Of Lion Manes and Veela Feathers
As the Wizarding World begins to pick up the pieces after the war, Hermione Granger finds her fate being entwined one Slytherin in particular. AU fanonBZxHG + other pairings
Rated M
disclaimer: No matter how many books or DVDs I buy, I'll never own Harry Potter.
It was the most intense fear she had ever felt in her life.
And it scared her.
In spite of the bruises and scratches she had all over her arms and legs, it was the memory of the bite put on her neck long ago that affected her, that made her heart clench with worry. It spurred her to keep going, ignoring the debris that she felt underfoot. And she ignored her rational side that begged her to find at least one other person to bring with her, to help her.
She had to find him.
Somewhere far off, she heard screaming. At least to her ears it was screaming. And that pain she felt, it was stronger. Which was a good thing...for now. Her feet carried her down the stairs through into one of the courtyard's alcoves. "Lumos," she whispered and pointed the tip of her wand into the relative darkness.
And gasped at what she saw.
There was Terence sprawled on the ground, his uniform dirty and worn.
And kneeling beside him…surrounded by Death Eaters…
"Blaise?"
He was...he was...
"E-excuse me?" Hermione stared at Profes—Headmistress McGonagall as if she had heard wrong.
"What are Veelas, Miss Granger? I am sure you learned about them from your courses last year, so please, answer the question." The older women went back to her task of putting sugar into her teacup.
She had thought upon receiving the letter urging her to come to Hogwarts early was for Head business. Not that she wasn't enjoying being back at the school that had become a second home to her right before it was overrun with the other students, but in in her mind, it couldn't have possibly been for anything else.
After all, Voldemort was dead.
It was almost surreal to say, let alone think about. Barely three days after the death of Dumbledore, she, Ron, and Harry had embarked on their mission for the Horocruxes, only keeping in contact with the Order for updates about their effort to track down and overthrow Voldemort. They barely stayed in the same place for longer than three days, only venturing into public places to follow up on the clues they'd gather and theorize about. Finding one was never something to celebrate; it was something that caused restless nights because it had to be destroyed, the sooner the better. And subsequently, that goal and the nature of the fragmented soul all those Horocruxes housed brought great stress, frustration, and pain amongst them. She never wanted to think about the fights she had witnessed between Ron and Harry about what to do and who was right ever again. But in spite of their rules and desire to be careful and unseen, they had been found out upon a rendezvous with members of The Order.
When she thought about the fight, everything after the initial strike from the Death Eaters came to the forefront of her mind with absolute clarity and sharp focus. It was like she had blinked and found herself in an never-ending battle, facing all those Death Eaters, getting close enough to see the color of their pupils through the holes of their masks, barely escaping unscathed. Alive. But on the third week, after losses on both sides, Harry and Voldemort finally crossed paths. The fight between them was both awe-inspiring and frightening, the way their wands resonated the way they did hour after hour, everyone else on either side watching and waiting for the end.
But somehow, by some miracle, Harry Potter, her best friend, emerged victorious.
Of course, the ending immediately gave way to its own aftermath: the evacuation of civilians and the injured; the quick ousting of the Death Eaters and reformation of the Ministry; the call for the trials and sentencing for the captured Death Eaters and the search for their comrades and…all the funerals. It was a wonder that Harry had agreed to finish his last year at Hogwarts instead of immediately joining up in the effort to track down Death Eater factions. She figured that it was because he was desperate to make things as normal as quickly as possible for himself again, or maybe even the fact that he would have finally have a normal year, but she never had a moment to really think about it before getting the news that she was indeed Head Girl and that she was to report to Hogwarts for Heads business ASAP.
"...Miss Granger?"
"Yes! Yes...Veelas are...semi-human, semi-magical creatures that are found in the eastern and southern regions of Europe. Eastern Veela are usually classified as being fair; Southern Veela are swarthy, with darker hair and olive complexions. They can channel their own magic into wands, but are most known for their...erotic appeal. While appearing as humans, they have been known to change into a birdlike hybrid when angered or depressed. It is said that the first recordings of Veelas were The Sirens in the Muggle philosopher Homer's Odyssey." Hermione lapsed into silence, hoping that that was enough. Her teeth began biting at her bottom lip.
No such luck. "And their mating habits, Miss Granger?"
"...Upon reaching maturity, a portion of the Veela population, mostly comprised of women, are known to search for and bond with a life-long human mate. Upon uniting with their mate, they are known to be protective and devoted to him or her. Their offspring gain some of their Veela parent's abilities, although to what degree is believed to vary individually. However, if rejected by their mate or if they lose their mate, they are said to go insane, assuming their bird-like appearance permanently, and hiding in shame and mourning until their death." She slowly willed herself to stop blushing, her mark of embarrassment at being forced to show that she had done some extra research about the subject.
McGonagall, however, looked nonplussed at Hermione's knowledge. "Correct. ...It seems we've come across the same information at one point," she murmured absently, her cup clinking against the oak of her tea table as she placed it down.
Her gray eyes looked around her new office, before sighing.
Hermione's brow furrowed at the behavior.
"Miss Granger, I'm surprised you haven't asked about Mr. Zabini's whereabouts."
"N-no, I haven't. I'm sorry." Hermione had been curious, of course, but could think of a million reasons why she hadn't deigned to ask about her co-Head, the most glaring being that she wasn't exactly excited to know that after everything she had been through, she was to be partnered with a Slytherin. The other reasons probably stemmed from the fact that in spite of six previous years of classes with one another, she didn't know enough about him to be curious or concerned about his whereabouts. She knew that he was Italian and had had been in some of her more advanced classes in the past, but he kept mostly to himself.
"Are you two civil to one another?"
"He and I...haven't really spoken to each other before." She couldn't remember a time they had even interacted by chance. It was believed that he had been signed up to be a Death Eater, his mother (probably) being a supporter herself. However, regardless of rumors or truths, the air of mystery he presented to the rest of Hogwarts and his own physical appeal made Zabini a topic of interest amongst most of the girls in the school. She couldn't remember if "Zabini" and "handsome" or "desirable" had ever crossed her mind, but it seemed like it had amongst many of her peers. Every year, at least a few girls gave themselves over to the thought to the point of signing up for some of the more difficult classes he took (only to, of course, drop them after a week or so).
"I see... " McGonagall sighed again suddenly, the sound more like she had been giving up a fight. " Then let me be straightforward: Miss Granger, what I am about to say is to be kept completely confidential." She stood and walked around her pristine office with its minimalistic decorations, stopping at the window before turning to her teatime companion.
"Mr. Zabini is a quarter Veela. From what I understand, the lineage comes from his father, who was half-Veela himself, and, from what I've seen over the past few weeks, a particularly strong one. As such, with his eighteenth birthday, he reached maturity and expressed a strong need to find his mate." Gray eyes met brown ones in the pregnant pause and Hermione felt her stomach sink at what she knew was coming next.
"...Mr. Zabini identified you as his mate and almost immediately began to have an adverse affect at not being...with you. His mother brought him to us for help, but as he has waned mentally and we are now unable to rouse him ourselves, we have asked you—Miss Granger, please, if you have something to say, say it. I can imagine that this is not what you were expecting to hear upon entering my office."
The Headmistress' words seemed to be the opening of emotion she needed. "How, how am I his mate? I'm...I'm a Gryffindor! I don't keep company with him at all! I, I've barely spoken...it has to be a, a mistake." Her mind seemed to be a jumbling of voices of her classmates pining for Zabini, her knowledge about Veelas, and the phrase "life-long mate" that kept echoing in her ears. It was like a death sentence.
"...I do not doubt Mr. Zabini's words. A Veela's ability to identify their mate is instinctive and unquestionable. However, I have asked for Madam Pomfrey to be sure for both your sakes. She tells me he says he knows it's you and I've been told that his words claiming that fact have not faltered." McGonagall walked back to the table and grabbed the seventeen-year-old's hand in comfort. "I know this is strange, but please see this for its potential. The nature of your and Mr. Zabini's relationship embodies the transition the Wizarding World is going to have to make in its move from emphasizing blood purity. In my opinion, your union can be example of the bridging of that gap amongst our students."
Hermione tried her best to not show her favorite professor that in her opinion, the woman was crazy! She and Zabini were supposed to be the poster children of interhouse relations? Inter-blood relations?! Her mind was racing to find a counterargument, but for once, absolutely nothing came to mind. She just sat there, gaping at her professor.
All of a sudden, she felt exhausted. "...I don't know if I can."
"...Mister Zabini is already greatly diminished. Madam Pomfrey, myself, and his mother are worried that if he does not mark you, he may begin to induce his Veela side. A Veela rejected so soon after maturity is very dangerous and…self-destructive, Miss Granger. However, if allowed to mark you, not only can his mental state be abated, you can get a chance to know each other better..."
And then, all of a sudden, in the next moment, McGonagall was kneeling on the ground, shaking her arm lightly. "...Hermione, please."
She had never heard McGonagall ever...beg for anything before, least of all to her personally. The thought of being directly responsible in some sort of way flashed through her mind, and maybe that led to a type of guilt because she felt herself succumb before the words even left her mouth.
"...Okay."
She was standing outside the door that supposedly led to the Heads Quarter, trapped between her desire to go inside and rest after her travels, her wish to never walk in there and see her "mate"...
...And her curiosity at whatever the hell she was supposed to do to "bond" with Zabini. She had stupidly forgotten to ask, instead slowly trying to filter only the most important information McGonagall had to offer and agreeing to be absolutely confidential about the situation, not even telling Harry or Ron. Yet part of her knew it having to do with sex. What else could it be? According to that moment of time when she had felt like she just had to know about Veelas, that Veelas were one of the first things she remembered recognizing before she knew she was a witch, she had learned that they were, "by nature, erotic creatures" after all.
She had already been told that she was essentially married, forever and ever, The End; she wasn't ready to finish a long and tiring day by immediately having sex with a virtual stranger. It made her feel kinda cheap or a Victorian bride from a book she read in between all her other studies in the summer, unable to make a decision for herself. At worse, a kind of...whore.
And besides that, she had only ever kissed two people before. Vicktor Krum in her fourth year, and Ron at one point during their travels when she herself had destroyed a Horocrux and did the first thing she felt expressed the happiness and relief she had felt (she remembered how she regretted it when the euphoria had passed, making for one of the most humiliating and overall horrible and awkward moments of her life to explain later that she hadn't meant it, that it was a mistake, and they were better off as friends). They had been good kisses, she supposed; she couldn't remember if she had enjoyed them exactly or if she was a good kisser or anything, but she didn't think she was terrible—
"Are you Miss Hermione?" She snapped out of her trance and realized that she had been staring blankly at the common room portrait—rather picture, a scene of men and women at some sort of celebration, dressed immaculately in dress robes, gowns, and tuxedos. One of the women, dressed in a cream-colored dress and black robes, was staring down at her with hazel eyes. Hermione was struck with the idea that the woman was really pretty, her hair and makeup the most tasteful in style at the time.
"Yes. I am...Hello." For some reason, she curtsied.
The woman returned the gesture, not one strand of reddish hair out of place. "It is very lovely to meet you. I am Antoinette and behind me is my party." The rest of the men and women bowed, waved, or raised their glasses and goblets of wine in greeting. "Our painting has been placed here to provide you with any assistance you may need with Mr. Zabini. The Headmistress believes his state will improve now that you are here, but if that should not be the immediate case, we are here to help notify her and the school staff to assist you."
Hermione wasn't sure she liked that Zabini required so many to look after him, and it certainly didn't help with her hesitancy to enter. "Will he...hurt me?"
Antoinette's eyes stared at Hermione and her pretty, red-painted mouth curved into a smile. "...No, dear. I understand that this must be a little frightening. He hasn't moved or spoken very much, but I believe he would be particularly incapable of hurting you."
"Oh."
"...The password?"
"Oh, um...'Calypso.'"
"Your things have been placed inside your room on the left." Antoinette bowed once more and the door gave way. Hermione stepped in.
It was evening and, of course, summer, but she was greeted with a glow from the fireplace. But in spite of the fire, partially blocked by one of the chairs, her eyes were slow to adjust to the Common Room. The curtains were drawn…Maybe he wasn't in here just now.
She ventured into the room a bit more, uncomfortable with the heat and the bit of sweat she could feel, and felt her knee be greeted by the legs of the coffee table she couldn't see. She hissed the pain she felt in her foot out through her teeth.
"Who's there?" A masculine voice, lilted with an accent that could only be Italian, called out, uncertain about what was going on. "Um...Madam, Madam...Pomfrey?"
She felt a sudden stab of fear. Damn. "N-no. It's...Hermione Granger."
There was some movement from a chair in the corner that had been turned away from the rest of the room, the emergence of a tall male. About six-foot to her five-foot-seven frame. Blaise Zabini, Slytherin and Head Boy. "Hermione?" His voice was hoarse. He slowly stepped towards her. "You're here?"
She stood like a deer facing headlights. "Um, um, um, yes I am."
He came closer and in the dim light, she could make out his face and his tongue running across his bottom lip. He seemed to stare at her for a few moments, debating with himself if she was real. She had been expecting a horrible monster or something, but he was so...handsome.
...She wanted to question her mind's use of that word, but she didn't.
"I'm glad."
She wasn't aware that the words "I'm glad" could make her feel weird, but all of a sudden, she felt herself being hit by something...an internal...warmth, one that had begun to spread quickly over her body. She looked over at him. It had to be him; he had to be the one that was doing this to her somehow. His skin was olive and it shone in the firelight, his cheekbones high, nose straight and aristocratic, lips full, and body, not only tall, but lean and toned. She saw it all and then she only saw his eyes, ethereal blue and framed with the chunks of his black hair. It was like she was drawn to them and even though she felt she knew it was a Veela effect, she couldn't pull away from them. She could swim in them...drown in them and stay there forever.
She reallyhadn't been feeling like this before she had walked in. Was he already trying to mark her?
...Was she really upset about it?
...No...not at all. In fact, she couldn't remember why she had been so against this before...
He was close enough to reach out and touch her, his hand sliding up her arm and shoulder to caress the curve of her cheek with his thumb. She seemed to realize, as he licked his lips again, she was biting hers, nervous again. His other hand seemed to have already buried itself in her curls. "I'm glad," he repeated, his voice a hoarse whisper, staring at her with those bottomless, beautiful eyes of his.
The warmth buzzed in her head and she felt his power wash over her again and again, each wave stronger than the last. She let her senses be assaulted by whatever Veela power he had unleashed on her. He lightly ran a finger over the skin behind her ear and she sighed and tingled, nearing him until there were only inches between them.
The warmth she felt seemed to have reached every inch of her and now had nowhere to go except...her lower stomach. And she felt herself...give in.
Her hands reached up to cradle his face before she had had given herself time to think about it. Some part of her seemed to want to make him know that she was...opening to him, but couldn't do what he was doing. So she spoke.
"I am...too."
If he had been restraining himself, it had given way at that moment. His lips pressed unto hers and her nose filled with his scent, his unique spice and musk. Masculine. Strong. She stood there for a moment as his mouth dominated hers, licking and gently pulling at her bottom lip; goose pimples prickled all over her body. And then she reacted herself, mouth mimicking his movements, her arms sliding and draping around him, her hands on his back, trying to bring his hard body closer to hers. Her breathing sounded heavy to her own ears as he began to kiss her neck and his hands gripped her waist.
Hermione didn't know he was moving them to the couch until she felt her feet leave the ground. He settled the two of them unto the cushions with him sitting down and her straddling his waist. Her clothes, the red polka-dot dress, hiked up her thighs. A whimper escaped her mouth as he pulled away, but her disappointment disappeared the moment he took off his shirt. His skin was starting to glisten with sweat, and his body, flawless, muscular, was firm under her hands. One look into his eyes and she felt that the clothing she wore was too much at that very moment.
He brought her lips to his and kissed her once more, this time, his tongue finding an opening and plunging in. His hands brought themselves to her hips, hiking up her dress just a bit higher. She tried to bring herself even closer, only to feel her crotch rub across something...hard...
It felt...amazing. Too amazing.
Zabini—no no no, Blaise—murmured something she couldn't understand and pulled away to stare at her, his eyes closing in bliss when she did it again. She did it a third time before he began to move much in the same way, grinding himself against her core, meeting her motion for motion. For a moment, that's all they did, his clothing rubbing against the fabric of her panties and his hands opening the front of her dress. His thumbs kneaded her breasts through her bra, rubbing the mounds of flesh until her nipples poked through the cotton. Her back arched at the touch, and that sounde she heard in her mind hit a crescendo.
She moaned and gasped; he groaned and exhaled sharply; the need for that friction made their hips meet again and again.
She was reaching the edge. She wanted him...she wanted him so badly...to...to... "Blaise...Blaise...please. Please, please."
She felt the hair behind her ear being lifted and his lips pressing against the back of her neck there, suckling and licking it. And then suddenly, he bit her.
It was as if that was the release she needed. A gasp of a sort of finality escaped her lips and she rubbed against him one final time, trying to keep that feeling just one more time. The warmth abated from the rest of her body and rushed to her head; the violin string in her mind snapped. She felt like she was buzzing, rising, and falling all at once, but she also felt satisfied.
She felt arms wrap themselves around her and she gave into them, exhausted suddenly. Her body rested against his, her head resting on his shoulder, the smell of him still all around her. Her eyes closed.
"Hermione, I love you."
This is the first lemony Harry Potter fanfic I've written in a long, long while. I read quite a few BlaisexHermione fanfics and I love them. And I've read some about Blaise being a Veela and love those too (because of the smut). So I'm trying my hand. I'm inspired by Tina74's "Not So Human Nature" and am sad that "she" never "finished," so I want to explore this vein and create my own scenario about what happens after the last chapter.
Or make lemony smut scenes within another piece of work...whichever. Don't judge.
I set some of the moments of Deathly Hallows in the summer after The Half Blood Prince, so all the characters will be in Hogwarts. I've got a lot in store so R&R and Story Alert me!
P.S. I love constructive criticism—not flames. I'm not forcing you read something you don't want to or don't think I should write because someone made a particular story already. If I write something you don't like, you can always hit the back arrow on your browser. If you don't like this, you can have at me in the comments, but be prepared because I'll respond the same way.