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.

Translation(s)/Terminology:

1) Che diavolo? (Italian): "What the hell?"

2) lussuria (Italian): "lust"

(Source: Google Translate)

Maybe...

Maybe...they could complete The Mark now...as soon as possible.

From the moment he had awoken for the second time that morning, that was the dominant thought that kept coming to mind as he tried to carry on the day. Every thought he had towards hating that the N.E.W.T.s were close and wanting them to be over so he wouldn't have to think about them anymore kept being overturned with thoughts of her the first time he had awaken...and the thought—or thoughts—that overturned that one...

She had been turning over in her sleep and Blaise had been waking up, half-murmuring for her to sleep in more, and giving in to his own exhaustion and the warmth of her body on and off again for almost an hour.

But he could tell that this time would be different. For one thing, she didn't stir and rub and cling to him, making little contented, sleepy sounds. She jolted awake. And after a pause, half-mumbled, half-gasped. "Oh, Merlin. Ohmigod." He was aware of the frenzied movement across the mattress that jerked him out of his dreams of her and the thudding footsteps on the other side of the bed that woke him up fully.

He jerked up to see her standing on the other side of the bed, rubbing her temples and wincing, her eyes alternating between blinking wildly and shutting tightly. It was like she was oblivious to his crawling to the edge where she stood. He didn't have a lot of energy to stand, but reached out and placed his hand on her forehead, brushing her hair back to get a better look at her. "Does it hurt much?" He whispered softly.

"Like someone's playing drums inside my head," she murmured.

He gently tugged on her arm to bring her closer. "You're still hung over." He smiled slightly at the sound of her scoffing, his words clearly being an understatement. "Come back to bed. We can skip breakfast and have another lie in; I can make a sobering potion when we wake up again."

Her eyes opened. And the look on her face of surprise and the blush that was growing on her cheeks. Her arms folded across her chest protectively and her eyes clamped shut again, tighter this time. "I wish I were dreaming."

He looked down to see what she was looking at and finally realized: his boxers. Well, it was morning... But he felt like there was more to her reaction...the look on her face...last night was slowly coming back to her...he didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Silence permeated in the room. She kept eyeing his bare skin, his lap, and then her own bare legs. "Did we...?"

"No...No..." Blaise could only imagine the morning starting off better had they done so. "Hermione...the wine was from October. When I was giving those gifts to McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. I don't know if it was because I had asked for two other bottles with sensazione or if there was a mix-up at the vineyard at the time that I asked, but there was some in the bottle we had last night. It's called lussuria. Lust."

His fingers ran through his hair, already hating the fact that he had admitted that and the fact that she paled slightly. "I'm sorry for that. I only meant for you to have a simple bottle. Had I known beforehand, I would have brought the correct kind with me after the holiday. But you were never in any danger of things going...further." He swallowed so hard, knowing that to be true and...hatingit.

She opened her mouth to ask a question but then closed it, her lips pursed in a line. Blaise wasn't sure of the reasons why her hand kept pulling at the front of her nightgown like that; he knew she was now more than aware of the events that had led to her underwear ending up on the floor. "...Does this mean that everything...happened because I had so much?"

"...Not entirely. Having wine with sensazionedoes affect one's experience when drinking it, that's its purpose. But it's more of an enhancer; it allows that one emotion to dominate over the others. But, the degree of its strength depends on the..." he trailed off and looked at her, a question of his own on the tip of his tongue.

It took a moment. She had been biting her lip and focusing her eyes on the sunrise peeking through her window. But then suddenly, it hit her. Her eyes widened and the blush on her face intensified as she fully met his glance and parted those lips, to confirm his thought, to explain herself, to disprove them, he didn't know.

It was the tapping of a school owl at her window that cut off the conversation. Her eyes shifted between the bird and him before heading to the window and taking whatever it seemed determined on giving her. Her brow furrowed and, with quick glance, she went to her desk for a quill and ink. She stood stiffly, maybe to prevent her nightgown from riding up.

The Slytherin sat on the edge of her bed, caught between wanting them to get back under the covers and taking the initiative to leave her to her thoughts. Finally, he made his decision, rising from the bedspread and sheets. He placed his hand on the small of her back and brought her closer. "I'm going back to my room now that you're...okay. I'll make the sobering potion later and leave some on the table for you. Get some more sleep, please."

She looked sad…or maybe he was just imagining things... "...Okay..."

...The thought that the cause of what had happened the night before was not so strongly influenced because of how much they had drunk and what was in it, but rather because some part of her, Hermione Granger, had wanted it to happen.

He wouldn't forget that.

Hecouldn't. As monk-like as he had tried to be for the past few months, the thought of keeping it to how it was before, only kissing, only allowing himself to touch her bare skin under her shirt, only imagining how she looked like underneath those clothes was frustrating. He knew which part—parts—of him was unhappy, but he couldn't even contest against it.

Even now, sitting in The Great Hall and going through the motions of eating his shepherd's pie and watching her observe Weasley's sudden appearance after a month-long hiatus and exchange words with him into her plate, and remembering the difference between her being so...hesitant, practically frightened, and the version of her he had dreamt, the ones where she kept walking up the rows of his vineyard, naked and seductive with that mane of hers, the thought was almost desperate.

Maybe he shouldn't have said what he had so early in the morning; maybe he should have lied; but now when he replayed everything, how could he? Why should he? Everything still depended on her feeling the same. On him waiting for her to say the words he was waiting for and for her to let them act on them. Part of him was beginning to admit...hating having to wait. Especially when he always seemed so close.

And if she had finally started having feelings like he had been all year, then now they should act on them. Now that he knew those feelings, that the physical, if not emotional, existed and was strong enough, he didn't know if he could wait on their implied agreement to wait until school was over. There was the strength of The Mark to think about, the consequences of things not working out his favor, of going mad and thinking that maybe in the future he'd be plagued with the idea that she could have been his mate in February on Valentine's Day Night and she could have felt the way he had been thinking before she had stopped or hadn't told him that she was and thinking about the last time he had been left to think about her not wanting him and how he couldn't really handle going through—

And again the thought surfaced: They should finish it. They should stop waiting.

He suddenly pulled himself out of his thoughts and noticed the slight nod of Daphne's head and the approving smile on her face and almost wanted to ask her about it to keep his mind off...things, when he spied a familiar head of curly hair looking up from her plate to stare at him. Her eyes trained on him were plain as day to him, her expression for once being unreadable, but always beautiful. Always.

He calmed his thoughts. Tried to rationalize.

He'd be careful about asking when he brought up the subject...tonight. He'd suggest this coming weekend. He'd promise her anything to convince her and take care of everything. He'd work hard to make it things perfect: candles, more food...everything. As long as...

As long as she was his and only his, forever and ever, at the end.

"You seem pretty happy tonight. I would've thought that all those notes I sent this morning and us still having to work this late would've drove you crazy." Higgs looked down at their assignment.

She snapped back to reality with a long blink. It had been taking her awhile to realize that she was being spoken to all night. "Oh! No...no...I've actually heard stories about Harry going crazy about setting up extra Quidditch practices and meetings, so I'm used to it. Plus, this is our last assignment for the year, so it's good to do as much as we can."

"Yeah, the beginning of the end...still, another fifteen minutes and I'll probably be heading back anyway. A four-hour Quidditch meeting isn't the best way to end your weekend." He stopped stretching and looked at his watch and its description of It's Late! He rubbed the back of his neck roughly and glanced over as she alternated between flipping through her notes and textbook. "...An Ancient Runes meeting isn't so bad though. Your chairs are more comfortable than the library's it feels like."

She half-laughed and half-yawned, but never lifted her eyes from the parchment. "Thanks." She pressed the tip of her quill at the corner of a symbol and frowned. She wasn't sure if that was how it was or if it had some kind of mistake.

"...I noticed Weasley came back to dinner today. So, you guys have made up now?"

Hermione looked up to see Higgs staring at her. "...Yeah," she gave a little smile. She had almost forgotten how many other people had seen his blow up a few weeks back.

"Great...Does this mean that you two are...together...now?"

What? "No," she shook her head and gave a shaky laugh, trying to play off how strange the conversation was. Maybe there was a reason why they never really spoke about much outside of Babbling's assignment. "No. We're still friends."

"Oh..."

She pushed back a lock of her hair that kept slipping behind her ear, trying to relax her brow line. "Yeah. I guess everyone thinks that because we've known each other a long time and Harry's with Ginny."

"I guess... But for me, it's just...a few weeks back, he asked me if I knew who you liked or if you liked anyone. I told him I didn't and I...just...guessed that since you guys made up, you were dating now."

Being made aware that a conversation like that taken place without her knowing made her feel something between uncomfortable and embarrassed. She could have cringed or said something, but opted for silence. Their eyes met for a moment, but she broke away to focus hers on her textbook. He didn't stop looking at her though. She could feel her face burning slightly.

The Gryffindor was grateful that the yawn she made was real. "You know, maybe that's enough for tonight. We can always talk about our assignment again on Wednesday. In the library." She stood and started straightening up her workspace.

He did the same, albeit with less enthusiasm than she had. "Listen. It's none of my business...I shouldn't have brought it up. Sorry, it's just," he placed his books down again and turned to look at her fully, "since first year, I've always heard guys say that they think you're pretty, but most of them wouldn't try to date you because of Weasley and because...it's a little intimidating to think about coming to you and telling you how we think of you."

Her face reddened, but she didn't look up, just willed herself to get everything together...she hadn't seen Blaise since this morning and hoped he came from patrols soon...

"Not to say that you're intimidating; it's just, you're smarter than us and you're friends with Harry Potter and Weasley and his siblings. It's like you're kind of...really...protected. But I think I started seeing you in a way different from all of that in sixth year...And, I...I only started saying I would like to date you in sixth year, but I have been thinking about...actually trying to since awhile back."

"...What?" Her eyes widened and she felt her face burn a bit more. All of a sudden, it felt like he was kind of towering over her and then she realized that he was leaning towards her and therefore, actually really close. She tried taking a step back, but felt her chair blocking her way. So, she didn't move at all. For all she knew, from the way he was talking, he'd follow behind her.

"I mean...I do like Ancient Runes, but it's not exactly the workload that had me trying to come over so late tonight. Or that's got me studying this...stuff over all my other classes most of the time. I just feel kind of stupid because, I could have said something earlier this year if I knew you weren't with Weasley..." He was even closer than before, but it was like she was rooted to the spot.

It felt like there was a glob of paste in her mouth that she couldn't swallow or talk through. She closed her eyes and begged her body to react—move away, pull away, talk, say something to him. "...Higgs, I—"

And then it didn't even matter because all of a sudden, she felt his mouth on hers.

She could have been made of living stone as she stood frozen and felt his mouth try to mesh against hers for a few seconds. Seconds. But suddenly, like someone had zapped her with lighting, she felt herself pulling away, stepping backwards and kicking her chair over. Her head turned to see where it landed and she felt Higgs' hand press on the crook of her neck and shoulder to will her to ignore it.

But then his thumb swept against a familiar spot on her neck—

"...It's not something we could've just told everyone...I'm sorr—"

"—Okay." Ron put his hand up slightly to silence her. "'Mione...okay. I get it: you had your reasons. I can understand that," he cut another chunk of his shepherd's pie and lifted it to his mouth, but didn't eat it. "...I, I know you're probably not waiting for anyone's approval, but, uh," he sighed and placed his food down. Something seemed to catch his eye for a moment, but he just turned back to her before she could get a good look. "I'll get over it—honestly, I will eventually...so, you move forward, too..."

—"Blaise,"she murmured. She pushed the body, the person away, and stepped back a bit more to put in a larger gap. Air.An ocean. She wanted to wipe off her mouth, but chose not to...which, a part of her chastised her, was stupid. Her hand started wiping away and she begged the part of her brain or heart or whatever it was that was making her turn redder and her eyes sting to stop. She didn't want him...her Ancient Runes partner, Higgs, to somehow think that she was...happy about what had just happened. She didn't want the memory or the lingering feeling of his mouth on hers.

He looked over at her with a frown. "So, you do like him…Zabini."

A part of her panicked, but that feeling of her mouth being pasted shut had come back again. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she didn't say anything.

"You've been staring at Slytherin table for awhile. I thought...you were staring at me; I actually sit about three seats down from him. And then when Weasley came up to me, I thought he was asking me to tell him that you had a crush on me. But...you were looking at Zabini this whole time." He nodded his head awkwardly, absorbing this information. "You've probably had a crush on him since the year began because...every girl has a crush on Zabini in this school. Or gets one at some point. And you two are Heads and always around each other, so it makes sense."

She started biting her lip, wishing that she could just...erase what had just happened. "...It's a little more...complicated than that."

He looked like he was going to say something, but licked his lips and shook his head instead. "...Well...you can save your breath by not telling me about it." He grabbed his books and left.

Blaise had thought it was strange that after having to patrol the school on his own, tired and still desperate to say what he had to say, he walked upon Higgs leaving his quarters and received a look of hostility in return to his brief nod of acknowledgment.

"...Calypso."

But he knew something was wrong when he walked in to see Hermione tense, practically chewing her lip off, and staring out in space.

The words that had been on his mind all day and that he had been practicing all night to say, seemed to evaporate on his tongue. "What's wrong?"

The way she looked over at him made him feel like she hadn't even known he had come in. "Nothing...nothing." She gave him a smile that didn't meet her eyes.

His brow furrowed. "Hermione, something happened." He pointed to the overturned chair. "Tell me."

She shook her head and walked away to straighten up more, and he suddenly thought of the worst thing that could have happened with him gone. Had there been more room between them, he would have had to run over to her. He walked behind her, trying to figure out the best way to make her stay still. "Hermione...did something...bad happen? Say something." It was frustrating seeing her shake her head again and again. "Hermione, say something. So, I don't think that he...hurt you or something." His hand touched her shoulder, brushing the tip of The Mark without really meaning to.

She shuddered and jerked away, her hand protectively covering her skin. Something she had never done before. She drew in a shaky breath. "Higgs didn't hurt me. He told me that he...he's had a crush on me all year. And that he works really hard on our assignments to impress me because of it...And then..." She started chewing her lip again and...turning red...blushing, maybe.

And the quarter-Veela suddenly realized what it was she wasn't telling him. His hand twitched to run through his hair and gather his thoughts but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

All this time...all this time, he had been thinking that Potter or Weasley would be the ones that could...keep her away from him. That the former would convince her otherwise with words and the other would do the same, but with...his feelings. He hadn't ever thought of the third option: that it could be someone else...

And that was a bad thought to have because whatever had happened in the hour and half he had been away, hadn't gone well. But...

He stepped back.

His mind, the desperate side, started firing off thoughts...Putting two and two together and trying to justify coming to four. He was looking for the logic of it all. Trying to list reasons how or...why Hermione, the woman he loved, his mate, and Terence Higgs, a fellow Slytherin who wasn't noticeable in his eyes but was suddenly invading every inch of his brain, could end up together. Hermione was beautiful, the only other woman beside his mother he could ever even consider calling beautiful, and Higgs...Higgs who looked like any other...Englishman he guess, if stereotypes had to be discounted. They liked Ancient Runes; he wasn't as brain dead as other people in their house or year. He was a Slytherin, but wasn't like other Slytherin poster boys—Malfoy and others...if the math was done that way, he'd be coming up with a wrong sum. Five. Six. Those reasons were tenuous as best. They were leagues apart.

But...as far as he knew; Higgs wasn't a...Veela or part-Veela. If he liked Hermione, he could and did like her in a regular way...a normal, romantic way...Someone as pragmatic as she was would like. Or still wanted in spite of...of everything...

Did her knowing how he felt mean that she liked him now?

Did him kissing her change her mind about them and everything they'd gone through? Were still going through?

When they had kissed...had she liked it?

"...No...NO!" She turned to him, wide-eyed. "How can you think I would?!"

He just realized that he had been asking those questions out loud.

The rational side of him, the human side of him, seemed relieved. But it was tiny compared to the...desperate thoughts that were taking over from the other side. And it wasn't fair. She looked like she felt guilty and uncomfortable; she was uncomfortable and nervous...but the look on her face was like how it had been this morning. When she had woken up to see him beside her. It just reminded him of how unsure she could be. How unsure she was.

He couldn't take it. He had to walk away.

"Blaise!...Blaise!" She stood in front of him. Her eyes were angry and her muscles were tense. Vaguely, he thought of the rumor he had heard in third year, of her hauling off and punching Draco Malfoy in the face. "How can you think that?" She repeated, her voice much more hurt than anything else.

"...I don't..." He didn't want to stay and give any more explanation than that.

"Then why did you say it?" Her footsteps were behind him; they were louder than anything else he may have ever heard in his ears. Blaise didn't want to escape them, but he found himself doing that, walking around the couch and back to the portal again.

"You weren't supposed to hear that..." He stepped backwards, the distance between himself and his room being made all the longer. "Hermione, please. Move." She wouldn't. "Hermione...not now. Not when you look like that."

"Like what?!"

"Like the way you looked this morning when you saw me...beside you in bed this morning. And you said you wish you were dreaming."

Her face looked pinched and then her eyes got glassy. "...I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"I don't know...But that has nothing to do with what I just told you!" She pointed at the ground as if something were there. "Just tell me now: are you mad at me?"

"...When he kissed you, what did you do? How did you feel? Did you push him away?"

"...Not right away. I froze. I panicked! I, I, I didn't know that he was going to kiss me and when he did, I didn't want him to. And maybe that means that I let him to you, but that's not what happened! ...I don't, I don't want him! I've never even thought of him that way."

That was enough for him. This was all enough for him. He couldn't handle this conversation. The thought of him kissing her, his mate...Hermione...was driving him over the edge. And, and, and...the, the, thought of...everything—her and this morning, the fog, him kissing her, waiting, her hesitation, the look on her face when he walked in, Higgs kissing her, having to wait for her, his nails growing, having to wait for school to end, The Mark, her and last night, her and Higgs, Higgs and her, her not wanting Higgs, but them kissing, The Mark—

He could feel her body pressed on his and her arms wrapped around him. And the smell of her was clouding his head. It was like early in the morning all over again and all of her was pressed on him...except for the wetness he could feel on the back of his shirt. Tears.

—and his mother's warning, the feel of her around his fingers, the consequences of waiting, the thought of going crazy—crazier, the question he was going to ask her, the first night she came, his birthday night, hesitation, The Mark, the day he spent coming to grips, the warnings, trying to think everything out, her hands on him, willing his fingernails not to grow, regrets, Valentine's Day and night, being a Veela, her telling him she wanted to wait, when they saw each other after the holiday, kissing her for the first time, the feel of her hand putting chocolate into his, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, Hermione, all of his emotions he had for her and towards her, him being part Veela, him seeking out a mate and it being her, her kissing Higgs Higgs kissing her her not wanting Higgs but her not doing anything when Higgs kissed her Higgs' dirty looks Higgs being in their quarters Higgs kissing her Higgs trying to date her Higgs fucking kissing her—

"Blaise, I love you."

...That changed...things...

That changed...everything.

"...Blaise, I love you," she repeated again. It was almost indistinguishable because of her burying her face in his chest.

It had been the words he had wanted to hear all year. They were filling his ears; she wouldn't stop repeating herself because, because he wasn't saying anything back.

He turned to her as best he could; her arms hadn't let go. She was crying, her eyes already getting puffy and swollen and her face splotchy. Beautiful as always. "I really do love you. I can't be with Higgs or be in love with him or Ron or anybody...I love you." Her grip tightened. "I'm sorry."

And he felt himself...reach out to her. His hand in her hair, the feel of her tears on her cheek.

He wanted her to stop crying. But for some odd reason, he couldn't find his voice to tell her so. So he touched her again. The Mark from the first time they had been like this. In this same room, with a fire burning in the hearth like this.

She quivered.

Again.

She moved away, but her hands stayed on his belt buckle to keep him close. Part of him thought she had no idea where she was going, but realized how stupid that was when her back touched the wall. And her eyes, those brown eyes of hers, looked up at him.

And he felt himself drown in them. And he felt like he had felt with her the first night there were...together.

His mouth pressed on her neck. The Mark. A gasp escaped from her mouth and her arms let him go of the belt buckle, his belt buckle, that she had been loosening. Her fingers ran through his hair and he literally felt a tingle run down his spine. His hand found her hip. She was wearing a skirt, maybe from an old uniform set. It was so easy and...right that he could lift it and she would let him, his leonessa in his arms, pressing harder against him...she loved him. She had said it; it was true. The words he had been waiting for her to say and there they were now. Out in the open. And he loved her—all of her, every inch of her. Goosebumps were rising on his skin...his arms.

Her leg lifted and hooked around his side with a gentle slide of his fingers. It was so sexy the way her skirt fell back. Whatever underwear she had put on this morning, it was black. Dark like the ones from last night, Valentine's, had been. And he growled, annoyed; she had worn stockings again. He knew from last night how her skin felt and he wanted that back—without whatever it was she had decided to wear. His eyes looked up to watch her as he shifted his stance, moved away every so slightly—six inches, that's all he needed—and put his hand between them, his thumb brushed against her core again... She remembered last night. She had to; there was no way he could already have made her wet. He hadn't done anything. His mouth kissed her mark and touched her through her stockings again, and she threw her head back, her eyes closing. Again and now he was wishing he could just move the cotton to the side and be between her legs...

These damn stockings...he was going to rip these stockings she was wearing off and then find every pair she own and rip those too. And he told her so. In Italian. He wasn't even sure she had heard him, much less understood him.

Her head tilted back and he heard the breath escaping from her mouth. That pink bow of a mouth that said his name and told him that she loved him. She loved him.

His mouth left her neck and pressed against hers. Her lips felt so...soft. Her lips parted without him having to do anything and his tongue swiped along the bottom. Every gasp escaping out of her mouth...if the sound of her breathing long ago was like music to his ears that first night he had watched her sleep, then her muffled notes he could hear were like a symphony. He kissed her lips more. He would brand them again. He would make them his again. He'd make sure she'd never hesitate to move them whenever any other man—or boy, because that was Higgs was, a child—wanted them. No one would have them, except him. No one would ever be able to make her feel the way he was making her feel right now. He'd make sure to know it to be true, factual, a law of nature. No one would ever be able to handle her, this wild and fierce and sexy side of her that only he knew so well. Because she was his mate. His. Higgs could have all the feelings he wanted, so long as he knew at the end of the day, when it was all said and done, she loved him. Blaise. And she was his mate. His. No one else's. Because he couldn't stand the idea of anyone else having her. He was the one devoted to her. No one would take her away. He loved her. She loved him and the thought of not having her—

Something was wrong.

It felt like his arms were being pricked.

"...Ow!"

He wasn't sure if she...Hermione...pushed him away or if he himself moved away from her like she was suddenly made of fire. Something else was...wrong.

Her fingers were touching her lip over and over again. He could see a bead of something red on her fingertips...blood. And he could taste something metallic on his tongue...her blood.

He had bitten her. Hard. And the look on her face wanted to know why.

But he couldn't answer her. He felt like something was chewing open or pushing through his skin.

"I have to go. I can't do this..." He was already walking down the hallway. Maybe she called after him but then he was already closing the door and putting containment spells and silencing charms on it. And magicking his lights on. The feeling was worse; he wished his arms were numb.

He only needed to lift his shirtsleeves, but he ripped the whole thing off and looked at his arms.

He had always had hair on them, fine ones. But whatever this...these hairs were were thick. And they were all up on his forearms, along the bottom and widened as it reached the shoulders. He was both relieved at the fact that the one he chose was easy to pull. But he was scared at the fact that it wasn't...it was different…matted, hair like but...downy.

"Che diavolo?"

He was staring at a...feather.