger than anything she had ever felt. He kissed the spot where her neck met her collarbone and opened his mouth against the skin. Trailing his tongue over the skin, he counted to three in his mind before clamping down with both teeth and cock. Hermione groaned, the hardness inside her and his teeth in her shoulder a mixture of pleasure and euphoria. They moved together, meeting each other’s hips and movements and thrusts as Draco continued to drink from her. He removed his mouth and made a sound like a raging animal, then threw his head back and Hermione watched as his wings, which had been hidden deep beneath his perfect skin, exposed themselves and stood high and wide above them. The blood from his mouth trickled down onto her breasts as he roared, and Hermione felt the heat in her belly begin to grow.
He bent his head, nipped at her nipples and licked the blood that lay there. Slowly, he raised his eyes to hers and began to move faster and faster, her hands grabbing at him to pull him closer. Her release soon came, her nails dug into his legs and that seemed to push him over as well. He roared once again, calling her name, and she watched in amazement as a light shone around him. They had done it. They had killed his vampirism and heightened his Veela heritage. He would no longer require blood to live, he would only want her and she would only want him. They would protect each other, until their lives ended. They would kill for each other and they would love each other.
Draco’s wings slowly retracted back into his skin, a silent goodbye to his Veela transition, to only be seen again when angry or threatened. Draco slumped against her, his cock still buried deep inside her wetness and her hands touching his face gently. “You did it,” she whispered, smiling up at him. Light sweat covered his body and Hermione wanted to make love to him again. All night, if she could.
“We both did it,” he replied, rolling off her to catch his breath. She moved beside him, tucked beneath his arm as it wrapped around her to bring her closer against him. His hand trailed down her side, touching her and sending sparks through her skin. His heart lay under her head and she heard it’s beating slowly down from its earlier fast pace.
“Now what?” she asked him, aware that things would be different now. Now they would have to share their secret with the world, with their friends and family and hopefully have them accept what they were. She knew it wouldn’t come straight away, Harry and Ron would be the worst, but as long as she was alive, she would fight for him.
“Now, we rest. Tomorrow we plan what we’re going to do, but right now, my love, you are here, we are safe and it is Valentine’s Day. Nothing can be more right.” Hermione opened her half-closed eyes and flicked them to the clock. 12:07am read the time. She grinned.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered, smiling at him. He grinned back, his small pointed teeth greeting her.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
End Notes: I really hope that this story was well enjoyed and fit the prompt well. This was really fun to write and I’m really grateful to my two betas for reading through the story for me. Reviews and comments are enjoyed.