The Lord and Lady\'s Veelas

Pairings: No lemony goodness.
Warnings: ?...Uh…?
Summary: Hermione goes to Diagon Alley, and Draco implements his plan to win Hermione. She isn’t very receptive. Harry spots Hermione and tries to help her out, but he’s in for a surprise.


Plans to be implemented, and failed


“Wie viele kostet es?” I asked in German to the tailor. The tailor in question raised his bushy brows and gave me a crooked yellow smile. He finished packing the new robes and uniforms, and wrote out the receipt on a piece of parchment.

“Es kostet funfundsechzig galleons.” He answered back, and waited expectantly for his money. I rolled my eyes irritably, and fished through my worn black leather satchel. I took out his 65 galleons and handed them to him. He gave me his crooked smile again, and held out my shopping bags full of clothes.

“Vielen Dank.” He said as I took my bags, and I gave him a small smile in return. I welcomed him, and left the store. As soon as I walked out I was greeted with the awkward looks of the wizards in Deutsche Alley. I rolled my eyes once again.

I was wearing dark baggy jeans, a pair of worn sneakers, and an oversized black sweatshirt. My hair was still fashionable to wizard standards-as it hung in their loose corkscrew manner, but my muggle clothes stood out in the old german alley. ‘Note to self, must remember not to make promise to Mr. Zimmerman about getting a ‘good tailored fit’ for school clothes’.

I made my way out of Deutsche Alley and into the neighboring Fancias Alley. Upon hearing my increased financial status, I was enthusiastic about the fact I would be able to indulge myself. I ignored some of the disgusted looks many a pureblood sent me (as Francias Alley held most of the beautification shops and fashion galleries, there was plenty of galleons in circulation from the higher classes), and walked into Madame Zabriel’s shop.

I’d always loved how she had her shop set up. The whole building was built in a romantic/Victorian age fashion, with plush modern muggle furniture and medieval trimmings. It gave off this crossroads air that made me smile every time I saw it.

“Ah, Hermione! My favorite customer!” Madame Zabriel gushed as she spotted me. The violet headed witch she was working on gave a petulant pout, and retorted,

“Hey! I thought I was your favorite!” Madame Zabriel laughed mellifluously, and replied,

“You’re all my favorites. Now Hermione, you have to let my scissors at that mop of hair!” I rolled my eyes and playfully batted her hands away.

“There’ll be none of that. I just need an advance on my special shampoo and conditioner. And I need monthly deliveries to my school.” I said, and smiled. She tutted scoldingly.

“Hermione, you know, I do have a cell phone. You should have called ahead of time; I still need to make them individually!” she chastised and I gave her a sheepish look.

“I didn’t think I’d have the money, but something came up.” I said, and she beckoned me to follow with a wave of her hand. I kept up her bustling pace and we entered her potions room. Multi-colored potions bedecked the shelves, and a few cauldrons were bubbling away.

She eyed my hair and grasped a tendril with her right hand. Rubbing the lock between her fingers she smiled and her eyes lit up with memory.

“Yes! I remember. A tablespoon of a unicorn’s tears, a few drops of Veela venom-the Lady’s of course, for earthy reasons, a quart of mandrake blood, two teaspoons of crushed phoenix nail clippings, and a drop of nightshade.” She remarked, and turned around to begin making the mix.

“A bottle will be done tomorrow at noon. You’re lucky; tonight’s moon is a crescent. Perfect for your shampoo. The conditioner works for all people, you know. It’s your shampoo that’s the issue. Your hair would be fine if it could decide whether or not it wanted to be oily or dry….” She was saying, but I had long left the room.

The price of the bottle I’d be receiving, and the advance for the ones being sent to Hogwarts would be 330 galleons. Books were 254 galleons (I had indulged a little), clothes were 65 galleons, and other minor things were 32 galleons. Since my cat, Crookshanks, had long been run over by my father, I no longer needed to care for that cost. ‘At least one good thing to come of it’, I thought sardonically and did the math in my head. That left me with the total savings of 630 galleons.

That meant 130 galleons could still be spent. The other 500 was tied up for arrangements after school. There was no way I was going to any dances, so I felt no remorse when I passed Leigh Zel’s quiditch shop, and then entered it. Admittedly, I had no money for a Nightshade (which due to unavailability was sold only in Diagon Alley’s shop), I settled on a Nimbus 2000 that was priced at 200 galleons. ‘Wonder if my bartering skills are still up to par?’

“Hey! This is just robbery!” I spat at the salesclerk. He rose a brow and “humphed”.

“What do ya’ mean robbery!” he retorted. I gave him a look that clearly stated “You’re questioning me?”

“That Nimbus 2000 is in too bad of a condition to be held at 200 galleons and you know it. At most it’s worth 75 galleons!” I said, and he glared at me. Turning around he took the Nimbus off his rack and put it on the counter to inspect. He looked it over and then gave me a calculating look.

“It’s worth 150 galleons. The magick inside it alone is worth 120 galleons.” He rebuffed, and I raised a brow. ‘Show time’.

“Yeah? This USED broom wasn’t well taken care of. The straw needs total replacements, the stick is clearly worn, and the magick has clearly been abused. It wasn’t looked after.” I said pointedly.

“I’ll give you 100 galleons.”

“Make it 125, and you’ll have a deal.” He said, and I began to object when he threw in,

“And you’ll get a free broom management case. It has the tools for repairs and a year’s worth of broom wax.”

“Fine. But if this broom doesn’t reach expectations, it’s going to be refunded.” I agreed, and he gave me a toothy grin. I gave him his money and left with my prize to Diagon Alley. Smiling, I held my baggage and headed off to the Leak Cauldron. Today was a good day.


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Today was just hell. ‘First with mother’s fits at the tailor in Francias Alley, and then later with father and the clerk arguing over the better broom; the Papyrus or Nightshade. The clerk of course insisted that the Nightshade was better-as it was quicker than the Papyrus, but the Papyrus had more innate magick to tap into-according to Father.’ We of course got the Papyrus, and mother got her way with the tailor and my clothes were officially outdated by 200 years.

“Do you know what to do?” my father whispered to me over a cup of expensive tea at Bella La Mont’e. His cold gray eyes seemed to be starring at something over my shoulder, and I lowered my gaze to my cup of coffee. I had begun to develop a penchant for cinnamon-vanilla scented and tasting things, and it reflected in my slightly modified French Vanilla Coffee.

“Of course. I’m not as idiotic as the gene pool I cam from, father.” I replied petulantly. Father cast a snide glance at me.

“When they were hand out charm, were you first in line for the cynics?” he asked and I narrowed my gaze at him. ‘Let him try going through Veela puberty again. Insufferable prat. Bloddy wanker…’

“Draco?” he intoned, and my head snapped up expectantly. My father nodded his head to Madame Zabriel’s shop. My gaze caught sight of a familiar mop of curls, and my gut tightened unexpectedly as I felt myself harden.

“Your prey has shown her bushy little head.”


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Ever have one of those moments where you were on cloud nine, and then something bad-but small happens? You get that bad feeling in the pit of your stomach, and that eerie chill runs up your spine. I began to go through those motions when I had been toppled over by a bloke (by the feel of it) in a seemingly hurried gait.

I picked myself up off the ground, thankful that my purchases had been unharmed, and caught the eye of my offender. Chocolate brown met a stormy grey. ‘Great. Malfoy. Just what I needed.’

“Watch where you’re going, mudblood.” He spat, his eyes showing a flash of emotion at the word. His aristocratic nose was leveled above me, and his mouth turned into a disgusting sneer. I narrowed my eyes and stood to my full height.

“Now, now. Let’s not be bigots. I’m sure your whore in Knockturn Alley can wait but a few moments for her only income to give a proper apology.” I chastised sarcastically, and felt a rush of exhilaration. I did love witty banter. So did others; a small crowd of schoolmates were stopping and taking a gander-as typical of Hogwarts students.

“Granger, I do declare! Did I detect a touch of jealousy? Worry not-your standard of living will be just as grand as that said whore. What more could a mudblood such as yourself dream of?” Draco drawled, and began to circle her predatorily. I stiffened and cocked my head to the side.

“Draco, darling….. Are we fantasizing yet again? Role playing is quite healthy, in due respect, but simply wishing to exchange destinies all the time can lead to disastrous mental incapability. Like common sense and logical thinking. But, then again, I suppose you have transgressed too far already.” I said nonchalantly with a farce of sympathy. His eyes narrowed, as the crowd held it’s breath, and with a whipcord movement he had grabbed my newly purchased broom-still in its bag.

“Hey!” I shouted indignantly, and he smirked. My stomach suddenly felt queasy, and it seemed that everyone was silently cheering for the Slytherin Prince, naturally.

“A Nimbus 2000? My, aren’t we outdated. Although, I have to wonder… due to the simple fact that all mudbloods are poverty stricken, how did you acquire such a beat up-yet duly better than you could ever afford, broom? Perhaps you decide to let loose with the generous wizard?” Draco drawled, as he pumped the handle of the broom suggestively and trailed his pink tongue across his thin lips. I was fuming. ‘How dare he!’

“Perhaps Draco, you are only meaning to confess your own sins without exposing their owner. I, however, must return to a more witty a crowd, and more pleasant an odor. To do so however, I need that ‘beat-up’ broom.” I said in false sweetness, and grabbed the top handle of the broom. His eyes flashed, and his gripped tightened.

“No.” he breathed as he leaned in closer, and I smelled a musk of deep red win filling my nostrils. As intoxicating as it was, I pulled the handle towards myself, and he pulled back. Soon I was just pulling with all the strength I could muster until he suddenly let go. Due to the damned laws of physics, the action caused me to fall flat

“So glad she has decided to take her proper place among wizarding society.” There was a general consensus of laughter, until I heard a booming voice angrily shout,

“That’s enough, Malfoy!” Lo and behold, my supposed knight in black robes had arrived. ‘A few years too late’, I mused as I picked myself up from the cobbled street, Harry was making his way through the crowd with an angry yet determined look about him.

“What’s the matter Scar face? I was only preaching the good word of the patricians-hey! Why not stay and listen; you could learn a thing or two about-” Draco began to jeer, but was cut off by a fist to his cheek. He quickly recovered though, and holding his sure-to-bruise-cheek, he spat out a mouthful of blood.

“Now Potter, that wasn’t very nice.” Draco said innocently as he stood to his full height. Harry’s lip pulled back in a feral grin. He cocked his head to its side and innocently retorted,

“No, I suppose not. But then again, it was better than what I really wanted to do…” Draco stepped closer, and was about to reply when I cut through them. Harry grabbed my arm tightly, and I swung around to slap him.

The tears had begun to form in my eyes, and I knew that if I didn’t leave soon, they would be cascading down my cheeks. He turned his head quickly back to mine with widened eyes as his grip lessened-but maintained a hold of me.

“Mr. Potter, although I may be politely thankful for your intervening-I was handling things myself well enough. There was no need for you to play hero to the big bad Prince of Slytherin.” I ground out and he shot me a pleading look (after, of course, wincing at the ‘Mr. Potter bit).
“Hermione…” he began, and I stiffened once more.

“Granger to you.” I whispered mockingly, and a flash of hurt crossed his eyes. ‘Good. He deserves it’. He lowered his hand and I took the opportunity to make my way out of Francias Alley and into the neighboring Diagon Alley. I just wanted to get to the Leaky Cauldron, go to my room, head for a nice hot bath, and try to forget about the day.


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A/N: Phew! Sorry about the lateness. Chapter was going to be longer (and more detailed) but between Soccer tryouts that I didn’t make the team for (15 hours wasted!), a research paper on Euthanasia, and icky house plumbing/heating problems-I was lucky to get to bed at a decent time. I apologize again. Please read and review; it’s my only motivation.

Tabitoo- Thanks for your encouragement. The plot will thicken later, but the sad bit is I had no real experience when it came to the whole ‘running bit’. Truthfully, I loathe running, but it seemed like a ‘Hermione sport’, so I went with it. Will try to be as descriptive with everything else.

Anon- I am going to finish the fic-it’s my New Years resolution (a belated one, admittedly, but it works), and I’m glad that you enjoy it.