AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Chapter revised January 2014 for SPaG and to make the chapter more robust and cohesive.

This chapter is put as an "ASIDE" because the main story of "Second Chances" is really told from either Scorpius or Rose's perspectives, and this one is told from Hermione's (despite the fact that both father-son and mother-daughter are both getting second chances in their private lives with a significant other).

Just for future reference - there will be other "ASIDES" throughout the fic at random times. They will all contribute, in some way, to the main story arc, of course.

For this chapter, major questions are answered about the odd relationship between Draco and Hermione, and those answers set the stage for what Rose has to look forward to with Scorpius...

Wine's tears = also referred to as a wine's 'legs'. These are the streaks a wine makes on the side of a glass when twirled. These used to be thought to indicate a wine's quality (the more legs, the higher the quality), but nowadays this is mostly discounted in wine judging contests, as other factors may affect how many legs appear (i.e. surface tension, alcohol content, etc.).

A huge thank you to UNSEENLIBRARIAN, who so kindly beta'd revision 1.0 of this chapter!

CHAPTER 4 ASIDE: Hermione & Draco's Second Chance

Sunday, June 29th, 2031 (evening)

Hermione played with the clasp on her bracelet again, twirling it about nervously. "He still hasn't come home, then?" she asked.

Draco shook his platinum-blond head and ran a hand through his rakishly long bangs in frustration. "No. I haven't seen or heard from him since yesterday's fiasco." He sheepishly peeked at her through golden lashes. "Again, I can only apologize for my son's poor behavior, Hermione. I'm afraid he's inherited my sullen temper. I was much like him at that age. The Veela inside can be rather… irritable, at times."

Understandable, since Draco had been forced into a marriage-mating with Astoria Greengrass at that time.

"I admit to not knowing much at all about male Veela," she hedged. "There isn't a lot written from their perspective. Most of what's known has been collated over the centuries by the female of the species. Could you, perhaps, enlighten me?"

It was blatant sexual innuendo, and she knew by her date's reaction–the light flaring of his nostrils, his expanding pupils–that he had understood her message loud and clear. Slytherins, in general, excelled at reading between the lines.

Still, there were proprieties to be kept for a couple their age; he wasn't just going to toss her down on the table like some rutting twenty-year-old and have at right this moment, no matter how receptive she might be to such an idea. If he was truly interested, as he seemed to be, he'd feel her out through intense discussion, and she him. They'd conversationally dance for a while, and if they managed not to step on one another's toes too badly, there might even be an opportunity for a sweaty Tango later tonight between his bed sheets.

At least, she hoped so. She'd waited for this moment for a long time…

"What would you like to know, specifically?" he asked, extending his hand and taking the lead.

Hermione considered how far she could take the topic. On the one hand, she could keep this discourse along a very objective, scientific route, inquiring facts merely for the sake of knowledge. Or, she could do as her heart was begging her to do and guide this line of questioning towards a more personal course, hoping that she'd get answers as to what went wrong–if anything at all did, that was to say–between her and Draco so long ago. Perhaps, at the same time, she could also determine if there was a chance for a future between them. There was so much negative history connecting them, though, that she was afraid whether asking about those times might offend or anger him, or that the replies would anger and offend her.

It was true that they'd always been rather antagonistic from the get-go; two such diametrically opposed upbringings were bound to clash head-on, after all. But everything had changed for them both during the spring of sixth year, right after the whole Sectumsempra incident…

As a result of Harry's over-enthusiasm in casting such a deadly spell, Madam Pomfrey had decided to keep Draco in the Hospital Wing for three days so he could have time to properly recuperate and to allow the Blood Replenishing Potions to do their job. Hermione had waited until the second night to go to speak with him about what had happened, and to apologize for Harry's rash actions out of a sense of misplaced guilt. She'd snuck in after-hours to find him very much awake, staring out the window, and had proceeded to take the chair at his side so they could talk properly.

At first, they'd argued in low voices, as he'd rejected her desire to mend the breach, saying Harry's punishment by the Ministry for using such a vicious curse would be well-deserved. Then, in the heat of the moment, she'd shifted from the chair to his cot, attempting to get him to see reason. As her hand had accidentally brushed against his, a powerful, undeniable, and seductive magic poured between them. The next thing she'd known, she was in his arms.

They'd spent hours after that passionately, tremulously kissing and slowly exploring each other, confessing to forbidden feelings that both of them had secretly harboured, but could never have said aloud prior. They'd stayed up all night touching and tasting every inch of skin on the other. Then, sometime around the witching hour, when the moon outside the window had peeked between the clouds to illuminate the ward in soft, silvery light, he'd gently taken her offered virginity.

Thankfully, Hermione had earlier cast a strong Silencing Charm to save them from alerting Filch or Madam Pomfrey as to her being in the ward. That forethought had been all that had saved them from being caught, as each time they'd made love that night their cries had been loud, lusty, and wholly unrestrained, and the old, creaky metal frame of the cot had moved violently under their recklessly thrusting bodies, screeching in protest.

Her first time had been a trembling, frightening, and delicious encounter for both of them – one she'd never forgotten.

In the aftermath of the experience, of course she'd worried about pregnancy. No Contraceptive Charm had been cast that night, so lost in the moment had they been. To her luck, however, despite their irresponsibility, no conception had occurred. They had, to date, never spoken of that stolen moment, either, for it brought up both beautiful and sad memories, for only weeks later Dumbledore had been murdered, and Draco had disappeared with Snape.

After that, Hermione had vowed to put from her mind what had happened with Draco Malfoy, locking the incident away in her heart. She figured he'd thrown his lot in with the Death Eaters, and she'd had a Dark Lord to help defeat. Somewhere along that path, she'd entangled herself with Ron to forget.

In the end, marrying Ron had helped the wizarding community to rebuild; it had given them all hope to see such obvious happiness found by Harry Potter and his two best friends in the post-Voldemort world.

Over the intervening years, she had given Ron two beautiful children, and she had raised them the best she could, while simultaneously pursuing a career at the Ministry. Her life had been comfortable, but not completely satisfying in the secret realms of her heart, for throughout all the years, she had never been able to forget the first man to make love to her. Her feelings for the dark wizard haunted her, no matter the distance or the experiences she'd shared with others, no matter Draco's own marriage and parenting success.

The sad truth of the matter was, she had loved her husband, yes, but she had never been in love with him. She and Ron had worked as a couple only because she'd overlooked many of their obvious incompatibilities in favour of taking the responsible, upstanding, expected path. She now believed that decision had cost her a life of potential passion with Draco.

Then again, Astoria Greengrass had been better suited to her former lover's distinct set of personality traits in the years following the war. During those times, from what little she'd seen written about him in the papers, he'd been angry, obsessed with rebuilding his family's name and fortunes, and bitter about life in general. Hermione honestly had to admit that she would not have been able to be the perfect mate for him then, for she too was very angry – specifically, at the losses she'd had to accept in Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin, and all of the others who had died fighting in the war, and at the loss of her childhood and her educational opportunities because of Voldemort's insanity intruding upon her life. She'd also harboured a bit of resentment at herself for accepting Ron's suit when her heart had known better.

When Astoria had died, Hermione had hesitantly returned to Draco's life very briefly to express her deepest sympathies.

She hadn't known about his Veela heritage until that visit, and hadn't been prepared for his reaction to the loss of his mate. It had been devastating to witness the depth of his berserker rage, which had been ongoing for five whole days at that point. His father, Lucius, fearing him permanently insane to grief and lost, had been considering administering a poison dart to put Draco down, as Veela males were immune to magic when in their fully transformed state.

After convincing the elder Malfoys that she might be able to help, Hermione had spent four hours alone with her former lover in a strongly Silenced and locked room. In the end, she'd persevered in reaching through to the man inside, in soothing her wizard when all others had repeatedly failed to do so.

What none but she and Draco would ever know was that she'd only been able to accomplish such an impossible feat by allowing him in his fully feral Veela state to slake his lust and empty his pain inside her body while he'd finally released his tears. It had been a brutal series of couplings, as he'd pinned her to the carpet, face down, and repeatedly taken her on her hands and knees again and again. His broken, torn wings had splattered and dripped dark cherry-coloured blood all over everything as he'd screamed and sobbed his agony towards the heavens, thrusting heavily into her without respite. He'd torn her clothing, pulled her hair, bruised her hips… and they'd both cried the whole time.

Hermione had been absolutely terrified throughout it all, but more than that, she'd hurt in her heart so deeply for Draco that she'd felt her own heart breaking in half at the depth of his pain. The compassion and sympathy moved her so greatly that she'd done something that day that she'd sworn she'd never do again after the death of her own father, just two years prior: she'd prayed. She'd desperately pleaded with God to help her save Draco from his suicidal, rampaging mourning.

As the last words of her prayer had left her lips, Draco had finally exhausted himself. Like a switch turned off, he'd simply collapsed into a deep sleep at her side.

After cleaning up in the attached bathroom in his bedroom suite, repairing her wounds with Healing Charms and her clothes with Mending Charms, Hermione had gathered her courage about her like a cloak of protection and stepped back into the ramshackle bedroom to finish what she'd meant to do from the start. She'd proceeded to heal an unconscious Draco the best she could, repairing his shattered wings, his skull where he'd torn his hair from his head, and his savagely rent and gouged flesh from his self-inflicted mutilations. She'd magically repaired the crushed and broken furniture, sealed the holes in the wall, scoured the room until every inch was once more unsoiled, and had levitated her lover into his bed, tucking him under the sheets and giving him a kiss goodbye. Leaving the rest to Narcissa and Lucius, she'd excused herself from Malfoy Manor and gone home, where she'd retired to her bedroom and wept as quietly as possible into her pillow until her own mental fatigue had overtaken her and she'd finally fallen asleep.

Hermione never touched her husband or any other man sexually after that day – not ever again, finally believing with her whole heart what she'd suspected for years: that she would have been Draco Malfoy's Veela mate had she not married Ronald Weasley.

It hadn't taken long after that for Ron to know their marriage had ended. She'd spent years trying to silently apologise to him for not being able to be his true love, though, and when he'd taken up with Susan Bones two years later, she hadn't resented him having a mistress. They'd stayed together merely for the sake of the children; their friendship, however, improved as a result of neither one of them needing to keep up the pretense any further. When Rose had reached legal age, and Hugo had begun shedding childhood, becoming a man, Hermione and Ron had agreed upon an amicable divorce settlement and she'd moved into her own cottage.

Draco had never contacted her after everything that had happened between them, and she feared it was because he'd felt tremendous guilt for betraying the memory of his late wife just days after putting her in the ground. Some hurts, she knew, one never truly got over, and she wasn't sure how a Veela male's emotional make-up would cope with all he'd been through in so short a time. So, she'd let him be and had waited for him to approach her. She'd spent the time in between working and researching the subject on second mates (who really should maybe have been first mates, but for a cock-up caused by a mad Dark Lord and a wizarding war), but there never seemed to be any deeper information on the subject. Even her former sister-in-law, Fleur, didn't seem to know, as her case had been unprecedented.

By then, years had passed, and when Malfoy hadn't reappeared in her life, Hermione had finally decided that perhaps he'd concluded that they'd missed their second chance long ago, if indeed he had ever wanted that chance. So, she'd done her best to move on with her career aspirations and had tried not to let her feelings for Draco–which had never dulled with time–wound her so greatly.

When Hermione had received Draco's letter this last week, her heart had leapt into her throat. When she'd read the contents of his correspondence, she'd almost fainted. His son and her daughter: fated to be what she and Draco most likely should have been. It was both a beautiful and a tragic irony.

Now here she was, sitting across from him at his Manor House, sharing a glass of wine after having had a splendid meal, watching the distant summer sun set from the balcony of the house within which she'd suffered so much pain over the years – first in the throes of Bellatrix's Cruciatus, and then at Draco's own hands, during his mourning. She wondered if she should dare direct this conversation around to get the answers she wanted about them. Could she? Should she?

Well, she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing…

"Specifically, I'm curious about Veela mating bonds," she answered. "Is it possible for the male to have multiple mates in his lifetime?"

Draco's shrewd grey eyes bronzed out as the sun's last rays glimmered in their depths. With a wave of his hand, he wandlessly called flame to the candles set on the table, keeping the looming darkness at bay. "Yes, it's quite possible, but only if the Veela's mate died and he survived her death. Such was the case with my grandfather, Abraxas, who took a second mate–Madeline, my biological grandmother–after his first mate died in a tragic fire with their unborn baby. He subsisted a dozen years after Madeline had passed as well, and probably would have eventually taken a third mate, except he was exposed to a rather virulent strain of Dragon Pox on a trip to Romania and succumbed to it just prior to my acceptance to Hogwarts."

A spark of hope sprang to life in Hermione's chest. "How does a Veela know his mate?" she pressed, wanting to fill in the wide gaps in her research that had existed for years. "The existing texts are entirely too vague on the subject, with not a useful detail to be found, as far as I can determine from my years of studying the species… for my job, of course."

Okay, that was a teensy lie, but she didn't want him to think she was some nut stalker who'd been obsessively investigating this part of his life. Which she kind-of, sort-of had been, but that was beside the point.

Her former lover spun his wine glass by its stem between his fingers, watching her through the ruby liquid. An eloquent smile jerked the edges of his lips upwards. "I can't speak as to the female Veela's ways for choosing a mate, as I honestly don't know what they endure for such a privilege," he explained with some small measure of amusement, "but there is a specific ritual that a male Veela must undergo upon his twenty-fifth birthday. It is the final stage of this transformative ritual, specifically, which allows him to discover the identity of his chosen mate. After that, he may again go through the ritual at his own instigation once every twenty-five years – but, as I explained earlier, only if he's lost his mate in the interim." He looked at her pointedly through long, dark golden lashes. "If he chooses to go through the ritual again to find a new mate, he has exactly three years–three to represent the three stages of the Transformation–after his fiftieth birthday, or his seventy-fifth, or one hundredth, et cetera to do so. If he doesn't take advantage of the opportunity within that time, he loses the chance until the next quarter century birthday."

Hermione's heart did a double-flip in happiness. Perhaps it wasn't too late for them then! Draco's fiftieth birthday had only been last year. He still had time to decide on whether to look for a new mate or not.

"Can you tell me more about this ritual?" she asked. "How does it allow you to know your mate?"

Draco chuckled. "You realize that this is clandestine knowledge, Granger? As the only continuous male Veela lineage in the world, we Malfoys enjoy our privacy – and especially on this particular subject. Surely, you can understand why."

She nodded sincerely, hoping she hadn't tramped too far across his comfort levels.

"I can tell you exactly what you want to know," he offered with a teasing grin, "but in the name of secrecy, I'll want to extract a promise from you not to tell anyone else, except Rose, if she asks. No writing a book on the subject or presenting it at a conference for a topic of discussion."

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out nice and slow.

Well, that was a disappointment. She'd loved to have written a paper on the subject of male Veela, as little was known about them in academia. In this case, however, Draco had specifically asked her for the favour of confidentiality, so she would respect his request. With a nod, she agreed to his terms with a tiny caveat added. "You have my word that I won't repeat what you tell me here tonight, except to Rose and her children, if it becomes necessary for them to know at any time."

Draco lost his playful smile then, and looked upon her with cool, measuring eyes. Whatever criteria he had been seeking to confirm his trust he obviously found in those long, assessing seconds, for he seemed to come to the determination that he could rely upon her confidence with a single, curt nod.

"Being a Veela is much like being a Werewolf or a Vampire," he began. "There are two halves to the person – the human side and the Veela side. Unlike a Vampire or Lycan though, a Veela is born, not made. However, all three magical beings are, for lack of better understanding, what humans would deem 'monsters.' In the case of the Vampire, the monster needs a blood donor-companion to calm its ferocious temper. In the case of the Werewolf, it needs the social order of the pack for the same reason. As for the Veela, we need our mate in order to mitigate our volatile temper."

He ran a nervous hand through his long front bangs as he spoke, pushing them off his face – a familiar gesture, as he had done it the night they'd first made love to each other, during their argument beforehand. The memory brought up tactile awareness in Hermione's body, making her stomach flutter.

"As a class of 'monsters,' all three races have transformative aspects to our alternative, non-human sides," Draco continued. He put his glass on the table and rubbed the palms of his hands over his thighs, as if trying to wipe away his discomfort in revealing this particular skeleton in the family's cupboard. "Vampire's teeth become razor-sharp, like those of piranhas, their eyes become fully black as midnight, and they turn pale when they change. Werewolves shift into their Lycan form – a perfect amalgamation of wolf and human. Veela sprout wings, their eyes glow. While the females grow beaks and talons, the males wrap themselves in inky shadows, their hair grows longer to give them a more feral appearance, and their canines elongate. In all three species, strength, speed and stamina increase during transformation.

"Also, in all three cases, their bite is venomous – to differing degrees, but with the single goal of creating offspring. A Vampire's bite numbs the area and injects an aphrodisiac into the quarry's system so feeding is less painful and more pleasurable, thus making the one donating blood more willing to drink from the Vampire, if offered. As Vampires are inherently sterile, choosing to share their blood with their prey is the only way the Vampire can make Kin. They create their children and mates this way, using their bite to sway their intended.

"A Werewolf's bite transmits the Lycan virus to those who wish to be made into pack. As most Werewolf pregnancies end in still-births, this is their evolved method for keeping their species going. Unfortunately, as seen with beasts like Greyback, infecting someone with Lycanthropy can also be used as a weapon and for punishment, too.

"I can't speak as to the female Veela's bite, but as for the male Veela's, it is only meant for their mate, and it magically binds them to the Veela, altering their biology, chemistry, and magical aura to prepare them for conception. It also makes them crave their mate's touch to ensure a reproductive bond subsists between them."

Hermione was simply floored by this information. Despite all her years of research into magical beings and creatures for her work, she'd never once conceived that Vampires, Werewolves, and Veela might be classified under the same familial umbrella (much as Hags, Giants, and Humans were generally lumped together, and House-elves, Fairies, Pixies, and Goblins were grouped) – much less that they'd have similar reproductive strategies that played to their 'monster' attributes! This was information that could transform the entire study of magical beings and create whole new avenues of biological study for the wizarding world.

The scientist within her now regretted agreeing to Draco's request.

Draco laughed. "I can feel those gears in your head turning, Granger, trying to find a way around your earlier promise."

She sighed in defeat, knowing that if she betrayed Draco's trust, everything between them would be ruined. She'd waited too long for their possibility for a second chance to toss it away now by being indiscreet. Besides, she'd given her word and there were no do-overs when it came to that kind of a vow in her book. "I won't go back on my promise to you, Draco. I just wish you'd consider someday publishing this information. Do you realise the impact it could have on the study of magical beings?"

He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs, and picked up his wine glass again. He leisurely swirled the contents around and around before taking a sip. "Oh, I understand perfectly well the impact, and I'd like to keep the Veela as far away from the reputation of Vampires and Werewolves as possible. Right now, my kind are tolerated because they're seen as glamourous and mostly harmless, aside from a little temper tantrum now and again. Our breeding with humans is generally overlooked, as the children tend to be more human than monster. If Veela were to be linked to dark beings like Vamps and Lycans, though, it would cause a culture of fear to pop up. No matter how liberal our current Ministry is there are always conservative voices out there preaching segregation of the races and species. If you don't mind, I'd rather not be put on trial and imprisoned in internment camps, as Voldemort had proposed for his New World Order. I've heard enough of that kind of lunacy to last a lifetime."

He was right, of course. Hermione was a discerning enough student of history to know that humans–both Muggle and wizard alike–always feared the things deemed 'different' and reacted violently towards it at first pass.

"You're a very wise man, Draco Malfoy."

Over the rim of his wine glass, he tossed her a heated smile. "Only about certain things. For the rest, I've got you to keep me straight."

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. Godric, what did he mean by that? Was he hinting that now that they'd reconnected, he intended on keeping her close by his side?

Don't jump to conclusions, Hermione, she scolded herself. He may have just been talking in generalities. Like, he could always Owl me notes when he had questions about things that required research or… that sort of thing.

"S-so, of the three species, Veela are the only ones who tend to successfully breed the old-fashioned way, you were saying?" she asked, prodding the conversation back on track.

"Yes," Draco confirmed for her, "and as a result, our bestial side is always within us, from the moment of conception until our death. It remains fully dormant until puberty, however. The changes we experience going from child to young adult causes the Veela to gain consciousness. At that point, the Veela is not a separate personality, per se. We still can't talk to it. It's like the chrysalis stage of a butterfly; the two forms co-exist within the same body while the caterpillar is in its torpid state in the cocoon. They are the same being, transforming together slowly over time. Again, I can't speak for females, but for males, that's what the Veela is and how it learns of the world between puberty and the man's twenty-fifth birthday."

"What's the purpose of it waking up that early?" Hermione asked, trying to puzzle together nature's reasoning for that adaptation.

Draco twirled his glass again, seemingly engrossed in counting the wine's tears on the glass. "It gives the Veela time to take notice of the world, using its host's eyes, ears, and other senses, to prepare itself for what's to come with its full awakening later. You see, it's during this time that a male Veela starts to evaluate potential mates, using its human host's perceptive abilities to determine the strengths and weaknesses of all non-related females whose path it crosses. It weighs the witch's aptitudes and appropriateness in a variety of categories, mostly having to do with reproductive compatibility."

"You didn't feel your Veela at that age, did you?"

Draco pursed his lips together, seeming to weigh his answer. "Not… until the night you came to me in the Hospital Ward. We both felt its power then."

So, it was true. Draco's Veela had come out to play a bit on that night. But how had that been possible?

"I'll explain in a bit how that was possible," he promised her. "Just let me get through this first, or you'll be nagging me to death later to fill in the blanks for you, and I don't want any interruptions then."

Hermione stopped breathing, going completely still.

Could he possibly mean-?

No, she wouldn't assume anything where Draco was concerned, as she'd been wrong about him twice before. He hadn't been willing to come knocking on her door either time in the past, for whatever reason – not after their first time together, and not in the years she'd waited for him after the loss of his wife. Yes, she was here now at his invitation, but that could just be so he could relay information to her so she could prepare Rose for her life with Scorpius. Or, maybe he was trying to seduce her for one last go 'round before he decided to look for another mate. Maybe he thought to take her out for a test drive to see if they were still compatible for future mate status. Whatever the reason, she wouldn't let her heart, but her head lead this time.

"Okay," she readily agreed.

He frowned, staring into his glass, mentally chasing where the conversation had left off. As he reconnected with the right thread, he set his wine glass back on the table. "As I was saying earlier, there's a specific ritual male Veela go through on the day celebrating their first quarter century. At that point, the Veela has completed its 'pupa' stage, and is ready to emerge and claim a mate so it can get on with the business of reproduction. This is called the Transition.

"There are three stages of the Transition: the Manifestation, the Emergence, and finally, the Presentation.

"For male Veela, stage one begins at the exact minute of our birth, in our twenty-fifth year of life. Our Veela fully comes to consciousness. Our magical aura and that of the Veela shift to align us into sync with each other. You see, two souls are taking up the same space in one body, and in a magical being, this can lead to their mutual destruction unless they align their magicks. The Manifestation makes the wizard and the Veela even. It is quite a painful process, as the abilities of both merge. Some magical talents are lost, while others are bolstered, and some are even newly opened up to both – repressed talents come to light. It can take an hour or more for this process, but once the shift has completed, the wizard and the Veela are as one, and stage two begins.

"The Emergence is the most painful of the three steps. The physically shared body undergoes a metamorphosis of its own. Muscle mass is added, bones are made stronger, the heart and lungs able to pump more efficiently, and all five senses heighten. This is to help the Veela protect his mate throughout the course of their lives together. Our immune system strengthens as well, and our lifespan extends greatly, allowing us an extra seventy-five to one hundred years of life over the typical human lifespan – to ensure maximum breeding potential. In addition, males gain control of our scent glands so we can mark our mate to keep any challengers to our suit away. For the females, it's different. They also seem to activate their pheromones, but from what I can tell, it's to attract as many mates as possible. I'm not sure why that is, honestly."

A smooth shrug of those broad shoulders of his brought Hermione's attention to the subtle changes in his body that she'd seen, but hadn't really paid attention to until just that moment. Draco did seem a bit more muscular than a wizard who had spent most of his time indoors rather than sporting outdoors or at the gym.

She recalled that afternoon years ago, when she'd gone to calm his Veela; his body had been rippling with powerful muscle. At the time, she'd thought it part of his transformation and assumed he would revert to something less bulky once he'd calmed and changed back. To her disappointment, she hadn't seen him naked again to conduct a mental comparison.

Yet.

Her cheeks burned at such a bold thought.

Across the table, Draco cleared his throat, and reached for his glass again, taking another sip of his wine. Over the rim, his eyes danced with understanding and amusement.

Godric, she really should learn to hide her expressions better, especially around a former Slytherin!

Her date licked his lips in a provocative manner and chuckled as her entire body burned as red hot as a phoenix's in response. "Too easy, Granger."

"Up yours, prat," she mumbled, sipping from her own glass of Bordeaux. Her cheeks were on fire and she was decidedly damp between her thighs. She waved a negligent hand at him. "Carry on before I decide to tump you over the edge of this balcony for baiting me so spectacularly."

Draco's laugh was a real and joyful thing. "Oh, how I've missed you, you vicious swot."

Hermione could have melted into her chair right then.

He'd missed her!

"As I was saying," he continued, reaching for the wine bottle and refilling first hers, then his own glass, "it takes hours for the second stage to occur, and it's usually quite painful. When it's complete, the final stage occurs. During the Presentation, the newly awakened Veela opens its Third Eye and through it, he and the wizard together see the face of their mate as chosen by the magic of the cosmos. At this point, the man's mystical 'red thread of fate' and that of his mate's are entwined and they become magically bonded through this life, and the next."

"Third Eye… as in, the Inner Eye, which is key to Divination?" Hermione asked, somewhat skeptical.

Draco nodded. "I know you always thought Trelawney barking mad, but Hermione, I have to tell you that having experienced a mating once already, there's really something to all that mumbo-jumbo."

Grudgingly, she agreed. "A part of me can accept that. I mean, we all bought into the prophecy that guided Harry to defeat Voldemort. It's just… I have difficulty accepting Divination as an accurate prediction method. It certainly can't compare with Arithmancy." She played with the stem of her wine glass. "I admit I don't understand the 'red thread of fate' reference. Is it some sort of matchmaking spell?"

Draco became suddenly very animated. Clearly, he was excited to be discussing the subject of theoretical magicks. "In a manner of speaking. According to East Asian philosophy, Fate or some such similar deity creates a red string for every person at birth. The string is connected to your ankle on one end, and on the other, it is connected to the person who is destined to be your soul-mate. Not time, space, or even circumstances that create tangles in the thread can ever break that connection, so that eventually, they will find each other and become lovers."

She tilted her head and uncrossed her legs, turning her foot to peer at her ankle. "It's a nice thought, but… I see nothing."

"You wouldn't, since you're not looking through your Third Eye right now," Draco flippantly pointed out. "But trust me, it's there."

Abruptly, she peered over at him. How would he know such a thing? Unless…

"Tell me something, Draco: is it possible for this mystical mating magic you speak of to ever make a mistake in the choosing of a mate during the final stage of the ritual?"

Draco leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his lap, tenting his thumbs together. "No, it never makes a mistake. However, it's possible for the mating magic to be forced to reject a mate as a viable option. That could happen is if the woman died in the intervening years before the ritual, or if she'd already received the three marks from another Veela, or if she were somehow unfit for breeding – if her womb had been damaged or removed for instance, or if she'd been infected with Lycanthropy or turned into a Vampire, or if she were pregnant with someone else's child at the time of the ritual. The magic would seek an alternative mate in such cases."

Hermione lowered her eyes to her lap, trying to hide her sadness. She would have been pregnant with Rose at the time of Draco's twenty-fifth birthday. Was that why his magic hadn't picked her and instead chosen Astoria Greengrass?

She steadied herself to ask the one question that would either make them as a couple, or break her in half: "Do you believe it's possible for a woman who might have been unavailable for mating the first time to get a second chance to become a Veela mate, should future circumstances allow for such an opportunity?"

There drifted between them a few moments of silence – enough time for Hermione to notice that the sustained trilling coming from the tree line on the vast property belonged to a lone male Song Thrush. How ironic, she thought. Popular legend stated that if a mated female Song Thrush was killed during the year, her male mate would sing about her beauty and spirit every evening in tribute. Then, the next spring, he would finally let her go to seek out a new mate.

Was it a sign from Draco's mysterious cosmic influence?

She peeked up between her lashes at her former lover, wondering what he was thinking about her bold question. Draco's expression was, to her astonishment, completely open and readable. His lips were turned up in a small, wistful smile that tugged at her heart.

"I don't think the Veela–nor the man–could ever forget their first true love," he admitted in a gentle, soft voice. "I think they would crave that one witch throughout all the years and circumstances that separated them, mated to another or not. And I think, that if such an opportunity arose where the man and his Veela could have a second chance with her, they would both do whatever was necessary, no matter how painful, to see it through. Even if it took years of waiting until the next ritual date, of purposefully separating himself from the outside world and becoming a shut-in to avoid the possibility of the magic having a larger pool of witches to choose from, and of channeling every ounce of energy he had into sustaining his Veela's life when all it wanted to do was die, the man would do it. He would become a recluse, only half alive, a topic of pitying gossip and scandalous speculation. He would do anything to have her."

Hermione's vision wavered, and she blinked as a tear fought its way to freedom, streaking down her cheek. He was talking about her, wasn't he? Please let him be talking about her!

He stood and made his way to her side, reaching out very slowly with one hand and gently stroking through her hair. She did not shy from the touch, instead turning into his warmth, covetous of it.

"I think the man and his Veela also wouldn't be able to approach his witch in the interim, because there would still exist the possibility that the magic would not choose her for some inexplicable reason. As you'd expect, the man would be terrified of that possibility, and of hurting his love so egregiously, so he would wait… and pray she understood… and hope with all he was that he could have her someday for his own."

Oh, Merlin, he'd kept her at a distance all these years after Astoria's death to protect her heart in case the second mating ritual denied her again!

"I see," she murmured, trembling all over. "I didn't know… any of that."

"You couldn't have," Draco quietly defended her. "Everything I've told you is a very tightly held secret that only a Veela male may only share with his mate."

Hermione's whole world went suddenly very still. Her heart beat slowed, and her mind went quiet for the first time in her life.

"I performed the mating ritual last night, when I got home," he explained quickly, his voice catching on the last word. "Perhaps it was presumptuous of me, but I needed to know if what I've been feeling for you since I was sixteen was real or not, Hermione. I needed to know if you would have been mine if things had been different back then, and if there was the possibility of a future for us now – our second chance, as you deem it. My answer… It's why I've taken every potion known to man to be up and walking right now, when I should be flat on my back recovering. Why I'd Owl'd you today and invited you here for dinner." His hand swept across her jaw, cupping it, and he rubbed his thumb very lightly over her lips, letting out a shaky breath at the same time. "I knew it was your face I'd see. No matter what the world expected or demanded of me, you've always been at the other end of my red string, Granger, waiting for me to wake up and see you." He titled her chin up with two fingers and forced her to look at him. "You were meant to be my mate from the very beginning."

A sob escaped her lips and tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with the weight of her relief and her hands trembled from all of the pent-up tension she'd held onto so tightly for so many years.

"I knew it," she whispered. "Oh, Draco, I knew."

Her lover took her hand and pulled her to her feet. "My beautiful mate," he murmured as he bent his head and claimed her lips in a possessive, powerful kiss that seared her soul and sealed her fate.

Hermione fell into his embrace, into the love Draco offered her – the love she'd waited over thirty-four years to reaffirm.

There was no waiting, no chancing any possible challengers or strange occurrences to interfere this time; immediately Draco gave her the First Mark – biting both of their bottom lips with sharpened canines, and bringing them together to mingle their blood. The maelstrom released by that magical kiss drowned Hermione in waves of ecstasy that boiled her blood and threw her into a sea of overwhelming desire.

"MINE," he growled against her mouth, staking his irrefutable claim. He rubbed his cheeks against both of hers in a scent marking that perfumed the air around them and infused her skin with an earthly, rich fragrance that reminded her of a balmy spring night, like the one they'd spent together in the Hospital Wing – the scent of clean, sun-kissed sheets, Granny Smith apples, and the sandalwood-amber musk of his cologne.

Hermione absently nodded, seeking out more of his tantalizing, luscious kiss. "Yes, all yours, Draco. Only yours."

With the strength graced him by his Veela heritage, her lover lifted her in his arms and swiftly carried her inside. The balcony where they'd supped was on the floor above the Manor's Foyer near the rear of the house, overlooking the back gardens. To reach his bedroom on the floor above, Draco took her down a long hallway, around a corner, and up a flight of marble stairs. He moved so fast, everything blurred around them.

Hanging on for the ride, Hermione wrapped her arms around her lover's neck, pressed her nose into the hollow of his throat, and smiled with real joy for the first time in a long time. "Thank you, God," she whispered over and over into the collar of his soft, silken dress shirt.

With wandless magic, they passed through a set of wide, white double-doors trimmed with gold accents. It led them into her wizard's bedroom. They hurried through, and with a bang, the doors slammed shut behind them.

In a trice, Draco had her pressed down into the soft mattress of his bed, laid across a cool satiny coverlet. "Look at us, sweet mate," he bade, his voice that same odd union of Draco's cultured speech with the deeper baritone of his Veela.

Hermione's met his glowing silver eyes and felt her sexual hunger for him increase ten-fold. He'd changed in the seconds it had taken them to cross the room to his bed. His handsome features were tinged with shadow, and his champagne-coloured hair was suddenly much longer, creating a curtain of privacy around them. Godric, he was beautiful!

"You have always been ours, Hermione. We claimed you first," he arrogantly stated, then growled in anger. "But you let that Weasel touch what was ours! You kept yourself from us!"

Hermione felt a regretful, little catch in her heart. "I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't know you were a Veela then, and I thought, after everything with the war… We were so different after the fighting was done, and I was so angry with you for being on the wrong side, and… honestly, a part of me thought you'd decided that what we'd done had been a mistake, since you didn't try to come speak to me."

Draco stared at her through narrowed eyes that were both jealous and hurt at the same time. "We will make it up to you," he finally resolved. Dipping his head, his nose pressed into her throat, and he took a long, deep scenting of her skin. His sigh was both one of relief and regret. "We have waited for you for a long time."

"I never forgot you – I couldn't. I loved you," she murmured against his damp brow, nuzzling into his hairline, feeling his touch elicit the mating imperative. With knickers soaking wet from her arousal, she rubbed her pelvis against the front of his trousers with a raw, indecent need. "Now, bite me, Draco," she whispered the plea in his ear. "Fuck me. Mate me forever."

He growled in lusty approval at her depraved language, and the sound was a cross between a big cat snarling and a raptor crying out. He opened his mouth and struck fast, sinking his canines deep into her throat and giving her the Second Mark. His venom–the serum that would change her as he'd explained–was icy cold as it hit her hot, thrumming bloodstream. The sensation was terribly painful, acutely shocking, and almost paralyzing. In the centre of her body, however, she felt something deep down in her womb grow uncannily warm, as if she'd laid a heating pad over the area in relief of cramps. It pulsed in a steady, comforting manner that she could feel all through her feminine core. Her clit throbbed in response, and another small gush of wetness was released, drenching her panties.

"Oh, God," she moaned, as the pain morphed into pure bliss. Every heartbeat reverberated through her, all of her senses heightened. She was sweating and trembling with need from head to toe. "Draco, please!"

She pulled his hair to direct him to get on with it, but he was unmovable, his jaw locked tight onto her throat, concentrating on assuring the Second Mark took. He hummed in approval against her skin as his mating venom poured into her, changing her, preparing her for accepting him and their bond.

As the icy burn at her throat began to lessen, Draco began divesting them both of their clothing, keeping his mouth still as he did so. He shoved her dress up around her waist, gripped her thong knickers, and literally shredded them with a powerful yank. Reaching up to the vee of her neckline, he tore her dress down the middle, using strength she hadn't fathomed possible. He made quick work of her bra as well, and pulled the fabrics out from under and around her, tossing them to either side heedlessly, all the while latched onto her and refusing to let go even for something as necessary as undressing. When her clothes were divested, Hermione felt and heard Draco tearing his own clothes from his body with the same brutal efficiency. All the while, he pumped the chemical cocktail-combination-aphrodisiac into her system that continued to work its enchantment upon her.

Clit and nipples aching for attention, she rubbed them against his bare skin. His flesh was hot and slippery with perspiration, but it was as solid as she remembered it to be. Grabbing hold of his broad shoulders, she tilted her hips upwards and slid her wet pussy against his taut length. "Yes," she sighed as she slicked his stiff member with her juices, imprinting something of herself upon him back. "Come inside me. Please, I need to feel you!"

Slipping his arms under her knees, he spread her wider and rubbed his cock through her naked folds. As she opened her eyelids and watched, soft, black feathered wings spread free from his back, stretching out far enough to encompass the width of the bed. They were absolutely beautiful in their contrast to his pale, starlit-coloured hair.

Lifting his fangs from her throat, Draco gave a series of small licks to the puncture wounds to seal them. His tongue erotically teased her skin into healing. Then, "Who do you belong to?" he asked in a demand, his powerful voice reverberating off the walls and ceiling. His eyes positively glowed in the darkness of the cool, silent bedroom.

Hermione reached to pull his mouth down to hers, but he gently rebuffed her attempt, intentionally withholding himself until she answered his question. Something deep inside her–some sixth sense or magical enlightenment–understood that this was part of the mating ritual, and it knew precisely how to reply: "I am your mate, Draco Malfoy. I belong to you – the man and the Veela. And you both belong to me. We belong together."

"That's right, Hermione. You belong with us," he hissed with pleasure. "With us!"

At the end of that proclamation, he sheathed his iron-hard length deep inside her inflamed body, sinking between the layers of her drenched flesh, working his way inside her tight channel until he was buried to the hilt. "God, yes!" Hermione shouted in exquisite pleasure-pain. He was so thick and long that he filled her up, stretched her wide, and made her nearly faint from the blissful sensation.

"You're our mate," her lover chanted with reverence, working his hips in a strong, steady pistoning action from the get-go. His tight balls slapped against her with each powerful thrust. "Ours at last."

All Hermione could do was hold on and feel. Draco made love to her with such amazing skill, like her pleasure was his only goal in life. She clenched around him, urged him on with mewling cries and grasping hands, and throughout it all, he murmured his love for her. For hours, in a variety of positions, he guided them through the stormy seas of desire, delivering her time and again to the peak of true ecstasy. Like long-time dance partners, there was an intuitive and beautiful understanding between them – a natural, almost choreographed flow to their joining that was both astonishing and satisfying. Throughout it all, Draco maintained a low rumbling noise through his chest, almost like a deep purr that vibrated into Hermione's very core, intensifying the desire that burned like wildfire through her veins. Each time he orgasmed he reasserted their bond by thrusting his split bottom lip into her mouth and making her suckle upon it, fusing their bodies and souls with magic and blood and seed.

By dawn, Hermione was exhausted, sticky, and sore, yet Draco's Veela was far from done with her. Apparently, it had three decades worth of pent-up lust for her to slake. Limp, almost faint from fatigue, body aching from head to toe, Hermione panted against her lover's shoulder. He was on his knees, holding her suspended in the air, her legs wrapped about his waist, as he plunged into her with seemingly unquenchable desire.

"Draco, please… you've exhausted me," she complained.

"Not yet," he panted. "Do you love us, Hermione? We've been waiting all night to hear those words from you."

"I did say," she replied, face pressed into the cradle of his shoulder and neck.

"No, you said you'd loved us." He bent his head and bit her throat, growling, obviously perturbed by the past tense. "But do you love us now?" he murmured, raising his mouth to the shell of her ear. "Can you forgive us for what we did to you, and love us again?"

He was speaking of the first time she'd met his Veela, during its traumatic loss of its first mate, and how it had used her body so violently. He was apologizing to her and seeking her forgiveness! Leaning back, she noted how the rays from the rising sun peeking through the tall, cathedral windows illuminated the lovely silver of his eyes. It highlighted his concern, his fear that she'd not be able to forgive him his brutality towards her, too. Not even the shadows surrounding his features could hide that fact.

"You said you'd waited all these years to be able to perform the ritual again, so we might have a second chance," she reminded him. "You believed in us – in the magical red thread that ties our fates together, and you had faith that someday, inevitably we'd circle back around to pick up where we'd left off. I might not have known about that myth before last night, but… I've always felt it." She stroked her fingers over his angled cheek to soothe his unsettled mind. "Don't you know I've been waiting and hoping for you all this time as well? I've never stopped loving you, Draco, not from the first kiss you gave me." She gave him her most hopeful smile, feeling its light and warmth in her heart as well. "I love you, I finally have all of you, and I'm never letting you go. That's all that matters."

To her surprise, tears of relief and joy dripped down her lover's cheeks. Tilting his head back, Draco and his Veela together gave a feline-raptor cry of triumph, loudly exclaiming to the very heavens their victory in winning their mate's unequivocal love.

"One more time," he growled, dipping his head and capturing her mouth again.

As her tongue tasted the sweet-copper of his blood upon his lips, the revival of her arousal was instantaneous; a gush of her feminine essence slicked them both and her breasts became heavy, the nipples aching to be caressed and sucked. Every muscle in Draco's body went tense in response, and he surged up into her with feral power as his sable wings beat rhythmically in time to his thrusting hips. Bucking against him in mindless need, driven by some instinctual desire for this final coupling, Hermione rose towards what she knew would be a shattering climax.

"We love you," he whispered against her lips as he molded her frame tightly to his, fitting their curves perfectly, aligning her body for maximum penetration. "There will never be another for us. Only you, Hermione. We belong to you. You are our soul-mate."

He kissed her and Hermione's climax peaked, shredding all her mental protective barriers and rendering her completely open to her lover. She threw her head back and screamed Draco's name, reaching for him with all her heart – and felt him reaching back. Their auras collided, entwined, melded in that moment, and with a last, forceful drive, Draco buried himself completely in her body, connecting them as if they were one being. He flooded her womb with his hot, life-giving seed and cried out her name. His raven-colored wings extended as far out as they could and then slowly bent forward and wrapped around them, sheltering them from the outside world. This special moment they would allow no possible outside observer to witness, for it was theirs alone.

It was in this moment of perfect rapture that Draco gave her the Third Mark: the gift of Veela conception.

"Love and protect our son," her mate bade her, stroking a reverent hand over her belly. His body continued to jerk as he emptied himself into her.

The realization of what they had done and of what the three Veela markings actually meant hit to her then with all the force of a runaway train: bonding a female to them in every way–magically, spiritually, and physically–was the only way a male Veela could successfully breed. Their evolved reproductive strategy was sexual serial monogamy, and they were sterile otherwise. That's why she'd never gotten pregnant after having slept with Draco either time in the past – the first time because he hadn't transformed yet himself, and without a melding with his Veela, he couldn't mate as one, and the second time because he hadn't properly transformed her to be his perfect mate. Neither one of them had been ready either time.

Now, though, he'd undergone the ritual transformation a second time - for her, and he'd properly mated her. Her body was now not only receptive to accepting his sperm, but it was actually facilitating their passage and assuring conception.

As she entwined her fingers with Draco's and helped him keep her hips tilted back and her core warm, she thought about what the marks had done to her. The extreme chemical changes brought on by the First Mark had assured her body had been properly receptive to breeding. It had heightened her arousal, and made her burn for Draco's sex, assuring she wouldn't deny him. The Second Mark had increased her basal body temperature and had sent her into instantaneous ovulation. It had also aligned their magical auras, so they would properly resonate, most likely to prevent any magical mishaps that might damage their changes at conception. The Third Mark had been the magical push for the finish line, so to speak. With their bodies, auras, and souls joined at the moment of climax, Draco's seed had become viable and extremely fertile. Their love, the strongest magic in the universe, had given it extra strength to make the journey. It would reach its destination soon, and it would fertilize her egg.

Not having gone through menopause yet it was pretty much guaranteed that she was going to be a mother again.

She had never been more astonished in her life.

"I will," she promised him, then gave a tired laugh. "You'd better hope the changes I'll go through now that you've bonded me to you and your Veela will slow down my aging even more than wizarding blood does, or our son is going to have an old hag for a mother by the time he hits Hogwarts."

Draco smirked, and it was both playful and more than a little arrogant. "Maybe we'll toss you over for someone younger once he's born."

She arched an eyebrow at that. "Have I told you, my oh-so-enchanting mate, that during my years at school, I invented a hex to cause erectile dysfunction, merely out of sheer boredom?"

His answering grin was wide and attractively boyish. "Have we told you that we intentionally selected the smartest witch of our age for our mate because her brains always made us hard for her?"

Hermione laughed. "Charmer," she accused.

Draco kissed her forehead and slowly, gently lay them horizontal on the bed. His wings were still wrapped around her, and she noted how angel soft they were against her cheek as he turned them on their side. His body was still intimately connected with hers, and he stared at her as if she were his everything.

"I do love you," she whispered to him. "So, so much, Draco."

His smile this time was sweet, almost even shy. "We love you, too, Hermione Granger."

She sighed. "The children are going to murder us, you realise."

He gave a negligent one-shoulder shrug. "Maybe they'll take their cue from us."

Hermione was doubtful. "Maybe." She covered a yawn behind her hand and then settled into his chest, resting her against his bare chest. "Good night, my mate. My husband."

That lovely trilling-purring noise lulled her slowly into sleep.

Before her dreams swept her away, a pleasant thought crossed her mind: in mating her properly, her lover had not just bound them up in this lifetime, but in perpetuity through the heritage of the child they had made tonight. Their union would continue the Malfoy Veela tradition, and their combined genetic code would persist through the generations as a result. Their children, their grandchildren and so on would always carry a little bit of her and Draco's love in their DNA.

Their love had created a new life… and around their son's tiny ankle would extend a new red thread.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Author's Notes:

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