Chapter Twelve: Hermione's Seventeeth

"Do you have everything you need?" Kingsley asked, as he leaned against the doorjamb, amazed at the simple sight of his daughter moving about the room that had once been hers as she packed her supplies for the coming year. The little things brought him immeasurable happiness at a time when the stresses of his position brought very little. He had now been Minister for almost two months and things were still not in order. Voldermort and his forces had gone into hiding, coming out to conduct seemingly random attacks on Muggle and Wizarding places alike. With assistance from the Order, Kingsley tried to stay one step ahead, but it was difficult to predict the steps of a madman.

His daughter glanced up after depositing a stack of books, freshly acquired from Diagon Alley, into her trunk. "Yes. I believe so."

"Have you heard from your parents?" He still struggled with the phrase, but had come to accept that she associated the term with the Grangers, and not him.

She nodded. "I received an owl from them last night. They are fine with you seeing me off at King's Cross."

He smiled at that. "I'm glad to hear that." Now, came the hard part. How could he broach the sensitive topic of his teenaged daughter's arranged marriage? He was prepared for everything from the silent treatment to hexes as he bravely asked, "So… are you still cross with me?"

Hermione firmly closed the lid to her trunk. "I'm not cross with you, per se. I'm upset at the situation. I'm meticulous by nature and the fact is, one of the most important decisions I'll ever make, if I decide to make it, has been taken from me. My input in the decision has been removed. It makes all of it hard to accept. I mean, had you or Marie ever considered the possibility that I could be interested in women?" she asked.

Kingsley coughed as he moved off the doorjamb.

Hermione shook her head at the obvious inconsideration to her sexuality. "I guess not."

Kingsley moved forward to grab her hands. "Sweetheart, listen. It makes me incredibly upset to see you like this. And I grow even more frustrated because had I not lost you or your mother, then maybe this conversation would have happened differently…"

"Do you mean to imply that I would have been more docile about such a decision?" She interrupted with a sharply raised brow.

He sighed before amending, "I mean, you would have had this information from a very early age. You would have grown up with this impending arrangement, with the knowledge and history of how our world, how the microcosm to which we belong, operates," he finished.

Hermione sat down on the poster bed. "Many things would have been different, I imagine. I'm sorry, as well, but I can't change how I feel towards the situation."

"Have you spoken to Draco since Narcissa and I told you about this?"

Hermione shook her head, disappointed at the unusual lack of courage. "I haven't. Narcissa mentioned Draco's been busy with Severus and I left it at that. I doubt he's happy about the situation as well."

Kingsley sought to comfort her, "He may be unhappy, but he recognizes the duty he has to his House."

"A duty?!" she scoffed, disgusted. "Is that how I should see this? As a 'duty', I must perform?"

Kingsley warred to remain patient with the teen, mentally reminding himself that she was not privy to their traditions. Again, he wished Marie could be here. She could have explained it better than he, as she had reservations about their union as well. To the best of his ability, he tried to explain, "You are not engaged, nor are you marrying him anytime soon, you know, that right? The particulars will be amendable to your terms," he stressed as he sat on the bed beside her.

"You and Narcissa would rather we wed immediately after graduation, I'm sure?" Hermione sarcastically replied.

Frustrated, he replied a bit curtly, "I would have you happy with this situation first! I hope you know that. Your happiness is paramount to me. Over my position at the Ministry, over my obligations, over everything." He hugged her and was suddenly taken back to when had begged Marie all those years ago in this very room to stay.

In a similar fashion, he pleaded with an intensity that forced his daughter now, in place of his wife then, to listen, "Among our circle, it is a father's greatest duty to ensure that such a union maintains an equal or greater station to what his daughter had growing up." He cupped her cheeks, his eyes filled with tears for their pained past. "I would have given you the world growing up, Emme," he whispered as he stroked her cheek. "Because you are my daughter, an Heir to House Shacklebolt, you deserve the best. And as the young lady I've had the pleasure to get to know in these past short months, I am convinced you've earned the absolute best. You are an intelligent, kind-hearted, and beautiful witch."

An," he struggled for alternative phrasing, "alliance with the Malfoys will not only secure your financial future," he overrode her coming protest, "not that you care about it in slightest, I know. But beyond that, such an alliance will give you a window into the inner workings of our world you would have immense difficulty penetrating otherwise. I say this not to slight your concerns, Emme. They are valid. But what I am saying, is if you truly wish to change our world for the better, use the Malfoy name, connection, and yes, their influence to break the mold. You could do it as Hermione Granger, I know you could. But you would be nigh unstoppable as Emmeline Shacklebolt Malfoy."

The morning of September 1st seemed like old hat for the returning students of Hermione's class. She and Kingsley walked ahead of the Auror detail that accompanied them onto the platform at 9 ¾. If others stopped and stared at her and the Minister for Magic strolling shoulder aside, she did not notice. She waved to the Weasleys, Sirius, and Harry further down the platform before turning to her father.

"If I'm honest," Kingsley started with a smile, "I would rather jump on with you and spend another year in McGonagall's Transformation class, than deal with these Ministry stiffs."

Hermione laughed and tucked a curl behind her ear. "This summer went by too fast," she agreed.

He nudged her chin up towards him. "Christmas will be here before you know it."

Hermione smiled in return. "It's a date." Quickly, she pulled the larger man down to her for a hug.

He enveloped her in the tightest hug imaginable before whispering in her hair, "I love you, Emme."

Hermione smiled into his shoulder. She wasn't there yet, but she could feel the warmth growing within, that told her love for this man was rapidly approaching. "Thank you. For France, for everything," she pulled back, gratitude shining in her eyes.

Smirking, Kingsley explained, "I've told Dumbledore that if he doesn't want the weight of the Ministry bearing down on him, to look out for you," he remarked with part-seriousness, and part-jest.

"Dad," she flushed, embarrassingly looking around to see if her fellow students overheard. Her eyes widened at the term that slipped, uncertain where it came from. But there it was.

Kingsley beamed harder as he dropped a kiss to her forehead, seeking not to further press the moment. "The Aurors will work with Dumbledore on an arrangement for the school year. I doubt they'll be allowed onto school grounds..."

"Are you sure there isn't any other way to satisfy security concerns without having Aurors trailing me?"

He shook his head, sympathetic to what she would face. "I'm afraid not. But Dumbledore will determine an appropriate medium that guarantees your safety and respects your privacy within reason. However," he warned, "I've given the Aurors explicit instruction to obliviate any wizard who tries any funny business."

Hermione rose a brow to that. "Funny business? Really." With that, he loaded her trunk onto the train and she turned to give her final goodbyes. "I'll expect the Ministry to be in top shape come the holidays."

He gave her one last hug and sent her on her way. "You got it, sweetheart."

Hermione boarded the train ahead of her detail (a female Auror who wore a permanent scowl) eager to find her friends, but was stopped by seemingly every other person who wanted to say hello or ask her how her summer was. She quickly discerned the students' collective motive, and attempted to respond to each without seeming rude. But it got to the point of annoyance very quickly.

"Is this what you lot call groveling? I've seen better arse-kissing from a House elf," a cold drawl quieted the crowd around. They soon scattered as Draco, clad in all black, strutted down the car corridor. Whispers about how his father, a Death Eater, had been sent to Azkaban followed the crowds as they dispersed.

Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest as he approached. He had grown since she saw him last. Minor details caught her eye: a bit of height there; a wider chest there; longer, pale hair that fell nearly to his eyes. The attitude and arrogance had not changed as he sneered to the last of the hangers-on, quickly scattering them away.

After the Auror moved to grant them some privacy, she stumbled on what to say. Decision made, "Draco," she said by way of greeting.

"Hermione." He nodded in response, his eyes raking from her new shoes, courtesy of his mother, up to her chest before finally landing on her eyes.

"Have an interesting summer holiday?" She reverted to niceties, considering the palpable strain between them. It wasn't every day you spoke to your betrothed before the start of school.

"Quite."

"Same," she agreed with a grimace. Well, this was going swimmingly.

He looked out the window as the train lurched forward and slowly pulled out of the station. "All good, then?" he asked to the window, avoiding her gaze. She quickly caught his meaning.

Hermione nodded, also looking around. "Keep it a secret, yeah?"

"Gladly," he firmly assured, before sliding grey eyes back to hers.

"Good," she replied, relieved.

"Great." With that, he touched her hip, indicating he wanted to pass.

Her heart raced as she caught an alluring aroma as he passed. Was he now wearing cologne? She turned to watch him walk the length of the train and disappeared into the next car.

Running a hand through her hair, she fell against the car window. Well, at least that was out of the way.

The unwanted attention and hangers-on did not stop when the Express pulled into Hogsmeade that evening. Harry teased her, glad not to be the center of attention, while Ron and Ginny protectively surrounded her as they made their way into the welcome feast that night. The Auror had been dragged to Dumbledore's office for an official briefing.

In the interim, she was bombarded. Students either wanted to know what her father was planning to stop Voldemort, or sought insider information for future job prospects. It was madness and somewhat sickening the way they tried to pump her for information.

Even the snakes treated her differently. They still disliked her for her affiliation with Harry Potter and for being a Gryffindor, but there was a marked difference in how they acknowledged her, and no longer looked down at her as classes formally begun.

Well, save Pansy Parkinson. The witch still sneered at her like Hermione stole her last bottle of nail polish. Pansy Parkinson and Marrietta Edgecombe must have grown thick as thieves over the summer as the two witches were hardly seen without the other in tow. Hermione rolled her eyes and opted to focus on her new, grueling class schedule.

But, she would be careless not to admit another kind of attention as well. It was the kind of attention she was not used to in the slightest. Wizards in her year, fifth year, and seventh year began to approach her on a regular basis during her time in the library, in the Great Hall, or after classes. They asked inane questions that had little do with anything or worst, pretended they needed her assistance with something. But she did not miss the innuendo of what lay behind their curiousity.

The worst of it came when Ginny and her roommates started to notice the ten-yard stares, calf eyes, and general sleazy pick-up lines sent her way and suddenly, Hermione was the center of attention with them, too. They wanted to know her secret, when she'd updated her out-of-class wardrobe, and what'd been done to her hair (that was the worst comment of all).

Her male friends were somewhat helpful in this regard.

"I could walk with you between classes, if you'd like," Ron suggested a week before her birthday. Breakfast was once again cut short as Hermione rushed to leave the Great Hall after being ambushed by the slimy Cormac McLaggen. Ron picked up his bag and hers as they left breakfast. "Harry and I have a free period, and I could, you know, hang out with you in the library after you're done."

He smiled in a way that immediately made her skeptical. Ron had been nice, almost too nice, to her since the start of school. It was almost to the point of suspicion, as she took the pre-offered bag from his hand. "That's nice of you to offer, Ronald, but I'll be fine." She did not notice the blush that stained his cheeks as she pulled her strap over her shoulder. "It'll pass." She waved around her. "I'm sure of it."

But it would not pass.

As the calendar counted down to her birthday, she denied at first that she was feeling ill at-ease. Besides, she only had a cold. She was fuzzy-headed and fatigued from a busy start to the term, she explained to her friends. Then exactly two days later, fatigue exacerbated into exhaustion, coupled with a low-grade fever.

It was then, she knew what was happening. She cursed the Founders, genetics, and even Professor Trelawney for what was occurring within her body. The day before her birthday, a Thursday, she awoke, too sick to attend classes. All the pepper-up potions in the world did little to combat this particular illness, and with her friends' encouragement, she stumbled to Madam Pomfrey's Hospital Wing seeking rest.

The evening of September 18th, she fell into feverish sleep, physically ill and mentally unprepared for what was to come. Luckily, Madam Pomfrey gave her a potion strong enough to put her under, but not strong enough to stop the physical transformation she knew was imminent.

She would not wake until Sunday, almost three days later.

After dragging her eyes open, the first thing she did was to pull her hands up to her face and examine them. She expected to see black talons in place of nails, but the hands she always knew greeted her: golden skin, a few freckles by her left thumb, a blot of ink on her right index.

Pushing to a sitting position, aside from a few aches from lying prone for so long, she felt alright. Looking down, the first thing she noticed was her hair.

Thick curls hung passed her chest, and brushed the tip of her stomach. That was certainly a change, but she was pleased to note that she hadn't lost her signature curl as she examined the thick locks. Underneath her hair, her breasts also hadn't changed much, but that change had occurred over the summer. They weighed the same in her hand as before. She had one moment to throw back the sheet, before she laughed at herself. The same lean legs greeted her as before. She hadn't sprouted into a tall Aphrodite over night.

On the nightstand beside her were several get-well cards, notes, and sweets from her friends. She reached for the closest with a smile on her face.

Hermione,

Madam Pomfrey's threatened to kick us out for pestering you, but let us know when you've awaken. Hope everything's okay.

A multitude of signatures littered the bottom of the card. She recognized Neville's, Ron's, Harry's, and others. She placed the card down and picked up a folded letter next from the pile.

Dear Hermione,

I hope this note finds you well. I was concerned with your birthday approaching. I hope you've now have the answers to the questions you were seeking. Please owl me as soon as you have the opportunity.

I pray all is well.

Narcissa

If anything, Hermione had more questions than answers. Something had shifted within her. She knew it. She felt at ease for some inexplicable reason, when logically, she should have been nervous, anxious, or even scared about what had caused her to fall ill. But she felt calm, like peace had settled in her gut and wasn't moving anywhere anytime soon.

But how did it get there? What did it mean? Lowering Narcissa's note to her lap, her eyes slid to the table next to her. A piece of parchment stuck out from beneath the pile of cards and gifts. Instinctually, she reached for it and opened it.

I stopped by to see if you really had studied yourself into a coma. Do try harder next time.

-D

Hermione wanted to see him.

As she read the words, it was the first thought that entered her mind. Pulling back the covers, she hesitantly stood to her feet. So far, so good. She wasn't in pain as she slipped into a warm robe and slippers. She felt awake, refreshed, and alert, which again, logical Hermione knew should be impossible after not eating, nor drinking anything for three days.

She grabbed the goblet of water on the night table and quickly swallowed the contents before deciding it was time to leave.

The castle was quiet that Sunday morning as most of its occupants slept. She used that to her advantage to slip out of the Hospital Wing unnoticed. Madam Pomfrey had probably left to fetch her breakfast.

Her feet led her down the stairs, out the castle, and on a path towards the Great Lake. Logical Hermione also knew this was abnormal, but her sense of center, the peace in her gut, told her she was heading in the right direction.

And so she walked, until she came to the crest of a hill and saw pale, blond hair sitting on an outcropping of rocks below. It was then that she knew as the sense of peace in her gut expanded and grew.

A hand lifted to her mouth in shock.

Draco Malfoy, her betrothed, her mate, sat by the Great Lake eating an apple.

"It was always him," she whispered in shock, the absolutely last to know. From their first encounter on Hogwarts' Express, to the Yule Ball, to him informing her of her true parentage, to their parents' arrangement: it had always been him. The calming presence within her agreed. She stared at him unnoticed, before continuing down the hill in slipper-coated feet.

She cleared her throat twice before she could speak.

"Draco," she called clearly as she neared. She took note of his pale demeanor and was instantly concerned. The being within her center also grew worried.

"Hermione," he spoke facing the lake. He had not turned around, though he recognized her voice.

Sitting down beside him, she wanted to tell him she had received his note, knew he had stopped by to check on her, but she let the moment slide. There were so many things she wanted to say to him.

But he seemed troubled, and likewise, the being within grew agitated. This was so confusing. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she gently asked, "Can't sleep?" It was too early for him, or anyone else, to be out here. And by the slight blue tinge to his lips, he must have been out there for a while.

"Yeah." He sounded despondent.

Unsure what to say next, she offered, "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

He finally turned to face her. She was expecting shock at her outward appearance. Her hair had changed afterall; perhaps other things would seem different to him as well. But he took in her concerned frown, before turning back to the lake. "Sure." After a moment of content silence, he asked, "Still a secret, then?" as he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes.

Now there was a loaded question: did he mean their betrothal or that she was part-Veela and he was her mate?

Swallowing the apprehension, she nodded hoping it came across as nonchalance as she played with a piece of grass by her knee. "Yeah."

"Good," he announced to the morning air.

"Great," she blew curls out of her face as she sighed.

Except it wasn't. Neither wanted to acknowledge their betrothal and worst, there was little chance Draco Malfoy would accept being her mate. And no matter how much she knew about magical creature–and-mate law, she would not force such a decision onto him.

She sighed and lowered her head into hands. Life was about to get exceptionally harder... for the both of them.

an: Since little has been written about being a Veela from the female perspective (or maybe I've read too many Veela!Draco's), I've decided to create my own interpretation of what it means to be a Veela. I'll incorporate some aspects I've read in ff, others, will be new. I can't wait to share it with you as Hermione discovers it for her own.

Next up, Draco notices Hermione being extra concerned about him all of a sudden? And just what is he so despondent about anyway?

Til next time! ~L