Dear reader,

Thank your for taking time to read this. If you like the first chapter, follow/favorite/review. It gives me motivation to continue writing.

This is a veela-Draco, mate-Hermione story. It is loosely based on Yonezu Kenshi's song "Lemon". You can find both the original Japanese version and several English versions on youtube.

A/N: I own nothing.

Azkaban

"I come here once a week to do the rounds. He has been sitting like this, well... for about two months. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's the first time he started behaving like this. Not that he wasn't acting strange before." The guard unlocked the door and allowed two wizards to enter the cell.

"Two months?" Harry frowned. „And no one thought to inform the Ministry earlier? This is outrageous!"

The guard shrugged indifferently. He was a middle-aged man and he had worked there for most of his life. "That's why I owled you, sir," he mentioned. "Ministry hasn't answered me letters."

Draco Malfoy was sitting, his back to the cold and damp prison wall. He was staring into space, unmoved by the presence of his visitors. The third man, who had been quiet until then, stepped forward and checked the prisoner for pulse. His heart was beating fast.

"And you're sure the dementors have kept their distance?" asked Blaise Zabini. Seeing his old friend like this was painful. As an experienced medi-wiward, however, he knew there was no time to lose. He used an old-fashioned muggle thermometer to check his temperature. Azkaban cells were magic proof – the runes engraved in the stone walls were placed there to ensure the prisoner's slow demise.

"They been steering clear from here," answered the guard. "Maybe the poor bloke is too miserable even for them!" He gave a short, shaky laugh.

"He has a fever," interrupted the healer. "He should be moved to St Mungo's."

"Can't do," murmured Harry, cursing his stupidity under his breath. "Is there anything you can do to relieve it until we can get the paperwork in order?" While he wasn't one to follow rules, Harry had no intention of risking his career for the ferret. They weren't on good terms when he was put into Azkaban and their relationship certainly hadn't improved after the fact.

Zabini looked unhappy, but nodded in understanding. "Be fast," he urged the auror before turning his attention back to Draco. "He might not have very long." Harry acknowledged it with a sombre nod before turning and walking out. The guard followed him, locking the door and leaving the healer inside.

"Just call, if you need anything," he told the medi-wizard whose attention was still on his patient. His leather briefcase was open next to him, full of muggle devices. He used a stethoscope to listen to his heart, his lungs. His patient ignored him completely. Malfoy remained motionless even when the healer inserted a syringe to take a sample of his blood. The liquid was darker than it was supposed to and, satisfied with finding something irregular, the wizard asked the guard to send a vial of it to St Mungo's Toxicology department. He added a note: urgent!

When Harry returned to the cell, Zabini had found nothing more and nothing less wrong with his friend than the fever and wrong shade of blood and his obvious indifference to the world.

"Let's get him out of here," he said to the auror. "Help me carry him out the cell." Together they heaved Malfoy's stiff body and moved it towards the door.

The moment they stopped out of the cell, Draco's body moved on its own and a loud shriek escaped him as his body arched, almost breaking his spine. Unable to hold onto him, Harry and Blaise covered their ears to block out the excruciating sound. They exchanged a look and as if reading each other's minds, moved to push the prisoner back into his cell. "Fuck," muttered Harry when the attempt was unsuccessful. Malfoy's body didn't move. As the man wasn't in prison and not yet in St Mungo's, they had nothing to do but wait and see. Harry cursed himself once more for not having predicted this.

Slowly, after what felt like hours, the screaming subsided. Malfoy's eyes snapped open for a moment before he fell limp onto the stone floor.

"That went well," Zabini muttered sarcastically. He opened his briefcase and took out a small flashlight. He lifted Malfoy's eyelids and inspected them. "His eyes are black. This could be pretty much anything."

"We can probably exclude any curses," said Harry, heaving Malfoy up one more time. "He hasn't had any visitors except for his mother and I doubt she'd want to curse him."

Zabini chuckled. "You'd be surprised what pure-bloods can do." They carried the limp body of the young man up the stairs to the fortress's roof where a portkey had been prepared for them.

"Are you sure the portkey is a good way to transport him?" Harry asked with uncertainty.

"Not like we have anything better, Potter," shrugged Zabini, looking as concerned as the wizard. "Brooms take too long and we can't apparate from here." Both silently praying for everything to turn out alright, they let the portkey rip them from Azkaban and place them in St Mungo's reception area.

Several healers rushed to help them. Malfoy's body was levitated to a bed and taken for examination. Zabini straightened his robes, turned to Potter and gave a rare smile. "Thanks, Potter." Then he followed the other healers.

"Keep me updated!" had the auror sense to call after him. Zabini raised his hand, but didn't turn. Harry shook his head in discontent, turned around and disappeared into thin air.

Muggle London

Hermione Granger stopped at the crossing for a moment, sweaty and out of breath, before moving on. She didn't particularly enjoy running, but it was healthy for her and thus, she was willing to put up with it three times a week. Besides, it helped to clear her mind. She had stayed up late again last night, working on the Malfoy case. It had been two years since her humiliating failure in preventing the Malfoy heir from being thrown into Azkaban for something as ridiculous as owning a modified time turner which he most likely didn't even know he had. So even though she still resented him, she didn't think it fair. Malfoy had been a kid, just like they had, stuck on the wrong side of the war. There were other wizards out there with much harsher crimes that deserved to rot away, but were still roaming free.

Harry was waiting for her at her apartment door. "Hey," he greeted her, passing her a white towel. Hermione dabbed her face with it.

"Hey, Harry," she smiled at her friend. "What's up?" They were supposed to meet up later in the evening, so she hadn't expected to see him any earlier.

"You can stop now." There was a pleading note in the man's voice. "He's out now."

"Who's out?" she asked curiously. She took out her keys and unlocked the door. "Would you like to come in?"

Harry followed her inside. The apartment was as cozy as he remembered it. When Hermione had discovered how much cheaper it was to rent a place on this side of the magic barrier, she had immediately opted for this two-room flat. There were books all around, some of them on the floor, some of them on her writing desk, a whole lot of them in the giant bookcase. She had turned her spare room into a study where she would work on unsolved cases until early hours of the morning.

"Malfoy. He's out." Harry looked at her carefully to see her reaction. Hermione inhaled sharply. "For good, if I have any say in it."

"That's… good," she said quietly, relief evident in her voice. "That's good." She repeated, her voice only slightly louder this time.

"You don't sound particularly excited," noted Harry. "I thought you'd be happier."

Hermione laughed, turning to face her friend. Harry could see the tears sparkling in her eyes.

"Oh, Harry!" she hugged him. "I am. This is brilliant. But... how?" As she let go, her mind tried to find an answer to the question she had just asked. Draco Malfoy had never responded to her letters, he had refused her help. His appeal had been dropped due to lack of interest. If Malfoy cared, he didn't show it. Still, the case had tugged at Hermione's heartstrings and she refused to give up.

Harry wasn't sure how to answer her question. "Well," he started awkwardly. "He's kind of sick. We don't know what's wrong with him, but he seems to be recovering. Zabini's working his case."

"Well, I'm glad that he's out. He didn't even deserve to be in there." I don't have to find a way now… She sighed. "Thanks for letting me know, Harry." He gave her a weak smile before standing up.

"I've got to go now. We'll see you at dinner, yeah?" Hermione nodded. She followed him with her eyes, wondering if Harry really understood what a gift this knowledge was. The young woman filled a glass with cold water and drunk it, wondering if she should send an owl to Malfoy. In the end, she decided against it. After all, she was finally free.

Malfoy Manor

Blaise Zabini wasn't stupid. When he got the results on Draco's bloodwork, he took one look at the man trashing in the hospital bed and rushed to the healer who had done it. As soon as she had assured the supervising healer about her confidentiality, Blaise obliviated her. The young witch never saw it coming.

He checked himself out of the hospital after giving explicit instructions about Draco's care to his second-in-command and flooed over to the Malfoy manor. He had notified Draco's closest relative (Narcissa Malfoy) about his treatment earlier and had promised to notify her if anything was amiss.

Mrs Malfoy was waiting for him in the tea room. She hadn't moved since she'd received the news that her son was released from the wizarding prison for hospital care.

"We need to talk." Blaise spoke loud and clear, startling the woman. Narcissa turned to him and gestured towards an empty chair. The healer sat down, even though he would have preferred to pace around the room. "When were you going to tell us Draco has veela blood?"

"I was hoping it would be unnecessary." Narcissa was unperturbed. She took a sip of tea from her porcelain cup. "His illness… Is it to do with his veela ancestry?" Her voice shook slightly. It was almost unnoticeable, but Blaise was carefully paying attention. He noticed.

He sighed. "Probably. Did he start the transformation before he went to Azkaban?" He held his breath, waiting for Narcissa to answer.

"No." She shook her head. "His veela blood comes from his great great grandmother. He doesn't have enough veela blood to transform. Is this what's happening? Is he… transforming?"

"It's too soon to say for sure, but personally, I think so." It was risky to confess this to a mother of a patient, but Blaise was confident enough that this conversation would remain a secret. "His blood is almost completely that of a veela. Something must have triggered his... transformation. But just in case, it would be a good idea if you could give us a sample of your blood. Of course, everything will be done discreetly, I will see to that."

Narcissa nodded thoughtfully. "Is he going to be okay?" This was the question Blaise had been waiting for. He smiled almost sincerely.

"If it's because he's turning into a veela…" he pondered out loud. "He's most likely going to be alright." In fact, Blaise thought he was going to be better than just alright. While many of Azkaban's prisoners went insane, there was a great chance the veela blood had helped preserve Draco's sanity. He didn't tell Narcissa though, afraid of disappointing her should he be wrong in this. Not to mention, there were still many unknowns. There weren't many male veelas and any information that there was about them was highly guarded.

Blaise felt a sudden heat in his pocket. He reached into it and pulled out a green metallic card. "I have to go," he announced standing up. "It's Draco. They say he's awake."