Taste

Taste


“Granger, if you don’t stop glaring at me, I will not be responsible for my actions,” Blaise Zabini growled at her. He didn’t look up from his book. He even calmly turned the page, eyes moving rapidly over the lines while he soaked up the information therein.

Hermione glared that much harder. The way her day was going, she was itching for a fight.

Two weeks into the fall term of their seventh year, Hermione and Blaise Zabini had been partnered to complete an independent potions practicum project. All seventh years in their concentration had to do it. Hermione accepted that, had even looked forward to it…until she was coupled with him . Blaise Bloody Zabini, the handsome Italian Slytherin with brains as well as stunning masculine beauty. He was intelligent, articulate, well read, possessed of a incredibly sexy accent that lent even the rudest words sex appeal, and he was very magically talented.

He and Hermione had despised one another on sight.

It was a rivalry that surpassed any she had with Draco Malfoy. With Malfoy Hermione knew where she stood, what to expect, and how to fight back. It was a war in which each enemy had grown to respect the other. They were equals on the playing field, just on opposite sides. But with this Blaise Zabini…she found herself in unknown territory. Their animosity seemed to be entirely unfounded, and yet there it was. Something indefinable about him drove her utterly mad. He had made it quite clear that he felt the same way about her.

Had they been somewhat more inclined toward neutrality, they would have worked incredibly well together. As it was, they had been successfully working against one another. Her half of the research was nothing without his, and vice versa. Now it was late September. Their due date was drawing near so rapidly that they were forced to confront their mutual problem together. Hermione would rather have thrown herself on the mercy of Fluffy the Three Headed Dog, but sadly that wouldn’t have gotten her a passing grade. There was nothing for it.

But events of the day had increased her irritation exponentially. First, she’d woken up late and hadn’t had as much time to dress. Of course, last night she had just happened to forget to put her dirty laundry out. That meant she’d ended up throwing on her least favorite pair of knickers (you know the kind, the pair that one never remembers buying and ends up getting thrown in the back of the drawer) and the most uncomfortable shoes she had.

Then she’d forgotten one of her text books.

Then she’d lost her favorite quill.

And then Harry had asked her to the Halloween Ball.

Ok, so that last part hadn’t been all that bad. Actually, it had been the very highlight of Hermione’s day. She’d developed a crush on her friend at some point over the summer, and now he finally seemed to be noticing her in a new light. Hermione should have been spending time with him even now at the costume shop like he’d wanted.

Instead, she was here. With Zabini. Trying to find the one ingredient that would make their potion work. Not finding any reference to the ruddy thing’s natural environment until a few moments ago, when she’d discovered the least welcome bit of information possible. Sitting outside in the rapidly cooling autumn air in her ultra-thin, practically invisible knickers (don’t ask).

Her glare took on new proportions of ‘annoyed’.

Zabini raised his gaze to meet Hermione’s. Many students in school, male and female, would have paid a pretty penny to be to stare unabashedly into the Slytherin’s eyes. They were a shade of violet that one rarely found in natural. He really was disgustingly beautiful. He had high cheekbones, a well-formed mouth, a defined jaw. His skin made him look like he had a year-round tan. He had charmingly shaggy, straight, light brown hair that looked like the constantly ran his hands through it. Which he did, especially when he was reading something particular interesting. He had broad shoulders, probably a chest anyone would want to lay their head on (Hermione didn’t know for certain, having never seen him shirtless), and he was at least as tall as Ron. Physically he was breathtaking. The cruelest stroke of all, in Hermione’s opinion, was his glasses.

She loved glasses. Harry’s glasses had been the first thing she’d noticed about him. They added that extra air to people, one that Hermione could never resist. But whereas Harry’s spectacles were round, Zabini’s were small and rectangular. Harry’s glasses lent him an air of cute befuddlement; Zabini’s inspired the image of an academic heart throb.

Too bad his personality was that of a flesh-eating slug.

“What,” he rumbled in his deep, deep voice, “is your problem?”

“I found what we were looking for,” Hermione said grimly.

He gestured, motioning her to continue in irritation. “And? Where is it, Granger?”

“It isn’t where, it’s when. Our potion hasn’t been brewed since the height of the Italian Renaissance, Zabini. The Helva flower hasn’t been spotted since then.” Hermione buried her face in her hands, frustration and panic beginning to overwhelm her. “We picked the one potion that can’t be done!” Oh, gods, and they were so close to the deadline! There was no way they could suddenly switch potions and do a decent job! Hermione’s breath hitched. What were they going to do?

Zabini was taking it just as hard as she was. He slammed his fist onto the wooden table. “Damnit!” He got up and stalked off a few feet. “This is just bloody perfect!” he snarled. “All this time it’s been a wild goose chase! No,” he rejected firmly, turning back to her. “There’s got to be a way to get that flower!”

Hermione threw her hands up. “And what way is that? Time travel and steal the thing?”

She meant it to be sarcastic. Really, she did. She’d said it to lash out at him, to release her frustrations. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, hanging in the autumn air between them, an idea began to form. It was mad, it was desperate…but it might just be the thing they needed to save their grade.

Time travel , she repeated to herself. She hadn’t thought about it since third year. Hermione hadn’t wanted to think about it. The experience had been too stressful. She had had to be on guard at every moment, ultra sensitive to the fact that any little action could irrevocably change the immediate future. The incident with Buckbeak had made it worthwhile, but all in all Hermione had been glad for it to be done.

She saw that Zabini’s eyes had narrowed speculatively. He had that look in his eye. “No,” she said, waving her hands. “Absolutely not.”

He advanced on the picnic table a few steps. The closer he came the faster she talked. “It would be unethical. We don’t know how to get there. We might be breaking an infinite number of school rules. I have other homework! We might miss classes. I have people who would be worried--” Zabini leaned so far over the table that their noses were barely an inch a part.

“Granger,” he enunciated. “How badly do you want to get rid of me?”

~*~
Draco Malfoy thought Blaise was out of his cauldron, but in the hopes that Hermione Granger would get lost in the annals of time, he gave Blaise what he wanted.

He had his feet up on the teacher’s desk in one of the old, unused classrooms. He watched Blaise dip his fingers into the bowl of red paste while he tried to ignore the fidgeting figure of one Hermione Granger. She kept squeezing her hair, which was draped over one shoulder, and talking in spats of sentences. “We’re going to get caught,” she informed Blaise for the hundredth time.

Draco smiled lazily. “You’re right,” he answered, enjoying the show. “And when you are, I will personally pack your trunk when you’re expelled. Ah, I’ve waited seven years for this, Granger. Who knew I would be able to witness it from beginning to bitter end?”

Hermione shot him a dirty look before crowding up to Blaise’s side. She was watching him draw figures on the full length mirror’s surface even as she listed all the reasons that this was a bad idea. “What if someone notices we’re gone? What if we miss something important? What if there’s a test?”

Draco checked his fingernails. They were due for a trim. “Then the three way tie shall be broken and I’ll be at the top of our level, as I should.” Oh, he was loving this . He noted Blaise’s clenched jaw and wondered how long it would be before the Italian finally lost his temper. Hopefully not too soon. He wanted Granger actually out of this time before anything monumental and potentially beneficial to himself occurred. Then again, it might be entertaining to watch. Draco started laying bets with himself on just what method Blaise would use to get rid of Granger. Avada? Drowning? Shouting to death?

Draco folded his hands over his stomach and watched Blaise force his irritation back. Too bad. That might have been entertaining. “What I don’t understand,” he wondered aloud, “is why the fuss? Can’t you simply switch potions?”

Granger was trying to decipher the symbols being painstakingly drawn onto the mirror’s surface. She hadn’t known the spell they were using, and instead of being irritated at the fact like a normal person, she kept watching Blaise in fascination and mentally cataloguing what was going on. Strange little wench. “Tomorrow is October third. The due date is October sixth. Even if we were allowed to choose a new potion, we wouldn’t have time to do the necessary research and allow the potion to ferment.”

That must have been the longest stretch of conversation they had ever had that didn’t involve any sort of snarking, Draco mused. His brow furrowed. “Wait, you chose this potion? Why in the hell did you do that, if the ingredient no longer exists? Not smart, Granger.”

Granger pulled her gaze away from the red paste long enough to toss him a haughty look. “We picked it randomly out of the book given to us, Malfoy, as per instructions. We were allowed no prior knowledge or second guessing. Other than that, there were no guidelines. Now would you mind?” With that, she turned back to watch Blaise work.

“Temper, temper, Granger,” Draco drawled. He was amused by this entire episode. In fact, this partnership had been providing a constant source of entertainment ever since he’d found out that Blaise had been coupled with Granger. Talk about your mismatch! Draco had known Blaise since he and Pansy had been taken to Italy on holiday when they were six years old. Blaise was quiet, aloof, and reserved. He treated his words like they were precious jewels, sparing only a few and relying on action to speak for him. Oh, when he chose to say something, everyone stood at attention. It just didn’t happen that often. As far as Draco knew, Blaise only talked to him, Pansy…and of course Granger, to just berate her. He also couldn’t stand to be questioned. Granger questioned anything and everything. Draco had bet Blaise that he would be coming up with intricate murder plots within a week. Blaise had informed him stiffly that such actions were ungentlemanly and uncouth.

Besides, Blaise had continued slyly, he’d been devising murder plots since day one. Draco had had to pay the bloody sod five galleons. Draco scowled at the memory, but forgot his irritation to continue his mission in life: driving Granger mad. “Leave it to you to pick the most impossible potion out of hundreds of plausible ones. Brava, Granger. I salute you. In fact, I think you’ve been studying too hard. Relax, take a break. Give wherever it is you’re going-”

“Florence, Italian Renaissance,” Blaise grunted. Of course it didn’t sound like anything as rude as a grunt, coming from him and his Italian accent. Toe rag that he was.

“-give the Renaissance a thorough look. Stay a while. A century or two should do it.” He grinned when Granger cast him an exasperated look. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she asked, striking a rather feisty stance with one hand on her hip.

Draco shrugged broad shoulders. He’d filled out nicely over the past two years, and he knew it. He used it whenever he could, actually. “I have had many pleasant dreams of this moment, yes.”

Hermione tossed her hair, smirking knowingly. “Taking your obsession with me to a whole new plain, are we Malfoy?” Blaise continued to work, him and the trip momentarily forgotten.

Draco waved a hand airily. “I would say feel privileged, but knowing how ungrateful you are, I shall refrain.”

“I’m surprised. Restraint had never struck me as your strongest suit.”

“It’s not. Incredible good looks, however, is.”

Granger got that look in her eye. The one that said that she was going in for the kill. She began to advance purposefully toward him. “I believe it’s called ‘vanity’-” She was cut off when Blaise suddenly reached out with his huge hand and placed it firmly on her head. Without looking back, he physically turned her attention back to the task at hand. “Oh, right,” Granger said in surprise, remembering belatedly what they were there to do.

Draco eyed Blaise with narrowed eyes. “You’re just jealous because you can’t banter,” he tossed at his friend’s back. As per usual, he received no response. He swung his feet to the floor again and leaned forward on his elbows. “So, when are you coming back?”

Blaise squinted at the symbols and added a small touch. “Dunno.”

Draco‘s eyebrow rose. “Suppose I shouldn’t wait up tonight?”

“Dunno.”

“Wanker.”

“Idiot.”

“Eunuch!”

“Impotent.”

“I resent that, you bloody--! Looks like your ride has arrived, Granger,” Draco interrupted himself. His grin grew wider. “Do enjoy your stay.”

“I can’t wait to graduate,” Hermione muttered to herself in exasperation. Draco laughed. “Look at it this way. If you get caught, you’ll be out of my sight faster than you can say ‘Hogwarts Express’”!

“Reprobate.”

“Ice Queen.”

“Ice Queen? I’ll show you ice queen, you little-”

Sighing heavily, Blaise snaked an arm around Granger’s waist and jumped through the mirror. The last thing Draco saw of her was a mouth open to verbally castrate him, astonishment coloring her expression. Draco chuckled, bending to pick up his books. He tipped an imaginary hat at the now silent, dull mirror. “See you later, Blaise. Don’t let the fuzz ball get you down!”

He was almost past it when it happened. A hum was all the warning he got.

Light much brighter than it had been moments before. A force of energy bursting forth and almost knocking him from his feet! Draco’s books few out of his hand, he barely managed to drag out his wand and enter dueling position. Erratic noises, like hundreds of pieces of pottery shattering on the floor.

Someone was trying to force their way through! Something was wrong! They were ignoring procedure and relying on raw magical might to keep the gateway open. “Blaise!” Draco shouted into the din, trying to come closer, only to be pushed back several feet.

He felt rather than saw them come through. The moment they stepped foot into the room, the gale crashing into Draco lifted. He stumbled forward, blinking into the sudden absence of light, struggling against the persistent dots that took up his vision. “Blaise?” he asked worriedly. “Granger? What the hell is going on?”

“Draco,” his friend croaked. “Draco, help me.”

Draco’s vision chose that moment to clear. He stared at Blaise, dumbfounded by the blood soaking the old-fashioned tunic Blaise still wore. Blaise was abnormally pale underneath his tan, his entire frame shaking violently, his eyes clouding rapidly…and Hermione Granger being clutched to his chest. Before Draco could comprehend what he was seeing, Blaise’s knees buckled and he sank to the floor.

“Blaise!” Draco rushed to his friend’s side. He looked at Granger closely for the first time and couldn’t control the shock. She was clawing at her chest, making gurgling noises like she was drowning. Terrified eyes watched him, begging him to do something, anything. “Who’s blood?” Draco demanded. “Tell me who’s hurt where and I’ll--”

“Bigger than our kind of healing spells,” Blaise murmured. His eyes were growing increasingly hooded, his breathing more erratic. A flush like a fever would induce was beginning to appear on his neck and cheeks. He swayed, fighting to stay conscious. “ Ottenere l’aiuto , Draco,” he slurred out. His eyes were closing. “ Sta…morendo …” He slumped to the side, unconscious.

Get help. She’s dying.

For once in his life Draco did as he was told. He ran for help.

~*~
Draco knew it was bad the moment Madame Pomfrey summoned a healer from Mungo’s. Pomfrey could heal almost anything, and when she couldn’t, she sent a patient to St. Mungo’s immediately. Never had she deemed a student in too critical condition to move…until now. That told Draco that it was either too risky…or too late.

There were people running everywhere in the infirmary. The healer worked fervently to diagnose Blaise and Granger, whose conditions were rapidly deteriorating, while others were casting charm after charm in an effort stabilize them. Draco was being bombarded with questions from all sides, but he couldn’t provide any answers.

There just shouldn’t have been a reason for them to be this way! Physically, Blaise and Granger were in almost perfect health. Granger had sustained a stab to the right arm, and Blaise had a gash in his leg. Either condition could have, and had been, fixed with simple healing spells. So what was happening to them?

The healer let out a grunt of frustration. “There’s no signs of curses or other physical injuries,” she barked out. “But they’re suffering from fevers that are moving too fast to be natural. If we don’t find out what happened to them soon,” she continued, indicated the violently writhing figures that shook the bed frames, “their body temperatures are going to go out of control, the hallucinations will get more violent, and they’ll eventually seize. In short, Mr. Malfoy, I can’t do anything to help them unless I know what happened.”

“They didn’t tell me anything!” Draco repeated. This woman was telling him that Blaise and Granger really were dying. This was no exaggerated injury, no false alarm. The danger was real and serious, and if he didn’t do something quick, they were going to slip into the veil. He thought quickly. “They went in and came out not three minutes later. Blaise could barely speak, he didn’t have time to think--Wait, think!” He gripped the healer’s shoulder. “You do pensieve examinations, don’t you?”

Comprehension dawned on the healer’s face. “You’d have to be quick,” she told him. “Minds in states like theirs are a tricky thing. Thoughts flit about as quickly as a Cornish pixie. You’d have to go alone, I have to stay behind and do what I can to keep them alive. This is very serious, Mr. Malfoy. Are you capable of remembering everything? Anything, any little thing, would be of greatest importance.” She gave him a hard look, her tone as grave as the situation.

Draco nodded without hesitation. “There’s no way,” he said seriously, “that I’m letting Blaise leave me alone with Pansy.” He turned and raced to the Slytherin dungeons, and the hope of Blaise and Granger’s survival.

~*~

Florence in the Italian Renaissance was just as loud, bustling, and crowding as Draco remembered it to be in the future. There were people yelling, pushing, haggling, laughing, going about their daily lives in the market as though it didn’t smell bad enough to kill a person.

Draco’s hand flew to his nose. “Uh!” he exclaimed nasally. “That’s wretched!” How did people live like this? And that footwear! He’d thought Muggles had had bad taste in the future, but really, this took the skrewt! Their shoes were so pointy that they could maim a bloke’s leg, if the toe was as stiff as it looked. Gods, was everyone and their auntie’s dog here today? He could barely see two feet in front of himself. He was in the center of the bloomin’ square, and he couldn’t see Blaise and Granger if his--oh, wait, was that Granger’s hair? Well, of course it was, he was in her memory. She and Blaise must have been transfiguring their clothing in the alleyway, though it was clear by some of the looks they were getting that people assumed they were doing something a little more lewd in nature. Perish the thought.

Draco watched the crowd part in the path of one Blaise Zabini. He really was an aristocratic bugger. He’d always had that air of superiority around him, even when they were six and possessed of snotty noses. When Draco hadn’t been busy imitating his father he’d striven to adopt Blaise’s manner as much as possible. Eventually he had developed his own style of disdain, but it still irked Draco to know that Blaise had done it first.

Draco got his first real look at Granger when she was almost upon him. She had her chin up and was trying to look as though she wasn’t incredibly conscious of everyone staring. Draco would have bet galleons to goblins that her little knees were knocking together underneath that heavy dress. Still, it took courage to glare back at people with that kind of fire in her eyes. Draco cocked his head to the side. When did her eyes get that brown? He canted his head in the other direction as she got closer. In a certain light, at a certain angle, at a certain degree of insanity, Granger looked almost….pretty.

Blaise and Granger sailed by him.

He shook his head in disgust. “Get a hold of yourself, Malfoy!” he muttered. “Death, dying, people in danger. Remember that!” With that he took off after them. He couldn’t stop his eyes trailing down her figure, though. Not that he could see anything in that outfit, but that wasn’t the point. He watched the area where her bum should have been, which was hidden by yards of heavy fabric. “Disease, Draco, disease,” he reminded himself.

The further they went, however, the more Draco couldn’t help but think that this wretched cesspool was home to thousands of possible sources of disease. Gods, he wasn’t ever going to get the images out of his brain! How was he going to ever identify the cause? “And just where the hell are we going, you great lummox?” he snarled at Blaise’s back, longing for it to be corporeal so he could throw something at him! He’d been fighting the masses for the better part of a half hour. While he knew that not even a few seconds had passed in the real world, Draco’s legs were beginning to protest the tension.

Finally, the duo ahead of him came to a stop. It was a building that looked like any other, really. It was crammed into a small space between two other buildings, with people loitering everywhere. There was a set of stairs that led up into the building and another set that led down to what should have been a basement or cellar of some sort.

Granger looked nervous. “Are you sure this is the place?” she asked Blaise. As usual, the only response he gave was a grunt. “You said that he used to be Da Vinci’s apprentice. How did you know that?”

Blaise was studying the surroundings. Draco saw his hand rest in the general area of where he knew Blaise’s wand to be. There was something off about his manner. He was tense for no apparent reason. That could only mean one thing--Blaise knew something they didn’t. Apparently Granger could see it. She turned her body so that she faced Blaise, who looked down at her in mild surprise. “Now you listen to me, Blaise Zabini,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Anger was boiling to the surface. “Your autocratic manner is really beginning to grate on my nerves! The keeping-the-little-woman-in-the-dark routine is not going to work. In order for me to effectively help you, I have to know everything that’s going on. Now hand over the goods,” she demanded, sticking out her hand imperiously, “or you’re on your own. I’m not going in blind.”

Well, how about that? Draco marveled. Granger had balls, that was certain. Not many people could stand up to Blaise Zabini without pissing themselves.

With the speed of a striking cobra, Blaise grabbed Granger’s wrist and hauled her close enough that their noses were touching. Draco’s feet moved before he thought and he was reaching right through Blaise’s shoulder before he remembered that he wasn’t exactly physical. “Damnit,” he swore, backing off a few inches. Blaise was right in Granger’s face, and there was nothing he could do to intervene. The bastard had better not bruise her , he fumed to himself, fists clenching. If he did, friend or not, when Blaise survived this little debacle Draco was going to beat him to a pulp.

Draco was possessive. He’d long ago made peace with that. Others had made peace with the fact that his retribution would be swift and painful if they violated any of his rules. No one touched his broom but him. No one touched whatever girl he was with but him, however short those dalliances usually were. No one took his seat, touched his plate, or sat in his preferred desk.

And no one, no one , touched Granger.

She was his enemy, his to torment, his to banter with. If she was going to get mad, it would be because of him. If Granger was going to get into a duel, it would be with him. It was that simple for Draco. Hermione Granger belonged to him, even if it was just to fight with.

And Blaise was breaking the cardinal rule.

His friend (though that title would be in temporary remission while Draco was teaching him a lesson) was speaking in low, urgent tones. “For once in your life, Granger, resist the urge to cause a commotion! Your little outburst is drawing undue attention, and the last thing we need is to be caught at the scene of a crime!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, which were rapidly beginning to gleam with an emotion far removed from the fright Blaise had clearly expected. Even Draco had thought she would have gasped, or swooned, or…something. Instead she looked a little angry. Ah well, maybe the hold-me-I’m-frightened thing would come after she and he got a little more information on what exactly constituted the word “crime”. Even thinking the word in conjunction with Granger worried him. Not that he was overly concerned with breaking a few rules, but this smelled too much like the cause of his whole trip for Draco’s comfort.

What the hell had Blaise and Granger gotten themselves into?

“What exactly do you mean by that, Zabini?” she questioned in a voice that suggested that she wanted her answers now . Blaise looked around to make sure no one was watching them with more than mild curiosity in their gazes. “Salvatore and Da Vinci parted ways because there was a line even Da Vinci wouldn’t cross in the name of science. Salvatore’s practices bordered on cruelty in some cases, and he grew increasingly erratic under Da Vinci’s guidance. Rumor has it that Salvatore somehow stumbled onto our world but had no idea what he was dealing with.” He looked right into Granger’s eyes. “Someone killed him for it.”

Draco reared back. “You bloody buggering Italian bastard!” he shouted ineffectively at Blaise. “You couldn’t pick a better day to get your ingredient? Like the day before the murder, perhaps!” He stopped his tirade when Granger suddenly lurched back and kicked Blaise solidly in the shin! Blaise caught himself from howling in pain just in time, but Hermione’s wrists was released and she stood in front of him like a Valkyrie. “You slimy Slytherin,” she hissed into Blaise’s startled face. “Have you lost your bloody mind? Do you have any idea what could happen if we went in there? We could get killed, we could change history, we could bloody well be accused of something we didn’t do! No,” she finished with a decided shake of her head. “Forget it. Take me back to Hogwarts right now.”

She made to walk off, but found an angry Blaise blocking the way. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” he growled at her, walking forward. Hermione stumbled back, but glared at him while she did it. “Why would I risk us like that? I have planned too much, worked too hard to give it all up in foolish pursuit of a grade! I didn’t say he died today. I don’t know if he died today. His date of death included no day, only a year. I chose today because it was the last time Da Vinci mentioned him in his journal. Salvatore told him that he’d made exciting discoveries, and taunted him that soon he shall be the man lauded by thousands. Da Vinci dismissed it as the ravings of a man too full of his own importance.”

Hermione frowned. “So he could be dead already.”

“Or it could be weeks before it happens. The only way for us to know for sure is to get in there.” Blaise jerked his thumb at the building in question.

Draco wanted to shout at the top of his lungs that this was a very bad idea! He knew it in his bones. He knew it when Granger reluctantly acquiesced, and tension began to build between the two conspirators as they got closer to the building. He knew it the moment they knocked on the door and it was answered by a disheveled little man. He didn’t like the dirty clothes that looked as if Salvatore had slept in them. Draco didn’t like the low ceiling room, crammed full of any and all manner of things. Books lay open everywhere, jars filled with substances Draco really didn’t want to identify.

The white washed walls showed every bit of dirt in the candlelight, the one small window that looked up at the street letting in a pitiful amount of light. It was a large room, perhaps an old cellar, but it gave Draco the feeling of a tomb. Perhaps it was the smell. An indescribable odor wafted around the room, causing Draco to put his robe to his nose once again. It was the smell of death, of rotting flesh covered in dust.

He could see Granger struggling not to gag at the sight of so many animals pinned up like butterflies to a pin board along one wall, all in different stages of dissection. She was taking shallow breaths and actually pressing herself closer to Blaise’s side, both hands wrapped around his one arm. She nodded when Blaise told her to acknowledge Salvatore’s greeting, but shied away when the man reached for her hand to kiss it.

“My apologies,” Blaise said in Italian. “My lady is very high strung.” He raised an eyebrow to silently challenge the scientist to become offended.

Salvatore was a little man with very nondescript features. He stood no taller than Granger, and possessed greasy dark hair that poked out underneath an overlarge skullcap. He wasn’t handsome, nor was he ugly. He was, all in all, quite regular in appearance. The only feature of note to Draco was Salvatore’s eyes. His face was set in an arrangement that gave an impression of dull wit, but his eyes were sharp as blades. Beady blue orbs gleamed with too much interest and not enough curiosity, in Draco’s opinion. They darted up and down Granger and Blaise, taking in every inch of them and weighing something in his mind. His tone was pleasant to the point of fawning when he replied. “Of course, my lord. It is understandable when considering one of her station. How unusual it is to see one such as herself among the common people. It is most humbling to know she has come to see my insignificant self.”

“Indeed.” Blaise, playing the husband, reached up to cup Hermione’s chin and drew her ear close to his mouth. “Do you see the flower, mi amore ?” he asked in English. Granger actually shivered when his breath hit her ear, whether from involuntary pleasure or disgust, Draco wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter in the end. Blaise was going to get a fist in his nose either way. Draco began to explore the room, walking away from the duo but keeping close ear on the conversation. Hermione muttered to Blaise that she needed to look around first, smiling weakly when she told him to distract Salvatore.

As she moved closer to where he was standing, Draco realized that Hermione sensed something was off about this whole thing. It may have been Salvatore’s manner, or simply the knowledge that eventually he would be killed that set her on edge, but he could tell by the tense hold of her shoulders that she wanted to leave as soon as possible. Blaise kept talking to Salvatore, whose eyes followed Hermione closely as she wandered further into the room. Draco could hear Blaise trying to work the flower into his conversation without seeming too obvious or interested. The way he was going, they were going to there for a while.

There was a wooden partition that clearly set the demarcation between where guests could and could not go. One could easily walk around it if they wanted to, but that insidious smell seemed to get stronger the closer one got to it. Draco didn’t want to look, and apparently neither did Granger. She was looking over the jars of sloppily labeled substances, obviously trying to quickly locate her precious flower. Draco was fidgeting. He wanted to get out of here, and now. But something was coming, he knew it. He knew it, and there was nothing he could do about it.

His gaze wondered over one table set against the wall. He ambled closer, nervously fiddling with the sheaf of papers there next to a row of vials. He skimmed over the words quickly--and froze when he realized what he had just read.

His Italian wasn’t the best. He knew enough to communicate verbally, but his written communication left something to be desired. But he was positive that he had just read the words “Veela” and “experiment“. How would a Muggle scientist know about Veela? And why , he thought when he looked up at the vials, did that liquid look disturbingly like blood?

Hermione knocked something over. The weight from one of the measuring devising clinked to the floor and rolled to a stop…just past the partition. Apologizing profusely, she rushed forward to retrieve it. His heart thudding in dread, Draco tried to grab her, again forgetting that he wasn’t really there. She went right through him, bent to get the weight- And gasped in horror. Draco followed right behind her. “Dear gods!”

It was sickening. Two people, a man and a woman, were nailed to the wall. In differing states of decay, they stared out in silent terror. Their bodies were mutilated like the animals of earlier, a makeshift tubing system used to drain what blood they might have had left. Hermione was just staring, unable to look away.

Draco snapped out of his trance. “Run, Granger!” he urged, cursing the fact that she couldn’t hear him but trying anyway. “You have to go. Forget the flower, just get your wand out and get the hell out of here!” Alarm pulsed through him. He turned just in time to see Blaise catch a snarling Salvatore. He threw the little man backward, and Salvatore crashed back into a table. “To me, Granger!” he called to the girl, who had picked up her heavy skirts and was running toward him at breakneck speed. She couldn’t hold on to her dress and reach for her wand, apparently trusting in Blaise to reach his in time.

Draco followed right behind her. Blaise took a step forward, ignoring Salvatore, disregarding him as a threat because he was a Muggle. Draco could see the mistake even as he acknowledged that he would have done the same if he hadn’t known what he knew. As it was, Blaise was focused on securing Hermione to him, his wand pointed in the vague direction of Salvatore. He blocked the iron pot that Salvatore flung at him with ease, but didn’t see him lurch to his feet and pull a knife from his sleeve until after the second missile. By then Salvatore had charged, a mad light in his eye and maniacal grin on his face.

At the same time Blaise deflected the second pot, Salvatore was on him, head low in a tackle position. Blaise jumped back, but not in time. The knife pierced his leg deep, cutting through muscle viciously. Draco’s cry of denial was drowned out by Hermione’s scream of fury. To his utter shock Hermione literally launched herself at Salvatore, knocking him off balance. He stumbled just enough to give Blaise time to send him flying with a fist to the mouth.

At the last second, Salvatore’s hand buried itself in Hermione’s hair. She cried out in pain but couldn’t stop her body from going in the direction of his. She crashed into Salvatore’s arms. He spun her quickly and held his knife, wet with Blaise’s blood, to her throat.

Draco could barely see for the rage that clouded his eyes. Blaise got to his feet, favoring his uninjured leg, and held his wand up threateningly. “Let her go,” he growled in Italian. That cold demeanor he held so dear had melted away in the tide of his anger. His face, usually so perfect, was contorted in a beastly snarl. It was a look that sent many full grown men running, but Salvatore in his madness merely laughed in delight. “What will you do with just a puny weapon?” he asked scornfully. He pressed his dirty face closer to Hermione’s, who clearly longed to tear Salvatore apart, despite her fear. She had no real idea of what was being said, not being able to speak or understand Italian.

Blaise looked murderous. “Whatever sick game you are playing, bastard, she has no part of.”

“She’s a pretty lady. The other was a pretty lady too, before she died. Went mad when her husband passed away. Very, very sad. Such a beautiful woman, with her blonde hair and lovely face. So unusual though.” Salvatore had lapsed into a sort of trance by now, held by memories. His hand, however, never wavered. “She could do things that were not natural. She sucked your soul into her eyes, like a demoness. Never sickened, not even with the plague that rotted her husband. Could make people do things, say things…Unnatural woman.”

“You’re mad, old man,” Blaise snarled.

Salvatore’s expression reformed into one of anger. “That’s what they all say!” he bellowed. “They all say those things when the hear of it! Even the great Da Vinci would not believe me, even when I showed him the books I stole! Veela, they call themselves. Creatures that must be hunted, studied! Da Vinci made a mistake when he called me a common thief!”

“Those two,” he jerked his head to indicate the partition, “are no good to me dead. But this one,” he rubbed his cheek against Hermione’s, “this one will make a fine specimen.” Salvatore shrugged. “If she survives. I understand that few survive an infusion of Veela blood, unless it is meant to be.”

Draco’s blood ran cold. The knife, he realized. The knife was the same one he’d used on the female Veela. If he cut anyone with it--

Salvatore plunged the blade into Hermione’s right arm.

It unfolded in slow motion, and no matter how many times Draco would replay the scene back in his mind it would always do so. Even while Hermione screamed, she slammed her head back to connect with Salvatore’s chin. He stumbled again; she threw herself out of his arms and onto the floor. She had barely connected with the dirty ground when Blaise shouted the killing curse, not even pausing to watch Salvatore’s body crumble before limping forward to get to Hermione.

She lay where she had fallen, her body balled up, clutching her arm with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her lips were white. Blaise knelt by her awkwardly. “Granger?”

Her eyes opened a slit. “Is he dead?” she asked tightly. Blaise nodded silently. “Good,” she gritted. “Sick grave-robbing animal killer.” She squeezed her eyes shut again. “I feel like my arm is on fire, Zabini. What did he do to me?”

Blaise looked like he was struggling to decide how much to say. Outside they could hear people shouting in the street. Someone began to pound on the door, demanding entrance. “We have to get out of here,” he said urgently. “Can you Apparate?”

Hermione sat up. “Zabini,” she said in a warning tone, “tell me what’s going on. You owe me that much.”

Blaise met her eye. “He poisoned us, Granger. If we don’t get back to Hogwarts soon, our bodies will shut down too far for anyone to help.”

In shock, Hermione looked at her arm. The arm that allowed whatever had been on the knife to travel her system much faster than Blaise’s wounded leg would allow. Pale, she stood up and tried to keep the growing fear out of her voice. “Then we’d better get started.”

The memory didn’t last much longer than that. They could only Apparate so far. Showing up in the middle of a crowded market place would never have done. They had to make their way through the throng on foot, trying to hide evidence of their blood. Hermione put up a valiant fight, but her breathing became more and more shallow, the gurgling noise beginning to form. Her skin rapidly flushed, and she grew disoriented, finally collapsing. That was when Draco found himself back in the school’s infirmary, staring at the cluster of concerned professors blankly.

He snapped out of it when he heard Blaise moan in pain. “What,” he snapped at the healer, “do you know about Veela?”

~*~
Draco didn’t believe in miracles. Benevolent forces did not sweep in at the last minute and change the course of a disaster. To think so meant that one handed control over his or her fate to someone else, and Draco Malfoy handed his destiny over to no one. In the world he had grown up with, a person relied on themselves when handling any situation. If it came to pass that one couldn’t meet the challenge, well then…

Bully someone who could .

By the time Draco was done exerting his Malfoy influence, four of the greatest healers in the world were at Hogwarts, each with their own field of specialty in relation to Veela. Twelve long hours, one Harry Potter bitch fit, and a Pansy invasion later, Draco was slumped against one of the walls in the inner courtyard. He was out long passed curfew, but then Pomfrey had kicked him out of the infirmary with instructions to stretch his legs, so he doubted that anyone would say anything to him. He stared unseeingly up at the star-speckled sky.

Blaise and Granger were going to live. Whether they would be all right was another matter entirely.

“Draco?” a girl called softly. He rolled his head to the right to watch Pansy come nearer, holding a blanket. “Hey, Pansy,” he sighed wearily. He made room for her to sit, and accepted the offer to share the blanket. They sat silently for a moment, reflecting on the day. “I’ve never seen Potter so pissed off,” Pansy remarked casually.

Draco shrugged. “Something about not being informed right away about Granger’s condition.” He was bothered by the pang he’d experienced when he’d glimpsed the look in Potter’s eye. The boy had actually looked a little panicked at the thought of losing Granger, and not in a purely platonic way, either. The possessive side of Draco had surged forward. That was not unusual. What disturbed Draco was the thought that had flashed through his brain. She’s mine . Not Granger is mine , but she, the girl, was his. For the first time Granger had become defined as something more than an enemy that happened to be female. During the course of the memory, Granger had become human to him.

This bore thinking on. And right now he was too tired to think. So he let Pansy, his childhood playmate, the one that been by him the longest, talk for the both of them. She filled up the minutes with idle chatter, recounting the tale of Potter being quickly ejected from the infirmary, wondering when Weasel would get over his little bout of Leaping Pox to return and make their lives even more amusing. True to form, however, the respite didn’t last long before Pansy cut to the chase. “I know Blaise is going to live. But, Draco, is he…damaged?”

“I dunno, Pans,” Draco replied quietly. He forced the lump of emotion out of his throat. Blaise, as irritating as he was, was Draco’s best mate. He’d grown used to that stubborn silence broken only by eloquent little speeches. Sure, he never got the last word, but he could live with that if Blaise came out of this somewhat normal. But the chances of that?

“Salvatore was a crazy bastard. There’s no telling what side effects he may have engineered. Those healers,” he gestured in the general direction of the infirmary, “said that it’s only thanks to modern magic that they survived. There’s never been a case like that before. The possibilities of what could go wrong are endless. Their fevers were so high for so long that their minds may never be the same. They may be affected mentally by the new information in their systems. Veela have their own codes, their own laws, their own sets of instincts. They might…” Draco’s voice trailed of mid-sentence. He cleared his throat again. “Suffice it to say, it’s a wait and see sort of thing,” he finished lamely.

Pansy was watching him closely. “You sound just as upset for Granger as for Blaise,” she observed quietly.

Draco’s voice was gruff. “Come on, Pans, I’m a little past the future Death Eater stage of my life. Granger isn’t my favorite person, but it’s a shame to see anybody damaged needlessly.” Why didn’t that sound convincing?

Pansy, apparently, decided that now was not the time to pursue the issue. She looked up at the stars as well. “I’m worried, too,” she admitted. She made a sniffing noise, acted like she had something in her eye, and before long she just couldn’t hold it in anymore. Quiet tears slid down her cheeks, and Draco held her in the dark while she cried enough to express the pain they both felt.

~*~
Blaise woke up to find Hermione Granger not only straddling his prone body, but sniffing his neck.

Now, it wasn’t every day that he woke up to find anybody straddling him, much less Granger. Given his intense need for personal space, and his rather turbulent relationship with the straddler in question, Blaise should have been jumping in surprise, reaching for his wand, cursing, and/or pushing Granger off of him muttered “Gryffindor Germs! Gryffindor Germs!” Not necessarily in that order, either. However, the events of the last few…was it days? Anyway, with all that had occurred, there wasn’t much that could surprise him right now.

Plus he wasn’t exactly the sharpest Slytherin in the sand trap when he first woke up.

So instead of doing all aforementioned things, Blaise merely cocked his head to the side and asked nonchalantly, “What are you doing?”

Sniff sniff sniff. “Smelling you,” she replied in a matter of fact tone, like nothing unusual was going on. She was going to the other side of his neck via his chest. Blaise moved his hand out of the way sleepily. “Why?”

“There’s this-” sniff “scent coming from you-” sniff sniff “and I’m trying to figure out what the name of it is.”

“You must be on top of me to do this?” He lifted his shoulder so she didn’t have to lean so far.

“Better access.”

“Ah. Well, if that is the case.” One of her semi wavy locks brushed his nose. He inhaled out of instinct. “Actually, you smell rather nice too…” Her cheek was right next to his. Blaise’s gaze fixed on her cheekbone, that small stretch of skin that looked so inviting. There was a slight flush there where a little bit of blood had surged forward during her pursuit of the elusive scent. She looked intent, excited even. Was she getting closer to naming it? What would that little patch taste like…

Blaise’s lips parted of their own accord. He lifted his head and slowly, sensuously, traced the bone beneath the skin with his tongue.

Every fruit that he had ever enjoyed suddenly coalesced on his taste buds and sent a search of pleasure so acute through his system that Blaise growled in guttural feeling, the sound vibrating traveling his body and making his muscles contract. He arched his back in reaction, bringing his front in full contact with hers for too brief a moment.

Granger sat back, looking confused and worried. “Zabini?” Her voice was unusually husky, a siren call for him. Why had he never noticed the way she said his name before? Her lips formed around the syllables perfectly, and she continued to talk, but the buzzing in his ears was rapidly becoming a roar, drowning the words out. He surged to a sitting position. One hand buried itself in her hair, holding her head firmly while his other arm snaked around her waist. He pulled her close, pressing her down until that private place cradled his aching body. He dragged her head to his, not registering her squeak of surprise. “More.”

“Really, Mr. Zabini,” an amused voice interrupted. “Taking interhouse unity to a new level, are we?”

It was like a bucket of cold water. Blaise jerked a little, like coming out of a trance. He blinked up at Granger in confusion. She looked back at him uncertainly, and then gave her attention to the speaker. “Professor Lupin. What are you doing here, sir?”

The man that had once been one of James Potter’s closest friends ambled over with a slow smile. “I came to talk to you, of course. I’m only in for a short while, so why don’t we get started, hmm?” He sat in the chair next to Blaise’s bed and looked at him expectantly. Blaise simply looked back.

Granger tugged on the hand still buried in her hair. “Zabini, you have to let go.”

Blaise actually blushed a little in embarrassment. “Oh.” He removed his hand. He was completely unprepared for the stab of regret that pierced him when she scooted off of his lap and sat at the foot of the bed. Gods, had he gone mad? He was upset because Granger wasn’t in his lap anymore. Blaise firmly suppressed the urge to wrap his legs around her waist (of all things!) and turned his attention to the man in the chair.

“Gave us a bit of a scare, you too. Harry was beside himself.”

Blaise watched Hermione duck her head and rub her thumbs together nervously. What was all that about, he wondered. Surely Potter hadn’t finally turned his attention away from Quidditch long enough to notice the female sex?

Lupin stretched out his legs and folded his hands in his lap. “I’ll be honest with you two. I had no idea what I would find when I came in here today. Many are under the impression that you would either be stark raving mad or breathing vegetables. Not everyone can experience such high fevers for so long and come out cerebrally unscathed.” He looked from one student to the other. Hermione merely looked back, but Blaise thought quirking his eyebrow expressed everything he wanted to say. “Not only do you seem to be mentally intact, you seem to be retaining much of your own personalities.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Why would…”

Lupin smiled at her. “You continually surprise me, Hermione. Always managing to break some sort of record. Granted, your methods leave something to be desired. Attempting time travel on your own, using less than savory magic, is not the way to go about things, my dear.”

Hermione smiled at him. “Professor Lupin,” she said sweetly. “You’re stalling, and you know how I feel about stalling.”

Lupin chuckled. “You could always see through me.” He sat up, a much more serious expression falling over his features. “I don’t pretend to be perfect, Hermione. I’ve been trying to think of some way to tell you this, but the best words don’t seem to come. I thought perhaps given my condition it was best to hear it from me, despite how bluntly I must put it.”

He took a deep breath. “You two,” he included the both of them in a sweeping look, “are the only known survivors of Veela poisoning. There was no cure. Thanks to modern magic, they managed to keep you alive while four healers searched the world for anything that might help you. They kept you alive so long that the poison…changed. Refashioned itself into something else, and adapted to your bodies. We think that…you two have become the first made Veela in the history of our kind.”

~*~
After Lupin left, Hermione simply stared at the chair he’d been sitting in for several minutes. Logically, she knew she could get through this. It wasn’t the end of the world. A minor roadblock. Yes, a speed bump in the road of life. A little paper cup waiting to be smashed by the Mack truck that was her will power.

Oh, who was she kidding? Her world has just been rocked on its axis and there was no way she was going to be able to move one without one big, long cry.

She stood up stiffly and went to her own bed to lie down. She stared at the ceiling. Blaise was quiet, which wasn’t unusual for him. He was probably shocked too. But then, the idiot had probably known that it wasn’t just a simple poison on that knife, but Veela venom. He had this irritating habit of keeping life-and-death information from her. Most likely he’d thought she’d panic like a little girl.

Panicking sounded rather nice at the moment, but crying sounded better. Hermione put her hands on her face and pressed, trying to still the trembling. She heard him shift on his bed. “Granger?” he asked hesitantly. “Are you…ok?”

It surprised her that he bothered to ask. “Well, that depends,” she said in a watery voice. “How do you feel about being something you know nothing about? Because, me, well, I just went through this life and death experience. Surviving that is a huge plus. But now I’ve just been told that someone I don’t even know has changed me forever. I am literally not the same person I was two days ago.” Hermione sniffed. “No, Zabini, I don’t think I’m ok.”

Awkward silence settled between them. She was trying to hold back her emotions. He was searching inside for the right words to say. He’d never seen Granger like this before. She’d always had a “I-will-survive-and-pound-you-to-dust-while-I’m-doing-it” attitude. Self-pity didn’t seem like her style. She wasn’t angry. She was…frightened?

Blaise admitted to himself that he had been trying to find his balance since Lupin had uttered those damning words. “Starting over with another potion does not seem like such a bad idea anymore,” he joked lamely.

Hermione coughed out a laugh before she could stop herself. “You, making a joke? The world really has spun out of control.”

This was good. Well, better than tears. Blaise propped himself up on an elbow. “It is not as unusual as you would imagine,” he informed her. “I have been known to tell one or two jokes in my lifetime.” He watched one hand slide away from her cheek. He was once again caught by the sight of her skin.

“Badly, I’ll bet,” she retorted tartly. The other hand came off of her face. She even turned her body toward his. Her arm had been healed, as had his leg, but they were still a bit weak from their ordeal. Blaise shrugged, trying to be casual about his visual tracing of her jaw line. “That is beside the point,” he dismissed. He did it playfully.

Hermione was not one to let a thought go unspoken. She had always found that if one had a question, the only way to get an answer was to ask. She met his gaze directly. “Why are you being so civil to me?”

Blaise was caught off guard by the question. Why was he acting like this? He’d never liked Hermione Granger. Something about her bothered him, and while he could never put his finger on precisely what, he had made it a practice to say as little to her as possible. Now here he was, having just survived a madman, trying to cheer her up. That earlier insanity of the almost kiss aside, what had changed between them? He sighed. “You said that we are no longer who we were two days ago. You are right. We are now something else. But you and I are something else together . We either go this alone, or we put aside our differences and find our path as allies.” He watched her intently.

There was something about knowing that your enemy has suddenly become the only other person in the world that can understand you, Hermione thought to herself. In the face of their current situation, whatever had bothered them before no longer seemed important. Hermione wasn’t a fool. She knew that this was a rare chance being presented. There was a feeling between them now, a small spark of accord. If she took the offer of peace, then a Slytherin and a Gryffindor would form an unheard of alliance. If she rejected this, she would be more alone than she had ever been, in a way that she had never before experienced. “I suppose,” she murmured, “that allies would be better than enemies. I don’t think working on our own has worked so well so far,” she added with a small smile.

He smiled. Hermione had to blink to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. Sure enough, his lips had spread into this small, lopsided grin of pleasure. Blaise Zabini had actually smiled in the first time in her memory, and his face didn’t even crack. “This,” he told her finally, “is going to take a lot of research.”

“Your talent for understatement astounds me, Zabini.”

~*~
Blaise spat out the third piece of candy he’d tried to eat in the last minute. “Vile,” he gasped in disgust.

“The book did tell you that your taste buds would change, Zabini.” Hermione was sitting up in her own bed. It was night time now. Pomfrey had been informed of their return to consciousness. She had immediately ordered a least one more full day of rest for them. Visitors and even owls were banned from the infirmary. She had told them crisply that they owed their lives to one Draco Malfoy.

Hermione had listened with open-mouth astonishment to Pomfrey’s recount of what had happened, from Blaise’s return to Draco’s dip into the pensieve to the rapid and imperious manner in which he had summoned the world’s greatest healers to Hogwarts. Blaise had taken it all in stride, but Hermione simply couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept of Malfoy saving her life. Blaise had given her a look that she couldn’t read and only said that Malfoy wouldn’t let his favorite toy get away that easily.

She would have said something to that, eventually, but she’d been distracted by what else Pomfrey had given them. The four healers had apparently left them a book before they departed. They had co-authored an extensive study of Veelas. Hermione had taken the book and the writing equipment, watching Pomfrey leave for the night before remarking to Blaise, “They’ll probably want to study us.” Zabini hadn’t disagreed.

He was currently unwrapping yet another piece. “The book did not tell me, Granger, that I might be doomed to a candy-less existence. Therefore it is still possible to get my sugar. Now read back to me what we know.” He popped the fourth piece in. It made dinging noise when it was violently expectorated into the rubbish bin.

Hermione tapped the top of her list. “Veelas. Animalistic in nature, but not modeled after any particular creature.” She held up her fingers and started ticking off the characteristics. “Territorial. Increased sensitivity in smell, taste, and touch act as survival mechanisms.”

Blaise grunted. “Not true. I may die of sugar withdrawal before I get decent sweets,” he said irritably. He hadn’t had candy in days and it was beginning to make him angry.

Hermione snorted in amusement. “I never knew you were an addict, Zabini.” Blaise waved his hand carelessly. “There are worse obsessions,” he countered. “Continue.”

As Hermione read on, several things became immediately clear. The physical characteristics of Veela varied from region to region, and weren’t always superbly beautiful. The best description offered was “striking”. Veela did however all emit a pheromone that, in the right circumstances, made normal humans extremely susceptible to suggestion. There were rare exceptions. The effect was usually called enchantment even though it was biologically rather than magically based.

Hermione paused when she read the next common characteristic. “Bugger,” she murmured to herself. Blaise looked at her in surprise. “What?”

“Mates.”

“I can only assume you are not talking about friends.”

Hermione snorted. “We are not that lucky. According to this, both male and female Veela require mates. They are born with the need to find the person they are most compatible with. The urge to form a lasting relationship is much stronger that it would be for the average person. Good heavens!” Hermione gasped. She brought the book closer, eyes scanning the pages rapidly.

Blaise sat up and leaned closer. “What? What? Granger!” No response. He grunted in frustration. “ Accio book!” The text jerked in Granger’s hand, but she’d apparently been anticipating this. She hung on to the book and braced her feet on the rail of the bed. They had an invisible tug of war, Blaise calling the book to him and swinging his wand around like a fishing pole, Hermione holding onto the “fish” stubbornly and still trying to read. Blaise pulled again. “Let…go…” he gritted out.

She did.

The book (which was no light read) flew full force into his chest and knocked him backward. When he finally got his breath back, he spared enough energy to glower at the smug girl in the next bed. He muttered something in Italian. Hermione only smiled more. “Serves you right for being rude.”

“There will come a day, Granger, when your cheekiness will get you into trouble.”

Hermione spread her arms out and indicated their current environment. “What else could possibly happen?” She laid back against her pillows, smug in the knowledge that Blaise couldn’t top that.

Blaise opened the book and began thumbing through. “Zabini, you passed the page.”

How she knew that even while sitting over in the other bed didn’t even phase him. Granger often did things like that. He turned back to the appropriate page and began to read. Veela….relationship….compatible…Ah. Well, that explained a few things. Veela felt on a more primitive level. The need to form a deep emotional attachment was firmly ingrained in their nature. The longer they went without a mate, the more despondent they became. Despondent Veela were unstable Veela. Their emotions became increasingly erratic. Although it took years, Veela were some of the few creatures on earth that could literally die of a broken heart.

Blaise swallowed the fear in his throat and tried to joke. “Look at it this way, Granger. Your spinster days are numbered.” Male Veela were the more protective of the species. They deeply valued their mates, and tended to know who their mates were sooner than females. Veela gave off an attractive scent to lure prospective mates, but it was through taste that Veela identified their significant others.

Hermione heaved a frustrated sigh. “Zabini, are you aware of just how many people there are on this planet? China alone has double the population of America and all of Europe combined . What if my mate is in China? Or Zimbabwe? Or Canada? Or Antarctica? What are the chances of me--no, us--finding a mate with those kinds of odds, hmm?” She rubbed the bridge of her nose, acting the part of a despondent Veela already. Blaise couldn’t help it--he chucked one of his useless pieces of candy at her. “Ow!” she cried, rubbing her shoulder. “That hurt!”

Blaise matched her glare. “Stop being negative!” he reproached. “Not all is lost. People fall in love every day, Granger. What’s to stop us from finding the one, too? All we have to do is put this-” he gestured at the passage in the book “-into practice.”

Hermione turned her body toward his. “How do you suggest we do that? Lick everyone in school? Because if you’ll notice, it doesn’t say that Veela are strictly heterosexual. That means we would have to lick men and women. What if your mate is a male?” She meant it as a dig on his methods, but the expression that crossed his handsome face revealed so much more. A tug at the corner of his lips, the pleasure that warmed his eyes…why, he looked quite happy at the prospect of a male mate. Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “Zabini,” she asked in a hesitant voice, “are you…gay?”

He ducked his head and shrugged his shoulders, but not before Hermione caught the grin that flashed. Glee raced through her. “You are!” she declared. She bounced a little on the bed, giddy at discovering the Big Secret. “You’re gay!”

Blaise was trying to school his features and failing miserably. She hadn’t flinched or looked at him in disgust. In fact Granger seemed quite delighted to find out his sexual orientation. He nodded. Her brow furrowed. “How do you know?”

Well, was that not the big question? Did he really want to bare his soul to her? Blaise studied her seriously. He had just revealed something that only two other souls at this school knew. He could still turn back. He did not have to spill all of his secrets. Yet there was something between them, something Granger was very likely unaware of but had not left Blaise’s attention for a minute that evening. If he wanted the chance to pursue it, to start fresh, then he had to give voice to his confidences…

Blaise remembered the first time he realized that there was something more to his emotional attachment than friendship. There had been a peculiar palpitation in his heart, his breath had left him, and Blaise had found himself frankly dumbfounded by the realization of his physical attraction.

To Draco.

He had only been thirteen years old. He had not known how to deal with his feelings. Blaise had never kept a secret from Draco in their entire friendship, and he had not kept this one. Draco had been shocked when Blaise had confessed in the dark of their dorm, and in those long dark moments it had occurred to Blaise that he had just exposed himself to Draco’s anger and rejection. Draco’s quiet voice had reached through his mental images of verbal explosions. “Don’t tell anybody else, Blaise. They’ll hurt you.”

Not another word had been said. It was almost as if the episode had never happened. Draco had been right. If members of their world had found out about Blaise, he would have been crucified (possibly literally). Draco wouldn’t allow that to happen. They had fallen back into their daily routine, while Blaise had gradually grown comfortable with ignoring his feelings.

And now that Blaise had spilled his guts to Hermione Granger, of all people, he found himself once again open to rejection. Why the thought of her rejecting him set him on such edge, he didn’t know, but the realization made him none the less nervous. Granger looked at him and pursed her lips. “That’s awful,” she pronounced. “Why should you have to hide it? Bloody Death Eaters,” she muttered under her breath, flopping back against her pillow.

That was it? That was all she had to say? What sort of girl was this? Blaise realized he was gaping when she continued lazily voicing her thoughts. “I suppose that explains why you looked so surprised about that almost kiss,” she said thoughtfully.

This Gryffindors were an unpredictable lot, Blaise decided. He shook his head and decided not to address the issue further. Which of course meant that would be the next thing she wanted to talk about. “Do you think we’ll want to kiss everybody then?”

Dear gods, he hoped not. Kissing Potter was not on his list of things to do! “I don’t think that’s wise,” he hedged. “We know that many will find us irresistible. We don’t want to spend all of our time weeding through the masses at once. We should start small, discreetly. Perhaps with people we know first?”

Hermione weighed it out in her mind and found the proposal sound. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, given what happened the last time, but…what did you have in mind?”

~*~
“This was a bad idea. Why do you always have such terrible ideas? I knew I shouldn’t have asked. Your plotting is terrible for a Slytherin.” Hermione was backpedaling rapidly. Blaise caught her around the waist before she could get past him and casually hauled her underneath his arm. “And yet,” he inserted smoothly, “you always seem to manage to go along for the ride. Tell me, Granger, what happened to all of your Gryffindor courage that I’ve heard so much about?”

Hermione glared and kicked her legs, trying to wiggle free. “Courage is not the absence of fear, you Neanderthal. I can be scared all I well please.” She grunted. “Merlin, you’re strong!” She sounded incredibly annoyed by the fact, and well she should, Blaise thought with a grin.

They had given Madame Pomfrey the slip and were on their way to the Quidditch dressing rooms of all places. Blaise’s plan hadn’t exactly been brilliance, but he thought it was pretty good for something come up with in less than a minute. They had to act quickly before the rest of the school’s population found out what they were up to. “Come on. Buck up. At least you’ll be kissing someone you like.” Harry Sodding Potter, as a matter of fact. Even thinking of the event sent a shiver of disgust down Blaise’s spine. He had trouble thinking of Potter as human, much less the object of someone’s--horror!--desires.

Actually, he was really having trouble with the fact that it would be Granger kissing Potter. Foreign emotions like jealousy blossomed at the images inspired. And that befuddled him. Why would he be jealous about anything Granger did? There was no logical reason for it. Then again, he thought as they got closer to the dressing rooms, none of this was normal. He set Granger on her feet and compromised by dragging her along by the arm. The Gryffindors would be inside changing. All he had to do was shove Granger inside so that she could do her thing and go off and complete his part of the plan.

They stopped right outside of the door. He swung Granger around so that she was facing him. She looked like she was rapidly approaching hysteria. “Zabini, this is not a good idea,” she repeated.

“That seems to be your mantra,” he countered. He ran his free hand through his hair. “Listen to me, Granger. We’re in this together. This is not for personal pleasure, but for scientific research. This is a systematic elimination of prospective individuals with the potential to keep us from going insane. Does that make you feel better?”

Hermione looked mutinous. “No. No it does not. Do you know what lies inside a dressing room? People. Naked people, more than likely. That makes your idea the worst I have ever heard.”

Blaise shrugged. “I’m an academic, not a strategist.” In one smooth motion, he opened the door and pushed her in. “Good luck, Granger.” He slammed the door closed with a wicked grin, knowing it was too late for her to save face now. He strode away from the door, whistling as he went.

~*~
Draco heard her before he saw her, and frankly, he never would have guessed that it was Granger. She didn’t normally use such a long, loud, colorful string of curse words. Disemboweling one Blaise Zabini was mentioned quite often. Curious, Draco kicked off from where he’d been reading against the wall and rounded the hedge to see what was going on. “Granger?” he asked in surprise.

Hermione Granger was in the middle of viciously cursing the founding ancestor of the Zabini family line while kicking a helpless bench. She apparently didn’t hear him, but then she was rather involved in thinking up punishments that impressed even the great Draco Malfoy. His eyebrows raised even as he grinned mischievously. He never knew she had it in her.

He was relieved to see her. Imagine that. Even better, she wasn’t crazy. Granted, she seemed to be rather angry, but given her experiences that was understandable. The sentences pouring out of her mouth proved that her mind was intact and fully functional. She was also unaware of him. This, he thought as an idea struck him, was too good an opportunity to pass up.

He carefully laid his book on the ground and started to creep up silently behind her. Draco knew it was childish. He knew he could come up with something much better given a few minutes and a handy spell, but he was so glad to see his favorite person to toy with that he didn’t want to waste a minute on complicated plotting while a simplistic solution would suffice.

He had his hands up like claws, within a single foot, ready to strike…when the most fantastic scent he’d ever encountered drifted to him. He froze completely. Wow . Where was that…?

Granger spoke without turning. “Aren’t you a little old to be playing games, Malfoy?” She turned to face him, acting as if the foulest words in the human language had not just passed those lips. In fact, she looked incredibly innocent. The dichotomy was very sexy.

Wait, wait, wait! He had not just thought the word sexy in relation to Hermione Granger! But even as she glared at him, Draco found himself drinking in her facial features like a thirsty man for water. That degree of insanity that had struck him in the pensieve widened. Suddenly he was noticing her lips, her hair, imagining what her figure looked like. Why the devil did she always wear such concealing clothes? Maybe it was to engender this very same desire, the need to know what exactly lay underneath. Draco blinked. “Er--” Say something, you mad magician in wizard’s clothing! “I’m glad to see you.” What the bloody hell had he just said?

Granger’s lips parted in surprise. Clearly she hadn’t expected that. Good, because neither had Draco. “Oh.” She seemed to be gathering her thoughts. “I…hear that it was you who saved us. When we came through the mirror.” My, this was awkward. “Thank you. For what you did.”

There was a tension in that ensuing silence that had never been there before. It was the kind of feeling one got when one was finally able to speak to one’s crush alone. There was an awareness of every movement, every expression, an analysis of every thought the other person might have. It was surreal to experience it with Granger, and vice versa, but for some reason Draco just couldn’t break the connection between their eyes. “You’re…Welcome. Yes, you’re welcome. No problem.” Oh, yes, that was stunningly brilliant. Was that smell getting stronger? He struggled for something to say. “Why were you threatening Blaise’s life? Is he up too?”

“Blaise?” Hermione echoed distantly. “Oh, Blaise!” New awareness, and a resurgence of anger leapt into her eyes. “Why that---I’m sorry, Malfoy, but I have to go. I’ll, um, see you around!” She left quickly, unable to think of anything better to say and wondering why in the world she felt the need to say anything to him. Draco stared after her until she was well out of sight. That was when sense returned. He slapped himself on the forehead. “You moron!”

Why the devil had he done or said all that? He had uttered nonsensical sentences, made a fool of himself, and hadn’t gotten any pertinent information. Like how Blaise was doing? Why was she angry? What was she doing out of the infirmary so early. OH, and just how was this Veela thing working out for them? Draco kicked the abused bench Granger had abandoned, knowing that he would never find her with the speed she’d been going at. “Bugger,” he muttered to himself.

~*~
Blaise’s last words to Granger echoed in his head. He really was no good at this strategy thing. His day had been completely wasted. He’d been revisiting a few of his old…friends…all day, to no avail. He found them all rather repulsive, actually. He’d been finding them uninteresting for some time now, truth be told. This Veela endeavor had only sensationalized the realization.

He’d even tested Pansy, with whom he’d had no romantic attachment. That hadn’t gone well either. The trouble was that Blaise had never even gotten around to tasting most of these people, the smell had often been enough to put him off. He’d only licked two out of the lot, Pansy being one of them.

The problem was that he couldn’t get his mind off of Granger. Hell, he wasn’t even really calling her Granger anymore in his head unless he forced himself. He kept wondering what she’d felt like with Potter. He kept thinking about what may have happened in that damned Gryffindor dressing room.

And damned if he wasn’t jealous.

He had had hours to brood on it, to explore the changing emotional landscape within. The jealousy he felt wasn’t that of a friend or an ally, but the sort one might feel in connection with someone there was a deep emotional bond. Like a boyfriend would have for a girlfriend. He supposed that might be a side effect of sharing Veela ancestry of sorts with Hermione. It was natural that he be fundamentally tied to her like this.

Strangely enough, it did feel natural. It felt like the most effortless thing in the world to be that emotionally invested in Hermione so quickly. Whenever Blaise thought of her, he felt like an invisible string had been tied to their fingers, connecting them somehow. He wondered what she was doing. He wanted to barge into that Gryffindor changing room and make sure that she wasn’t doing anything he didn’t want her to do.

That was the most surprising thing of all. He cared about that girl. He’d never felt like that about anyone but Draco, and to a lesser extent Pansy (filtered through a friendly intention). Blaise had never imagined that he’d feel this…warmth for anyone BUT Draco. Yet there it was, a sensation in his chest, a softening of his shoulders, a tingle in his stomach. It was fast, it was unexpected, and it was exhilarating.

Blaise wanted to explore this, test it out. It had become clear long ago that he would never be able to have Draco the way he wanted. Maybe he hadn’t been meant to. Maybe this thing, this girl, this situation, was the direction toward which his life was supposed to take. Blaise was not one to be fatalistic normally, but when Hermione Granger suddenly appeared in the corridor and headed straight for him at the very moment, he considered it a sign.

He kept his face impassive. He had to take this slowly. It wouldn’t due to scare her away from this newly formed truce before he had a chance to validate or reject these new conclusions. “How did it go?” he asked nonchalantly, stamping quickly down on the jealousy that tried to make its way into his voice.

Hermione came right up to him and poked him solidly in the chest. “You are incredibly lucky that there were no naked people in that change room, Blaise Zabini,” she hissed at him. “As luck would have it, I managed to find only Harry in there.”

Blaise was hoping that his relief didn’t show plainly on his face. “What are your conclusions?” He was trying to keep this scientific. Dispassionate. Stop looking at her lips.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Other than that you are going to die a slow and painful death from creative punishment for that little stunt?”

Blaise’s lips quirked. A homicidal Hermione was quite…cute. Very Slytherin, in fact. “Yes, other than that.”

Hermione cocked her head. Somewhere in the time frame since she‘d last seen him and in between creative curses it had occurred to her that she needed a sample. An independent variable by which to compare. “I think that we should, well, kiss.” Hermione was sure that wasn’t the most eloquent request ever made, but it certainly got a reaction. Blaise Zabini the sexiest Slytherin was shocked speechless. It was really rather endearing. His jaw dropped, then worked as he tried to find just the right words to reply. His eyes were as wide as saucers. For some reason he decided on a basic form of sign language composed mostly of arm gesticulation, which also didn’t work.

The most intelligible thing he managed to say in the entire two minutes was, “Fine.” And then he was on her.

He had her backed up against the wall, pressing hungry lips to hers in no time. “Mmmm,” he moaned. “Taste so good.” He sucked in her bottom lip, released it, and smiled in satisfaction at her dazed expression. “Did you like that?” he asked huskily.

It had lasted maybe a minute. A relatively short kiss that hadn’t even made it passed the closed lip stage. Yet Hermione couldn’t think. She could only feel…and savor…the aftershock. Hermione licked her lips slowly. “Does it always taste like that?” If it did, she might be kissing a great deal more in the near future.

Blaise frowned a little. “You tell me,” he said. He straightened away, but still stood incredibly close. “You’re the one who kissed Potter.”

Yes. She’d forgotten about that. “Only on the cheek.” Good heavens, he was near. He really was handsome. Tall, strong, someone to lean on and have lean on you. In a more primitive era, he would have been sough after for his ability to provide. Add aesthetic quality to the mix…

Hermione, Hermione, you’ve gone mental.

No. I’ve gone basic.

She could feel the Veela inside her opening up and called to Blaise. It must have shown in her eyes, in her body language, because Blaise’s eyes were darkening with desire again. It was terrifying and thrilling to see the change come over him. His muscles corded. His lips drew back and bared his teeth ever so slightly. His presence just seemed to grow. “Only the cheek, hmmm? Did you like it?”

“No,” she admitted ruefully. “It didn’t make me feel much of anything. It tasted rather like leather.” The last was accompanied with a small smile. Blaise responded with a quick smile of his own, but it was more predatory than normal. It set Hermione a little on edge. What was he going to do? she wondered with growing excitement. “I licked Ginny on the palm too. She tasted like quill ink.” She wrinkled her nose.

Blaise reached up and traced her jaw line with a single finger. “I did some experimenting of my own,” he said casually. Her intake of air told him she was thoroughly enjoying his touch.

“And?” She sounded far away, only mildly interested in anything beyond his touch.

“Pansy tasted like candy.”

“Oh.” Did she sound disappointed?

“My least favorite kind.” He leaned in and took a deep breath. “You smell so good,” he murmured.

“So do you,’ she replied shyly. “Blaise, do you think you and I might be-?”

“Mates?” She nodded, averting her eyes. Veela aggression temporarily receding, Blaise visually traced the contours of her ear. His breath was hot against her skin when he replied. “I don’t know. I think I might need another kiss from you to find out for certain.”

She offered her lips up without hesitation. This time the kiss was slow. They explored every inch of skin their mouths could find, and when that was finished, they went back over their findings with their tongues. Hermione held onto his hips. Blaise held onto her shoulders. Every second they spent touching each other, the taste got better, deepened, grew fuller in body.

Blaise knew the desire growing in him was mirrored in Hermione. It was evident in the way she kissed him, how her hands pressed harder, her body got closer. A few more moments of this and he would not be able to fight the urge to throw her over his shoulder and find a soft surface to demonstrate his feelings on.

Suddenly a wolf whistle broke through the rushing in Blaise’s ears. Hermione jerked back at the cat call, mortified to be caught like that. To her surprise, Blaise pressed her closer to the wall, hiding her with his body. He hissed at the intruder in vicious warning. “Back. Away,” he growled in dangerous tones.

The thudding of retreating feet made Hermione think whoever it was complied immediately. She looked up at the still snarling Blaise in trepidation. “Blaise?”

“He could smell you,” the Italian replied harshly. “He could smell you and he wanted you for himself.” He didn’t appear to be relaxing at all now that the boy was gone. Hermione raised a hand and gently stroked his jaw. “It’s alright now, Blaise. He’s left.”

“There will be others.”

“So what if there are? They don’t matter to me.”

He looked down at her finally, expressionless. His eyes were as hard as stone. “Do I mean anything to you?” He jerked his head to indicate where the boy had been. “Or am I like the others, able to see and smell but only occasionally hold?”

“What do you want to be?”

He shook his head slowly, concisely. Telling her silently that it wasn’t about wants. It was about being Veela, needing something on a fundamental basis that allowed no room for second guessing. Hermione knew that she couldn’t dither--lives were literally at stake. “You matter to me, Blaise,” she told him with quiet conviction. “You’re the only one that matters to me. The question is, do I mean the same to you?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. No pausing to reflect on the swiftness of his emotions, of the depth of his feeling. He pressed her hand to his heart. “You are the only one for me…Hermione.”

A radiant smile broke out on her face. “Well,” she exclaimed happily. “That was easy.”

~*~
Five days. It had been five days since Blaise and Hermione had kissed, and everything should have been settled.

Hermione was sure that normal Veela would have immediately, er, consummated their discovery, but Blaise and she were not normal. In fact, they had made the conscious decision to continue their experiments, just to be sure that they were indeed right. By now all of school had become aware of what was going on. Teachers had made sure to keep media hounds away, but they couldn’t stop the stares nor the multitudes of volunteers willing to be tested after they had gotten a whiff of the couple’s extraordinary scent.

Hermione thought that Blaise had been just as unsure about these developments as she had. As wonderful as this new feeling of belonging was, this was new territory in more than a Veela sense. Blaise had always believed, no, known he was gay. Being confronted with a female mate had startled him. It added a new definition that he needed time to adjust to. So they had taken advantage of the volunteers.

Keeping it strictly confined to licking hands and kissing cheeks hadn’t been enough to stay Blaise’s jealousy, however. Just this afternoon there had been a prickly situation involving an irate Blaise and a terrified Ravenclaw. It had all but confirmed for Hermione that she was indeed Blaise’s true mate. Why else would he react so violently? That poor Ravenclaw. The good news was that he only needed a few stitches and would be as good as new in a few days.

But something niggled at the back of her mind. Hermione rubbed her arms against the October night chill, strolling the lesser gardens before curfew to clear her head. Her room was a place for studying, not problem solving. She needed to get out, get fresh air, work off some of her…whatever it was bothering her.

It had been five days since Blaise and she had kissed, and yet Hermione still felt like something was missing.

It had to do with that first afternoon. That thing with Draco was still on her mind. It bothered her to realize that something so brief had stood out so vividly in her memory. The fact that it had been with Draco Malfoy compounded the problem. She’d caught him watching her since, casting her these questioning glances that told her that he was just as puzzled by the incident as she. Being Blaise’s friend, he had spent quite a bit of time in their company, whenever they had managed to meet and discuss their findings. He had watched the interplay between them closely, but Hermione doubted he knew what they were really up to. To the rest of the school, Hermione and Blaise were trying to find each other’s mates. They didn’t know that they were testing to make sure they had already found the aforementioned mates.

If anyone thought it was strange that a Gryffindor and Slytherin would team together, it was quickly forgotten in the face of their Veela novelty. There were times when Hermione felt like a fish in a bowl, but she had gotten used to that. She was, after all, Harry Potter’s best friend.

Harry. Now there had been a surprise. Harry hadn’t turned out to be the one for her, but he was supportive of her choices. In a way she was disappointed he wouldn’t put up a bigger fuss, but she supposed that Harry knew what it was like to be subject to destiny.

Hermione sniffed. Speaking of a devil….Alarm raced through her. Instinct told her that staying where she was would not end well. She was too aware of him, too vulnerable. She almost ran. She had literally turned around, prepared to dash back to the interior when he rounded the corner. Like he must have done that first afternoon. Hermione froze at the sound of her name. “What are you doing out here?” he asked curiously.

Hermione was at a loss for a moment. Tell him that she was thinking about him and that one moment between them that she wasn’t sure had really happened? She’d rather swallow a seagull whole. But she was a terrible liar, so she stuck as close to the truth as possible. “Just thinking.” She was pleased to note her voice had emerged steadily, rather than the vapid tone she’d half expected to hear.

He regarded her seriously. There in the moonlight, he looked like a normal boy. He was very handsome without his smirk. His hair was longer than standard, though not nearly as length his father’s had been. Hermione admitted that she found the Old World queue very dashing. Coupled with his frank assessment and the hands clasped behind his back, the look lent Draco Malfoy an air of maturity Hermione didn’t often find. When, she wondered, did Draco Malfoy grow up?

“It’s not safe to be out here by yourself,” he told her. He didn’t leer or make anything out of the sentence other than a simple statement. It disturbed Hermione more than it should have. Since when did Draco, er, Malfoy hold a civil conversation with her? There should be insults being thrown by now, verbal sparring of the sharpest kind. Its absence was throwing Hermione for a loop. Draco cocked his head. “Maybe I should walk with you for a while.”

What was she supposed to say? No, walking with him was dangerous to her peace of mind, but thanks so much anyway? Not a chance. She settled for nodding. “That would be nice.” The world was going to stop at any moment. She had just called Draco, er, Malfoy nice.

They stood like that awkwardly for a moment before Hermione realized that Draco, er--oh, sod it--Draco was waiting for her to come to him. No problem. She could do this. Hermione straightened her shoulders and walked forward. So what if he was a little more handsome to her than usual? Blaise was handsome too. Gorgeous, in fact. All hers, even.

So why was she so aware of how close Draco was to her? They walked side by side for a few minutes in silence, a respectable foot of space separating them. Anyone who didn’t know them might have thought that they were old friends or something. But Hermione couldn’t get his smell out of her nose. She could see him much more clearly tonight than she would have been able to just one week ago. She could see, for instance, the slight flare of his nostrils that suggested that he was breathing in her scent just as deeply.

“I suppose,” he said quietly, “that this whole Veela thing gets overwhelming for you.”

Hermione nodded nervously. “Yes. I’ve never been one for attention.”

Draco laughed softly. It was a surprisingly pleasant sound. “So men literally throwing themselves at your feet takes some getting used to.” He watched her lazily, but Hermione thought she saw a little bit of tension in his shoulders. Did the school’s reaction to her bother him? No, surely not. Hermione bit her lip in thought. Then again…

Draco had been acting incredibly out of character with her these past few days. No digs, no insults, just casual and even polite conversation. If she was reading him right, then it might be that Draco was feeling the effects of Hermione’s rapidly changing biology. Hermione came to a halt next to a set of stairs that led into a raised corridor. Draco turned to look at her quizzically.

Maybe she’d been looking at this wrong. There was tension there, but perhaps avoiding it wasn’t the best course of action. Hermione’s eyes narrowed at the possibilities. What if she met it head on? What if she used this to her advantage? What if she kissed Draco Malfoy?

The idea was seductive. She could do it. It would be one last test to prove that she was Blaise’s mate. It would show her what she already knew, and in the process, perhaps wipe away this awkward tension once and for all. Blaise wouldn’t mind. He’d understand why she was doing it….

Draco wasn’t sure how to read the rapid expressions crossing Granger’s face. He also couldn’t keep his feet from moving him closer. Damn, that scent was enticing. He’d been watching her all week, breathing it in, trying to sort out all these new feelings that had been surging to the fore ever since that first afternoon in the garden. He hadn’t expected her to be out here tonight, but as he came to a stop right in front of her, Draco couldn’t help but be glad.

“Draco,” Hermione murmured. He’d never heard her say his given name before. He blinked, trying to fathom the spark of pleasure the word engendered. She licked her lips. He followed every movement religiously. “Draco,” she said again. “I was wondering…you must think me so forward, but….Would you like to kiss me?”

Draco’s mind blanked. Wait. Had he just heard what he thought he just heard. “I’m sorry? That is--well, I--?” What was he trying to say?

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” Hermione asked softly, hesitantly. She looked so vulnerable in the moonlight. Her eyes seemed bigger somehow, liquid pools that were steadily drawing him in. Tempting him to fall. Draco’s body swayed toward hers. “I…” What was the question again? Something about a kiss…kisses were good. Nothing wrong with two mouths coming together. No harm in expressing affection…His eyes grew hooded. “I-”

She closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his. Wow .

The most amazing taste in the world filled his mouth. Soft lips and sweet skin and that wonderful flavor hit Draco in quick sensual succession. He sucked his breath in through his nose, moaning deep in his throat. He pulled away just enough, a last ditch effort at reason. Nothing could feel this good .

Hermione sank her hands into his hair with an impatient sound and pulled him back in. Draco felt reason leave and would have happily waved it goodbye had he not been busy wrapping his arms around Granger’s waist. He pulled her closer, hungry for the contact.

So many sensations. Two bodies fitting together in just the right places. Breath exhaling against cheeks. Two mouths sliding over one another. Warmth pooling and need building. More , Draco thought. I want more .

Hermione was slipping her arms around his shoulders. She leaned into him now, trusting him to hold her up. Draco rubbed his tongue across the seam of her lips. Open for me. Let me inside, where I never imagined I would be . She parted her lips. Draco wasted no time marveling at the invitation.

It was…indescribable.

Several moments later Hermione drew back. Draco stayed where he was, lips parted, eyes hooded, unable to gather his thoughts around the need to draw out the magic.

His lashes lifted, eyes locking with hers. They stood there, staring at one another while they caught their breath. Hermione made a motion, a slight withdrawal of her body. Draco’s arms constricted instinctively. “No,” he breathed. His gaze never wavered; he barely blinked. He could see the surprise and confusion that began to cloud her brown orbs. “Don’t you dare regret that,” he commanded her in a low, rough voice. It had been the single most memorable kiss of his existence. Draco refused to let her make it into anything else.

Hermione struggled for words. It had felt so good. It still felt so good. But...Blaise…How could Draco Malfoy…? “I’m just so-”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so clearly before in my life.” He pressed a small kiss to her chin, and then another to her jaw. He kept eye contact. “I always knew you were mine,” he whispered hoarsely. “I just never knew how much you meant to me.” Another kiss, this time on her neck. He loved the low sound she made in her throat, savored the way it rumbled against his lips.

Hermione was growing more bewildered by the minute. How could she feel this way? She had kissed Draco to have someone to compare Blaise and Harry to. Harry hadn’t made her feel anything. But how could both Blaise and Draco drive her to such heights, yet taste so different? Just when she had decided Blaise was the one she was looking for…

Hermione gasped when Draco suddenly sucked a bit of her skin into his mouth. Pleasure lanced through her. He quickly released it and gave it a slow, seductive lick. He made a noise of male satisfaction. “Tell me I’m your mate, Hermione. Say that I’m the one.” He let his tongue trail her collarbone. His movements were becoming more urgent. Desire was washing over his skin, making his muscles tighten in anticipation. He wanted her to utter the words. It would confirm what he already knew. What he was becoming most eager to demonstrate. She was his, and he was hers, and that was the way it would always be.

Hermione tore herself out of his arms. Throwing herself back, she barely caught herself before she hurt herself on the stairs. Thinking that she had tripped Draco made to help her. “No!” she burst out. She fended him off with a hand. “You just stay away now!”

Draco froze. Hand still outstretched, he scowled. “What are you on about?”

Hermione knew she was overreacting. Pitching backward had been purely self-preservation. “I can’t think clearly when you’re close. I need space. I have to just think.” She scooted up a few steps.

Draco straightened slowly. A dangerous light was beginning to enter his eyes. They glittered like ice in the moonlight. “Why,” he asked suspiciously, “would you need reason at a time like this, Granger?”

What was it about the way that he held his body that made her wary of making sudden movements? She took a deep breath and tried to keep her explanation as concise as possible. “I thought Blaise was my mate,” she said bluntly. Draco stiffened as though he’d been slapped. “You’ve kissed Blaise?” he hissed.

Hermione lifted her chin. “Yes.” She would not apologize for it. Not to him. She rubbed her legs against the chill she hadn’t felt until now. “I kissed Harry on the cheek. I licked Ginny’s palm. Blaise and I kissed so that I would have something to compare to.”

Draco wanted to hit something. His fists were shaking with the urge. He was Granger’s mate. No. One. Else. “And what did you find out, Granger?”

Hermione watched him carefully. “Blaise was the only one I felt something for.”

“You said you thought Blaise was your mate. Doesn’t sound like you’re so certain anymore.”

Hermione swallowed. “No. No I’m not. Our kiss was-” Wonderful. Explosive. Monumental. “-sufficient to make me question my conclusion.” Moron.

“Sufficient.” His tone was flat and emotionless when he repeated the word. But it was far from emotionless when he suddenly stooped low and crouched over her body. He brought his face close. “Let’s make something perfectly clear, Hermione Granger. I, Draco Malfoy, am your mate. I belong to you as much as you belong to me. I know it, and deep down inside you know it too. The past six years of fighting have been leading up to a relationship so hot ,” he rasped the word, “and explosive that it will burn us up. I’ve tasted it now. I’m addicted to you. And I’m going to make sure you’re addicted to me too.”

He kissed her quick and hard, but made sure to drag his tongue over her plump lips when he withdrew. He looked down at her startled face, harsh pleasure evident in his. Draco made a show of smacking his lips together. And then he left, striding purposefully away toward a new goal.

~*~
The mood was tense. Hermione stared at the table. Her hands were in her lap, fingers twisting together nervously. She snuck a peek at Blaise, who stared at his own end of the smooth surface of wood. His expression was shuttered, the light in his eyes inscrutable. What was he thinking?

She had come here the moment Draco had left her in the garden. She had run like Voldemort himself had risen to chase her down. Trying to fell the confusing emotions, sprinting toward the only person who could help her, tell her what to do.

She’d thrown herself in his arms when he’d opened the door. He’d sensed her coming, and had been bristling to defend her from whomever threatened. He hadn’t known that he would be trying to save her from herself.

For the first time n her life, Hermione was ashamed of herself. Out of those gardens, away form the moonlight, Hermione’s actions appalled her. What had she been thinking? Why had she given into temptation?

At the time, her motivations had seemed harmless. Kiss Draco and know for sure Blaise was the one for her. But she had already committed herself to him, something she wouldn’t have done if there had been any doubt in her mind on that score. That meant Hermione had been lying to herself. She’d wanted to kiss Draco. He had been willing, and she had taken advantage.

Hermione was even sure he would have done it if it hadn’t been for her Veela. The smell, the mood, and the scenery had seduced him. Those crazy feelings she’d experienced meant nothing in the end, because his hadn’t been real.

So now, she thought as the silence after her confession weighed down on them, she was twice the loser. She had endangered and possibly destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to her, all to indulge in a secret fantasy for someone who would never really love her.

Yes, Hermione , she told herself. You’ve really done it now . Grief welled up. In the very fiber of her being Hermione knew that he was her mate. That knowledge weighed on her heart like a stone shackle, pulling the organ down into her stomach. She had done this. And for what?

“I will not let us be over.”

Hermione lifted her head, wide-eyed. Blaise’s voice had been low, but he had spoken with perfect clarity. Somehow, though, she still couldn’t comprehend the words he’d used in combination of that matter of fact tone. “What?”

“I said,” he repeated calmly, “that I will not let us be over. This is not the end of it.” His eyes met hers. Determination glittered there. “You will not go near him again. We will have Dumbledore change our schedules to suit. And we will forget this ever happened.”

Hermione nodded silently. Part of her wanted to shout, to tell him that she was a person, not a thing to be ordered around or controlled. Yet another part acknowledged his reasons. Blaise was afraid. He had every right to be, didn’t he? There was something wrong with her. She was defective. If she couldn’t keep herself under control, then Blaise was in danger.

She’d made him this way.

Hermione started to cry. Unable to face him, she buried her head in her arms on the table. She hoped that the scraping of the chair pushing back mean that he was leaving her to her shame. But the two hands on her shoulders and the suffusion of that wonderful scent told her otherwise. Hermione found herself lifted up and cradled in strong arms. He held her like he had when they had been fighting for their lives in an adventure that had changed them forever. Blaise sat again in her vacated chair, tucking her head under his chin. “Will you miss him so much, Hermione?” He made a valiant effort to sound merely concerned, but she could hear the underlying anger and hurt.

She ached inside. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. Hermione pulled away so he could see the sincerity in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, or do this. I swear, I though it was just an affirmation. I didn’t want it to be anything more. And-and-” Her voice broke. “Blaise, I love you.” It was a horrible time to realize it, a terrible time to voice it, but she had realized during those agonizing moments that she had rushed away from the garden that she had done something truly horrifying. She had betrayed the man she loved.

His head snapped back. She rushed to cut him off when he opened his mouth. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I swear its true. I’ll prove it!” She began to wildly kiss his throat, eliciting a gasp of surprise. With lightning quick movements she pulled his shirt from his trousers and scrambled off of his lap to drop between his thighs. “I’ll prove it,” she repeated fervently.

Blaise’s hand buried itself in her hair, intending to pull her away. “Hermione, no-”

She opened her mouth and enveloped his trouser-clad bulge in wet heat that seared him through the cloth. Blaise bucked. “Ah!” His free hand slammed down on the table and then gripped the edge so hard his knuckles turned white. His semi-erection went poker stiff in a heartbeat, straining toward her mouth. While he tried to get his thoughts under control in the face of such heightened sensation, Hermione didn’t waver from her quest. Her nimble fingers had his belt undone and his zipper lowered. When she pressed her mouth down again three was only a thin layer of cloth that might as well have been nonexistent. Blaise moaned loudly in response. She caught the elastic waistband. At the last second the hand in her hair stopped her, bringing her head back so she was looking at him. “No!” he growled. He pulled her hands away. She resisted.

“Let me do this for you, Blaise,” she whispered. “I want to do this, to show you-”

“What? That you are sorry? You are going to suck my cock as a way of begging forgiveness?” He deliberately used crude words. He hurt inside for so many reasons. That she thought this was the way he needed her to apologize was only one. “If you wanted to say you’re sorry, why not bend over that table and let me fuck you from behind? Why stop at a little blow job?”

She looked like he had slapped her. Her skin was bloodless, her eyes wounded. He refused to let her hide her face, though. She needed to hear this. “I do not need a pity fuck, Hermione. I need nothing except you.” He pressed the hand he held to his heart. “I love you,” he told her earnestly. “I cannot fathom life without you anymore. I hurt, but I do not hate you for what you did. If I loved you any less, then I would have accepted your offer.” He brushed a tear away from her cheek with his thumb. “I know you are sorry for what happened. We will remove you from temptation so that we will not hurt like this anymore. In a flew months we will be away from this place. We will build our lives together then.” His eyes searched hers. “I want us to be happy together. Is that what you want, dolcezza ?”

She threw her arms around his waist, and this time when she lay her head in his lap, it was purely for comfort. “Yes,” she sniffed. “I love you, Blaise. I love you.”

He gently ran his fingers through her hair. “I love you too, cara . Do not worry. We will get through this.”

Hermione nodded, and in her heart bid Draco Malfoy goodbye.

~*~
Draco never saw it coming.

He had spent the evening planning ways to break the news to Blaise. As his best mate, Blaise deserved to know upfront that Draco had every intention of stealing his girl. Normally Draco wouldn’t give a damn if the bloke knew about it or not. As a matter of fact, he had never given a damn if the girl in question was attached to someone while she and Draco had indulged. But Blaise was his friend. There were certain formalities to be observed. Of course, if he managed to convince Blaise that it was all a big mistake on the Italian’s part and that it was his idea in the first place, all the better. What made it easier on Draco was the fact that he knew for certain that Blaise was gay. Sure, he could possibly have broadened his horizons to include women, but it was going to have to be with someone other than Granger. The way Draco saw it, he had seen her first and therefore had claim.

Never mind that he hadn’t seen her as a girl . The point was that he had seen her.

As he rounded another corner, Draco felt that new yet sweetly familiar warmth suffuse him when he thought of Granger. Poor baby. She hadn’t known left from right and redhead from sex god by the time they’d been through with that kiss. Draco ran his tongue over his lips in memory. Damn if the woman hadn’t snagged him, and with an act that Draco had participated in countless times. It shouldn’t have mattered as much as it had, but it did. So much so that he had gone looking for Blaise first thing, bent on stating his intentions and making it clear that there was no poaching allowed.

Well, technically Draco had poached first. In a way that had been Blaise’s fault. What bloke in his right mind let Granger alone with strange sexy men? An idiot, that’s who. As children were apt to say, finders keepers.

The Veela situation didn’t really matter to him. He’d always found Granger strangely fascinating. He’d batted her around verbally like a ball on a string, trying to figure out how she worked, how she thought, so he could play with her some more. That heavenly smell was just a bonus, and Draco was willing to bet snap dragons to snicker doodles that any kiss with Granger, with or without Veela characteristics, would have burned his socks off. In the end, the Veela search for a mate had simply made his (dare he say it?) heart plainer to him. Thoughts and feelings had crystallized to stunning clarity. Hermione Granger was the one. Just when Draco had become convinced that his future held nothing more than an arranged marriage and dispassionate begetting of children, she’d looked up at him in the moonlight.

Draco wasn’t going to let that go, not even for Blaise.

Blaise would find somebody else. This Veela thing was confusing the poor fellow. With Granger smelling like she did, it was no wonder Blaise thought he was in love with her. Draco ignored the fact that Granger had been equally convinced of the rightness in her coupling with Blaise. It had been a simple mistake. She was a female Veela, subjected to new feelings and sensations that were bound to leave her a little confused. Everything would be fine once Draco talked to Blaise. His friend would see the light, and the two of them would break the news to Granger. Simple.

It was his last logical thought before Blaise was on him.

Draco was slammed into a column protruding from the wall, Blaise’s hand on his throat. “You,” Blaise stated. Draco blinked in surprise, his hand frozen half-way to his wand. Blaise looked wild. His eyes were glowing like a wolf’s in the dark, and he was snarling with animalistic ferocity into Draco’s startled face. He looked more than prepared to squeeze the life out of Draco. Slowly.

So much for his first plan. Time to do some wriggling out of a bad situation. “Come on, Blaise. Let go and we’ll talk this out like civilized people.”

Blaise didn’t let him go, but moved closer. “No more games, Draco. She is mine. Stay away from her.”

“Thought you only went for boys, Blaise,” he forced out.

Blaise eyed him. “Maybe that’s changed,” he replied through clenched teeth.

Where was that smell coming from? It had been faint a few moments ago, but now it intensified. It was clouding Draco’s mind. What was happening? It wasn’t a smell like Granger’s, but it was oh, so good. Draco’s eyes dropped to Blaise’s mouth. A fuller bottom lip. Had he never noticed that before? Draco swallowed convulsively. Gods, he was getting a hard on for Blaise. To make matters worse, he was being steadily overwhelmed by the need to grab Blaise’s hips and grind his arousal into the other boy’s.

Confusion assaulted him. He didn’t go for boys. They were too hard, too hairy, too abrupt. Girls were softer in every way that counted. But in that moment Draco wondered what it would be like to kiss a boy.

No, not a boy. Blaise.

He shoved Blaise away from him with all of his strength. Blaise actually took two steps back, sufficiently dazed. He shook his head and tried to step forward again. “Stay away!” Draco hissed. Good gods, now he was sounding like her! He ignored his chagrin and pressed himself against the wall, taking comfort in the cold stone. “Nice try, Blaise, but it won’t work.” There, that sounded sufficiently manly.

He tried not to appear as fascinated with the furrowing of Blaise’s brow as he really was. “What will not work?” The Italian sounded befuddled for once in his life.

“This!” Draco shot back. “You’re trying to distract me from Granger. You think that this Veela nonsense is enough to convince me I’m gay or something, that I don’t really want her.” He slid along the wall until Blaise wasn’t directly in front of him, then came away from the rock to meet Blaise on equal ground. “Which is my line, you ape!”

“You think I do not really want her because I am gay?” The bastard had the gall to sound darkly amused.

Draco waved his hands around. Only Blaise could drive him to this. “Come off it, man, you’ve been gay forever! Are you really going to let one little change in your biological make up ruin that for you? Think of all the naked men you’ll be missing!” Ok, he shouldn’t have said that. The image of Blaise, naked and hard, flashed through his mind. It literally dried the words right up in his throat, never to be uttered. Draco tried several times, opening and closing his mouth, but nothing came out. His jaw tightened in vague annoyance.

“Yes, Draco,” Blaise purred. “Think of all the naked men.” He chuckled. The sod actually chuckled! Draco bristled in indignation, even with the blush that stained his cheeks. Draco did not, not, not want to think about men at the moment, naked or otherwise. “Why are you so calm about this?” he demanded to know. “I have every intention of stealing your girlfriend, you try to kill me, and then you --” Damnit . “Why am I the one panicking? Shouldn’t you be in throes of sexual confusion right about now, giving me ample time to snatch Granger out from under your nose?” He never had learned to censor his tongue around Blaise. Then again, the words tongue and Blaise in the same sentence had never had that affect on him, either. But back to the situation at hand.

Blaise had thrown his head back and was currently laughing out loud. Bastard. “What is so funny?” Draco growled. He was really beginning to get pissed off.

Blaise had subdued his laughter, but couldn’t still the shaking in his shoulders. “You. You have always been the confident one, Draco. Even now you are so sure that you will have your way, even if you feel compelled to warn me beforehand.” His smile faded. “But you can not win this time, Draco. She told me about what happened in the garden. We have taken measures that it will not happen again.”

Draco felt like he’d been sucker punched. “What?” It didn’t surprise him that Granger had told Blaise about the kiss. That damned Gryffindor honor of hers wouldn’t let her do anything else. He was a little taken aback at how fast it had happened, though. He’d thought she’d waffle in indecision for a day or two before giving into her guilt, giving him time to confront Blaise. What weighed down on him like a brick on the end of a feather was that “we” had taken measures. Blaise had not said “I” but “we”. Hermione had had a say in what would happen.

And she’d chosen not to repeat the kiss.

That just couldn’t be. Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Where is she?”

Blaise shook his head. “I meant what I said, Draco. You are my friend, but I will not tolerate any more attempts to steal Hermione away. She has told me herself that she loves me, and has vowed to live a happy life with me of her own free will. Touch her again, and our friendship is over.”

Of its own accord, Draco hand flew to cover his heart. A pain sharp and vivid pierced him there. Granger loved Blaise. She didn’t want to see him anymore. “No,” he told Blaise quietly. “You’re wrong. Granger’s supposed to be mine.”

Blaise watched in fascination as the ever proud and confident Draco Malfoy tried to come to terms with the fact that he was in serious danger of losing someone he thought he loved. It distressed Blaise that Draco was taking this so hard, but it had to be done. He could not allow his friend to pine unnecessarily for someone he could not have. He pressed the point. “You’ve always thought of Granger as a thing, Draco. A toy that would never be shared with anyone else. Veela are engineered to enchant and entice. Perhaps you are mistaking a normal reaction to Hermione’s Veela for something…more.”

Draco stilled. Utterly. Not a hint of movement echoed in his body. Then, very slowly, he let his hand fall to his side. He straightened his back, his shoulders, and then he raised his head and met Blaise eye to eye. In those orbs Blaise saw a burning of conviction brighter than any star. “Bull. Shit.” Words slid out over a clenched jaw. “I was there. Throughout that entire fucking nightmare with Salvatore, I had to watch the two of you walk into a trap. I had to watch the two of you get stabbed. I was the one that ran for help when you came through the mirror. I was the one who sat for hours praying to whatever higher source exists that the two of you would live, because frankly Blaise, I wasn’t sure you would. For the first time in my miserable life I was thinking about somebody other than myself, and it was about you. And. Granger. I was terrified that she was going to die, and that made few things clear to me. This Veela nonsense doesn’t make a difference to me, you great sodding wanker. And don’t you ever insinuate that my feelings for her are shallow again.”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Anger was rapidly rising within. He was furious that Draco was being so stubborn about Hermione. “You don’t even call her by her proper name,” he growled. “You could have any girl in the world, yet she is the one you choose to pursue. I will not say it again, Draco. What came before does not matter. We know that we are meant to be together. Being Veela is not simply about smelling nice and tasting good. There are urges we cannot ignore, and being together is as right for us as it is for the sky to be blue. I love Hermione, and she loves me. You never had a chance. Accept that.”

Draco shook his head. “I can’t.” His voice was low, pleading for understanding. “I’m in love with her Blaise.” He had a terrible feeling inside, one he couldn’t identify. He wanted to vomit from the churning, but couldn’t take his eyes from Blaise’s. His fists were clenched at his side. He didn’t want to lose Blaise’s friendship. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to lose Granger. It didn’t matter that he had never really had her. The chance had been there, and that had been enough to change him inside forever. He couldn’t go back to pretending she didn’t matter to him, or that he wouldn’t be bothered by the fact that she belonged with his best friend, not him.

Blaise ached. To have Hermione, he would lose Draco. His friend, the first one he had ever had feelings for, would not be able to hold a friendship with the man that held the one he loved at night. He no longer doubted that Draco’s feelings were as real for her as Blaise’s. He knew the agony Draco felt. It was ironic that it would be the thing that drove them apart. He reached out and clasped a hand to Draco’s shoulder. He had to make one last attempt to save this. “Take it back, Draco,” he said low in his throat. “Take it all back, and we will forget this happened. We can still be friends.” He shook Draco’s shoulder slightly. Now would be the time for Veela enchantment. Violet eyes stared into blue-gray. Blaise put ever ounce of willpower and suggestion he had into that look, willing Draco to retract those damning words. “Please.”

Draco’s jaw worked. Very slowly, jerkily, he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Blaise dropped his hand and stepped back. He looked at the floor, trying to compose himself and overcome the overwhelming wave of loss. He swallowed. “So am I.” He turned around and left, trying to outrun the scene and what had happened there. Knowing that it would only be waiting for him when he returned to Hermione. Knowing he would never forget the grief that found him in his room, or the soothing words she whispered to him.

It was Hermione’s turn to hold him while he wept silent tears into her hair. He fell asleep in her arms, comforted by the knowledge that she would be there when he woke up. Maybe one day she would be able to heal the hole in his heart.

~*~
Days dragged by. At first Hermione tried to busy herself with schoolwork. She had a lot of catching up to do in these new classes. She should have been done by mid-October, but instead she found herself further behind. She couldn’t concentrate. More often than not she stared out the window, unaware of what was going on right in front of her face. Next to her Blaise picked at the picnic lunch. They sat in one of the lesser gardens. They took their meals there every day. Dumbledore had arranged for them to eat away from the Great Hall, mercifully not asking any questions.

Blaise offered her a piece of meat. “Eat, cara , please. You are getting thin,” he said in a worried tone. She had been steadily growing paler as well. With every day that passed, Hermione lost a bit of herself. It was like she was grieving for something. He watched her as she obediently chewed the piece that he’d placed in her mouth, but she didn’t show much interest in what she was doing.

“You’re thinner too,” she murmured to him. “You aren’t sleeping.” They had taken to sleeping in his room rather quickly. Instead of indulging in the carnal demands that should have been ravaging them, however, they slept together like children. Blaise wanted her badly, and he knew that she wanted him, but every time he thought about acting on his impulses something stopped him. There was an element missing somewhere between them. She loved him still. She told him so every day. He kissed her and told her the same, every word he uttered the pure truth. Yet still the dark, silent thing hung over them.

He suspected that she was thinking about Draco. He knew he was.

The only contact he had had with Draco had been the information gleaned from Pansy. Draco wasn’t eating either, according to his childhood friend. He wasn’t interested in much of anything. In fact, she had found him staring at the bed Blaise had once occupied as a preteen. Apparently, she’d stated baldly, Draco was missing Blaise as much as Blaise missed Draco.

He hadn’t argued. He did miss Draco. The boy had been one of the first friends he had ever made, his first love. As much as he loved Hermione, Blaise found his thoughts drifting toward a certain blond boy that just wouldn’t leave his heart alone. The more he watched Hermione waste away, the more he wondered about what might have been. Blaise turned his attention back to the conversation. “Dreams,” he said nonchalantly, shrugging it off.

“Blaise, do you think we made a mistake?” Hermione asked quietly. Blaise’s head swiveled toward hers sharply. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

Hermione leaned her head back until it rested on the wall. “I’ve been thinking. The book said that Veela have only one mate. But….I can’t--” Her voice faltered. She paused, seemed to gather her courage, and met his eye. “I can’t stop thinking about Draco.” Hermione seemed to be waiting tensely for his response. He said nothing. What could he say? “I don’t love you any less,” she continued. “I just can’t help but wonder if we should follow everything the book says.”

“I do not understand.”

“We aren’t normal Veela, Blaise. Look at us. We have our mate, but we’re wasting away like we haven’t. Or like we lost our mate. Why haven’t we had sex? Why does it feel like something’s missing?” Her shoulders slumped. “Do you hate me?” she whispered.

In a flash he had her in his arms, pressing her to his side and soothing her with kisses on her forehead. “No, baby. I could never hate you. I feel the same way. About everything. About…Draco.”

Her head lifted quickly. “Really?” She eyed him with more interest than she had shown in a long time. “I have a few thoughts. Would you be interested in hearing them?” She smirked. “It might help our sex situation,” she enticed.

Blaise smiled. “Hermione, my love, if whatever you have in mind finally gets us in the mood, then I am all for it.”

~*~
Draco was having a fantastic dream. The fact that he had finally managed to get some sleep should have been pleasing enough. Most of the time he felt like he hadn’t slept in a month, which wasn’t that far from the truth, but he found himself staring up at the ceiling a good deal of the time. Thinking about her. Thinking about him. Coming to a terrible conclusion.

Perhaps it was all those nighttime wonderings that had spurred on this imaginary sensation of lips pressing on his stomach. Right above his navel he thought he felt breath rustling the trail of hair deliciously. Draco’s hips flexed instinctively. Mm, now the lips were moving up to his bare chest. Funny, he normally slept with a T-shirt. Ah well, this was a dream. Oh-OH! Hot damn. This imaginary pair of lips had paused at his nipple and revealed a tantalizing tongue that swirled lazily. Delicious sensation traveled down his spine. After so many moments of dark dreams, he relished this stolen instant of pleasure.

Apparently those lips were attached somehow to a torso, because a weight settled down on Draco’s body. A hardness brushed Draco’s insistently. Mm, a male body. Well, that was ok. In fact, that was great, because here in his dreams, he could admit what he could not in his waking hours. The lips were traveling up his throat, the tongue tracing figure eights along the way. A familiar smell wafted to Draco’s nose. He moaned. “ Blaise. ” His friend. The one who held Granger. Neither he could have. But here…His hands reached out and somehow found hair that felt the way he would have imagined Blaise’s would.

Blaise paused in his ministrations, lifting his head back. No, Draco was still asleep. But he was so responsive, had sounded so clear. Blaise watched in wondered dismay as a tear slipped out from under Draco’s eyelid and drifted down his cheek. He made a tortured sound in the back of his throat, caught in the throes of the dream world. “ I love you .” Pain crossed his pale features. He looked as ruined as Hermione did, as Blaise did. The ever confident Draco had been brought to his knees by a simple dream.

Blaise pressed a kiss to Draco’s jaw gently, preparing to leave. Draco would remain asleep, with pleasant dreams, but Blaise had gotten what he had come for. He had to get back to Hermione before their plans fell apart. “Soon,” he whispered in Draco’s ear. He loved the shiver that ran through Draco. It took effort, but Blaise managed to pull away. He spared one last glance at the boy in the bed. Blaise was painfully hard, but knew he couldn’t stay. “Soon,” he repeated. He left the Slytherin dungeon with due haste. He actually ran through the halls toward his own room, anxious to get back to the girl he loved.

Hermione flung the door open. Blaise swept her up in his arms and captured her lips in a heated kiss that put the others they had shared to utter shame. Hermione finally had to come for air several minutes later. “Everything went like we hoped?” she asked breathlessly. Her legs had managed to wrap themselves around Blaise’s waist. Her warmth cradled his arousal and teased it when she wriggled. Blaise growled in response, smiling. “Yes. Everything.” He pushed the collar of her shirt out of the way, licking her collarbone. “Gods, you taste good!”

Hermione moaned. There was new color in her cheeks, vitality in her laugh. She buried a hand in his hair. “Oh, baby, I’m so happy!” She kissed him, thrusting her tongue past his lips. “I want to get these clothes off,” she told him raggedly. “Touch me, Blaise.”

It was like a spark had been lit to dynamite. Blaise had closed the door with the mere power of suggestion and had her on the bed in moments. He dragged her shirt and cute little shorts off. He ripped her panties in one tug. Hermione laughed in sheer elation. She and Blaise had been living in the same room long enough that she had gotten used to seeing his chest and glimpses of the originator of that mysterious bulge that occasionally tightened his pants. Even if the drive hadn’t been there, she had found him pleasing. She wanted him desperately, and the new Veela nature inside relished the freedom in expressing that. “Take off your bottoms,” she ordered.

“No. Will not take virginity tonight.” His breath was coming in pants, the words forced around ardent sucking of her nipples. Damnit, he wanted her badly. Hermione gasped, head falling back, legs parting instinctively. She felt the skin of his stomach press to that newly wet place. It drove her just as mad as it did him. “Why?” she ground out.

Blaise was shifting so that his cock rested against her nether lips and started thrusting his hips. Sweat beaded on his forehead. They had been waiting so long to do this. “Want. Draco. To. Watch,” he grunted. Hermione was breathing harder, each inhalation bringing her breasts closer to his mouth. Blaise braced himself on his hands and rubbed harder against her clit in a sensual mockery of intercourse. He was already so close. He could tell be the flush on her chest and in her cheeks that she was highly aroused. If he kept up the pace, refused to let her think past what they were doing….He groaned when she shifted her legs to cradle his hips and used her feet and hands to press his bum so that he got closer. He was hitting her clit hard now. Oh, the heat! He met her eyes. “I want him to watch me take you the first time. I want him to see my cock go inside, see it move up and down. He will hear the sound of…my skin hitting…yours--Ah! Like that, my love.” She dug her nails into his skin. It made him go faster. “Want…to fuck…you…make love…to you…with-” Close. Close. He ground himself against. “With--come for me, Hermione, I want you to come for me--” He wasn’t going to be able to hold back! In a last ditch effort, Blaise pressed his thumb hard against that sensitive bud. It sent Hermione over the edge.

Her body bucked wildly, her eyes wide. The sight made Blaise orgasm immediately. He dragged her up into his arms, clutching her as hard as she had held him. “Ahhhh!” His hips jerked as his seed spilled into his pajama pants, soaking them. It seemed like an eternity before he could relax his muscles, before he could gather enough thought to realize that he must be crushing Hermione. Blaise made to move his collapsed body off of her, but Hermione held him still. His face was pressed into her neck, and she stroked him tenderly. It reminded him of the night that he and Draco had seen each other for the last time. She had comforted him then too.

Blaise raised his head. She smiled angelically up at him. “I love you,” he told her solemnly. Hermione’s smile widened, and she pressed her lips softly to his. “I love you, too.” Soon, she thought to herself, she would be repeating the sentiment to someone else. Soon she would be experiencing the same incredible feelings with…

As Blaise had tried to say--with Draco.

Hermione went to sleep with a smile on her face, savoring the aftershocks zinging her body.

~*~
Draco watched the dancers twirl around the floor with mild interest. It was another Halloween, another school ball. What did it matter to him? He wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been for Pansy. She’d insisted that he needed to get out, disregarded his assertions that he was “fine”, and tossed a set of clothes at him while saying something about needing a body to compliment her costume. All he had to do was stand there. It had sounded easy enough, and there had been nothing but walls to stare at in his room.

So that was how Draco had come to be dressed as Romeo to Pansy’s Juliet. The irony did not escape Draco. A youth pining away for another’s intended. Perfect. He actually looked pretty great in tights. He had a fantastic bum. But the costume reminded him (as if he could ever truly forget) about that ill-fated trip to Italy.

Gods, was he ever going to be free of this feeling? Draco had asked himself that question thousands of times over the past month. Ever time the same answer had echoed in his mind. When the stars fall . It was a completely disgusting romantic sentiment. So why was he hurting this badly?

He shored up the wall for hours, staring into nothing. He really didn’t want to dance, which had annoyed Pansy to some extent. Ok, so he’d charmed one of the jack-o-lanterns floating about to keep an eye out for her. No harm in having something watch his back, since Blaise….He abandoned that train of thought immediately, only to be distracted by the distinctive warning laugh he’d charmed the evil looking pumpkin to emit when someone had intent to speak to him.

The scent hit him first. Draco closed his eyes and inhaled. He felt her breath on his neck as she leaned up to whisper in his ear. “You look very handsome tonight, Draco. Like a prince of old.”

Was it possible to relish a presence, to savor just the thought of someone standing so near that it was a physical ache? “I miss you,” he murmured, keeping his eyes closed. He swallowed.

“I miss you too. Draco, look at me.” He shook his head. Her tone turned concerned. “Why not?”

“You might not really be here if I do.”

A very small hand settled on his chest, right over his heart. “Does that feel like I’m not here, Draco? Open your eyes. I want to look at them. It’s been so long.” He obeyed reluctantly. Because she had asked. Because he needed to. She was standing right in front of him, looking heartbreakingly beautiful. “Juliet,” he stated.

Her hand brushed over the material at her waist. “I thought it was rather symbolic.” She searched his face. “How have you been?” she asked softly.

“Miserable.” What good did it do him to lie? He had no more pride left. “Sleepless. Hurting. Maybe even dying.” His hand covered hers on his chest. “You look like you’ve been sick, Hermione.”

A unreadable expression crossed her face. “I have been. I’ve been miserable. Sleepless. Hurting.”

“Why?” he asked raggedly.

“Because I’m without you.” She stepped back, keeping his hand in hers. “Come with me, Draco.”

He shouldn’t. Blaise would hurt. He should respect their relationship, keep control over himself and somehow find the strength to deny her. “I can’t. You’re Blaise’s mate.” The words raked his throat.

Hermione shook her head. “Blaise and I haven’t…mated…officially.” Her eyes implored him to give in, to follow her lead.

Draco found himself weakening. It was wrong, he knew that. His fingers curled around hers. But it was possibly the only chance he would ever have to glimpse happiness. He looked back at Hermione and nodded, sealing his fate.

They say that love makes fools of us all. Draco was willing to be a fool for one night with his love.

~*~
He didn’t pay attention to where they were going. All he knew was that they ended up in a bedroom he didn’t recognize. No sooner had the door closed were they in each others arms. Draco wasn’t sure how far she wanted this to go, but when he pressed her into the bed, he had no compunction against pressing for it all. “I can make you feel good,’ he moaned into her ear. “So, so good. Just let me in, Hermione. I want to show you what life would be like between us.”

His body felt so big against hers. It almost felt like she could never truly encircle him with her arms no matter how often she could try. She loved how his hands felt when they ran insistently up and down her body, starting at her thigh and curving over her hip. His fingers brushed the swell of her breast, his thumbs sensitizing her nipples. And then back again, tracing patterns, trying to touch every inch of her.

Hermione burrowed her fingers in his hair, biting her lip, unable to stop her reactions. Her head fell back, giving him access to her sensitive neck. Draco pressed open-mouthed kisses there urgently. He ground his arousal into the cradle of her hips. He wanted to feel her. He wanted to put everything he could never really find the words for into this. He’d had sex before, but nothing like this. It was his moment to make the girl-woman he loved experience incredible pleasure. Tying her to him. Expressing the depth of his feelings in the most elemental way.

Hermione moaned. Draco raised his head and braced himself on his forearms. “Please, Hermione.” All sophistication had gone, leaving an earnest young man in its place.

Please . A word she’d never thought she’d hear from Draco Malfoy’s lips. And oh, how enticingly those lips formed the word. Hermione suddenly felt aggressive, digging her nails into his shoulders. She loved his hiss of pleasure. Hermione attacked his mouth with single minded determination, hell bent on making him as crazy as she felt.

Draco growled against her lips, opening his mouth and parting hers. Heat fanned to new heights. Suddenly he couldn’t wait. His patience was burning away. His fingers maneuvered shakily under her dress, pushing her knickers out of the way.

When Hermione felt the cool air touch her searing skin, she exclaimed in surprise. She was scared and thrilled by the feelings scorching her. She experienced the brief need to hide her nakedness, but something inside demanded that she take control. Hermione was no submissive partner. She embraced it, loving the empowerment, relishing Draco’s surprised face when she ripped his shirt and threw it into the unknown. Nanoseconds later Hermione had her hands everywhere.

Draco had his turn arching in pleasure when Hermione latched onto his<.I> neck and sucked voraciously. Feelings she’d experienced all too briefly with Blaise were driving her wild, guiding her movements. Hermione didn’t try to be rational. She didn’t want to be rational.

She wanted Draco at her mercy.

She helped him get rid of her dress. Hermione lay before him naked, panting and kissing and reaching for still more. Draco knew it was the Veela driving her. She was a virgin. Many would have been hesitant, even a little afraid. Draco thanked providence for the Veela; he didn’t know if he would have been able to give her the care and patience she would have needed the first time. He pinned her hands to the bed, grinning at her growl of impatience. Hot eyes took in every glorious bit of her. She wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t flawless.

But she was his tonight and that was all that mattered.

He let one of her hands go to cup her head. She swiped his chest with her nails irritably. Draco only spared a moment to chuckle before gently stilling her thrashing. “Look at me.” Clouded brown eyes met his. “I love you,” he told her clearly. “I wanted to tell you now so you couldn’t accuse me of getting caught up in the moment. I don’t know when it started, but I do know that it won’t ever end. You don’t have to stay by me all the time. I can deal with the fact that you belong to Blaise too, just please, let me be there. Anyway, anyhow, I swear I’ll do it. Forever, Granger.”

Her free hand grabbed his bum through his hose and squeezed. She held him with her gaze. “And Blaise?”

Draco didn’t hesitate. “I want him too. That’s how I can promise that I will do anything. ” What would she say?

A smile slowly spread across her face. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” She kissed him hungrily.

“I want to touch you,” he muttered against her lips. “I want to know what you feel like inside.”

She shocked him by flipping him onto his back. With more strength than her little body should have had she held his wrists above his head and cast a hasty binding spell. Draco struggled against the invisible binds briefly, giving up the effort when Hermione straddled him and started raining kisses on his chest. She suckled his left nipple intently while wave after wave of pleasure surged through him. “More,” he rasped. “More, baby.”

She was peppering kisses down his hard flat abdomen. “Move you hair. I want to see.” She ignored him. He was tortured with sensation but unable to look. The feeling of being dominated was incredible. He’d never given control up to anybody else. He had a feeling he would be doing it quite often in the future.

When she reached his waistband, he almost pulled a muscle straining toward her. She chuckled throatily. A small hand ran roughly up and down his bulge. Draco actually whimpered before he could stop himself. He flushed in embarrassment, but it seemed to turn Hermione on even more. The hose were pushed out of the way before he could think. She gripped his cock firmly, slowly pulling her fist up and down while she visually devoured the organ. Hermione was fascinated by the liquid weeping over the tip. The entire thing was strangely beautiful, and she wondered vaguely what it tasted like…

She licked the tip experimentally. Draco almost came right then.

“Stop!” His hands fisted as he strained to get out of the invisible manacles. “Let me go, baby. I have to touch you, have to be inside you-” He was practically begging her and he didn’t care.

Suddenly hands came out of the darkness and pulled Hermione back into a sitting position. “No, Draco. I think we will leave you there a bit longer,” Blaise replied lazily. He was kneeling behind Hermione, naked. Blaise wrapped muscular tan arms around her, one hand cupping her breast while the other delved into her nether curls. He rubbed his face against Hermione’s indulgently. “Hello, my love. I missed you.”

Hermione purred, cupping his cheek even while she held onto Draco’s cock. Draco saw Blaise slip a finger inside her. She squirmed deliciously. “I see you missed me, too.”

“What’s going on?” Draco asked. He didn’t know what else to say, what else to do. What else to hope.

Blaise smirked at him. “I would think that it would be obvious, Draco. Hermione and I have decided that you are our mate. We arranged this meeting as our, shall we say, coming out party?” He hugged Hermione to him. “You were brilliant, mi amore . Makes me want to reward you.” He pumped his finger in and out. Hermione writhed, tightening her fist around Draco’s cock convulsively. “So tight,” Blaise moaned.

“You planned this?” Draco was dumbfounded. Aroused. Ready to explode.

“Kiss him,” Hermione demanded. “I want to see you kiss him, Blaise. Now.”

Blaise laughed, but dutifully let her go and crawled up the bed like a very seductive predator. “My lady must be obliged,” he said teasingly. When his face was level with Draco’s however, humor faded. “I told you once that I had feelings for you, Draco. That never changed.”

Draco knew what he was silently asking. “It’s amazing how one never knows what one has until it’s gone.” One eyebrow quirked. “Now fucking kiss me !”

Blaise smiled one of those rare smiles of his, the kind that lit up his face and made him seem almost human. He obeyed quickly. Gods, the taste! So different from Hermione, yet so similarly delicious!

Hermione watched as they quickly got lost in their desire. She returned her attention to her exploration of Draco’s cock, unable to resist touching herself as Blaise had touched her. The friction made her want more, and she renewed her quest to drive Draco mad. Hermione ran her tongue up and down the shaft rapidly, swirling it over the tip and repeated the process all over again. Draco broke the kiss. “Blaise! She’s fucking killing me!”

Hermione was rocking against her own hand, trying to make it feel as good as when Blaise had done it. There was pressure building, but not enough! Blaise reached down and snatched at her hand. “No, no, dolcezza. It is our job to do this for you.” Blaise literally picked her up and dragged her over Draco’s body. Draco twisted to watch, spell bound (literally) while Blaise kissed Hermione deeply. He positioned Hermione on her side facing Draco. He put his leg between hers, all the while kissing her shoulder. He wrapped an arm about her waist, letting his hands resume their earlier positions. Blaise’s fingers began to dip into Hermione’s core in long fluid movements. Hermione didn’t blink, her eyes hooded with pleasure. She was so beautiful , Draco thought. They were so beautiful.

“Hot,” she moaned. “So hot. I want to move faster, harder. I want more. I want to be touched everywhere. I want Draco to kiss me again.” They met in the middle, this meeting of lips surprisingly gentle. Draco exhaled noisily. “Tell me you love me.” It was supposed to be a demand, but it came out as a soft plea, which is what Draco supposed it really was. “Say it.”

Blaise put the tip of his cock against her opening. He pushed inside a little, moaning her name. He gripped her breast tighter, guiding himself closer until he hit the wall of her virginity.

Hermione laced her fingers with Blaise’s, holding them to her heart while she cupped Draco’s face tenderly. “I love you, Draco.”

Blaise surged inside, sheathing himself fully. Hermione’s flew open and her head reared back. “Blaise!” she cried out. He held her tightly. “Forgive me, Hermione,” he begged softly. Regret and pleasure made him press his face into her shoulder. Draco struggled against his spell. “Release me, Hermione!” Through gritted teeth she did. Once free, Draco dragged them both to him. “Relax, baby.”

When Blaise withdrew a little and sank back in after a moment, Hermione felt a rekindling of warmth. The second time was better, and by the third she was feeling aggressive again. Blaise could no longer hold back. While Draco returned his attention to Hermione’s mouth and chest Blaise began to thrust in earnest, bucking his hips hard and rubbing her clit in frantic movements. Hermione’s moans refused to be silenced, getting louder and louder until she was practically keening.

Draco’s hand replaced Blaise’s, who then gripped Hermione’s hips, loving the sound of skin meeting skin. “So close,” Blaise groaned, sweat beading. “Make her come, Draco!”

Draco pressed hard just as Blaise slammed home and came with a cry of, “I love you, Hermione!”

Hermione screamed in release. Tremors shook them violently. She held onto the both of them for dear life.

Draco didn’t wait for her to recover. With a growl, he disengaged their bodies and pounced. He had her underneath him and was thrusting into her before she could blink. He held one of Blaise’s hand while he bucked, going in harder than he would have under normal circumstances. Hermione was gripping his hips and riding out the storm. “Love you, Hermione…love you, Blaise…Together. Always.”

“Together always,” Blaise echoed. The image of his mates coming together in such a primitive coupling would be cherished for many years to come.

“Mine,” Hermione growled, cradling the boys’ clasped hands in hers. “ All mine. ”

Draco came with the sound of those beautiful words ringing in his ears.

~*~
Harry looked around the Great Hall worriedly. “Where the devil is Hermione?”

Pansy Parkinson stilled him with an elegant hand on his arm. “Honestly, Potter,” she admonished lightly. “You act like a worried father. Granger is a big girl. She can take care of herself.” She smiled coyly. “Or are you one of those big, strong types who likes to protect his woman?” Pansy cocked her head and accessed him in a sweeping glance that left Harry strangely breathless. “You know, Potter, you’re not half bad. Why don’t you ask me to dance?”

Whenever Harry would look back on the night of that Halloween Ball, he would always shake his head and wonder how he never saw Pansy Parkinson coming.

Whenever Hermione, Blaise, or Draco looked back to that Halloween, they would always shake their head and wonder why they had waited so long.

~*~
The End


Author's Note:
This fic was written for the wonderful Lorett through the first ever Three Keys Fic Exchange at http://community.livejournal.com/3keysficxchnge/ . It's the reason I've taken so long to update my other stories, but I hope you were pleased enough by the result that you'll be temporarily pacified while I post the other updates :) Here's what Lorett requested:

What do you want in your fic?: Doesn't have to be too light-hearted, but a
pleasant ending would be great. Sizzling romance pretty please - If you want to write
a tummy-tingling, gasp inducing, steamy lemony scene or two, I certainly
would not be put out. *wink*. A wand duel. A confident, strong willed Draco;
hard on the outside, but sincere and sweet on the inside. Draco has at least
one true, life-long friend that he can depend on, on his side. (Not romantic
interest - ie, Hermione). AND MY FUN TWIST: Time travel. The two main
characters doing a little calendar bingo for some reason. The entire story
can be centered around this or just a small portion.
One specific All Hallow's Eve item that MUST be included!: The Halloween
floating Jack-O-Lanterns - issuing a warning of some kind
What don’t you want in your fic? No over the top, all Slytherins are the
spawn of Satan except for Draco. If some are evil, well, can't control the
entire lot, you know. No whiny, grumpy, angry, hates Draco up until the last
second, too canon Hermione, please. No evil Ron or Harry. No overly hateful
Pansy. No wimpy or dark Draco. No rape or graphic sexual violence or abusive
pasts for either characters please. No main character death."

Remember, guys, there is no greater compliment to an author than a good solid review! Thanks!!