Complications

Draco waited for Hermione in the common room of the Heads' dorm after dinner. He hadn't seen or smelled her in the Great Hall, and he wanted to make sure she ate; skipping meals wasn't healthy.

He sprawled nonchalantly on the couch where he and his mate had spent the morning conversing. If he tried, he could still smell vanilla and ginger on the cushions. He absently imagined holding her warm body and against his as he buried his nose in the seat where she'd been sitting. Ahh, mine.

His lack of sleep the previous night began to catch up to him as he lay there, soothed by his mate's scent. He was nearly asleep when the sound of the Head Girl entering the dorm made him stir.

He sat up and looked at her over the back of the couch. She looked furious. "Hermione--?"

"I know! Don't touch me. Don't talk to me. I need to think..." she slammed the door to her room closed behind her.

Draco barely had time to notice the words ...Purple (Or Something) on the side of the book she had slung under one arm as she crossed the room.

Damn.

After she slamming the door Hermione leaned against it and slid down to curl into a loose ball on the floor.

This wasn't supposed to happen, this surely could not have been meant to be! She was a human, an independent witch. She was supposed to grow up and...and do whatever and marry whomever she wanted to marry. This wasn't particularly acceptable. And the fact that she wanted him wasn't making anything better. Damn it.

But she should have known that something was going to happen. Her life had been entirely too quiet after the defeat of Voldemort. Well, no longer. Her life was officially exciting again.

Hermione was a rational witch, she knew just enough about veela to know that the match between Draco Malfoy and herself was completely unavoidable. That didn't mean that she had to like it, though. And she had to know what part of this she could control.

She went to sit on her bed and pulled out the book again. Handy little thing, she'd have to buy a copy of it for future use. It went all 'Have you grown wings? (if so see question 24, if not continue) Has your coloring changed? [i.e. hair, eyes, skin] (if so see question 89, if not continue)' It had taken her more than an hour to match up her symptoms, but she had found it, the only reasonable (if you could call it reasonable) explanation.

This book had everything. She figured that it must have been magically compacted somehow, because it certainly wasn't nearly thick enough to have more than ten-thousand pages. Most of that was the in-depth information once you had diagnosed whatever it was. Amazing book.

She read on in the fourteen-page fine-print section for mates of veela (between the one for those being turned into vampires and the one for those who stepped on the rare Hlinlinia lilly). According to the book, she would continue to plagued by the dreams until they were bonded. Not good. It seemed that his and her veela-induced instincts wouldn't force them to bond for at least another month, based on her estimates of when her ridiculous "dream him" began to appear. Perhaps even two months.

So that time would be hers, perhaps the last free months of her life. Ack. 'Of her life.' That kind of phrasing was not healthy.

In fact, the whole situation was not good for her mental health. A large part of her still considered Malfoy to be her nemesis, despite the veela instincts, and despite the fact that they had toned down the blatant insults and hexes the previous year. And a large part of her was incredibly attracted to him. She felt like the contradictions would drive her insane if she dwelt on them,

She just didn't want to deal with it at all. She wished it would just go away.

Meanwhile, back in the common room Draco was torn. He wanted to go to her, he wanted to go to her, he wanted to go to her so much. This was not the way for her to find out about this, not at all. But she had made it unmistakably clear that she didn't want to see him. Not that that particular declaration held a lot of weight, but he couldn't tell if his presence would make things better or a lot worse. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to deal with 'a lot worse', but he wanted to go to her...

He'd give her till tomorrow, one night. Then he would talk to her, and she would listen.

One night wouldn't necessarily be easy, though. It could end up being sleepless for both of them.

Draco settled himself in his bed and tried to quiet his mind for sleep. Yep, definitely sleepless. He was chronically preoccupied with witch across the way. He suspected that, as in the mornings, he wouldn't be sleeping until she did.

He picked up his half-fished Charms essay and a self-inking quill. If he was going to be up to all hours of the night, he may as well be doing something productive.

Hermione, however, was determined to go to sleep. She put on her PJs and turned off the lights and crawled under the duvet and told herself, very firmly, that she was not to think of him, period. The nights that she would be able to spend without him next to her were numbered and she would not waste them

And so she lay there in the dark feeling his absence, but not thinking of him. She tossed and turned, crossing from one side of the queen-sized Head Girl bed to the other, subconsciously looking for him.

She would surge up to a sitting position and look around the nearly completely dark room then turn over and flop back down. She would curl into a ball and stretch out till her toes hit the foot of the bed. She would toss the covers off and then curl back into them.

She didn't get to sleep for another five hours, when exhaustion finally claimed her.

She awoke with a warm chest against her back and an arm draped over her side. She rolled over to look at him and Draco smiled at her and said, "Morning."

He ran a hand down the bare skin of her stomach to grip her hip and pull her against him. He buried his face in her neck, again finding that one spot that made her squeak.

"Ah...Draco, Draco..." she tugged on his hair to pull him up for a kiss and he required no further encouragement. He claimed her lips hard. He licked softly at her lips and tangled his tongue with hers, playing all her reactions like a violin in the hands of a concertmaster.

His hand let go of her hip to trail up her side then up her back between her shoulder-blades up to her neck. His fingers curled in the hair at her nape and he released her lips to scatter butterfly kisses across her face.

Yes. This is what she had wanted for so long. Now she had it, and it felt so good...

"Hermione...I...love you...and I...need you...here...with me," he spoke haltingly between kisses.

"Yeah...I've needed you so much too." She leaned forward to tug his lobe between her teeth, but he stopped her. She looked up at him questioningly, and as soon as she gaze hit his nearly glowing, swirling eyes, she remembered and paled. "Draco, please..."

"Then why do you deny me?"

And he was gone.

"No...wait... Come back!" Hermione awoke with a start.

"Shit." It was still dark outside. She moaned woefully to herself and rolled over to bury her face against her pillow.

A few seconds later she started at the sound of someone muttering a spell and then the door to her room burst open. There stood Draco, in only his boxers, with a pillow under one arm, framed against the light from the common room.

He tossed his wand to the side, shut the door, and clambered over to climb in her bed.

"Malfoy, what on earth do you think--" she was cut off by his hand over her mouth.

"Shush, Hermione. I'm tired. When you can't sleep, I can't sleep. I've only gotten three hours of sleep tonight. That is not okay with me. I have been incredibly patient and understanding with you so far. I am going to lie in your bed and we are going to sleep. This is not negotiable. We'll talk tomorrow."

Well, when he put it like that... Hermione was so tired. If having a Slytherin in her bed made it possible for her to sleep, so be it. At least for the time being.

Draco was the first to wake up, reveling in the feeling of skin-on-skin contact with his mate. He'd been needing this for more than two months. The scent of spicy ginger over sweet vanilla filled his nose and he sighed in contentment. He was going to have a wonderful life with his mate, full of love and children and money and sex. Yes.

He opened his eyes as Hermione stirred in her sleep, burrowing against his chest. Her pajama shirt had ridden up, allowing the skin-on-skin contact he'd felt before. He looked down at her fondly. She'd been completely tired out. He hadn't been entirely coherent when he made the decision to forcefully instigate the little sleep-over, but it had been a good one. She probably wouldn't see it that way when she woke up though, so best let her sleep. She needed sleep.

He glanced at the clock, it read, 'Time for breakfast'. Didn't matter. Probably the first thing his mate would do when she woke up would be to run to Dumbledore and tell him what was going on. He seriously doubted that they'd get in trouble for missing a class or two under these circumstances.

And he wanted to be there when Hermione woke up. So he just closed his eyes and let himself drift, breathing in her scent. Let the world throw what it could at them later. For now, he had his mate in his arms and he was going to enjoy it.

~*~

Aww, wudn't that sweet? Don't worry, all hell will break loose in the morning.

I think this story will be done in only a few more chapters, probably no more than ten in total. I have lots of other story ideas that I'll get to though, and I'll most likely revisit The Veela Phenomenon later on. Huh, I'm talking like I've already finished this story... Don't worry, I will finish it, and I will continue to update semi-regularly.

I'm shocked and delighted at how many reviews I've gotten. I might end up being one of those authors that has more than a hundred reviews! It would be like a dream... Every review brings joy and inspiration to my life. Dear Muse says that he can't function without them.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!