Hermione sat alone once again. The hospital wing emitted nothing but white noise to her as she sat still on the bed. Her knees were curled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs tight. It was slightly dim, her little space, due to the curtains around her bed being drawn. There was also not much to look at, so the young Veela sat staring at the bedcover beneath her tightly coiled body.

Hermione was still in a state of shock at what she had done. Her tears had dried but left behind a horrified numbness. It infested her entire body, her being, and made her seek solace alone. She couldn't face the others yet. She couldn't.

Ron was hurt. The fact that she had lost control of herself and used lethal force against one of her best friends made the young woman feel sick to her stomach. She'd dry heaved when she had seen his red-raw skin, the burns disfiguring his upper torso. It hadn't taken long for her to realise what she'd done in the Room of Requirement. It had taken even less time for her to rush to help her damaged friend. The flames had still been devouring his body as she and Harry had stumbled out of the room, Ron jerking and whimpering and crying in their grip. Fortunately the flames had stopped shortly after leaving the seventh floor corridor, but the evidence of the hot violence kept their friend crying in pain.

That had been roughly an hour ago. His parents were here now, sat by his bedside as he slept. They hadn't come in to see her. No one had. She couldn't blame them, though. Hermione deserved to be left alone for what she'd done.


Harry Potter sat slumped in a chair, staring morosely at the floor. The bed beside him had its curtains drawn and a silencing charm placed upon it. He didn't need to hear to know that Mrs Weasley was crying, however. He didn't need the charm to know that Mr Weasley was attempting to comfort his wife. He didn't need any of that to know that Ginny would be sitting beside her older brother, concerned and quiet. He didn't want to know that Ron was still unconscious.

Not for the first time he wondered how they had come to be in the infirmary, in this situation. Harry didn't know. His and Ron's desperation to find their friend had soured so quickly. The triumph they'd felt, knowing they'd been successful in finding her, became a blurry emotion after they'd opened the secret door. He recognised the influence of a Veela from the Quidditch World Cup two years ago and more recently Fleur, when he had stayed at the Burrow over the summer. They'd laughed about the Veela influence then, and the girls had teased the boys for their infatuations with the creatures and especially Ron's fondness for Fleur. Now things had changed. The matron had informed him what had happened to his best friend in a concise, single sentence and then attended to the redhead. When the Weasleys had arrived and seen their boy, Harry had glanced towards the one responsible for his plight. She'd backed away from Ron, terrified to get too close but unwilling to leave him alone. As soon as the matriarch of the Weasleys had understood what had happened and let loose a wail, however, the tall, blonde-haired Hermione had fled behind a curtain on the other side of the infirmary, tears in her eyes.

Harry was ashamed to find that he didn't want to go and see his female friend yet. He didn't know if he could face her just yet, having seen with his own two eyes what she had done. Ron was well attended to, he knew that. Hermione, though … Hermione was all alone and no doubt scared. Things beyond her control had dominated her life all of a sudden. Her life had been turned upside down by this new revelation and Harry cringed because he knew what that was like. Hermione had lost her temper and lashed out; not unlike his temperament last year, he grudgingly accepted. She'd hurt their best friend, though, and he'd gotten his godfather killed. All the secrecy and hurt that had been accumulating after the death of Sirius had left Harry feeling bitter and intolerant to any and all secrets. He was hurting and hating and Hermione had just hurt their best friend.

Harry sighed as he stood up from his chair.

He knew the right thing to do. The hard part was doing it.


"Hermione?" Ron mumbled, slowly regaining consciousness. He heard a cry in his ear then, and felt plump arms wrap around his neck and knew they didn't belong to the girl he'd called for.

"Oh, Ron! Ronnie, my baby! How does it feel? Are you still in pain? Madam Pomfrey! Madam Pomfrey, hurry, he's awake! Oh, Ronniekins!" Mrs Weasley cried, peppering kisses all over her son's gradually reddening face.

"Mum, stop!" he demanded, stretching his neck and trying to avoid the affection.

"Molly, Ron would probably like to get his bearings before you smother him, dear," Mr Weasley easily cajoled his wife, smiling as she tearfully nodded and pulled away, though not releasing her boy's hand.

"Hey, Ron, how ya feeling?" Ginny asked gently, uncurling herself from the chair directly next to his bed.

Ron began to shuffle himself up on his pillows and winced at the tightness all over his torso. Mrs Weasley immediately shot forward to help him up, fluffing his pillows as best she could as the mediwitch entered their space.

"Sore," he responded finally, watching as Madam Pomfrey chose to walk around to the other side of his bed and avoid a confrontation with his stubbornly situated mother.

"You will, too, Mr Weasley; for another day or so, at that," she informed him, brusquely flicking her wand over him, nodding and summoning some potions to her.

"What happened?" he demanded, feeling nauseated as she unstopped one of the vials and a smell not unlike the flobberworm dung from his third year permeated their curtained-off area. "Wait, what happened to Harry and Hermione?" he cried, trying to sit up straighter. He hissed at the sudden intensification of the pain; his mother quickly began to gently pat his hair down in an effort to comfort him.

"Mr Potter is currently with Miss Granger in another section of this infirmary," she told him, pouring two fingers worth of the dark green potion into a cup and handing it to him. "As per what happened, Mr Weasley, you were hit with Veela fire straight to your chest," she told him professionally, watching as he gagged on the drink but consumed the entire contents under the stern looks of his mother and the matron.

"Veela fire?" he huffed out, pulling a face at the cup as it was taken away from him.

"Miss Granger has recently discovered her Veela heritage, Mr Weasley, and on her birthday today became one. Unfortunately for you and Mr Potter, you discovered her when she was emotionally unstable and aggravated her into partial Veela rage. She deeply regrets what happened," Pomfrey added, watching the family out of the corner of her eye as the youngest two looked shocked, worried and curious about this development. She frowned lightly at the angry gleam in their mother's eyes but was reassured by the understanding in the father's. Before they could reply to her, however, she continued. "You will be as well as you were this morning, Mr Weasley, just as soon as you take your final dose of potion in twelve hours time. Until then, you are to stay in this bed until I tell you otherwise, am I clear?"

Ron clearly wanted to ask more questions but settled on nodding his understanding and asking just one.

"Can I see them?" he asked hopefully, his blue eyes wide and pleading. Madam Pomfrey knew immediately who he was referring to. She briefly admired the young man's loyalty to his friends without fully understanding the situation and chose to reward his attitude.

"Of course, Mr Weasley," she told him, one corner of her mouth tilting up as he slumped in relief. "However, not yet, I'm afraid. I don't want you moving for another hour, at least, and Miss Granger is in no condition to see you yet. I will, however, inform her and Mr Potter of your wishes."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Ron smiled tiredly at her, shifting down on his bed and wincing only faintly at the pain this time.

"Not at all, Mr Weasley. I'm sure Mr Potter, at least, will be by momentarily to see you awake."


Harry Potter cleared his throat just by the curtain of Hermione's bed.

"Er, Hermione?" he called quietly, listening for any sound on her side and hearing none. "Hermione, can I come in? I'd – I'd like to talk to you," he began, waiting for a response. Harry hadn't realized how stiff he'd been standing until a quiet but affirmative response came from behind the curtain and he slumped in relief.

Harry took a deep breath. He made his best attempt at controlling his mind, remembering how he'd reacted to Veela in the past. Releasing the air in his lungs in an exhale that left him feeling loose and in control, Harry breathed again and hesitantly pulled back the curtain to slip inside.

Harry immediately went stiff upon laying eyes on his best friend again. She was sitting directly in the centre of the bed and watching him cautiously. Although Harry could remember what she'd looked like back in the Room of Requirement and slipped looks at her on the way to the Hospital Wing, he was still arrested by her newfound beauty. Harry swore he was going to lose himself in her crystalline blue eyes. He admired the way her long, white-gold hair hung thickly around her shoulders and caressed her arms and back. He couldn't help but admire the rest of her body, how perfect it was, how full and beautiful, even though her legs were curled up and her knees tucked to her chest. He took a step forward and opened his mouth, his glazed eyes trailing back up her slender arms to her face and stopped himself. Her eyes were shining with new tears and her chin was trembling ever so slightly as she watched him react to her. She suddenly loosed a loud sniff and Harry sprung forward.

"Oh, Hermione. I'm so sorry," he whispered, sitting on the bed in front of her and pulling her into a hug.

Hermione released a sound that was half sob and half laugh as she responded to him.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" she sniffled. "I'm the one who almost killed Ron!"

Harry shushed her and rubbed her back.

"Tell me what happened to you," he said.


"How is our Mr Weasley doing?" Professor Dumbledore asked as he entered Ron's space. He watched the gentle rise and fall of the young man's chest before looking towards the rest of his family.

"As well as can be expected," Mrs Weasley sniffed unhappily, turning her gaze from her sleeping son to glare at the headmaster. "If Hermione was so dangerous, why was she allowed free run of the school where anyone could come across her?" she demanded hotly.

"Mum," Ginny frowned at her, disapproving of the perceived attitude her mother now had towards her friend.

"Molly," Mr Weasely admonished her with her name alone. Mrs Weasley glanced away, then, avoiding eye contact with anyone, but her husband continued. "Hermione is going through a very difficult time. She had no prior knowledge of this transformation and is more scared, no doubt, than you are giving the child credit for. She may be seventeen now, Molly, but Hermione is still a child; a very confused, terrified child," he reasoned, rubbing her back soothingly.

Mrs Weasley stubbornly watched her son's face, Dumbledore watching hers. Mr Weasley waited patiently and rubbed her back twice more before her shoulders slumped and her gaze fell down.

"I know, Arthur," she murmured, glancing over her shoulder before turning to their son again. "I just don't want to lose him."

"This war is making many people blind to the small things, my dear Molly," Dumbledore stepped in closer to the group, following a tangent in their conversation only he seemed to realise was there. "The trick is remembering what makes you happy," he said, "and making sure you relive it every day your mind grows dark," he twinkled. "Now, I must speak with Madam Pomfrey. If you will excuse me, Molly, Arthur, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore smiled and left them alone.

"Let some light in, Ginny," Mr Weasley said as the Headmaster left, gesturing to the curtains around the bed. Without a word, Ginny stood up and opened the hangings, a relieved smile forming on her face as the setting but still persistent sun lit up her ginger hair and warmed her freckled skin. It was the small things, the headmaster had said. Ginny could appreciate that.

"There now, Ron, get some sun on your face. You'll feel better," she told her sleeping brother, settling back into her chair to take time with her family.


It wasn't long after Headmaster Dumbledore had left the group of Weasleys to go and speak to the nurse that the Veela came in through the infirmary doors like a queen. Sharp blue eyes immediately spotted the aged headmaster and her feet led her quickly towards him. Mrs Weasley's eyes narrowed at the intruder. It was subconscious, how she felt threatened, but her body automatically positioned itself closer to her husband and son. Mr Weasley himself seemed to stare a long moment at the woman, his eyes glassy, before his head snapped away from her and he took a purposeful breath. Ginny watched the newcomer warily but remained where she was.

"Dumbledore!" the Veela spoke sharply to the wizard, coming to a halt next to him not far from Madam Pomfrey's office.

"Aphrodisia. It's been a long time," he responded, smiling lightly at the creature.

"Too long! Why was I not permitted access to your floo this morning? I was to be here for my Hermione's seventeenth birthday," she hissed. Her sleek white-gold hair seemed to ruffle like feathers with her ire.

"Aphrodisia," Dumbledore began, smiling in an apologetic manner, "I am afraid these are dark times that we live in. I am shocked my owl did not reach you in time detailing this development."

"Owl?! You would send an owl to tell me this?" she exclaimed.

"Who is this, Albus?" interrupted Molly Weasley, each hand holding tight to her youngest son and husband respectively. Ginny continued watching cautiously from her seat next to her brother's bedside, but her eyes repeatedly glanced toward the only other occupied bed in the infirmary where she knew Harry and Hermione had situated themselves.

"Forgive me, Molly," Dumbledore excused himself. "Please allow me to introduce Mrs Aphrodisia Ognyanova," he smiled, gesturing at the impatient woman. "She is an ally of ours from the eastern part of the mainland," he elaborated.

"Your ally no longer, Dumbledore, if you do not take me to see my daughter," she hissed in her thick Grecian accent, ignoring the red haired family watching her suspiciously.

"Of course, Aphrodisia," Dumbledore agreed, smiling and gesturing for her to follow him. He walked leisurely toward the curtained-off bed, his magenta robes swishing lightly with his steps. Aphrodisia, on the other hand, walked stiffly, though no less gracefully than ever before. It was apparent that her impatience was substantial.

"Professor, what's going on?" Harry asked, stepping out from behind the curtain, looking to the adult Veela and feeling no less of a pull than he had with his best friend. With the beginnings of practiced ease, however, Harry tore his eyes away from the stormy woman. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the young man.

"This is Aphrodisia Ognyanova, Harry," the headmaster explained. "She is Hermione's birth mother and here to see her."

"What?" Harry asked sharply, new eyes gazing at the stranger. "I don't think it's a good idea right now to see Herm—"

"Nonsense!" Aphrodisia interrupted him, stepping past Dumbledore and towards the curtain.

"I agree," spoke Hermione, pulling the curtain open and stepping next to her friend. She gazed levelly at the Veela woman who abruptly stopped walking to stare at her daughter. "I have some questions."

Aphrodisia muttered something then in Greek, watching Hermione with a bird-like gaze, her voice soft and even motherly.

"I imagine you do, Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke, smiling at the grouping like nothing was amiss. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable in my office," he suggested, stepping aside in invitation.

Both Veela watched the other, neither choosing to blink. Harry glanced at Hermione worriedly and grabbed her hand in comfort. The action jarring the young woman somewhat, Hermione broke gaze first, looking to her friend. A message then seemed to pass between the two; Harry nodded, stepping back.

"I'll stay with Ron," he said. Hermione gave the boy a tight nod before she turned back to the now composed older Veela.

"Shall we?" the headmaster spoke.

Both Veela followed without a word.


I do apologise for not updating yesterday. I got sick Friday night and all over the weekend. I still am sick, actually, this Tuesday, but I could let you wait no longer. Thanks again for the reviews! I've responded to all I could now, and to those guest reviewers or those who had disabled the function, I'm no less grateful to you!

Rest assured, as well, that time skips will be coming. I estimate (very roughly, at this stage) that we'll be seeing dear Remus Lupin within ten chapters. I know some of you just want to get to the romance, and I would too if I was reading this, but I really want it to parallel canon. Realistically speaking, the trio don't see Remus until Christmas break. I plan to follow this schedule, but I might pop in some Remus perspective before then. Would that keep you satisfied in the meantime?

Thanks again!