All characters belong to JK Rowling
Chapter 2 – Choices Made
Then light shone from Logafell,
and from that radiance there came bolts of lightning;
wearing helmets at Himingvani [came the valkyries].
Their byrnies were drenched in blood;
and rays shone from their spears.
From Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar
Rubbing her forehead to ward off an impending headache, Hermione closed the giant tome in front of her. For the last week and a half, she had researched as much as she could on Valkyrie, Veela, and how they related to the magical world. She even read some Muggle books on Nordic folklore and mystical tales. And after ten days of reading and research, she wasn't anywhere closer to understanding her dead husband's solicitor's claim that she was the last known Valkyrie.
At first when they told her, she actually believed them for some odd reason. Since then, she'd had time to process their claim and now she didn't know what to think. Seriously – it couldn't be true, could it? How preposterous! Hermione didn't believe in fairytales, folklore, or ancient Nordic gods from olden times. Even though Hermione Granger was a Muggle-born witch, (which in and of itself wasn't easy to comprehend or understand) she did not believe in anything that didn't have tangible, solid proof. And since no proof was offered to her that day in the solicitor's office, she no longer believed their claim!
Moreover, to top everything off, she was coming down with a nasty illness. She hadn't felt up to par for practically months, but this last week had been especially hard. She felt unusually tired, overwrought, and under the weather. She couldn't sleep at night and when she did sleep, she continued to dream that same dream of a lady with a sword, wings, and a white, glowing breastplate. In other words, the dream from her childhood.
It was almost as if the thought that she was some numinous creature was planted in her brain and now she couldn't get rid of it! Her birthday was in a few days, and though she didn't relish the thought of getting older, she was even more hesitant for her twenty-fifth birthday to come because she worried about the things that Jon's cousin and his lawyer had told her.
That was why she was researching everything she could about Valkyrie. She was able to find a few things relating to Valkyrie as mythical creatures, however, she couldn't find anything pertaining to 'ascensions', or about having to have SEX with Draco Malfoy.
Speaking of the ferret, Draco Malfoy supported the claim that she was the last known Valkyrie and he didn't seem especially delusional, or at least not anymore than usual. That worried her, too.
Therefore, for many reasons, she was dreading her upcoming twenty-fifth birthday. Perhaps because she was supposedly going to turn into some warrior princess in a couple of days. She laughed aloud. She wondered…would she have wings? Would she suddenly have special powers?
Of course not.
There was no truth to any of it. She placed her head on her arms and felt tears push against her closed eyelids. She really felt horrid. Her head wanted to explode! She knew she was to meet Harry, Ron, and some other friends in an hour so they could celebrate her birthday a few days early. They were having a surprise party for her, although Ron spilled the beans and she discovered their plan. She wanted to Owl them and cancel but she couldn't do that without an explanation.
What would she say to Harry? 'Hey,Harry,guesswhat?I'mthelastknownValkyrie,andImightdieonoraroundmybirthdayifIdon'thavesexwithDracoMalfoy,thereforeI'mgoingtoskiveoffmysurprisepartytonight.Hopeyoudon'tmind.'
That was the most outrageous part of the whole ordeal! Who in their right mind would believe in such shite?
Although, what if it were true? What if her twenty-fifth birthday came and she turned into a Valkyrie and she needed a male for some odd reason, just as Malfoy said, and she was all alone.
Looking around the large Wizarding library at her former university, she still felt uneasy and ill. The room where she was sitting was impressive and large, with stained-glass windows, large oak tables, and rows after rows of large books on every subject known to the Wizarding world. If Hermione hadn't yet found an answer to her question here, she probably wouldn't find it anywhere.
When she went to school here, she used to find this place peaceful – serene. An insightful stillness would fall over the occupants who came here, a shared knowledge that the only noise one should make was the occasional turning of a page or expelling of a breath.
Nonetheless, today she found that silence deeply disturbing and overwhelming. Perhaps it was because she couldn't find the answers to her questions. Perhaps it was because her head ached something fierce. Perhaps it was because she had an uncanny feeling that she was being watched. Hermione didn't want to look around to see if her feeling was accurate, but she did. As soon as she looked up, she wished that she hadn't, because sitting at a table two rows from her was none other than Draco Malfoy.
He was regarding her with a look that gave her chills. His stare, ever perceptive, with sharp grey eyes, penetrated her thinly veiled veneer and she paused with her reading, her hands shaking. She groaned, loudly and long. Dropping the heavy book off her lap onto the floor, where it landed on her foot (it really, really hurt) she quickly got up, gathered her things and started to leave.
Her chest felt tight, constricted, and bound. Her skin was overly sensitive to light and touch. Even though she avoided his stare, she knew he was still watching her, and just his subtle gaze felt like a soft stroke to her cheek, her hand, her breast. She could swear that she felt his lips upon hers. What madness was this? She had never particularly liked Draco Malfoy, yet that day in the solicitor's office she sought him out for comfort, and just now, she found herself entertaining desirous thoughts about him.
Bumping her hip against the table, she cursed silently and then turned the corner to leave through the back exit. She would Disapparate away from there.
.
Draco watched Hermione closely. She seemed agitated. His gaze moved carefully over her features – her eyes, her face, her chest, her hands. All seemed well, almost too good to be true, yet she was troubled, which troubled him. There was something about the way she carried herself that made him want to reach out and help her.
He knew that Devlin Halberdsen was following her as well, because he had seen the man all week long, but as far as Draco knew, this was the first time she had seen Draco. Of course, he wanted her to see him this time. The moment their eyes met, he knew that she felt the same pull that he felt, whether she wanted to feel it or not.
The instant she stood to leave, he followed her with his eyes, and then stood as well. When she started for the back exit, he stalked after her. She couldn't leave. It wasn't safe for her. He had to reason with her. He had to make her see the truth.
He had to have her for his own.
That last thought came on so strong and sudden it almost blinded him. Where had that come from? Following her down the back stairs, he smelled the same combination of strawberries and passion fruit that he smelled in the solicitor's office. He knew that many times when Veela met their mates they would smell certain smells attributed only to them.
That realisation only challenged Draco to follow her, but nothing more. He would see her through this transition, or ascension, because his father deemed it so, but he WOULD not MATE with her. How barbaric. How archaic. How insane.
Yet that was exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted her on a level that he didn't understand.
She placed several large books on a cart by the exit and as he watched her, he thought that she was perfect. She was beautiful. Fierce. Loyal. Independent and strong. She had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. Her body was made to be worshipped. She was delicate, like the finest cut glass, and her temperament was like quicksilver – ever changing from one extreme to another. Yet these were things that he'd always known about her, so when had this desire for her started? Most importantly, why was she leaving him? She was about to slip away into the night and he couldn't let that happen.
He called out her name. "GRANGER!"
She stopped right before she opened the door, before she Disapparated away. Turning toward him, she leaned against the door, eyes wide, mouth open, her scent surrounding him everywhere as he walked closer, closer.
"Why are you haunting my every waking moment?" he asked tersely. That wasn't at all what he meant to say, but it was out of his mouth before he could edit his thoughts.
Her hands fisted at her side, and she looked at him with annoyance and condescension. She accused, "You're the one following me, Draco Malfoy, and I want it to stop!"
"You aren't going to find out anything about what's going to happen to you from books because no one really knows what's going to happen to you," he levelled, grabbing her left arm with his right hand.
Biting down on her bottom lip, (to keep from screaming at him, he was certain) she looked at his hand on her arm, then back up at his face. Her stare lingered for a few too many seconds on his mouth, and his body stiffened. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her. Her mouth was round, her lips red, plush and full. He felt as if all the air was sucked right out of his lungs merely from an innocent glance to his lips. With his groin tightening, he placed his other hand on her other arm and pulled her even closer.
Desire swirled around him, but she looked afraid, so he took a step back, keeping his hands on her arms. She said, "Let me go, Malfoy. I feel ill."
"You're not ill," he said in a whisper. "Let me help you."
Her eyes flashed fire as she tried to squirm from his grasp. "You're the last person I would want to help me," she said, though all fight seemed to have left her voice.
"Why did you embrace me when you saw me at the lawyer's office?" Draco asked suddenly. "Why did you leave with me?" Did she feel the same budding feelings that he felt? A powerful bond, unanticipated, but irrefutable, was forming between them, and it started from the moment she walked into the solicitor's office and it was even stronger now. It was strange to have these feelings for a woman that he used to hate, but they were there and he couldn't deny them, and he suspected that she couldn't deny them either.
"Listen, Malfoy, I was under the weather that day, too. I didn't know what I was doing," she said, leaning into him. She closed her eyes. "I still don't, so, please, please, let me go." She seemed defeated.
"I'm not sure I can," he admitted.
Hermione placed a hand on his chest and he swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving her face, even though her eyes were still closed.
He was going to kiss her. He had to. He had to know if what he felt was real. In all likelihood, she would hex him to next week if he took liberties with her, but he didn't care. A tremor went through him at the thought of her body next to his.
Pulling her completely into his embrace, she opened her eyes finally, a small sound of surprise leaving her lips. That was all the invitation he needed. His mouth descended onto hers as her lips parted. He kissed her softly, separating her lips gently with his, almost as if it was her first kiss and he didn't want to scare her.
He kissed her with a deep knowledge that this was right and real. He took possession of her mouth, delving deeper, his tongue sweeping the inside of her lips, her mouth, and her teeth. She grasped his shoulders – she was almost limp in his arms.
Some primitive need arose in him. She was everything to him, this woman in his arms. The need to take her, protect her, make her his was overwhelming. The scent and taste of her unsettled him and shattered his self-control. Stopping, he pushed her up against the wall, dropped his head to her shoulder, and released her lips on a sigh, ever so reluctantly, and sooner than he wanted.
She was breathing as hard as he was, her hands clasping the front of his shirt. He forced his hands from her arms up to the wall, near her head. Slowly, they seemed to open their eyes at the same time. Staring at each other, neither knew what to say.
Then the spell was broken when she pushed him away from her and rushed out the back door. Composing himself, he followed. A moment later, another man followed them as well.
.
Hermione went to her parent's house. She knew from Ron that either he or Harry were to pick her up for her 'surprise party' there, so if she hurried, she would have time to do a bit more investigating of this whole 'Valkyrie' thing before she was to meet her friends.
Apparating to the back garden, she walked in the garden doors and saw her father in a comfortable armchair, doing a crossword puzzle. With the feel of Draco's kiss still burning her lips, she knocked on the doorjamb and smiled. "Hello Daddy. Where's Mum?"
"I think she said something about getting your birthday present," he said with a wink.
Hermione didn't want to be reminded of her birthday. She tried to smile, but then said, "Do you think Mummy would mind if I went up to the attic and had a look at some of her grandmother's old belongings? They're still up in that old brown trunk, aren't they?"
"Her grandmother Hansson?" he asked. "The grandmother from her mother's side?"
She nodded and added, "I think I'll pop upstairs and have a look at something. I won't be but a moment." Not waiting for a reply, she dashed up the stairs and once on the landing she Apparated to the attic.
It was dark and dusty upstairs. It was also unusually warm. She found the trunk easily, pulled it to the middle of the large attic space, and opened it with her wand. Rummaging inside, she didn't even know what she was looking for, however she spied what looked like an old journal, several yellowed envelopes tied up with string, as well as a black bound book of Nordic folklore. As she was about to close the trunk, she noticed something shiny sticking partway in the lining of the lid, and partway out.
Pulling on the item, she noticed it was a round, golden emblem with a fine golden chain. A medallion of some sort, she couldn't remember ever having seen it before, yet when she was little she must have gone through this trunk with her mother several times, each time thinking it was some sort of treasure trove. There was a picture of some kind, as well as raised words, on the medallion. Taking the medallion as well as the journals, letters and the ancient looking book in her arms, she closed the lid with a loud bang and stood to leave.
Then it felt like she was hit by lightning.
Pain lacerated her entire body. Bright, white spots appeared before her eyes, and she swayed and fell to the musty old, wooden floor of the attic. Everything that was in her arms dropped around her on the floor, save for the medallion. It remained clutched tightly in her right hand.
Then she had a vision.
A woman with long, flowing hair rode upon a large white horse. But the horse wasn't a normal horse, for it flew in the sky without wings. The woman had a gold-plated breastplate of armor on her body, which shined brightly, making it appear as if a white glow emitted from it. Upon the woman's body, she wore a gossamer skirt, which looked as if it were made with fine, flowing feathers. In her right hand, she carried a long spear, and in her left, she carried a red book. She flew higher and higher up in the sky, an eagle following her on side, a white vulture on the other. There was blood dripping off the end of the sword, and across her lap was an unconscious man, with golden blond hair.
Magnificent white wings opened from her back and as she rode higher and higher into the sky, the clouds parted for her, the sunrays shone down upon her, and it was only then that she turned around and looked right down at Hermione, who was still on the floor.
Except the woman staring down at her wasn't a stranger. It was her – staring down at – her.
"Sweetheart, open your eyes." Hermione's mother patted her daughter's cheek and told her husband to get a wet cloth to place upon her head.
With a groan, Hermione's eyes fluttered open. Her mouth felt dry, she was sweating profusely, and when she opened her eyes completely she realized she was no longer on the floor of the attic. She was in her childhood bedroom, surrounded by familiar faces –her mother, her father and – wait, Draco Malfoy?
Thinking she was still dreaming, she closed her eyes again, batting her mother's hands away with one of her hands. Finally, she opened them again, saw the same three people, winced, and then sat up with the aid of her father.
"What happened?" she asked. Her hand was still clenched around the medallion. She had no clue where the book, journal and letters were.
"We found you on the floor of the attic. Your friend Mr. Malfoy carried you down here. What happened, Hermione?" her father asked.
Shaking her head, she moved so her legs draped across the side of the bed. The thought that Draco Malfoy was here, in her one safe haven, and had carried her down from the attic, no less, was disheartening. She had spent most of her life despising the man, and now she felt a fierce hunger and overwhelming desire for him.
"I'm overworked, that's all, and well, I haven't been feeling well." She looked up at Malfoy, who didn't look particularly happy with her admission. Well, the feeling was mutual. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she whispered so only he could hear as her mother said something to her father.
Frowning, he leaned down to her and in hushed tones said in return, "Apparently, your parents think I'm here to pick you up for your surprise party. I'm your date, I guess."
She groaned, closed her eyes, and then she ran from the bedroom to the bathroom where she promptly threw up.
.
Draco winced, but then he smiled at her parents. "I hope she has a toothbrush in there, since she's sick and all," he said, thinking that she would need to brush her teeth after having vomited. He felt stupid as soon as he said it, but hell, these were Muggles. They were probably used to stupid things.
Her father said, "We're dentists, so yes, she has a toothbrush." The man gave Draco a daunting look and then left the room.
Draco forgot what a dentist was for a moment, then he looked at Hermione's mother and said, "Oh yes, a Muggle medical practitioner for the teeth, right?"
Hermione mother smiled and nodded. Walking over to the bathroom door, she poked her head inside, checked on her daughter (who WAS brushing her teeth), closed the door promptly and then asked, "Mr. Malfoy, are you the one who is going to help my daughter with her ascension?"
Draco knew his mouth was hanging open – but hell, he was shocked by her mother's question. How did she know about these things, especially as Hermione didn't seem to know? Before he could put that question to answer, the older woman said, "You seem shocked that I should know of my own ancestry, Mr. Malfoy."
Glancing over his shoulder toward the closed door to the loo, Draco said, "Pardon, Mrs. Granger, but what I'm shocked about is that your daughter knows nothing of your ancestry, as it is."
Nodding slightly, she sat on the bed. With a low sigh, she bent at the waist and picked up the journal and pile of letters, which had fallen there when Draco had placed Hermione upon her bed. Handing them to Draco, she said, "I was never quite sure what I should tell her. I was never completely certain of what was real and what wasn't. I knew my granny told me stories, but that was all I ever thought they were, stories, which were passed down from my mother to Hermione, too. I never once entertained thoughts that they could be real until one day, when my bright, ambitious, beautiful little girl received a letter from a school called Hogwarts, saying that she was a witch."
Standing, Hermione's mum picked up the battered black book of Nordic folklore and placed it in Draco's hands along with the letters and the journal. Without another word or explanation, she turned and walked out of the room.
Draco looked at the bevy of items in his hands, then he spied Hermione's purse by the bed. He placed the items within, picked up the purse and knocked on the bathroom door. "Granger?"
When she didn't answer, he opened the door and peered inside. The room was empty. She had left without him. Good thing he knew where they were holding this surprise party, thanks to what her mum and dad had told him when he first arrived at their house. She wasn't getting away from him this easily. He huffed loudly, gathered her things and he Disapparated away.
The other man remained outside the house, having not known that Draco and Hermione had left.
