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Sang Froid	By : AndreaLorraine Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 20724 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Author�s Note:� This
is a bit of fun written as a gift for the lovely Blood Faerie.� It will be a two-part ficlet,
most likely.� Just to warn you, it may be
a little edgier than what I usually write.�
Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

��

She should have known.� That was the only thing that kept going
through her head.� She should have
known.� But she could never say no to a book,
could she?� Of course not, even when that
book would get her into trouble, as this one inevitably had.� It wasn�t the first time in her career as a
rare book dealer that she�d made a poor decision.

�� It was just
too good to pass up�even if the book belonged to one Lucius
Malfoy.� He was
a git, but he�d been a quiet git
since the end of the war.� Five years and
she hadn�t heard a peep from any of the Malfoys.� They kept to the fringes of polite society, made sure they gave money to the right people and
organizations, and went on as if the entire ugliness of the war had never
happened.� Their standing had almost
recovered fully.� It disgusted her.

�� Damn the
man for having one of the most extensive libraries in Britain.� And damn him for offering to trade a second
edition of Most Potente Potions for, of all things,
an obscure volume on Veela lineage.� It had crossed her mind before, what with the
Malfoys� pale, deceptively angelic features, that
there might be some Veela blood in their family.� But they�d never mentioned anything outright,
and that would have been a source of pride for them.� They weren�t the sort that kept quiet if they
had something to brag about.

�� So what did
Malfoy want with this book?� �Krasa a Pomsta: Dejiny Vila�, it was
called, which roughly translated to �Beauty and Vengeance: History of Veela�.� Beauty and
vengeance, indeed � she doubted Malfoy could read
Czech, so unless he knew some very advanced translation charms (which were
notoriously pesky for those Russo-Slavic languages) he would get nothing out of
it.� Oh, but what did she care what he
wanted with it?� A second edition of Most
Potente wasn�t a first edition, but it was much more
valuable that her current best, which was an eighth edition.� She couldn�t find a better deal if she
tried.� And some tiny, rational part of
her brain had warned her of that.

�� Malfoy could have offered her something less for the Veela book.� Most Potente seemed disturbingly like a trump card; she couldn�t
say no to it.� She couldn�t say no to a
trip to Malfoy Manor under these circumstances.� She�d hoped never to visit again, but that
damn book�

�� So here she
was, nervously seated in a small sitting room off the foyer.� She had to admit that the house felt
different.� Anything would feel
different, though, when the dark presence of Voldemort
was banished from it.� She thought they
might have redecorated, and if they had she could scarcely blame them.

�� She�d
thought about it a lot whenever she saw an article about them in the Prophet or
Witch Weekly.� The Dark Lord had all but
castrated Lucius in the last year of the war.� Taken his wand, his house, held the lives of his
wife and son over him�it had been just the sort of bitter lesson the elder Malfoy needed to realize he was throwing his lot in with
the wrong people.� She had forgiven Draco a long time ago; he�d never wanted to do any of what
he�d been forced into, even if he was comfortable spewing the poisonous
rhetoric.� And Narcissa,
well, she had saved Harry�s life.� That
was almost enough to forgive her for looking the other way when it came to her
husband�s crimes.

�� So Hermione
was not as uncomfortable as she might have been sitting in the entranceway of Malfoy Manor.� But
she was still relatively wary of dealing with Lucius;
the man was a snake and that would never change.� Though some snakes were more agreeable than
others�

�� He brushed
into the room just then. �He looked the
same as she remembered � perfect, pale hair, aristocratic features, piercing
blue eyes � but he bore a look of exhaustion and slight wear that set her mind
wondering.� He was also smoothing down
the sleeve of his expensive robe without enough haste to fully conceal what was
obviously some kind of wound.

�� My
apologies, Miss Granger, I was caught up with something.�

�� She stood
up, brain overburdened with questions about the bloody gauze on his arm and the
less-than-pristine state of his person.�
�Is this a bad time?� she heard herself ask.� �I can come back if this isn�t
convenient.�� Oh, Merlin, that was the last thing she wanted to do.

�� He waved a
hand distractedly.� �No, no, you are here
now and that is fine.� Do you require
anything?� A beverage
or perhaps the ladies� room?�

�� She shook
her head, confused by his politeness.�
This was a level of cordiality that she�d never been deserving of
before, not in his eyes.� �No, thank
you,� she added, feeling compelled to be just as polite in return.

�� Right.� Please follow
me, then.�

�� He turned
without another word and began to walk out of the room.� Hermione had no choice but to follow, else
she�d be left behind.� Which, in the
grand scheme of things, might be better than following Lucius
Malfoy into the depths of his mansion, but she was
what she was.� She�d do damn near
anything to have that book.� He probably
knew it.� That was what worried her.�

He was walking at a rapid pace,
like he was on some sort of mission.� She
was always being left in the dust by tall people and Lucius
Malfoy was no exception.� Hermione scurried through the winding
hallways and rooms as best she could.�
Was the man on a schedule?� At
last, when she had nearly lost him, she spoke up.

�Mr. Malfoy?�

He stopped and turned,
his face inquisitive.� �Yes?�

�Can you please slow down?�� I don�t
enjoy trailing behind people like some sort of indentured servant, she
added mentally, wishing she had the courage to say it to him out loud.� He�d probably have some snappy retort ready
about servants knowing their place.

�Certainly,� he responded coolly,
and proceeded at a slower pace.

Now she was actually walking next
to him, and that felt stranger than being five feet behind him.� Now there was the possibility of
conversation.� Would she never cease to
shoot herself in the foot?

�I would like to show you something
before we close the book trade,� he said suddenly.� �It is just ahead.�

�Mr. Malfoy
- �

�I assure you, it will be to your
interest, but if you�d rather not��

Time to shoot herself
in the other foot; she caved to her curiosity, buoyed by his politeness and
seeming lack of murderous intent.� �Lead
the way.�

He nodded once and led her a little
further, careful to match her pace, she noticed.� He only strode in front of her when they reached
their destination.� It was an ornate
door, the wood elegantly carved and inlaid with the family seal.� She hadn�t seen the full seal before; it was
actually quite nice.� Too bad most of
them could barely claim to have done their line proud.

�In here,� he nodded, opening the
door and stepping aside.

Would wonders never cease?� She was walking into a dark room, willingly, with Lucius
Malfoy at her back.�
He closed the door behind him and then flicked his wand.� A half-dozen small
chandeliers lit, casting soft light upon a long wall.� And there, stretched out in an opulent
sprawl, was the Malfoy family tree.

It was much like the Black tree
she�d seen at Grimmauld
Place, but larger and a bit more tasteful.� Generally, she couldn�t complain about the Malfoys� sense of style; they always looked good and there
were no troll leg umbrella stands or severed house elf heads on display in
their corridors.

Her eyes traversed the long and
tangled branches.� Near the end, to the
far right, were Lucius and Narcissa.� A braided vine ran from them to Draco; she noticed with some surprise that he wasn�t
married yet.� Then again, neither was
she, and she�d thought that by now she�d be blissfully bound to Ron.� Life was not so certain, after all.

�I think perhaps you can better
appreciate my neuroticism about the bloodline now,� Lucius
said from the other side, the origin of the tree.� �When purity is maintained so long and with
such pride, no one wants to be the one to break it.�

�I didn�t come here to talk blood
politics with you,� Hermione said flatly.

�Indeed.� Nor did I bring you in here for that purpose,
though no doubt it would make for stimulating conversation.�

This time she did give voice to her
thoughts.� �Conversation?� Let�s be frank, Mr. Malfoy,
it would probably end with us hexing one another.�

He tilted his head to the side, a
smile tugging at the left corner of his mouth.�
�You do not consider that stimulating?�
It would only result in a duel if you allowed yourself to become angry.�

Already
he was making her angry with his smug serenity, but she was keenly aware that
he was partially right.� She couldn�t
control what other people thought.� She
could, however, control how she reacted to it.�
So, schooling herself into a slightly belligerent calm, she replied,

�No one likes to be told they are wrong,
you included.�

�That is true enough.� Perhaps we�ll save the debate for another
time.�

She gave him a critical
glance.� He was being civil to her, even
giving her a backhanded compliment or two.�
Either he had seriously mellowed out, or he had an agenda that required
tolerable behavior on his part.� He
raised an eyebrow at her scrutiny.

�Well, Mr. Malfoy,
what are we in here for, then?� she
asked, diverting her eyes from him and back onto the family tree.� �I have another appointment after this, so I
can�t linger.�� That was a lie, she had
no other appointment; she�d kept the rest of the afternoon clear because she
knew she�d be unable to resist scouring the copy of Most Potente
immediately after acquiring it.

�No doubt you�re curious as to why
I am so interested in Veela literature,� he stated,
coming to stand next to her, which was a little disconcerting.� He was very tall and a solidly built man;
she�d never noticed before, not in the way she was noticing now.� It was hard to miss how imposing he was.� It was,
however, possible to miss the sheer, magnetic masculinity that draped
across his shoulders like a cloak.�
Hermione frowned and willed herself not to breathe through her
nose.� This close, she could smell him, and
it wasn�t a bad smell by any means.� She
refused to find him attractive.

�It had crossed my mind,� she
responded, poker-faced.

After a slight pause, he took four
steps to the left.� It put him around the
region of his great great great
great (was she counting correctly?) grandparents.� He looked over his shoulder expectantly.� With a sigh, Hermione moved toward him.� It took her six steps to cover the distance
he�d done in four.� Satisfied that he had
her attention, he raised his hand to the intricate tree.

�Here.� Marie-Claudette Amourelle
du Chegny.� She was a full-blooded Veela,
or so they say.� �

Hermione looked at the elfin woman
that Lucius was indicating.� She definitely looked like a Veela; her face was symmetrical and perfect, her skin like
porcelain, with eyes that pierced even from the two-dimensional
embroidery.� And that hair, goodness, it
cascaded in pale blonde waves, impossibly long and smooth.

�I suspected there might be Veela blood in your family,� Hermione said noncommittally.

�Yes.� Its power had mostly faded by the time my
father was born, though.� He never felt
any mating imperative, nor did I or Draco, though we
have retained the traditional looks�and some say the charisma,� he smiled
wryly.

Charisma, indeed.� It fairly radiated from him.� She was smiling back before she knew what she
was doing.� What the hell?� So this was the infamous Malfoy
charm�no wonder people caved to it so easily.

�Do you have a collection of Veela literature?� she asked, trying to steer the
conversation into safer territory.�
Perhaps this trade was more understandable if he was an avid collector
of these kinds of books.

�I have started to put one
together, yes.�� He appeared
thoughtful.� �There truly is not much
known about Veela.�

Hermione nodded.� Their beauty and magnetism was legendary, as
was their propensity for wrath and their reputation as jealous lovers.� Other than stereotypes, some Slavic myths
existed about them and their mating imperatives, but the knowledge ended
there.� Fleur Delacour
was the only Veela she knew, and she was only a
quarter.� Fleur was beautiful, definitely
a bit haughty sometimes, and one of the only people in
the world brave enough to compete with Molly Weasley,
but otherwise she was a normal woman.

�Do you know the translation spells
necessary to read the book?� she asked, suddenly interested in the book�s
content.� She hadn�t read it, one of the
few in her possession to earn that distinction, mostly because of the utter
pain in the ass it would be to translate.�

�Yes, I looked them up and made
sure I could do them before I contacted you.�
No point trading if I get nothing out of it.�� The smile had faded from his lips and the
look in his eyes made her feel slightly uncomfortable.� It was not threatening, but it was
acknowledging; he was looking at her and actually seeing her.� In previous
encounters his eyes had always grazed over her as if she was something
inconsequential.� Not so now.

She resisted the temptation to do
the same to him.� He had never been
inconsequential to her, for obvious reasons, but he wasn�t someone she wanted
to be caught looking at.� Sliding her
eyes over his frame seemed like a betrayal.�
To whom, to what, she wasn�t sure of anymore.

�You wish to read the book,� he
said.

�I am terribly predictable when it
comes to books,� she replied.� Strangely,
responses came easily and naturally around him.�
Perhaps it was because she didn�t have to think about whether or not
someone less intelligent than her could understand what she was going to say
before she said it.

He peered down his long nose.� �I have a hard time believing that you can�t
do the translation spells.�

�I never learned them.� This is only the second book I�ve dealt with
that was in any sort of Eastern European tongue.� Those bastards in Budapest always beat me to them�� she was
thinking aloud, and cut herself off.

�I assume by �those bastards� you
refer to Zigmund and Kovacs?�

Her eyebrows rose.� Lucius knew of her
main competition, the Hungarian rare book dealers Markus Zigmund
and Konrad Kovacs.�
She had to admit, it raised him a few notches in her view of his worth
as a person.

�Yes.� They make my career interesting, to say the
least.�

Lucius
was looking at her curiously again.� �Are
they outselling you?�

�They�ve been established for
thirty-five years.� Of course they�re
outselling me.�

His lips quirked upwards; he looked
like a shark scenting blood.� �Not for
long.�� He turned and moved toward the
door, walking slowly, his hands laced behind his back.

Hermione stared at his retreating
figure.� What the hell did that mean?

�Mr. Malfoy?�

�Come.� I�ll show you the translation spells.� Then you can read the book.� It�s not long, so you will finish quickly�and
then, we can complete the trade, if you desire.�

Buggering fucking
hell.� He seemed to be oblivious to the impact he was having on her.� In reality, she knew that Lucius
Malfoy was rarely oblivious to anything.� That had to be why he sat close to her,
grazed his hand against hers � the man was flirting with her.� Or worse, seducing her.� Good lord, why?

And he could get away with it, too,
under the guise of teaching her the translation spells.� One had to be close for that.� She might have been learning something if it
was at all possible to pay attention.�
Honestly, it hadn�t been that
long since she had male attention�was she so deprived that Lucius
was turning her to goo?

She had to admit, watching him out
of the corner of her eye, that he could probably turn 99% of women and a fair
percentage of men into goo quite easily.� Especially when he appeared
studious, but perhaps that was her own fetish.� She found it inexplicably hot to watch his
eyes fairly devour the materials in front of him, his lips forming a slight
pout, and his brows furrowed in concentration.�
Like this, one could almost forget he was an elitist wanker.� Why had there never been any people like him
in school?� If ever there had been a male
classmate who studied a book the way he did, Hermione�s fate would have been
sealed.� She would have been shagging
that boy in the dark recesses of the library.�
God, that sounded sexy.

�Do you think you have it?� he
asked, interrupting her thoughts.� She
looked up at him.� She was in a library with plenty of dark
recesses.� Her mind wouldn�t let go of
it.

�Yes, thank you,� she forced out,
giving him a tight smile.�

�I will leave you alone for a few
hours, then,� he murmured.� He brought a
hand up to massage his forehead.� He
suddenly looked tired, and she remembered the wound on his arm.� She wanted to ask if he was ill or hurt, but
contained the urge.� It wasn�t her
business.�

�You may stay for dinner if you
like.� If you need anything, call for my
house elf Tesla,� he continued.� Then he
pushed back from the table and stood.�
Nodding once, he turned and meandered out of the library.

Hermione let out a breath she
didn�t know she was holding.� What the
hell was going on here?� She couldn�t
make heads or tails of it, except to conclude that perhaps Malfoy
had changed.� Or perhaps he was still
trying to butter her up for something�

With him gone, though, her
intellectual curiosity won out and her attention returned to the now-translated
book about Veela.�
The style was a bit halting and antiquated, but it wasn�t a difficult
read.

Narcissa
watched her husband sleep.� Lately it
seemed like he could never get enough rest, but she knew why.� She knew why both her son and her husband
were changing.� She sighed and sat
carefully next to him on the bed.� She had
never been able to resist playing with his hair and when he was this tired, it
wouldn�t wake him.

She thought as she toyed with the
silken strands.� It never ceased to amaze
her how soft his hair was; she could never get hers to be as perfectly
smooth.� Then again, she was lucky her
hair would lay flat at all, considering the gene pool she came from.� Straightening charms were a godsend as far as
she was concerned.

There was a myth that if you
plucked even one hair from a Veela�s head, it would
kill them.� She separated out a pale
strand of Lucius�s hair and contemplated the way it
laid against her finger.� There was a
time when he would have considered death better than what he was getting
himself into.� And there was a time when
she would rather have killed him than let him do this mad thing.

She was silly.� Tugging out his hair wouldn�t kill him.� Nonetheless, she let the strand fall back in
place with its compatriots and stood, smoothing her clothing before she strode
over to the floo.�
Yes, her husband was changing�but so was she.

Draco
turned restlessly in his bed.� His mind
was clear now, not like this morning.�
But still something buzzed on the edge of it, making him feel like a
caged animal.� And why shouldn�t it?� He was caged.�
He hadn�t seen the sun, but for a few stray rays beneath his heavy
curtains, for days.

On top of the restlessness there
was guilt.� He had been stretching his
family to the seams.� His father chanced
death or worse for him constantly.� His
mother was losing both of them and putting on an awfully brave face about
it.� He was tired of things going
wrong.� It had been good for a while, but
then�

He closed his eyes and remembered.

�Malfoy!� Malfoy!�

He
could hear his partner, Jerome Quinn, shouting for him.� He couldn�t shout back.� He�d been hit, hard, and there was no air in
his body.� He couldn�t see, either.� It was dark because that was when most
stealth missions took place.�
Unfortunately, no one had known that these sons of bitches had vampires
on their payroll.� If they had known,
well�perhaps they would have gone in for the metaphorical kill during the day.

Air
trickled back into his lungs and he tried to gasp for breath as quietly as
possible.� He was not only separated from
Jerome, but from the rest of the team.�
This was dangerous.� He had to get
the hell out of here.

It
might surprise people to know how often auror
operations were utterly fucked.� This was
one of those times.� This was one of
those strikes where people died.� And he
would be one of them if he didn�t get his arse back
to the rendezvous point.

At
that exact moment, someone stepped into the room.� Draco lay still,
knowing his best hope was to play dead.�
However, it seemed that his visitor didn�t even notice him; he had
fallen next to a long chaise and was partially obscured.� The dark would do the rest.� Draco cracked an
eye open and tuned his ears.

�The
aurors are falling back.�

�Good.�� A low, rough voice emitted a chuckle.� �I wager we gave them a good surprise.�

�Yes,�
the second voice agreed, �and adrenaline makes blood
taste so sweet��

Draco gave himself a quick once-over.�
He wasn�t bleeding anywhere that he could detect.� It was a good thing, because if he was the
vampire would smell him.� His prime
location would be given away and he was as good as dead.

This
was his chance.� He could no longer hear
his comrades.� They had been driven back
by the vampires.� He was the last one
with a shot at taking down the man who wanted to be the next Voldemort.� Draco�s lips twisted in a silent growl at the thought.� There would be no more crazed despots, not on
his watch.

He
very carefully extracted a slender peg from his robe.� This had been one of Kingsley Shacklebolt�s smarter ideas.� It was an emergency portkey
that automatically took whoever the peg was given to (or stabbed with, as was
often the case) to a holding cell in Azkaban.�
The portkeys had identifiers and trackers on
them, so they would know which auror had been
responsible for the capture and where to find him or her.

Now,
if the stupid vampire lackey would move, Draco would
have an unimpeded path to his victim.�
Early on, some aurors tried to shoot the pegs
at their targets, but that gave them too much time to react.� Many an auror had
found himself in that holding cell in Azkaban back then.� Now it was generally the practice to use the
port pegs as a last resort, and to do everything possible to jab the thing into
the person directly.� The peg was the
best way to go; even if he could get this sleaze alone, he wasn�t sure he could
win the duel against him.� That was why
it had taken so long to catch him; the man had already taken out four aurors and Draco wasn�t ready to
be number five.� However, he wasn�t
willing to give up, either.

A
distraction was in order.� Draco raised his wand.�
This always worked.� He mouthed �expecto patronum�, willing the patronus to appear at the door, and a moment later the room
was softly illuminated by a glowing shape.�
He could never keep himself from wincing when he saw it.

Words
couldn�t describe his mortification when he�d first discovered the form of his patronus.� He�d been
hoping for something cool, a dragon, perhaps, like his namesake.� But no.� It was a goddamn ferret.� When he�d admitted to his father what it was,
the man had laughed until his sides hurt � and then proceeded to show Draco his own patronus.� It was a peacock.� Draco felt
vindicated, and the two of them had spent the rest of the evening drinking too
much scotch and musing over embarrassing moments.� It was one of his fonder memories of his
father; before that, he had never admitted to imperfection out loud.

The
patronus was having the desired effect.� The two men snapped to attention.

�The
aurors are looking for survivors!� the vampire
barked.� �There must be someone still in
here.�

�Find
them!� the leader ordered.� With a slight
flick of his wrist, Draco sent his stupid ferret
gamboling down the hallway.� The vampire
fell for it in spectacular fashion and went after the moving ball of
light.� Draco
was left in near-darkness with his prey.�
He licked his lips and smiled.

It
was an excruciating play of patience and risk, but he did it.� He approached the man undetected.� He was only a few feet away.� Schooling his breath, Draco
uncapped the port peg.

Just
before he struck, the vampire strode back in.

�Master!�
the dark being shouted.

Knowing
he was sighted and therefore screwed, Draco lunged.� He had only a moment to be satisfied when the
peg sunk into his enemy�s shoulder and the man disappeared mid-howl.� The vampire was coming.� Draco didn�t bother
with his wand; they were mostly useless against the creatures of the
night.� Instead he went for the knife at
his belt.� His parents had given it to
him several years ago.� Its blade was
made of silver, because in his early days as an auror
their main problem had been with renegade werewolves.� Those days seemed so far away now�

Fuck,
the vampire was fast.� He was on the
floor, assaulted by searing pain in his neck, a meaty hand pressed viciously
into his cheek.� So that was what it felt
like to have your jugular opened, or maybe it was his carotid�it could be deep
enough to be his carotid�

Draco smelled his own blood, but he smiled.�
His blade had found its way into the vampire�s left side, between the
ribs.� It was as good as a stake from the
front.� The vampire screamed, his face smeared with Draco�s
blood like macabre slashes of makeup.�
Then he fell, dead and cold, atop his victim.

Draco closed his eyes.� He could feel
the blood rushing out of him in great, hot spurts.� He was dead.�
He was dead.� Hell and heroism, he
was dead.

After that it had been a patchwork
of hazy memories, faces, voices, the walls of St. Mungo�s.
�His mother, always crying, seemingly
held up by Aunt Andromeda.� Shacklebolt,
telling him nonsensical things about an Order of Merlin.� His father, grave and silent, but
unexpectedly tender, feeding him mush, holding cups of water to his lips,
brushing his hair.� Pansy Parkinson, his
once upon a time fianc�e and still his friend, with her little coffee-skinned daughter� - Blaise�s child.� Blaise himself.� Snape, of course dumping potions down him and arguing with his healers.
�Harry Potter, who saucily told him he
had a hero complex before he, too, accosted the healers and made some demand or
other.

There had been others, many of
them.� But only one mattered.

Astoria.

He was supposed to marry her.� Two months from the night
of the mission, exactly.�
Everything was all planned out.�
He actually loved her, too.� He
had given up Pansy because she loved Blaise and never
regretted it, not after becoming closer to Astoria, but now it was like a knife to the
gut.�

The bitch had left him.� Snuck into his room and put the ring he�d
given her in the cup by his bed while he slept, so that he damn near swallowed
it when he went to take a drink the next morning.� And that was how he found out he was no
longer engaged.

That was the first thing that
propelled him out of bed.� That was also
the first real emotion he felt.� And when
he came back to himself, he was on the floor in a body bind with a very large
orderly on top of him, and there was blood everywhere.� Only, it wasn�t his blood�

He would never forget the sight of
his father on his knees, bowed over in pain.�
His face was bruised, a deep slash opened over the pale skin of his
forearm, punctuated by matching perforations in his wrist.� There were two badly shaken mediwitches behind him. �

It came together in Draco�s head quickly.�
In his blind rage, he�d attacked the two mediwitches,
who were only there to help him.� His
father had intervened.� But the changes
made him strong, and immune to most disabling spells.� And worst of all, he had bitten him.� He had bitten his father.

�Father?�
he whispered.

Lucius�s eyes darted up from their appraisal of the wounds on his arm.� �It�s all right, Draco.�

�No,�
he moaned.� �I bit you.� I�m one of them.� I bit you��
And grief and shame and guilt tore at him, along with the knowledge that
he was a monster.� The only thing he
could do was let misery envelope him.

�Mr.
Malfoy,� one of the mediwitches
whispered, �we should treat your wounds.�

Lucius shook his head.

�Mr.
Malfoy - �

�No,�
he said firmly. �Then he looked at the
orderly that was sitting atop his son and said, �Get off him.�

�Sir?�

�He
is calm, now get off him.�� His father�s
voice was hard, flinty, the old, all-too-familiar tone that no one would argue
with.� The weight upon him eased as the
orderly scrambled away.

�We
should�we should sedate him and send an order down to the blood bank��

�No,�
his father repeated.

�Mr.
Malfoy, he�s - �

�I
know.�� He watched out of the corner of a
blurry eye as his proud father made his way across the floor to sit next to
him.� �There is no point.� I�m already bleeding.�

The
mediwitch stood and put her hands on her hips.� �Mr. Malfoy, I must
insist that you let us do our jobs!�

�Do
them,� he snapped, �and let me do mine.��
And then he proceeded to completely ignore the other people in the
room.� He leaned over to touch his son�s
pale hair.� �Draco,�
he said softly, �Draco, is this what you need?��
Blood had pooled in the palm of his hand like an offering, running in
twin streaks from the wrist.

The
smell of blood hit him, and so did an insatiable craving.� It made him sick.� But oh sweet gods, he couldn�t resist it.� He needed it.

�Take
it,� his father said.� �Drink.�� And he sounded fearless, but when Draco�s lips touched his hand he could feel the slight
tremor there.� Oh, but it all became
inconsequential when the taste of his own sire�s blood hit his tongue. �

��

And that was how it had been ever
since.� The healers weren�t exactly sure what he had become.� He didn�t require blood all the time, but
when he did, he needed it.� He could go out during the day; the sun
didn�t burn him, but he tired quickly and felt penned in around too many
people.� And the
dreams�

Nothing was predictable
anymore.� Like this morning.� When he had awakened, he felt fine.� But by the time he got out of the shower, he
had been trembling with the need for blood.�
He�d never felt so guilty as he did then; his
father�s morning was chock full of appointments, the majority of which he was
forced to cancel.� Watching him sit and
leaf through his papers with one arm posed over an old-style bleeding bowl, the
vein at his elbow open and flowing, was painful.

Draco
hated being a burden.� His father assured
him he wasn�t, that it was fine, he would rather cancel a bunch of dull
meetings to assist his son any day.� But
he saw the exhaustion in the older man�s face, the pale tint to his lips.� They said that there were no leftover impacts
from Draco�s accidental bite in the hospital, yet he
wondered.� He wondered if there was
something his father wasn�t telling him.

Lucius
had dismissed himself, saying that right now he had an appointment he couldn�t
miss.� And that was the last he�d seen of
his father for the a few hours; his mother had ducked in briefly, but otherwise
the house was silent.� Why, then, was he
so restless?� Why?

Draco
sighed and picked up a book.� And then he
put it back down�because it reminded him of her.

Hermione had finished the Veela book.� It
contained many interesting facts and anecdotes; she was glad she had read it
before trading it off to Lucius.� Actually, it had been very nice of him to let
her.� Most people wouldn�t have the
patience.� Imagine that, a Malfoy setting a precedent of generosity with anything
other than money�

She shook her head.� Maybe he really had changed; mistakes could
mellow a man.� They said a leopard
couldn�t change his spots, but she supposed he could rearrange them.� If there was a new Lucius
Malfoy on the horizon that was just as well.

She had expected him to be back by
now.� At least fifteen minutes had gone
by in which she had nothing to do.� And
having nothing to do in a library was very dangerous indeed.� Unable to control herself, Hermione stood up
from the small desk she was at and began to wander among the stacks.

A knock at his door made Draco�s heart leap into his throat.� He had been sitting there, tense and
preoccupied, a victim of restlessness.�
He wanted to crawl out of his own skin.�
Maybe someone had at last come to engage him.

�Come in,� he said.

The doorknob turned and his father
poked his head in.� He looked better; the
color was back in his face and he was standing a little taller.� Draco knew that
giving his blood made him tired and sometimes weak.� The slight displacement of his father�s hair
told him that he�d been napping.

�Feeling all right?� he asked.

Draco
offered a feeble smile.� �I should be
asking you that.�

�I�m well, Draco.� Are you?�

�Yes.� Just a little bored.�

Lucius
nodded, looking thoughtful.� He stood
there silently for a long moment.� Then
his lips curved into a smile.

�I may have the cure for your
ennui.� Come down to the library in
twenty minutes.�

�Father?� Draco asked, curiosity already eating at him.

�You�ll see,� was all he said
before he disappeared, the door closing with a click in his wake.

Hermione nearly jumped out of her
skin when Lucius came up behind her.� She started and in the process of bringing
her arms up defensively, accidentally flung the book she was reading at
him.� He reacted instinctively and caught
it just before it could slam spine-first into his jaw.

He looked at the book in his hand,
and then at her.� A raised eyebrow was
his only commentary.

�I�um�nice catch,� she said weakly.

�Well, I was a seeker for my house
team,� he shrugged, �until someone took a potshot at me with a bludger bat.�

�That ended your career?� she
asked, wondering if he�d deserved the so-called potshot.� Regardless, both Harry and Ron had been hit
with those stupid bats multiple times, and though they left some nasty bruises,
neither had ever been seriously hurt.

�No, my mother did.�� A sardonic smile twisted his lips.� �I was hit in the groin and she forbade me to
play after that, for fear that I�d never be able to do my familial duty of
reproducing.�

Hermione blinked.� �Are you serious?�

�Regretfully.�� He examined the book she�d reflexively thrown
at him.� It was a tome on controversial
spells, most of which were controversial because they walked the line between
light and dark magic.� �Going to
confiscate this?�

She flushed.� Not only had she been caught snooping in his
library, but she�d been caught reading something that was outside the
boundaries of appropriateness.� �No.� I know I shouldn�t have wandered,
my apologies.�

�None are required.� A little curiosity about dark magic is
perfectly normal, and you shouldn�t feel ashamed of it.�� He stepped closer while he said it.� Instinctively, Hermione flattened herself
against the bookshelf.� He kept moving
towards her and her stomach did a somersault.�
In the end, though, he only reached over her to place the book back on
the shelf.

She was keenly aware of how close
he was when he did it.� There were mere
inches between his body and hers.� He
could have put the book anywhere, but he chose to put it not even six inches
above her head.� It wasn�t where she had
taken it from.� He was back to his
flirtation games.

Why
the hell was he flirting with her?!� She
found her voice and a little sense.

�That attitude gets people in
trouble.�

He looked down at her, still very
close.� �Are you so puritanical?�

For some reason, that offended
her.� �I�no!� It�s just that when people indulge another�s
interest in the dark arts, it gives them license to practice them.� It�s classic enabling behavior.�

�Enabling behavior?�

�You know, when a person encourages
or allows another person to do something unhealthy even though they know they
shouldn�t.�

�Ah.� Well, I apologize for enabling you.�� He smirked.�
�I shall try not to do it again.�

Hermione could barely keep her eyes
from bulging out of her head.� He
was�almost playful.� What in the hell�?� She had to get out of here.

�Erm, thanks.� Now, if you don�t mind, Mr. Malfoy, could we complete the trade?� I do have another appointment to get to.�

His eyes were still fixed on her
face.� The cool blue irises said that
he�d poked holes all through her excuse of having another appointment; after
all, she�d just sat there for two and a half hours reading in his library.� That wasn�t the itinerary of someone who had
another place to be.

�Before we do, may I ask you a
question?�

��Yes.�� Hermione braced herself.

�Was there anything in the book
about the interaction of vampires and veela?� Or anything about the possibility of two veela having the same mate?�

Her mind slipped easily back into
its analytical mode.� �There was a small
section about vampires and veela.� I believe it stated that if a veela was bitten by a vampire, it would gain the vampire�s
need for blood meals, but with lesser frequency.� Otherwise the veela
would not be affected.� It wouldn�t gain
any other vampiric traits.�

�Interesting,� he said.� He was still too close for comfort; there was
slightly more space between them, but she wouldn�t be able to step around him
without significantly brushing up against him.�
�And the other question?�

�I don�t recall anything about two veela having the same mate.�� It was an intriguing question, she had to
admit.� �Maybe it just doesn�t
happen.� I wish I knew how veela mates were selected�there must be some rhyme or
reason to it�� she was lost in an intellectual fog for a few moments, and then
snapped back to attention.� �Why do you
ask?�

In retrospect, she would seriously
regret asking him that question.� She was
not at all prepared for him to tell the truth.

�Well, you see, Miss Granger�about
eight months ago my son, who is an auror, managed to
capture Nikolai Seregetov.�

She nodded.� �It was in the papers.� He got an Order of Merlin, if I�m not
mistaken.�

�Indeed he did.�� He tilted his head to the side.� �What wasn�t in the papers was that he was
bitten by a vampire in the process.�

Hermione gasped.� �Oh!��
It fell together in her head.� Draco had veela blood, and he�d
been bitten by a vampire � that was why Lucius asked
about it.� �Is he�?�

�Changed?� No.�
Courtesy of your explanation, I now know that the veela
blood spared him.�

Another puzzle piece locked
in.� �But he needs blood meals.� Your arm��

Lucius
nodded.� His brow knitted slightly, but
other than that his face remained neutral.

�Is he able to continue working?�
she asked, suddenly concerned for a person she hadn�t given much thought to in
the last few years.� Harry and Ron had
grumbled about Draco�s Order of Merlin, but they all
knew he deserved it, and Hermione finally allowed herself to believe that Draco Malfoy had grown into a
decent man.

�No,� he shook his head, the ends
of his blond hair sliding across his shoulders.�
Her eyes tracked the movement across the contrasting black of his shirt,
seemingly of their own accord.� �There
was an�incident at the hospital after it happened.�

�What kind of incident?�

�His fianc�e rejected him.� The little chit didn�t even have the decency
to speak to him face to face.� She just
left the engagement ring in the cup by his bedside.� He nearly choked on it.� Pleasant way to find out your wedding is off,
yes?�

�Exceedingly,� she spat, her eyes
narrowing at the woman�s cowardice.

�He was distraught.� Anyone would be in the position he was
in.�� Lucius
sighed, and for the first time his eyes dropped from her face.� �He lashed out.� I attempted to stop him and he bit me.� It has not happened again, but the Ministry
believes that he is too dangerous, too unstable to continue working as an auror.� It�s killing
him.�

�He�bit you?� Does that mean you--� Hermione couldn�t help focusing on that.� Questions were exploding in her head.

�No.� I have felt no need for blood.�� He lifted his eyes back to her face and a
spark of mischief lit in them.� �Aside
from what was already present.�

It was a joke, a self-deprecating,
slightly too accurate joke.� Hermione
felt the corners of her lips pulling upwards.�
He looked pleased that he had drawn a smile out of her at last.

It faded a moment later as she
remembered the second question he�d asked her.�
�Why did you ask me about two veela having the
same mate?�� The strange comfort his
honesty had lulled her into was evaporating as her gut told her that something
was missing.

�You had no answer for me,� he
murmured, closing the distance he�d allowed her.� �Am I obligated to provide one to you?�

�No,� she squeaked, once again
flattening herself against the bookshelf.� The urge to escape was returning, and
powerfully.

�But I will,� he breathed, leaning
even closer, if that was possible.� There
was an inch between their chests, at most, and maybe three between their
faces.� Her skin tingled with his
nearness, in that way it sometimes did when she anticipated another�s
touch.� �For a price.�

Anger flared in her.� The git!� The sexist, manipulative git!� She hadn�t managed to hit him with the book,
but she wouldn�t miss with her hand.� She
raised it to backhand him for his presumption.

She would have landed the blow and
escaped if not for his seeker�s reflexes.�
He caught her hand.� And then, to her great shock, brought it to his lips.� They softly probed her palm, warm and
feather-light.� Then they traveled down
the length of her thumb and the side of her wrist.� Hermione�s breath caught in her throat.

It felt�good.� His lips were like
silk and they sent little tingles cascading up her arm.� They gained momentum in her chest and then
spread warmly through her body, like balmy waves.� She was almost sad when his mouth left her
forearm � almost.

�You are determined to hit me,
aren�t you,� he purred.� It wasn�t a
question.

�This�this isn�t appropriate, Mr. Malfoy.� You are
married.�

�Is that your only objection?� he
asked.

Her mouth fell open.� �What?�
That�that is a pretty important objection!� she sputtered.� �And furthermore, do you expect me to believe
that you harbor any kind of benevolent feelings for me?� You�ve probably been given a bet by your
elitist friends that you can�t get in the mudblood�s
knickers.� I�m not stupid, you
know!�� She tried to pull her wrist from
his grip.� �Let go of me!�

�I see the years have done little
to blunt your high opinion of me,� he muttered sardonically.

�You had a good strategy, Malfoy, buttering me up with this book trade and then
making me feel all sympathetic by using your son�s misfortune.� Is there nothing too sacred for you to
exploit?�

�Is there nothing too incredible to
dent your cynicism?� he returned.

�Oh, and there�s another trick,
trying to turn the argument onto the other person.� You�re good, Malfoy,
really good, but I wasn�t born yesterday and I know how you operate.� Now release me!�

�I can�t,� he said.� �If I do, you will flee.�

�You�re exactly right,� she
confirmed coldly.

�You can�t until you�ve heard me
out.�

She gave another tug at his
hold.� It didn�t yield in the
slightest.� He was serious.� Hermione pursed her lips and glared at him.�

�Start talking, then.� I don�t have all day.�

�Impatient witch,� he said under
his breath.� �It is quite simple.� I asked you about two veela
sharing a mate because I believe I have found a case of this.�

In spite of how her curiosity was
sparked, she clamped down on it.� �And?�
she demanded.

�And it is Draco
and me.� We have both been having dreams
and yearnings consistent with the veela mating
imperative.� As near as I can tell, the
vampire bite somehow re-energized Draco�s veela blood, activating the mating imperative, and his bite
did the same for me.�

All Hermione�s anger drained
away.� This was too fantastic to believe!

�Who is she?� she blurted.

Lucius
gave her a bemused look.� �She is
relatively short, with curly hair that is brown, and eyes the color of
honey.� She has freckles across her nose
that you can�t see unless you�re up close�and a hell of a left hook, should she
ever land it��

And that was when Hermione put two
and two together.� Lucius
was not just describing his mate�their mate.� He was describing her.

�
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