I know it has been a long time but I've finally found my way back to this story. I've never forgot the idea behind this story but I had so many things happen in my life during this time (and most of them not too good) that I didn't have the strenght to write. Alas, here is a new chapter...
Draco's body felt like it was on fire. The finely woven cotton shirt seemed to melt into his skin. He tried to remain in his seat by the fireplace, not wishing to miss the chance that his beloved mate would return and he was not there but he just couldn't sit still. Every breath he took was labored. The burning got worse with every second, so he tore the shirt off, letting the buttons fly everywhere.
It gave relief just for a moment, but then the fire moved from the skin to his shoulder blades. He had broken a lot of bones in his Quidditch playing days, but the pain he experienced now was nothing he had ever felt. He tried to move his arms, as if to flap away the pain but he couldn't.
He tried to call an elf for help, but his lips wouldn't move. The pain intensified more and more and he fretted that he was going to die now, without having had the chance to tell his mater that he loved her more than words could explain. That he would've given his life for her.
Two heartbeats later his vision blurred until he saw nothing and his body fell lifelessly to the floor.
Chatter of squeaky little voices woke him up. The elves were arranging a table with drinks and food and he found himself in his bed, face down on his pillow. His back felt like a Hippogriff had landed on it.
'Master must not move yet!' an older elf he had not seen for ages reprimanded him. His shoulder blades twitched and from the corner of his eye he could see a large shadow and something feathery above him.
'If Master can breathe without pain, he can now get up!' the elf commanded.
Draco groaned as he tried to hoist himself up from the bed. He knew that he was skinny, but he was not so weak that he could not get up from bed. The huge weight on his shoulders remained, and he nearly fainted when he saw massive platinum wings.
'Master should have told his mate the truth. Then master would not have to make his veela blood suffer.'
'What do you know about this, elf?' Draco snarled, trying to get up again.
'We elves have been the proud aides of the Malfoy family veela blood for centuries. This is the secret to the line's success. The veela knows when the mind dallies too long and takes action.'
A large glass of green gloop was pushed in his face. ''Drink this, master, it's good for you!' a young elf chirped. The first mouthful of the goop tasted like apple, celery , ginger and a host of other flavors he could not quite pinpoint. The little elf held the glass to his mouth until he had swallowed every last drop.
After a minute he tried to get up again and this time he succeeded. His back ached terribly and the enormous wings flapped uncontrollably. The elves didn't seem to mind this as they kept on setting up a table with copious amounts of food.
The scent of the food made him feel so ravenous, like he had not eaten for years. With as much grace as he could muster he stumbled up to the table and grabbed the first thing that was within reach, a buttery duck wing. Soon another followed, just as half a dozen chicken drumsticks and airy rolls of bread. The elves poured him glass after glass of different fruit and vegetable concoctions.
Finally he had had his fill and the elves disappeared, leaving no mark of his feast except for a jug of something green and iced on the night stand next to his bed. The wings still felt heavy but now the place where they were sprouting from his back did not hurt like it was on fire.
The image that stared back at him from the mirror did not please him. The wings were beautiful, with large feathers that were so light. Not white, not quite platinum but with a slight golden shimmer. He had wondered of his wings would be the decorative kind, which looked pretty but could not be used to fly, just to cuddle the mate, or the structured strong wings that could be used to fly, even with the mate held close.
Draco felt crestfallen about his large wings. He did not look like the kind of veela man who has these. Usually the owners of the big wings were portrayed as strong, muscular types that could make any witch swoon. But the wings dwarfed him, he looked so fragile against the lush feathers. He had gained some weight whilst being at home, but he did not have the muscle definition so commonly associated with his veela type. How would his mate like him, such a weakling?
He wished that he was not this creature. She wouldn't want to be bound to him because of his blood, he was sure. She would want that Quidditch playing oaf. Draco's body began to tremble as his mind was filled with images of his mate together with the other man.
He could not handle even the thought of that and in his despair, he reached for the closest feather he could grab. He pulled it until it came out of the wing with a painful jolt. Stupid feathers. Stupid veela blood. His mate didn't want a creature.
Hermione jolted awake in Viktor's bed. The longing for Draco that assaulted her mind made her heart race. It was so wrong to even think about him when she had a perfectly gorgeous man by her side. Viktor was available and not under her care. Of course, she knew that technically Draco was fair game too as he was not classified mentally deficient, he was just in a turbulent state of mind.
Why did she always catch herself thinking about his lithe, almost too skinny build and his pleading, haunted eyes? Was it a case of pity? But she did not pity him. He was just so different from the way he had been in school.
But was this difference the reason why she had ideas in her mind that no proper woman would even say out loud? How she wanted to touch his body without shame, and do even more than touch?
If she did get together with Draco, the backlash from the public would be immense. Everyone would say that she used him in his fragile state to get into his vaults. The Malfoy wealth was immense, in muggle terms he would be a billionaire. Viktor was well off but compared to Malfoy he was a pauper.
Hermione reached her hand out and touched Viktor's broad chest. She had to forget Draco, and what was better than getting some action with a man who wanted her? Her drunken mind agreed and her hand got bolder in its movements. She slowly caressed his defined pecs, then moved on to the extremely defined abs. She had seen him on the cover of sports magazines and from the feel of his body there was nothing enhanced in the pictures. She could get used to the feel of his skin and hard, toned body. It was a pleasant feeling to touch his still form. As her hand dared to go further, down to his shorts he stirred awake. And suddenly she was pulled on top of him.
'You can't sleep, you naughty little minx,' he murmured and kissed her.
She kissed him eagerly, trying to entice him to do more. He kissed her ardently, but his hands did not stray further than her back. Finally he broke the lingering kiss.
'You're making it hard to be a gentleman...' he growled as she nipped at his neck.
'You don't have to be,' she said and pressed her body closer to his. She needed male closeness that would not have any negative backlash. Viktor was not her client, he was a free man and she liked how it felt to be on top of someone so strong.
Suddenly, Viktor rolled her back to her spot in the bed.
'You are so beautiful, but you're also a bit drunk tonight. I want to make love to you when you are sober and absolutely crazy about me.''
Hermione pouted. Why was he rejecting her? It was not likely that he knew that she did not have a lot of sexual experience, but still she wanted to ease her tension and he was one of the easiest outlets.
'After the gala, then my sweetie, I will be all yours to do as you please,' Viktor whispered to the pouting witch and cuddled her close. She turned and wrapped her arms around him, letting her head rest on his chest.
Viktor had to use all of his self control not to give in to the witch temptation. She was delectable, her inexperience could be felt but it was all the better. He was tired of the women who only wanted him to advance their popularity and snag some of his money. But Hermione already had fame. The fact she did not have much money did not bother him. She was no callous. He just needed to show the public that she was his, and the gala was the right place to do so. Then she would forget about the whiny weakling Malfoy. Viktor had a feeling that she had a sliver of interest in the blond and after the gala, he would nip that in the bud.
In the morning, Hermione had a light hangover but remember her actions. And Viktor's gentle, but firm placating. He did not seem upset with her, as he smiled at her over the breakfast table, not mentioning a word about her antics that night. The clock chimed and she realized that it was already eleven.
' I have to get back to the manor, I am sure he wonders where I am…'
'When you're my girl, you won't have to work so hard… I will let you do whatever you want, as long as you're by my side. You are a very special witch.'
Hermione felt like she was walking on air as she flooed back to the manor. Viktor was so sweet, sweeter than anyone could imagine from his macho man persona. But she instantly knew that something was wrong as she caught her new little kitten, Venus Furball, playing with large, platin gold feathers. She did not know what animal the feathers could belong to, but her alarm grew as she spotted blood at the feather base. Could her kitten really tear out such feathers? She highly doubted it so she shouted Draco's name and raced towards his room. He would know what had happened.
She barged into his room, and stopped, dumbfounded, as she saw a creature with large wings crouched next to the fireplace. Two bottles of wine and some other spirit were scattered around it. Some spots on the magnificent wings were bloodied, like feathers had been torn out with force.
Her mind raced in a million directions. Who was it? The glimpse of already familiar blond hair made her feel even more confused.
'Draco, is it you?' she whispered, hoping that the creature would not attack her.
'Yesh,' the creature slurred in Draco's voice. 'Have you come to laugh at what a dirty animal I am?'
'No, not at all! What happened? Why didn't you call me to return, in any way you could?' she asked, her voice trembling as she cautiously approached his slumped form.
'I'm an ugly veela,' he sobbed and the large wings fluttered uncontrollably.
Hermione gasped. Of course,s he should've known right when seeing the large wings that he had undergone a painful veela transformation, but it had not clicked in her mind. The bodice rippers about lovelorn veelas who suffered the agony of overdue mating that triggered their wing reveal seemed such a piece of nonsense.
'You're not ugly! Please, look at me…'
His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks wet with tears. His breath was coming in gasps and Hermione's heart clenched. How could she have let that happen to him? How did she not guess what was about to happen when she had left for her date? He had seemed fine last night, with no obvious signs of this to come.
She knew that rationally, she could not have predicted this. He had not shown any of the generally known signs of a veela. But she still felt an immense wave of guilt wash over her.
She felt him reach for her with a trembling arm. She let him pull herself to him, ignoring any logic. She would call the healer later to look at his seemingly self inflicted wounds. The sobering potion would also come later. Right now she just couldn't think as she felt him pull her closer and closer.
I will try my best to update soon! Cookies to all who read this.