Never have I written a whole Harry Potter story, but I thought I'd have a crack at it. I hope I do this story justice. It's an amazing series, and I recommended both the stories and the movies. Srsly. JK Rowling is the epitome of badassery, and I bow to her writing skills. That is all.

This story takes place after the war.

Evie POV

The name 'Defence Against the Dark Arts' was a lot more foreboding than I had thought, especially considering the class itself was pretty fucking simple, once you got your head around it in the beginning.

The books were far more interesting that they had been for Charms, catching my attentions quicker, and with more vigour, also. I liked this lesson because it was so different from everything else I had been taught. It wasn't necessarily about attacking the enemy, but understanding him, and then being able to overpower him with the knowledge you had acquired. I was glad for the substantial amount of books, both on the curriculum and otherwise, that was stored in the Malfoy library, as I spent majority of my spare time in there, face first in some kind of book, in front of the spelled fireplace.

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection was an amalgamation of extra spells that I could learn, as well as background information about my kind, as well as a few others that have been established in the wizarding world. Werewolves, animagus', vampires, ogres, you name it, they were in it, and it was fascinating. Especially to what they referred to as a muggleborn, like took me even less time to click with this subject, and it almost pained me when I was told I had to stop, otherwise I wouldn't be able to get enough sleep.

Damn it.

-0-

Potions… The only word to describe my love for this topic was paramount to everything else I had even attempted. And having Draco as a teacher wasn't all that bad.

He was calm, collected and just patient with me, even when I singed his eyebrows clean off of his face. He grumbled a little, but eventually we hugged it out, and everything was fine once again. Except he had taken to wearing specially modified goggles around me and my special brass pewter cauldron. I liked this specific one because it was mine, and I knew this because my name was engrave on the rim, so nobody could take it away from me. Apparently it was a present from Lucius, who had hoped I would take more of an abject hand in the lesson if I had a more personal hand in it. And it worked. Because I loved it. Sue me.

There were a few pointers I had to be clear on even before I was let inside of their specially modified spare room turned medieval lab, and those were as follows:

Follow the instructions to the letter.

Listen to Draco at all times.

Clean equipment made for better potions.

Connect with your wand prior to any brewing.

FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

So I did, and the result was spectacular.

The first two books I was given to read over were, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, written by Herbologist and ex-Head Mistress of Hogwarts Phyllida Spore; the irony of her surname made me laugh to myself, and receive a cool glare from Draco in return. What? It's funny. Basically, the content of the book was exactly what it said on the tin. The intricate designs of different magical and some human herbs used in potions; what they reacted well with, and what they were never to be combined with, under any circumstances. The dangers of the potions, as well as the good they can do in the world if they're brewed correctly.

The second book was named, Magical Drafts and Potions, written by Arsenius Jigger, and is one of the required textbooks for first-year students. It seemed to physically pain Draco to even so much as touch the book, let alone actually teach it, but he tunnelled through it, and helped me as best as he could, keeping everything professional, even though, sometimes, I would catch him staring at me, in a way that I could only describe as hungry.

Apparently, Narcissa thought I was something of a connoisseur when it came to potions, even though I had never even heard of some of the ingredients beforehand. I was glad I was doing something right, although I got a little overexcited sometimes, and Draco usually was the one to pay for it. Oops. He taught me the absolute necessities, like antidotes and solutions to common, everyday problems, like burns or colds, and I was thankful, because it would save me a Hell of a lot of time, and money that would have been wasted on shit pharmaceutical drugs.

We moved onto the advanced potion-making within two weeks of beginning my classes, and to say Draco was thrilled was an understatement. He hated the 'childish drivel' that he had to teach me, and was happy I was onto something 'worth' my time. Glad I could be of service, Draco.

One book I found, though, in the library that truly did catch, and keep, my interests was named, Moste Potente Potions, written by Phineas Bourne. It was the gruesome, detailed illustrations that first caught my attentions, however the controversy and the dangerousness of the potions inside of the book was what actually kept me reading well into the dark of the night. The level of intricacy that went into these potions was astounding, and I was surprised Draco hadn't thought to mention them, however when I brought it up to him, I could tell, simply from the look of complete disgust on his face, that he had no intention of delving into the recess of that world with me.

Well, alright then, Moody Margaret.

-0-

Draco not only taught me Potions, but also about my Veelae instincts, and how to put a severe dampen on them, because it could, and probably would, get me in the deepest shit ever, especially if I was outnumbered, or if my mates weren't around if something terrible happened.

He trailed his thumb down the length of my spine, liquid sex dripping from his touch and soaking through my clothes and practically fusing with my skin, creating a resonating layer of pleasure that ran voltage through my body, consistently, and he sighed, deeply, into my ear, "You're not working hard enough for it, love," a deep growl in his tone. I shook my head, unable to think clearly, let alone actually do anything about it.

It was maddening!

"What happens if I'm not around to protect you, my love," he pressed himself tighter to the back of my body, pressing myself further into the crisp black sheets of Blaise's bed, being submersed in the scent of both of my mates driving me crazy. We had all of our clothes on; as a matter of fact, we were supposed to be going to sleep, honestly, so I was dressed, obviously appropriately, in my favourite pyjamas - my lion all-in-one that I was given last Christmas by Dylan, and I felt him tug the hood that was covering my bun of dark, damp, thick hair.

"Nu-uh, not quite, love," he said, cupping my ass, brazenly, and I felt my eyes roll into the back of my head, completely out of my control. This was the eighth night in a row that the three of us decided to sleep beside one another - I found sleep came easier to me in their presences, and he took full advantage of that fact. It wasn't like I didn't like it; I knew that if I said no, he would back off.

He had on a pair of silk dark blue pyjama pants on, and nothing to cover his pale, hairless chest from my wandering eye, and I felt him chuckle, his torso moving with laughter, and I had the greatest urge to, not only touch, but lick his skin. He had just come out of the shower, so it was a little damp, his hair falling into his eyes, creating a wall between ultramarine and ram-rod steel. He was in complete control of himself, and it was driving me crazy. I huffed, noisily, and he nipped at my bottom lip, unexpectedly, drawing my attentions from his impressive, toned, lean body, to the throbbing of my mouth, and he smirked, "Pay attention, my little lion."

Rolling my eyes, I rolled onto my back, from my side, and he turned with me, pressing himself completely to me, so that every expanse of our bodies were touching in some way.

"Try it again.. You know its in there, you've just got to find it and make peace with it. Your inner-Veela will never hurt you - its protection, and made of nothing but love and adoration. If you don't.. Sweet Salazar, I don't want to know what I'll do if something ever happens to you," he drew his chalky hand over my tanned cheek, and I stared into his suddenly expressive molten silver eyes. How did eyes get so goddamn pretty? I think I might just fall headfirst into them.

"Come on. I'm coming at you again, love," then with a deadly smirk, that I had no doubt would intimidate others, "And this time, it's going to drive you nuts.. If you don't put your wall up, of course."

He pressed his hand on the side of my neck, and I couldn't help it.

I screamed in nothing but pleasure, my eyes rolling into the back of my skull, feeling my canines protrude, painfully, for the first time, drawing blood from my gum-line, and he shouted, over my yells, "Come on! You can do this!"

His tone was strained, and I knew that this was affecting him just as much as it was getting to me, and the fact that he wasn't grinding himself silly, into the sheets below him, like me, as if I was some cat in goddamn heat, and as I looked at him, recognition flashed in his eyes, his own switching from the familiar, cool grey, to a sharp, supernatural ochre, and his canines jutted from his own mouth, and pressed a sharp, emotive kiss to my own bruised, bleeding lips.

He hooked my legs around his waist, and I ground myself into him, like an animal, and he did the same, losing himself in my embrace, shovelling his face into my shoulder, pressing sloppily, wet open-mouthed kisses all over my neck, and I couldn't help but tug at his wet strands, arching my back into his chest.

Claim Claim Claim Claim Claim

Repeating his name over and over again, like some kind of a mantra, I felt my sharp canines nuzzle closer and closer to his jugular, but before I could sink my teeth into his pale, beautiful stretch of skin, I heard a sharp cough from the bathroom doorway, and Blaise chuckled, "You guys getting close without me?"

I didn't even have it in me to reply, my canines snapping away with a sharp click, and I felt Draco push away from me, reclining onto his knees, his abdominal muscles rippling in a way that made me want to kiss him all over and replied, cheekily, "You were taking too long, love."

-0-

"There are four aspects of Transfiguration that you will have to learn; an intense week on each. Transformation, Untransformation, Vanishment and Conjuration - the latter being the most difficult to do," Cissy said, with a small smile, "It's going to be difficult, especially considering it takes a lot of concentration and magical energy."

Nodding, I felt my lips form a firm line, and she said, "Physical transformations come later. Right now, I don't believe its possible for you to get to that level in the short amount of time that we have."

That made me frown, a little, but I knew that what she was saying was right. As long as I was doing my best, there was nothing else I could do.

"We all it Switching," she stated with a shrug, and her nose and mouth area turned from the fair-featured original, to the bright yellow beak of a duck, and back again, without even so much as a blink in between. My expression was that of pure shock, and she simply winked in response.

"Let's get to it, then," I stated, with determination shining vibrantly in my eyes.

-0-

By the end of my month stint here, I was haggard, exhausted and only being held together by shots of caffeine taken periodically throughout the day. As soon as the 4th of September rolled around, I knew that by the end of the day, I would be told whether or not I was fit enough to attend Hogwarts at the level in which I wholeheartedly believe I deserve. I wanted to stand with my mates, not behind or below them. That wasn't me, and never would be.

Lucius told me that as soon as I woke up that morning, I would be going through heart wrenchingly difficult examinations that would take place at any point throughout the day, and therefore I should be on my toes. They could be oral, written, physical or purely mental, but I wouldn't know until it was happening.

Well, what would life be without a smidgen of spontaneity every now and again?