A Voice Like the Devil

Written for the Q&P Comp, Not Quite Human

Pairing: HG/SS

Rating: T

Severus Snape clutched his tumbler of firewhisky, knuckles turning white with the pressure of his anxious grip.

It was inconceivable. Impossible. Undoubtedly the most ridiculous thing he had ever thought, yet he knew it was true.

Hermione Granger - brightest witch of her age, incurable swot, shining member of the thrice-damned Golden Trio, insufferable know-it-all, and one of his least favourite students of all time - was his... mate.

The word felt heavy in his mind and clawed at the back of his throat. But while his composure was completely torn asunder internally, he continued to exude his usual aura of boredom and aloofness. Eyes black as pitch scoured the room, hoping for a distraction from the lovely witch who held the potion master's attention beyond his will, oblivious to his intense scrutiny and the scowl he sent her way.

She looked absolutely enchanting, and he hated her for it. Well, he wanted to hate her, anyway. He found it impossible to do so, of course. Damn his stupid, hidden Veela heritage.

Apparently, the Prince side of the family was to be thanked for more than his hooked nose and limp locks. They also carried a Veela gene that was extremely rare and usually recessive, though, when it presented itself, the carrier was known as a Dark Veela.

Unlike their fair-haired counterparts, Dark Veela were not known for their good looks and were almost always male. There were only a few obscure, ancient books on their kind, but it seemed that all of them were known to have a silken, seductive speaking voice. It lured potential mates into the Dark Veela's clutches, not unlike the sirens of Muggle mythology.

Severus Tobias Snape wouldn't be caught dead singing, of course.

The thought sent a disgusted sneer ghosting across his face and drew him back to the scene at hand. His mate twirled by in a dress as deep and intoxicating as an aged red wine, made all the more delicious by the sparkle of black garnets draped across her collarbones and around her neck. The dress covered one shoulder but left the other bare, and Severus' blood and instincts screamed at him to kiss and taste the skin there. Her hair was twisted into an elegant updo, so the Potions Master couldn't even mock her normally unruly curls.

" Blast her for being so bloody perfect," Snape said under his breath.

"What was that, Professor?"

Severus whirled to face the person who had snuck up behind him. Lily's eyes looked up at him through the face of her son. "Mr. Potter. How good of you to descend from on high to mingle with us common folk."

Harry snorted. "I don't think anyone would dare to call you common, Professor. I've heard quite the opposite in the gossip here tonight, in fact."

S nape blanched at that. Had his secret somehow gotten out? Had the fools at St. Mungo's found a way to break the wizarding oath he'd forced them to take when they nursed him back to health after Nagini's attack in the Shrieking Shack?

Minerva McGonagall had found him, sprawled out on his back, a new pair of great black wings flung out to either side beneath him. They dripped with his own sticky blood, gleaming like obsidian in the moonlight. Coming so near to death that night had kicked his Veela genes into action, saving his life and landing him with a rather lovely set of feathered appendages attached near his shoulder blades. They were easy enough to hide with a series of disillusionment charms, but anyone would still be able to feel where they nestled, folded as close as possible, if they reached out to touch his back.

Luckily, that was not really a concern for one Master Severus Snape, tyrant of the Potions classroom and great bat of the dungeons. There was a reason so many students - and adults - had feared him and even wondered if he might be a vampire. He wasn't, of course, but it would appear that he was some sinister creature, after all. All of that added up to make him quite sure no one would attempt to touch him.

Harry reached out to clap Severus on the shoulder, narrowly avoiding knocking Severus' wing in the process. Bloody Gryffindors, thought Severus, always have to go and do everything they shouldn't.

"Indeed," he finally said.

Harry raised an eyebrow and pressed on. "How have you been, Professor? You look a bit tired."

Snape snorted. Tired? he thought. I'm at death's bloody door, and he says I look tired! Outwardly, he said, "How astute of you, Mr. Potter. I have, in fact, seen better days."

That was the understatement of the century. Dark Veela only had one year from the time their Veela side was revealed to the day they must find their mate. If they were unable to do so in the allotted amount of time, they would simply die. Severus had hidden away for much of his year, avoiding contact with the fairer sex - and thus their contact with his voice - as much as possible. As his day of reckoning crept closer, however, he started to grow desperate. He had survived two decades of war, life as a spy, and many years in a Potions classroom. He sure as hell wasn't going to give up the ghost now.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

When his forays into wizarding London and Hogsmeade had not revealed his mate, and with only days to spare, Severus had concocted a desperate plan. He would take a dose of Felix Felicis he had stashed away and spend the entire last day of his year trying to find his mate.

He had taken the potion that very morning, and his thoughts had tugged and pulled at his stubborn resolve until he'd finally decided to go to the memorial ball being held to remember the witches and wizards who had fallen in the war and celebrate the first anniversary of their victory over Voldemort.

He would never tell anyone, but he'd even bought new dress robes. Apparently, the luck potion wanted him to travel in style.

Harry smiled, seeming to find some hidden meaning in Severus' sentiment about seeing better days. "Haven't we all? Oh, hey, 'Mione."

Severus had been so distracted with his conversation with the Boy Who Lived and his own thoughts that he had been completely oblivious to the witch's arrival at his side.

"Hello, Harry. Professor Snape." She nodded at him, eyes friendly and surprisingly warm. "Actually, Professor, I was on my way over to ask you to dance. Minerva said you've been quite the wallflower all night. She insinuated that not even the bravest witch would ask you to dance, so of course, I am here to prove her wrong." She grinned in defiance the way only a true Gryffindor can.

Meddling again, are we, Minerva? Severus thought.

He went to respond to his mate before remembering just what his voice would do to her. He did not want the witch to choose him simply because of his stupidly seductive voice. In the end, he decided to give his signature sneer. Let her interpret that how she will.

She had the audacity to chuckle. "You're looking well, Professor."

He quirked a brow at the blatant lie. He may have filled out in the year since the end of the war, but he looked sallow and sickly with his impending mate-finding deadline nearly upon him. Avoiding answering, but knowing that he needed to use his last few hours wisely, he put down his barely-touched whiskey and held out his hand to lead her onto the dance floor.

Seemingly unafraid of carrying on a one-sided conversation, Hermione said, "Everyone has been wondering what happened to you, you know. We all knew Minerva found you after the battle," at this, the couple shared a grimace before Hermione continued, "but we've hardly heard anything about you since. Where have you been?"

Again feeling hesitant to speak, he lifted his hand from her waist and twirled it in the air, hoping the gesture interpreted as, "A little here, a little there," but thinking, I really should just learn sign language.

Hermione's brow furrowed in a familiar look of concentration. "Professor…" she began, pausing to draw in a slow breath, "is there a reason you're not speaking to me when I saw you talking to Harry just a moment ago?"

The black ice of his stare bore into her own eyes, but he didn't try to communicate beyond the look.

"I'll take that as a yes, then. Can you tell me why?"

A quick shake of his head.

"May I try to guess?" her brown eyes swirled with the amber of excitement, and her interest in his well-being and in the various mysteries of his person filled one of the many cracks in his war-worn heart. He nodded once.

She bit her lip. Damn, that's distracting. "Does it have anything to do with what happened on the night of the battle?"

Another jerky nod from her dance partner sent a new question tumbling from her lips. "Are you sick?"

Snape shrugged at this, not quite sure how to answer.

She squinted a bit at him, seeming to question her thoughts before allowing him to hear them. "Were you... changed …at some point during the battle?"

His jaw dropped open in shock. Even with her work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, he had honestly never thought that she'd guess what ailed him without his help.

"Merlin, I didn't expect to be right! I had read that near-death experiences could wake a dormant recessive gene, but Merlin !"

"Yes, you said that once already," Severus snapped thoughtlessly. His eyes went wide when he realized his mistake.

Hermione had a look of awe and bliss on her face. "A Dark Veela. I've read the few books and files the Ministry has that mentions them, and I've always wondered what the influence of one of their voices would feel like. It's wonderful," she gushed with a happy sigh.

Snape held his mouth firmly shut, lips turning even more pale under the pressure.

After a moment, the drugged look left Hermione's features, and she suddenly looked apprehensive. "Wait. If your Veela side woke up during the battle...that must mean your year is nearly up!"

Severus nodded, wishing he could just spirit the witch away and quiet her ridiculously swotty mouth by covering it with his own.

"Have you found your mate?" she asked, head tilting slightly to the side as she waited for his response.

After a beat, he nodded again, face free of emotion and eyes guarded, ever the Occlumens.

"Well, who is she? Why haven't you claimed her yet? And what exactly does that entail, anyway? My research fell short on that subject." Her curious stare bore into him, and the answer to her question rang out in his mind as the desire to make her his own grew.

He touched a calloused thumb to her lips, drawing it gently along the outline of her mouth. Her lips parted in response, and he only just managed to hold on to his self-control. Severus Snape did not force himself on witches.

Not even one who was his mate and literally the one thing that would keep him alive past the next few hours.

Hermione's eyes sparkled with interest and something else he didn't recognize as she sought his gaze, and she said, "A kiss. Who is the lucky lady, then?"

Snape stared into the warm depths of her eyes before allowing his eyelids to flutter shut. How could he tell her? She was his student for six years. Her best friend was the embodiment of all his worst fears come to life, complete with the emerald irises of his first love. She loved books and work more than any sane person should. She was absolutely insufferable.

She was his. He needed her. In some strange, involuntary way, he had already started to love her, flaws and all.

He opened his eyes again, losing himself in the coffee-coloured depths with their flecks of gold. How had he never noticed the exquisite blend of colours before? Severus willed her to understand, unable to get the words off his tongue, afraid of her response and the future they might have together.

Her head stayed cocked to one side, thoughts whirring so fast that Severus could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind.

He saw the moment when the truth hit her like a bludger to the chest.

"M-me?"

The stammer was adorable and a little bit insulting. She shouldn't be scared of him. He would protect her. Claim her. Worship her. His eyes went to scan over her curvy form again, feeling immensely pleased with his Veela blood for at least picking someone young and attractive. He supposed anyone would be beautiful if the Veela side of his blood and mind decided she was the one, but that didn't stop him from feeling like he'd finally gotten something right.

He hoped a short sentence would help Hermione hold on to her right mind. "Indeed."

She gazed up at him, mouth parted slightly in adoration. After the daze wore off again, she shook her head. "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

The Potions Master raised an incredulous brow at the implied challenge. My witch likes to play with fire, he thought.

The silence stretched out for a moment too long, made all the more awkward by their intense eye contact. Hermione cleared her throat and forged ahead. "It would be terribly selfish of me to let a war hero die." She blushed, seeming to finally realize how brazen and purely Gryffindor she sounded.

Will the house of scarlet and gold never cease with their plots to save the lives of the less fortunate? Severus wondered.

Seeing nothing for it, he decided he had to talk to her. "Why would you do that for me?"

Her blush deepened. Intriguing.

She didn't wait for the drugged state to wear off this time before she responded. "You're beautiful."

An involuntary choked laugh exploded from Severus' chest. "I assure you. I am not."

"You are. I've kept an eye on you tonight. There's something different. You look better, even with your year running out. It must do you good not to have two megalomaniacs breathing down your neck in the midst of a war."

Snape gave a genuine chuckle at that and sarcastically responded, "You are too kind, Miss Granger."

Their dance ended, and he pulled her hand through the crook of his arm, following his instincts to lead her away from the Great Hall and out onto the grounds.

They walked in amiable silence for a few minutes before Hermione started in with another round of questions. "How did you know it was me? And don't make me play twenty questions. Just answer me. I can handle it."

Smiling at his witch's bossy tone, Severus replied, "Magic, I suppose."

"But how? I didn't find much about that in my research," she commented, sounding much less concerned about her lack of knowledge on the subject than she normally would.

"I knew the minute I saw you tonight. Instinct, perhaps." He shrugged one shoulder, wishing he had a better answer for her.

She eyed him curiously, eyes still glazed with the power of his voice. "Why didn't you say anything?" She wilted as her right mind came back to her. "You thought the prospect of death was more appealing than a life with me?"

"NO!" He shouted before he could stop himself. Regaining his control, he more calmly declared, "No. I was simply enjoying the view for a moment while I worked on downing some liquid courage. I know you're my mate, and I'm glad of it."

Hermione's eyes suddenly went from his face to his back and gasped. "Your wings!" she whispered. "How did I not notice them before? They're beautiful!"

Amused at being called such a thing twice in one night but confused as to why she could see his disillusioned wings, he asked, "You can see them?"

Hermione simply nodded, still staring at as much of his back and wings as she could see from her place at his side, giddy smile plastered across her face.

He had heard rumours that one's soul mate would be able to see him or her clearly, even under disillusionment spells. He had no firsthand experience with the phenomenon, however.

"Apparently acknowledging you aloud somehow permits you to see past the disillusionment charm," the Veela mused. He ruffled his feathers a bit, allowing his wings to partially unfurl and easing the tension in his back and shoulders. The inky wings reflected the moonlight with a soft luminescence, and Hermione stood transfixed.

"May I touch them?" she asked, voice full of quiet reverence.

At his consenting nod, she stepped behind him and ran gentle fingertips over the tips, sending a pleasurable shudder down Severus' spine. His wings fluttered out to extend fully under her touch. The girl was going to be the death of him. He'd only been thinking of her in a romantic sense for an evening, and already she held such power over him.

"Why aren't you afraid of me? Of the prospect of a life with me?" he questioned.

She smiled at him. "Why should I be? I've always known you to be a good man if a bit of a grumpy one." He rolled his eyes, but she continued, "And I trust magic. It hasn't failed me yet. Why would it now?"

He tilted his head in contemplation, considering her words before responding. "Magic has failed me many times. I've been a tool to be tossed around by the two most powerful wizards of our time. Magic is killing me now," he finished, not bothering to hide his frustration.

Hermione surprised him by rolling her eyes. "It's killing you because you've been too stubborn to do anything about it."

"It's your choice now, not mine."

She scoffed. "Don't play the martyr with me, Professor. Or should I be calling you Severus now?" Shrugging, she went on, "I'm sure we'll figure it out. But I've already made my decision. You haven't."

Taking in a ragged breath, he said, "I choose you."

She smiled. "Maybe magic wants to make it up to you."

Laughing, he allowed his arms to wind around her waist. "By rewarding me with a Gryffindor know-it-all?"

She tilted her head back to gaze at him. "Why not? I've heard Veela couples are usually very happy. It couldn't hurt to try."

He lost himself in her eyes for a long moment before whispering, "May I kiss you, Miss Granger?"

Her fair skin glowed in the light of the moon, and she blinked coyly up at him. "Absolutely."

Hesitantly, he lowered his mouth to hers. His hooked nose bumped her cheek, but she didn't seem to mind. Her lips were deliciously smooth and tasted of champagne. As he deepened the kiss, a zing of something that could only be magic raced from his lips through the rest of his body, leaving even his fingers and toes tingling.

"Mine," he growled, claiming her mouth again. Nothing had ever felt so right. He nipped at her bottom lip, and her gasp of surprise granted him entrance. Their tongues danced together as the couple lost themselves in the swirl of magic and attraction.

When they were both out of breath and thoroughly snogged, she pulled back and whispered, "Yours."