A/N: Here it is! More at the bottom.

Tuesday

12:01 PM

Let it be known that Draco Malfoy was not a stalker.

True, he was currently standing in Hermione Granger's bedroom, eyeing her purple sheets with something akin to revulsion. But he was no stalker; he preferred the term 'collector of information.' After all, knowing the color she liked to sleep on could provide him with an infinite amount of knowledge.

It had been extraordinarily simple to get in here. Either his mate didn't have wards up, or they recognized him as her Veela and let him through. He'd simply closed his eyes, pictured her, and apparated to where she was - thankfully, she had just been leaving her apartment and had closed the door to her flat just as he appeared with a pop in her living room. He had immediately thrown up a good amount of concealment charms, and then set about exploring.

Granger's living room, he deemed small, cramped, and much too barren for a war hero. She had a nice bluer rug on the floor, a soft couch with a horrid afghan, and a few tastefully placed pictures of variously nauseating friends placed around the room. Her fireplace was, strangely, painted a vivid white, which complimented the room nicely. As somebody who designed houses for a living, he could appreciate the soft balance she'd struck in her living room. Give her another couple square yards to work with, and he didn't doubt her ability to use her style to create a nice room. Maybe he'd hire her. Replace that annoying Gabrielle 'Gabby' Jenkins he currently employed.

Her kitchen was, however, sorely lacking. He opened the cupboards, interested to see what she ate, and was horrified to see a moulding loaf of bread, a few boxes of Muggle cereal, and boxes beyond count of pasta. There were a few cans neatly organized by type and name placed in the dusty shelves: instant soup, marinara sauce for the noodles, some kidney beans and one tin of sardines (not something he pictured her eating). Oh, and the tuna. There was plenty of tuna, but the cans were shoved towards the back and covered in a fine layer of dust. For the cat, maybe?

Her ice box was not much better. He opened the fridge door and immediately leaped back, as the absolutely foul odor of rotten milk accosted his nose. Eyes watering, he cast a Bubble-Head charm on himself hastily, and braved the cool shelves - once again, organized to a tee.

If she can spend so much time organizing her food, why can't she buy food to put in there? Draco shook his head, before he was struck by a thought: hadn't he seen her at the food shop just a week or so ago?

He resisted the urge to clean her ice box, closing it thankfully and dropping the charm. The mystery surrounding Hermione Granger intensified. He moved into the bathroom, noticed the cheap tile and strangely large tub, and was struck by the lack of feminine products. Where was the shampoo? Conditioner? Facial scrubs? The creams and powders Daphne swore by?

Her bedroom, finally, hinted at her true personality. The rest of her empty flat could have belonged to anyone living at minimum wage with a penchant for organization and a fondness for luxurious baths. Here, though, he knew she spent the majority of her time.

There were books everywhere. Shrunken to the size of a matchboxes, they held up her bed, filled six large bookcases, provided a table on the floor for a large sheath of paper. He walked over to the 'desk' and looked at the papers, his nose crinkling.

Dear _, it wrote, in neat script. A form letter?

My name is Hermione Granger, and I recently graduated from Sparling's wizarding university. I invented the spell allowing Muggle technology to work in the presence of magic, and I am currently trying to start my own research firm in order to discover more useful spells. I plan to donate half of any proceeds to charity, as I am committed to making the Wizarding World a safer place for all misfortunate souls.

If you are interested in donating, please contact me at the following address.

With thanks,

Hermione Granger

It took all his willpower not to snort, before he remembered he was alone and burst out into laughter. Oh, it was reassuring to still be able to make fun of Granger without the Veela bond suffocating him. Her letter was priceless, and while he was certainly impressed that she'd invented such a complex spell, it showed him how clueless she really was.

"I plan to donate half of any proceeds to charity," he mocked out loud, the grin still present on his face. "Oh, Granger, don't you realize how naive that makes you sound?" Not to mention the insecurities she unconsciously betrayed by adding 'any' in that sentence. She hardly sounded like she thought she could make any money; how was she supposed to convince people to 'donate'?

And anyway, since when did people donate? Draco believed - okay, he knew - that what she was asking for weren't donations, they were investments. He sincerely hoped Granger hadn't sent this letter out to anyone. It was condescending in how she mentioned her degree and spell work - but she didn't manage to sound impressive, either - and she appeared inexperienced and the slightest bit pretentious. If Stranger-Granger was going to go into the cold world of business, she needed help, and fast.

Merlin's left saggy -

"That's it!" Draco immediately closed his expression off once he realized what an outburst had escaped his lips. He continued this in his head, reasoning out why it was such a brilliant idea - as all of his were. She needed somebody who would enter her life seamlessly (okay, not seamlessly, but as damn close as he could), buy her some groceries and get her little research firm up and running. Who could do that while expertly managing a business?

Well, a certain sexy man by the name of Draco Malfoy could.

He smirked to himself and looked around again, slowly, before apparating out. The familiar buzz was in his veins, the beginnings of a plan he knew would work most excellently. He appeared in his office and immediately summoned a coffee, accioing some papers over to him next. He sipped his dark roast as he surveyed the accounts of his bank statements. Really, this is all too easy.

Draco clicked a quill, frowning suddenly. There were entirely too zeros on the 'comfort' section for his liking. The budget had been his idea, so that he could purchase a leather swivel chair and drink as much coffee as he liked, but he did not condone spending three thousand galleons on comfy furniture! That was ridiculous! He needed answers, and he needed answers now!

Draco opened his door with a flick of his wand, walking out slowly. He trailed his hand along the cream trim on the wall, stopping at the first office down the hall: Nick. Draco leaned against the doorjamb, counting down the seconds until the other boy noticed him.

One...two...three...Draco made a small noise in his throat.

The brown haired boy, hunched over a piece of paper, jumped and hurriedly took off...something. "Mr. Draco!"

"What in Merlin's name is that?" Draco indicated the weird strings that used to be roped around his head.

"H-headphones," Nick said quickly, balling them in his fist. Draco gave him an expectant look, and Nick tried again. He lifted his hand, a slim, blue rectangle hanging from the string. "I used some spell in Spells Weekly to enchant this, it's a Muggle music player."

Granger's spell! Dear Merlin. Draco hid his excitement at hearing this, only pinning his employee under a stern gaze. "How, exactly, did you come to obtain this?"

Nick ducked his head, and that gave him the answer: it had come out of the budget. "I used some of my money."

"Really, now." Nick winced at the venom in his boss' voice. "And that money was conveniently taken out of the allotment for 'comfort and pleasure'?"

"That's what it's for, isn't it?" The older boy burst out, before he subsided.

"Lobby. Fifteen minutes." Draco said curtly and moved on. Gabrielle was next. This time, he just barged straight in.

Gabrielle Jenkins was currently examining her dark hair in a mirror. It was magically held up in tons of bright pink curlers, which Draco took one look at, winced, and said curtly, "If that came out of the budget for 'comfort and pleasure,' go to the lobby in thirteen minutes exactly."

He repeated this with his other employees, until he had a group of seventeen people, Theo and Daphne included, looking at him apprehensively. Draco paced back in forth in front of them, his anger gone, replaced by a sly sense of fun. He loved this. This is what he was good at. He adored the way they looked at him, fear in their eyes, how he could manipulate them with a word or two.

"Tell me exactly," Draco said coolly, "Exactly, what the budget for 'comfort and pleasure' is for! Mary!"

The blond snapped to attention. "Um, things for us to, er, brighten up our office with? Things we need at work to keep our productivity going at work?"

She was an uptalker, and he really hated that with a passion. However, he concealed this particular annoyance and simply said, "How much money is allotted to each person?"

Draco thought this particular part of his budget plan was genius. He modeled it after the idea of 'commission,' where his employees could spend up to eight percent of their earnings on whatever they wanted to. In theory, it motivated them to work harder so they could buy whatever crap they wanted...but, it seemed to him, as if they were taking liberties.

"Nick," he said conversationally, "How much money is eight percent of what you earned last year?"

He reeled off a number.

"And how much did you spend on pleasure?" Draco smiled, but when he saw Theo fighting a grin, he knew it was coming off entirely too menacing. He rearranged his face, but Daphne stuck her tongue out at him at him, and he realized that the new look wasn't helping. He gave up and simply glowered. A collective shudder ran through the crowd.

When Nick answered, Draco's analytical brain kicked into play. Carry the two, move the decimal place over...Draco's eyes narrowed. "Fifteen point two percent, my dear employee," he said smoothly and very sardonically, "How much over the allotted percent is that? I'll allow you to do the math."

"S-seven point two percent."

Draco enjoyed the stutter entirely too much. "Riddle me this," he said, his voice growing softer and softer. "When did it become necessary to spend nearly twice the amount of money on useless trinkets behind your boss' back? Please, somebody explain this logic to me because I'm not sure I'm getting it!"

"Mr. Draco - "

"3,000! Three thousand. That's a helluva lot of galleons to spend on hair curlers, huh, Gabrielle?"

The Italian woman flushed a deep pink. "Mr. Draco, I only spent five percent of my income on comfort!"

Draco clenched his deep, took several deep breaths, and smiled winningly at her. "I'm about to leave. Right now. And does anyone want to hazard a guess as to what I'm doing?"

"Checking every single person's accounts," Daphne spoke up from the back, her voice clear and cutting. "And everybody better pray that they spent less than eight percent, right, Draco?"

Again with the stepping up. Draco furrowed his eyebrows and said, "I'll decide what everyone 'better do,' and it most likely won't be good." He turned on his heel and stalked through the crowd. Murmurs accompanied him, and he nodded briskly at his friends. They fell into line behind him, and he controlled his temper until his office door was closed, locked, and under five spells to keep out intruders. Then he turned on Daphne.

"What the hell was that?"

Daphne looked affronted. "You were about to start yelling, and we all know how downhill things would have gone from there!"

"I am perfectly capable of self control, Daphne!"

"Oh, and that's why you're yelling now?"

Draco cracked his knuckles and spared a glance towards Theo, who was currently staring out of the window with extreme interest. Satisfied that he wouldn't be a problem, Draco returned his ire to the girl in their group. "This is my business, Daphne. Where were you when I worked twenty hours a day trying to get this off the ground? Only when that article ran about me in the paper did you decide to help me out!"

She flushed a deep red, and Draco felt satisfaction, knowing that had been a particularly low shot. Rationally, he knew that Daphne was busy taking care of her hospitalized mother directly after the war, while Theo - free from all familial obligations - had been free to help out Draco. Logically, he knew that. Emotionally, it felt like complete abandonment, especially since they'd been pretty damn close during the war time.

Theo whistled softly to himself. Draco gave him a side glance, daring him to keep talking, and waited for Daphne's rebuttal.

She gave a derisive chuckle. "Don't blame me for your workaholic tendencies, asshole, and you know you wouldn't have gotten anywhere without me!"

"Ooh, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Draco taunted. She sneered at him and he laughed, "Not that you would, since you worship her so damn much."

"Mature."

"Oh, was that too explicit for your delicate ears?"

Daphne's voice was positively brittle when she answered, "Unlike you, Draco, I actually care the hell about my mother."

He steamed. Where did she get off, telling him he didn't care about his mother? "I would care about my mother, if she ever fucking cared about me!"

"Oh, get over yourself, Draco, so she left for a couple damn years, who the hell cares?"

"Daphne, that's enough." Surprisingly, it wasn't Draco that said that. Theo gave his friend an icy glare and turned to celebrate with Draco - only to find his blond friend gone.

Suddenly, all animosity was gone between Theo and Daphne as they exchanged worried looks. Where was their friend?

Tuesday

2:30 PM

(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)

She was brushing her teeth when Draco Malfoy crashed through her ceiling and ended up with limbs entangled in her bathtub.

It actually took her a second to process this, since she was leaning in, really going at her back molar. There was a spot of the delicious lasagna Ginny had made for their lunch still stuck to the back, and she just couldn't remove it without concentrating. So filled were her ears with the whirring of her toothbrush that the sound of her tub being invaded was slightly muted.

Not by much.

She reacted as any child who watched forbidden horror movies on the telly late at night would: she jumped, screamed, whipped around like lightning, and stunned the hell out of her intruder as he began to sit up.

He fell back into her tub. Hermione looked at her wand with respect, wondering how in hell she managed to drop a man who's skills with magic were legendary. She kept her wand trained in between his grey eyes as she peeked over the edge of her creamy bathtub - her one luxury. His eyes were frozen open and on his face was a look of complete bewilderment; this threw her. Why would he seem surprised that he was invading her personal space?

Chewing on her lip, Hermione thought for a second before deciding on a plan of action. She'd unstun him and just as quickly petrify him with a neatly placed spell, and then she'd inquire - nicely, at first - as to what in bloody hell he thought he was doing.

"Finite...Petrificus Totalus!" Hermione yelled, before she smiled in satisfaction. Malfoy's eyes were following her around now, and did she detect a hint of amusement in them?

Of course not. Stop being ridiculous, Hermione. "Malfoy," she said sternly. "I expect you have a good excuse for what the hell you are doing?"

His eyes rolled around expressively before, a second later, she found herself staring at a perfectly suave man sitting on the edge of her bathtub. "I'm not entirely sure," he said smoothly.

His voice -

It was different than she remembered. It was fluid and smooth and rich, almost, and washed over her. She always used to hate his sneering, spiteful tone of voice, but this...this was different. This was mature, and she regretfully admitted that it was sort of - just a little - sexy. "How - "

"Did I escape?" Malfoy anticipated her response. He gave her a smile that she wanted to capture and stare at for long periods of time.

Hermione Jean, you're being absolutely ridiculous. Her irritation at her body's betrayal sharpened her voice as she curtly replied, her wand hand steady, "No, I suppose you are rather capable of escaping hastily cast detainment spells. Lot of practice?"

Malfoy propped his legs up on her closed toilet as she marveled at herself. What was wrong with her? Why wasn't she freaking out, calling the Aurors, telling him to go stuff himself and leave her apartment at once? There was something about him, the playful glint in his eyes, the way his lips quirked when she glowered at him, how utterly casual he seemed, something that convinced her he wasn't to harm her. Not yet.

"That's kinky," he said leeringly. She sniffed at him. Then, "Really, Granger, was that a compliment? Careful, you'll boost my ego to unimaginable heights."

Was he teasing her? She glared at him suspiciously. "What are you doing here, Malfoy? How did you break through my wards?"

He looked so relaxed as he responded, "No wards of yours could keep me out." There was no malice in his voice, no emphasis on yours, nothing to suggest he was making snide comments about her wards. He said it like a fact, and that, above everything else, rankled her. How dare he just assume he was that capable?

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Down, Granger," Malfoy said. His eyes travelled lazily around her small loo. "That wasn't an insult."

She breathed out deeply through her nose. What was with this insufferable man that allowed him to get under her skin? "Well, what did it mean?"

He looked at her with poorly concealed surprise. It never crossed her mind that the look he gave her was intentional, designed to ignite her curiosity and send her straight to the library. "You don't know anything about the situation, do you?"

What on Earth was he insinuating? Her eyes narrowed. "There is no situation between you and me, Malfoy."

"Oh, but there is, and it's more complicated than you'd ever expect."

Tuesday

2:57 PM

(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)

His hands dug into the porcelain of her bathtub, restraining him. It was all he could do not to fly straight towards her and pin her to the wall with a kiss. He smiled at her, trying to look knowingly superior, as she fought to contain her struggling anger.

"You have ten seconds to explain exactly what you mean by that statement."

He had originally planned to tell her what was going on, but he realized it would be infinitely more entertaining to make her find out for herself. He started planning mentally. "How do you know I'm telling the truth?" He pushed himself off the tub and took a step towards her.

She stepped firmly back. "A lie's still better than nothing."

"I'm in love with you," he lied, taking another step, and another, towards her. He intended to stop when he was in line with the sink, but he couldn't, no, not at all; it was like there was something inside him urging him to just take one more little step, until he wasn't fully conscious of how close he was to her, getting pulled and pushed and grabbed until he took one more step.

"Malfoy, the truth." She backed up until she was pressed against the tile wall.

Unaware to him, he was smiling predatorily as he slowly advanced on her. Her wand was out and lit, but he didn't back down. He couldn't. It wasn't a decision to trap her against the wall, but he wouldn't be able to pull away, even the heady feeling in his head cleared long enough for him to want to. "Aw, Granger, if I was in love with you - "

"Were," she couldn't help but correct.

Despite how irritating that was, he ignored it. Her inability to keep quiet cleared his head for a second and he paused in his slow ascent, taking in every detail of her like an animal - her hair, her slight freckles, how she was steadily turning pinker and pinker with an emotion he couldn't name. Don't kiss her, he cautioned himself with his last vestige of reason. It'll scare her away. "If I were," he continued, "that would have broken my heart."

"Good, it's what you deserve." He could name the emotion, after a second of concentration. He felt it streaming deep inside him, somewhere behind his rip, a pleasant, potent longing. He wasn't fully aware if it was coming entirely from her - he probably was influencing her - but he wished he could wrap the strands of this desire around him and dress in it and pass his day in a haze of lust. Don't kiss her!

He chuckled to himself, a laugh that turned real when he noticed her glancing at his lips. He was sure that she wasn't fully aware of what she was doing, but that was okay because all his willpower was gone, too, and he was lost in the bond's light but firm grasp. He felt as if he was thrumming, vibrating, so close to his mate it was maddening. He took another slow step. Stop before you kiss her! Draco - "Now, Granger, that really broke me up."

"Good," she breathed. The sound shot straight down and he growled low in his throat. All semblances of self control had disappeared. He remembered raggedly once last time - he couldn't kiss her, it would ruin everything - and then she spoke, and that thought crumbled. "At least give me a hint, Malfoy."

Merlin, didn't she get flustered being so close to him? How was she this doggedly on the subject? He smiled as the most perfect line came to him, in the nick of time. Kiss her! Was the bond screaming it, or his inner subconscious? Or - a scary thought - were they the same thing?

Just kiss her! "Here's your hint," he whispered huskily, making his voice as sex-saturated as he possibly could, and placed his lips on hers.

He didn't feel fireworks, or get so lost in it that the world could have ended and he wouldn't have noticed. What he did feel, however, was a burst of sexual tension so fierce and bright and sudden that he felt he would die if he didn't have sex with her that very instance.

She felt it too, obviously, as she moaned softly into his voice, a sound that nearly drove her to the edge. Her hands slid to his chest and he, lost in a daze of desire, prepared himself for a quick against-the-bathroom-wall sort of shag, when she suddenly Petrified him and he found himself on the floor, erection frozen half-mast.

The buzz cleared so fast it left his head spinning with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and unfufillment. The bitch!

Tuesday

3:10 PM

(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

He just -

She had -

What?

Had she just been kissed by Draco Malfoy?

Hermione gaped at the man that was, once again, on her bathroom floor. Now that the surprise was wearing off, her mind was kicking into play. Why could she kiss Malfoy and not Anthony? Not only kiss, but Hermione felt the strangest urge, something she'd only read about in novels late at night. She wasn't a virgin - Ron had taken care of that - but she'd never felt something so...so...so consuming like the all encompassing desire that had taken hold of her. She hadn't been able to resist, as if her entire life was pinpointed in his stormy gray eyes and pale lips.

Malfoy once again stood up, displaying that annoying ability to throw off her spells like they were nothing. He gave her the smallest smile and saluted her. "Rossi would be a good thing to look up," he said. "Vedette Rossi. Addio, Granger."

She didn't know whatever language he was speaking, but she could recognize a parting remark when it came. "Don't you dare go anywhere, Malfoy!" Hermione yelled. It wasn't as strong as she'd like because the want she felt lingered at the corners of her mouth, making her voice low and throaty. She cleared it, hacking it several times. "You stay right here and explain every single fucking thing that's happened."

"Ooh, a dirty mouth." His grin turned lascivious. "I'd like to hear that mouth again sometime, Granger. Preferably with my name thrown in and a few 'Oh! Please! Harder!'s for good measure."

"You bastard!" Hermione's fingers scrabbled behind her on the kitchen sink, when she grabbed hold of something heavy - a can of shaving cream - which she threw at his head. He only bowed mockingly and disappeared, and she was left watching the purple container hit her wall and explode into a splatter of foamy white cream.

What had just happened?

Wednesday

12:01 AM

"Clearity," she mumbled fiercely. "Clearity, dammit!"

Her eyes, red with exhaustion and a brief bout of crying (somewhere between scanning six hundred pages of Lineage and a Line Through the Ages and seven-twenty five of Who's My Ancestor? Hermione had succumbed to tears), instantly cleared. Clearity was a spell she'd invented a few years ago, which Padma had named - a mix between Clear it and Clarity - and the two had become attached to their "clever" name and worked it into the incantation. It worked fabulously...that is, when it wasn't overused.

She'd used it forty-six times in an hour.

"Vedette Fucking Rossi," Hermione swore uncharacteristically. "Where the hell are you?" She slammed the cover of the tome she was currently scanning shut, creating a storm of dust that prompted coughing and yet another Clearity. "Arrghh!"

Italian, a thought came, unbidden, into her mind. Hermione didn't pay the stray idea any more thought than necessary; she was used to her overworked brain giving her little 'hints' now and then, things she'd subconsciously realized earlier but was too tired to acknowledge. "Italian," she said out loud, "Vedette Rossi. Hmm."

Hermione stood and walked to the stacks, her footsteps loud in the large and empty library. She, naturally, had charmed an all-hours, unrestricted pass to the books early in her career. It had involved making some promises she preferred not to think about with the crotchety old lady who ran the center, but she considered it a necessary sacrifice.

"Pedigree of Italia," she read to herself, her nose crinkling. Pedigrees brought to mind dogs and competitions and blue ribbons, not generations of people. She pulled it out anyway and carried it to her table, setting it down carefully on felt pads before returning to the cherry wood bookshelves. "Genealogia: A Comprehensive Study of Italian Families. That looks more promising than the pedigree one."

It took a few minutes with her nose stuck into the Index to realize Rossi, whoever she was, wasn't in the Pedigree of Italia, Ed. 2. The other one, then. "Genealogy," Hermione correctly guessed the cognate. "Come on, Vedette, it's been four and a half hours of searching for you!"

As it had so often in the past couple of hours, the thought sprung into her mind that Malfoy could be leading her on a wild goose chase. She doubted it, somehow, but at the same time was reasonably wary. Still, she needed answers. How did he break into her apartment? Why did he kiss her, and why did she feel like she was about to jump him and shag him into oblivion? Why did she feel as if she was the crocodile in Peter Pan, a clock ticking its way in her stomach, about to go off at any moment? The sense of urgency was the worst part, Hermione decided. She hated the queasy feeling she got every time Rossi wasn't in a book. It was strange, but she got the impression that, if she didn't find the answer soon, something terrible was going to happen.

"Focus," she coached herself. "Calm. Rossi. Look for Rossi."

Ron always hated it when she talked aloud to herself while researching. Harry never mentioned it, but she'd proof read his essays later on, and snuck into a dry paragraph on witch burnings there would be a phrase, a sentence, a quote, something she'd said to herself loudly: 'Warty the Wary enjoyed witch burnings because on page eighty two he's finally there, I was beginning to worry...'

She smiled wanly to herself at the thought. Dear, sweet Harry, her brother in everything but blood - although she'd practically changed that, she thought to herself, smiling fondly at a mark on her wrist. She needed to visit him desperately.

Speaking of desperately...Hermione flipped through the book to the Index, where she scanned for Rossi. She knew it'd be there before she found it, a warm feeling spreading to her stomach to the rest of her body, energizing it. "Page seventy three!"

She pointed her wand at the book, and it turned to pg. 73 immediately. One couldn't use magic on old books too often (it caused decay) but she was impatient and knew a tiny spell wouldn't even be detected. It was worth it, anyway, as 73 had a large family tree heading the page.

She scanned down it eagerly, her eyes stopping - her heart stopping as well - as she found, in curling script, Vedette Rossi neatly connected to a smudged name.

The line ended there.

There was, however, a dotted line going down from Vedette. "Black (?)" It read at the bottom, as if the self-updating spell was confused about something. Black would mean...

Oh, damn.

She just bet Draco Malfoy sent her on this chase to see that he was heir of not one, not two, but three ancient pureblood families. What a first-class prat! She was over caring about her blood status. Good for him if he was related to -

"A Veela?" Hermione read, her eyes widening in confusion. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit, mother fucking shit!"

She hated swearing aloud, but if a situation ever called for it, this was one. Trembling, she walked over to Magical Beasts and Creatures and turned the pages mechanically until she reached Veela. She already knew what it would say, but read it anyway.

She could feel it.

The thrumming running through her - that was the bond. Oh, this explained so much. She'd made the jump immediately, realizing exactly how Malfoy being a Veela tied up so many loose threads. "I hate you, Malfoy!"

Wednesday

12:34 AM

(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)

He felt her irritation wash over him, and the bond purred in satisfaction. She'd found out, then. He'd interfered more than he'd planned to, telling her very plainly that Rossi was Italian. It was obvious, he'd thought. Wasn't Rossi an exclusively Italian name? He didn't know the logistics, but while there were plenty Muggle Rossi families, there was only one Wizarding one. Couldn't see just crack open a lineage book, flip to the Rossi page, and find out the truth about Vedette very easily? He'd been half-heartedly working on crunching percents so he could find out where all the money in his 'comfort and pleasure' budget had ran away to, but he'd been more distracted feeling the pain coming from his mate.

Okay. So, he wasn't Hermione Granger's number one fan. Still, there was something about the quiet anguish, the frustration, the lurking sorrow he couldn't identify, her sleep deprivation that tore its way through the bond and made him care. The way he saw it, he could never be happy until she was happy. Not because of some poorly-reasoned romantic ideals, but because it was clear honest fact that a Veela needed a content mate to exist peacefully.

He sighed somewhere around eleven, put down the calculator and jot-sheet he was using, and concentrated on calming thoughts. He didn't know what calmed Granger down, so he tried some idyllic daydreams of books and libraries and all those types of things, but he soon quit that as they only seemed to inflame her in the sensitive state she was that was entirely too akin to PMS. Next, he tried sex, but that didn't calm her at all. She got pissed at herself and at him. So, Draco gave up for the next hour...

...now, however, he was barely able to contain herself as Hermione Granger had what was called a "freak out." He was completely unable to concentrate as she cycled through emotions so quickly he could hardly identify them: pain, anger, sadness, curiosity, amazement, horror, and shock to name a few. She kept returning to anger, though, a feeling he could relate to as well.

'My whole life has gone by so that I could be Draco Malfoy's little sex toy?'

"Shit!" Her thought ran through him so vividly it stung, the mental venom she'd imbued it with creating a burning trail. His head pounded as he felt her sobs begin to start. An image flashed in his mind - her, inclined over a table stacked with books, stark moonlight highlighting her, tears rolling down her cheeks. A tableau, frozen in a single moment in time, imprinted in her brain.

Without realizing what he was doing, he apparated. Not to her, no - he wasn't about to offer his enemy comfort when she thought of him as a twisted, deviant sex fiend. No, he appeared in Daphne's spacious house, only to see her snogging somebody handsome and very familiar.

"Draco!" Daphne squeaked, tearing away from Blaise Zabini's dark face. "What the hell?"

"We need to talk," he told her cryptically, realizing a beat too late how couple-ish that sounded. He added, "About the work situation."

Daphne re-buttoned her white blouse while Blaise looked Draco over insolently. "The budget?"

Draco gave Blaise a subtle glare. What the hell did he think he was doing, pawing up his honorary sister at midnight? He better not have touched her, or he'd have another thing coming, especially as Theo was in love with her and Zabini and Daph weren't even dating. "The other situation - hi, Zabini."

"Malfoy." The man said coolly.

"Got out of the hospital, then?" Draco inquired casually, checking his nails. "What was it this time? Dragon Crabs? Wizard's Chlamydia?"

Blaise's already brown face darkened. Draco wasn't sure exactly what race he was, but he could remember all too well how the girls went ga-ga over it. Of course, his dashing gray eyes and sexy blond hair surpassed any exotic beauty Blaise possessed, but Draco never liked the other man. Blaise gave a sideways glance to Daphne, who was looking at him with slight revulsion and surprise, and said forcefully, "I got Dragon Pox, Malfoy, not Crabs; not that I'd expect you to know the difference, you've had both so many times."

Ha. That wasn't even worth a reply. He gave one anyway, just because he wanted to drive Daphne a little farther away from the man-slut she was sitting next to, previously exchanging tainted saliva with. "That was a dreadful insult," Draco said calmly. "Firstly, I have never slept around in such quantities as to contract a repulsive disease such as Crabs. Secondly, if I had experience in such matters, it'd make more sense if I was well acquainted with the differences, yes? A shoddy idea, a rubbish delivery; why, Zabini, you have slipped since our school years."

Zabini didn't flush, but he did look quite angry. Draco looked over to Daphne, waiting for a concealed smirk, but found her resolutely scooting closer to Blaise. What the fuck?

"Draco," Daphne said charmingly, in a voice she could have only learned from him. Somehow she managed to look dignified even with her brown hair mussed, her blouse still loose a few buttons, and her skirt unzipped. It was the eyes, he decided. They flashed at him with anger and promises of retribution. "I'd be happy to discuss the budget problem with you during work hours tomorrow, but I'd appreciate it if you let me spend my night with - " pause, slight discomfort - "my boyfriend."

Daphne! He had a brief image of Theo's heartbroken face and shuddered to himself. He thought about crassly dragging her to the other room and having a hushed conversation asking where her senses were, but decided that was too cliché. "Your boyfriend," he repeated slowly. He really was thrown for a loop or nine, though he tried to keep it in check. "Wow, Zabini, better get tested. She'll work you hard." He gave the man a wink and his dumb friend a leer. "Take it from somebody who knows this - personally."

He disapparated.

What the fuck was she thinking?

Blaise Zabini? Zabini? The Zabini whom she hated all through school? The Zabini that slept with girls and used them, threw them away like they were rubbish escaped from their bins?

Like you? It sounded suspiciously like Granger, but he knew she wouldn't be able to manipulate the bond with intention until they consummated the bond.

Speaking of which...he closed his eyes and groaned briefly. He didn't think he was going to last six days. Hopefully she'd figure out soon what was going on and present herself for shagging quickly. He fervently prayed that she was a good lover. He couldn't stand to be stuck with a shoddy shag-buddy for the rest of his life. "I could teach her," he said to himself thoughtfully. He pictured her mid-coitus, head thrown back, all that bushy hair loose and tumbling down her back, slick with sweat, smelling sweetly of sex, her body convulsing, and that mouth - that sweet mouth - crying out obscenities, shuddering around him. It was beautiful...the knowledge that he, Draco Malfoy, had shed her repressed librarian exterior along with her granny panties, revealing a sexy seductress who rode him until both of them collapsed in a bliss of ecstasy.

Alternately, she'd refuse to do any position but missionary, and lay there for the entire event with that dreadfully judgmental look on her face, checking her watch as if to go, "Get on with it; I have books to read!" And they'd both live with lukewarm sex for the end of eternity.

Yeah, that was more likely.

A/N 2: Well? Meet expectations? I wasn't going to make him kiss her, and I was going to draw out the torment of her being on the brink of knowledge for a few more chapters, but I caved. About the kiss - I know I'll get some complaints, but the way I picture the Veela bond, Draco doesn't really have a choice. For those of you expecting Hermione to jump in his pants, well, it's not happening.

Teaser (because it worked so well last time; you know who you are): He couldn't believe it had come to this. He couldn't believe he was standing outside her front door, prepared to get on his damn hands and knees, ready to beg for her to listen to him. He couldn't believe his plan had failed, and he couldn't believe it was his own mother that foiled one of the most important business meetings of his life.

Not as tantalizing, however, but maybe it'll draw some curiosity...

Thanks for reading! And to my lovely reviewers: nothing makes my day more than seeing a new email pop in my mailbox.

Addio!