I think I'm afraid to be happy because when I do get too happy, something bad always happens. – Hermione Granger
He watched. He did so love to watch. He watched her cling to Malfoy as though he was her Saving Grace. He watched her knees knock and her lips tremble. He watched her eyes widen, laced with fear and they fed his obsession.
It wasn't about her, it never was. She was merely a byproduct of his madness and that suited him just fine. He'd heard the whisperings in the Ministry. He knew what she was, even if she denied it, even if he denied it.
Hermione Granger was a Veela mate, the likes of which hadn't been seen for centuries. Draco Malfoy was an anomaly. A male Veela, who had ever heard of such a thing? Surely, not him and he prided himself on his knowledge.
It was unknown territory, which was disconcerting, to say the least, but he'd learned much. Apparently, Malfoy's ability to sense his mate was nonexistent without the bond firmly in place. He wondered how much time he had to torture them before they spoilt all his fun with endless shagging.
His father, on the other hand, was an easy target. Lucius Malfoy lived under constant scrutiny and suspicion. It was to be expected considering his dealings with the Dark Lord during the War. A Death Eater, despite forsaking their previous allegiance, was still a Death Eater.
He wandered the corridors of the Ministry, desperate for a sliver of information. He paused near the Interrogation Rooms and nervously looked over his shoulder. He knew Malfoy had vacated the premises with Granger carefully cradled in his arms, yet Lucius was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't afford to be caught lurking. It would ruin everything.
"Why were you in Knockturn Alley, Mr Malfoy?"
He heard Theodore Nott tiredly ask the question. It was obvious the Investigator wasn't invested and that irked him. He wanted the Ministry to lock the bastard away, perhaps even strip him of his wealth, but it was obvious it would take more than an explosion to accomplish.
"What was that?"
"I said!" Lucius shouted angrily, "I was hiding from my wife!"
His jaw ached with the force of his clench as Nott laughed. He fucking laughed. It was yet another fucking joke and justice would not be served, not here. He shouldn't have been surprised. After all, his parents had been obliterated by the fucking Light. Accidental they said. We're sorry, they said, not that it did him any good.
It didn't bring back his parents. It didn't mend the fractures of his family. It was nothing more than placating words that further fueled his rage. The fucking Ministry wasn't concerned with truth, justice, or goodness in any way shape or form. They were much more concerned with concealing their sins in the darkness, under the guise of greater good.
"What was the greater good for my parents?" He hissed as his fingernails dug into the calloused skin on his palms. "They weren't Death Eaters. They were never Death Eaters. They were in hiding for fuck's sake and what? A band of rogue Death Eaters happened into the village and decimation was the consensus?"
He had to leave. He couldn't remain within the walls of the crooked Ministry any longer. He needed to meet with his brother. He needed to formulate his next plan. He needed to bring them to their fucking knees.
"What have you done to her?"
"I haven't done fuck all. Kindly get the fuck out of the way, would you?"
"You're obnoxious."
"Yeah, I've heard it all before."
Draco Malfoy pushed his way into Hermione's flat, completely frustrated with the strikingly gorgeous witch barring entry. Strangely, he wasn't distracted by her cleavage, her long legs, her long sooty lashes, not any of it. Instead, he was completely focused on the slumbering brunette firmly held in his arms.
"By all means come on in then, make yourself at home. Prop your feet on the table and oh wait, you've already done all that. Anything else I can do for you?" Gemma Farley crossed her long arms and tapped her toes angrily.
"I couldn't get her to eat. I don't think she's eaten today."
Gemma softened with his whispered words. She'd heard of him, hell, everyone had, but she hadn't interacted with him, despite her closeness with Hermione. He was a beautiful man. She'd have to be blind in order to think otherwise. She was used to being the sort of witch that drew the wizard's attentions and while she considered Hermione a friend, Gemma didn't much care for the fact Draco Malfoy wasn't the slightest bit intrigued.
"I'll set the kettle on and forage for a light tea."
Gemma eyed him appreciatively and huffed. He didn't even look at her. It was ridiculous. He was beautiful. She was beautiful. It was only natural that—bollocks. She was so stupid. How could she have forgotten?
Gemma back away slowly, suddenly uncomfortable with the darkening of his eyes and the curve of his fingers as he held Hermione securely against his chest. He was Veela and Hermione was his. No other would do, which made Gemma feel much better about the situation. She hadn't lost her touch, thank Merlin.
Draco ignored the pretty witch. He wasn't even slightly interested. Instead, he yanked the dark green caftan off the back of the settee and tucked it around Hermione. Her curls brushed his chin, her hand curled on his chest, her lips slightly parted; it was quite the pretty picture.
She snuggled into him and he stiffened. Her warm breath expelled against his throat and fuck he wanted to bite her. He felt his fingernails stretch, painfully so, but he didn't want to know. He didn't want to look at them. He hissed, flinched even, as his incisors elongated and clipped his lip.
He didn't want this. He'd never wanted this. He didn't want to be some strange sort of magical creature, hybrid even, bound to a singular witch. He didn't want an Arranged Marriage either, but it seemed his wants, his desires meant nothing to the fucking fates.
"It'll never work," he muttered, even as his arms held her tighter and he inhaled her heady, unique scent.
"She wouldn't reject you, if that's what you're worried about." Gemma set a modest tea service on the coffee table, carefully maintaining space between them. "She wrote me after you bit her. I cut my holiday short, but it seems I'm really not needed here. It seems you've got it all in hand. I can't pretend I know much about Veela, perhaps you might find the time to educate me."
Hermione murmured in her sleep, her tongue flicking between her lips to moisten them, and Draco froze. He hissed low, much like a growl, and dug his talon-like fingers into the supple skin of her arse. She stretched and Gemma had never seen anymore move so quickly. Draco swung his legs onto the settee and adjusted Hermione until she settled comfortably while Gemma merely blinked.
"I don't feel rejection. It isn't an issue, not for me. Acceptance, that's where the lines are drawn. I need her to accept me, hell, I need to accept her, and it's an impossibility. "
"Why?" Gemma maintained her distance, still completely riveted. "I mean, your father is a pompous arse, but he would disprove of anyone you chose. You work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She's your partner. Frankly, it was bound to happen regardless of your heritage. You really should research the history of the Ministry and see for yourself. I doubt there's been a pairing that hasn't segued into some sort of tawdry affair at the very least."
She watched the way his eyes lightened, as though he were carefully considering her insight. In another life, Gemma might have attempted to manipulate the situation and claim him as her own. She freely admitted her conniving ways, but what was between them was stronger than anything she'd ever seen. She wondered how much of their attachment was the Veela blood rushing through his veins and how much was simply…them.
"No one else exists, not anymore. I'm constantly at war with myself, hating it, craving her, in a seemingly endless loop. I want to fuck her and strangle her all at once. I want to protect her and run from her until I'm free, but I can't. I hate her, fuck, no I don't. I want to hate her, but I can't. I fucking can't."
Draco slipped his arms beneath the caftan and inhaled against Hermione's throat until his chest rumbled. Gemma pretended she hadn't the slightest idea his hands tugged her blouse from the waistband of her pencil skirt. She pretended she couldn't see the relief etched on the Pureblood's face when he touched her bare skin.
"She'll be difficult. She'll attempt to research her way out of it. She'll tell you that you're barmy or mistaken. For being a celebrated witch, she's incredibly self-deprecating. You'll have to convince her. She's never been with anyone before, not really. She's afraid to give herself to someone, to love someone completely." Gemma sipped her tea slowly and knew Draco was just as exhausted as Hermione.
"Why? She dated Krum while we were in school. She pined after Weasley, not that he deserved her. She drives me absolutely mad. I don't know why I'm telling you any of this."
"Sometimes it's easier to speak with a stranger than with anyone else." Gemma avoided his probing blackened eyes and focused on the errant tea leaves floating in her teacup. "She wanted things to work with Ron. He was familiar and she likes familiar. Hermione works really bloody hard and I think when it comes to her love life, it's the one place she wants simple. Seems she won't get that, not now. I'm sorry, but I'm incredibly uncomfortable. I suggest you get some rest while you can. When she wakes, tell her I'm returning to Bali. She doesn't need me to protect her, that's your job now, Malfoy. Don't fuck it up."
Draco's lip involuntarily curled as Gemma passed them. He held back the snarl, gnashing his teeth together and burying his nose in Hermione's hair. The tension seeped from his limbs, especially when she sidled into his side. He slid his wand from his pocket and widened the settee, terrified to venture to her bedroom. He didn't trust himself, hell, he didn't trust her either.
He didn't know how many hours passed as he sat there, drinking her in, watching her slumber. Ordinarily, he wasn't a sentimental wizard as such notions had been frowned upon within the confines of his upbringing. However, with her in his arms, it was easy to close his eyes and imagine a future he'd always believed to be outside his grasp.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her dark lashes fluttered open and she gently pushed his hand from her waist. "I think I let my irrational emotions overtake my logic and—"
"I'm sorry I marked you. You didn't sign up for this, for us, and," Draco pressed his lips to her forehead, unable to continue.
"No, it's my fault. If I hadn't created the Hex, you wouldn't have lost your head. You wouldn't have chosen me and I understand that. I really do think we ought to press your parents for more information. I find it difficult to believe they haven't any books on the subject of their uniqueness and I do believe it would bode well to be more thoroughly informed. There might just be a way out of this Malfoy. It isn't as if we've bonded, it's only a slight mark and perhaps with time it will fade and you'll be able to carefully choose your spouse."
Draco patiently listened to her ridiculous rambling, a half smile quirked at the corner of his lips. He considered taunting her a bit, merely to rile her up. He was always fond of her temper. The shine in her eyes, the bounce of her hair, the light flush on her cheeks, tiny little fists that sometimes sat on her hips, legs akimbo while she shouted at him, not that he paid her any mind. He didn't, rile her that is, instead he groped her delectable bum and hoped for the best.
"I'm fairly certain that's not how it works. In fact, I'd bet my fortune on the fact if I were to sink my teeth fully into your throat, our magic would entwine and bind us for eternity. The current bite, mild as it is, is merely a precursor, a bookmark if you will. It is a reminder of what is to come, Granger, and it is not fucking transferrable."
"Will you let me up?"
He heard the panic, felt the stiffness of her limbs, yet he held fast. She turned slightly, half on top of him, which only offered more of her bum for his pleasure. Draco, of course, took full advantage and groaned until her cheeks were bright red.
"I don't think I want to do that, kitten. Might I suggest we…test the theory of choice?"
Hermione shoved against his shoulder in an attempt to right herself, the intimacy of the situation reminiscent of their near shag. It was titillating, yet she was unsure. The attraction pooled in her stomach, aflutter with tension and desire, but this was Malfoy.
Draco's hands dallied on her hips, his fingers carefully crinkling her skirt, dragging it up her thighs inch by inch. The silk of her knickers beneath his fingertips, while his tongue flicked over the light mark, caused them both to hiss. He knew he probably could shag her if he pressed, but he knew he had to wait. He needed to wait until that overwhelming precarious moment when he would be driven by more than simple lust.
Hermione tilted her head, her hands twisted against the fabric at his shoulders tugging him closer rather than pushing him away. It was madness. She knew it was madness, yet she also felt that in a little madness there was also truth.
"T-theory of choice?"
Draco turned, slightly, one hand lost in her curls, the other stroking the silk on her hip. He suckled her throat, careful to keep his teeth contained, his hips undulating to a gentle beat. The sound of her hums filled his ears, addictive as was, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from tearing her clothes to shreds and burying himself in her welcoming warmth.
"Remember the morning after the one-eared twin's disastrous Potion?" Draco nipped her earlobe and preened when her breath caught. "I'd quite like to recreate it, if you're amenable, of course."
"M-Malfoy, we nearly h-had sex, I don't—"
"Kitten, you're ahead of yourself again." Draco's thumb traced her cheek just before he pecked her lips, softly until the tension seeped from her bones. "The theory of choice, kitten, is merely pleasure, without influences other than our own desires."
Her eyes dropped to his hands, her chest rapidly rising as he plucked open her blouse. Carefully, he avoided the swell of her heaving breasts, pleased to see gooseflesh decorating her porcelain skin. It was a precarious slope, he knew that much, but the temptation was more than he could bear.
"I don't think it's a good idea," Hermione whimpered, conflicted and distraught.
"Anyone ever told you that you think too much?" Draco asked as he languidly dragged down the zipper of her skirt and tugged it from her hips.
She was a sight to behold honestly. Her blouse spread open, shoes discarded; shimmery blue silk knickers and a lacy beige brassiere were all that hid her assets from his hungry eyes. He drank in every detail, memorising the indentation of her waist, the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts.
"You're staring." Hermione averted her eyes, suddenly self-conscious, not that it ended his achingly slow perusal. "Your eyes are black. Why haven't you forced the bond?"
"Hmm," he hummed lightly, quickly settling between her open legs, his cheek pressed against her thigh. "Acceptance, Granger. Are you prepared to accept the bond and all it entails? Are you ready to be my wife and bear my children? Hell, am I ready for that? If neither of us can answer with an unwavering confirmation, it very well could be damaging to our magical core—"
"I-I've read about such instances, usually magical creatures that just so happen to mate for life. It seems, if one creature is unwilling and the other is insistent, their inherent genetic magic can implode and can cause death, but I suppose I never attributed it to Veela."
Draco smiled as she continued to prattle. He liked to listen to the sound of her voice, even when she spouted inconsequential details from obscure boring books. He also liked the catch in her throat as his hand ran the length of her left leg and teased the edge of her knickers.
She didn't know what to do with her hands. It was such a little thing, a silly thing to fret about, and yet she was most concerned about where to put her hands. She settled for allowing her left arm to drop to her side uselessly, but the other, the other refused to submit and hovered over Draco's head before threading his fine hair through her fingers.
His chest rumbled, easily accepting her touch, craving more. Hell, if he closed his eyes, he would have easily fallen asleep, yet that would have ruined everything. He didn't want to sleep. He wanted to touch her, to taste her, to push her limits until her only choice was acceptance.
"Do you want me to touch you, kitten?" Draco whispered, his lips grazing the dampened apex of her knickers.
"Yes," she crooned, her fingers fisted in his hair.
"Do you want me—"
"Yes!" Hermione writhed, desperate for friction, only to whimper in discontent when he pulled away.
"That, my delightful little kitten, is called desire."
Draco casually vacated the widened settee and righted his rumpled clothes. His liquid grey eyes paused to appreciate her barely clad form, a twinge of regret tight in his chest. He knew it was for the best, to leave her completely unsatiated, her body screaming for release. Gods how he wanted her and soon the call to mate her would be more than he could bear, but it would not be that day.
The ice clinked against the side of the crystal tumbler, beads of sweat cascaded down the side. Bleary grey eyes followed the droplets descent until his wife chastised him with a glare and slapped a doily on the side table. He grinned, cheekily, and slurped his Blishen's Firewhiskey loudly, simply to irk her.
"Subterfuge. Falsehoods. Manipulation. Conspiring with the enemy. My, I've never been more attracted to you."
"What else is there to be done?" Narcissa snapped her fingers and a timid elf produced a glass of sherry for her nerves. "There wasn't a choice in the matter. We were running out of time, Lucius. He would have married that wretched Greengrass simply because you bade him to do so."
"She's Pureblood," Lucius shrugged, completely nonplussed.
"He has to make the choice! We don't get to take that from him!" Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled slowly. "The only reason he's hesitating is because in so many ways he's still a child desperately seeking his father's approval."
"I never cared a wit about my father's appro—"
"Liar. Do not think for one moment that I've forgotten the way you cowered before your father when my parents told him what you had done. For a moment, I actually rethought my acceptance, not that it could be altered. I'd never seen you so bloody pitiful. No, wait, that's not true. I had nearly forgotten the abysmal year you invited Tom Riddle to reside in our home. Yes, that was definitely worse."
Lucius sulked, as he often did when his wife was feeling particularly sassy and returned his attention to his firewhiskey. His firewhiskey never berated him. His firewhiskey never shouted at him. His firewhiskey never told him don't touch me there. It was never any wonder why he spent more time lovingly caressing his beautiful amber liquid than he did caressing his wife.
"I refuse to take part in your scheming, Cissa." He attempted to sound utterly and completely self-righteous, but the words slurred together into a barely cognizant sentence.
"Do what you do best, Lucius. Drink and ignore. However, if you just so happen to call our future daughter-in-law a Mudblood, I will not come to your aid when Draco's heritage manifests and tears you to bits." Narcissa sniffed daintily though her ice blue eyes were filled with mutinous fire.
Lucius shrugged, his lids sagging as the burn of his firewhiskey consumed him. He refused to argue with his wife. It was pointless and she was an exceedingly stubborn woman. Hell, she'd been the only witch or wizard for that matter to be included within the confines of the Inner Circle without a brand on her arm. It said more than enough.
"I'm not going to be nice to her. Her very presence leaves a stench in my nostrils. However, some things cannot be helped. I will play along with your fanfare of deception. I suppose I must accept the witch of his choosing, despite her inferior blood." He shuddered and watched, aghast as his precious Blishen's splashed up the side of his tumbler to be lost forever as it struck the floor.
"The only stench in my nostrils is my bigoted husband." Narcissa marched to the double doors and pushed them open, her patience long since evaporated. "Don't fuck this up, Lucius. I will end you."