Hermione slowly regained consciousness. Her head felt leaden. Shifting as she tried to sit up, she found that her arms wouldn't move.
She froze. The fogginess in her mind disappeared as she began to take in her surroundings .
She wasn't in St Mungos. She was in a dark room, restrained, her arms tied to a chair.
She glanced around carefully, taking note of what she could see. She was in a bedroom of an abandoned house. An ancient bed with a large, dusty canopy was to her right. The light was dim as it streamed through the smudged glass and heavy drapes. It must have been hours since she'd lost consciousness.
There was a cold fireplace at her left. A heavy door led out of the room, slightly ajar. The room was strangely cold and damp for a summer's day.
It was a old wizarding home, she was certain. The sensation of ancient, faded magic hung over the place like a shroud.
She twisted her wrists, testing the ropes. They weren't cutting off her circulation, but the knots were tight, biting down into her skin enough she couldn't get loose from them. She shifted in the chair; if it was old it might be fragile. She pulled firmly at the arms, checking for any rotting.
As she twisted and tested her restraints, she thought back. Who had kidnapped her? Could it be in revenge for passing the WRA?
It must have been the tea. That was the flavor she'd found odd.
Pansy.
She froze.
She'd drunk the tea too and tried to take Hermione to the hospital.
She arched her neck, trying to look around and see if Pansy was in the room too.
She was alone.
Hermione tried to think. Her mind still felt hazy. Pansy had been taking her to St Mungo's, that was the last thing she remembered. They just have been apprehended on the way.
She scrunched up her eyes, trying to remember anything else, any details she'd missed.
"Awake now?"
Her eyes shot open.
"Pansy?" she gasped, looking at the woman in front of her with astonishment.
Pansy Parkinson stood in front of her, looking brittle enough to shatter. Her wand was clenched tightly in one fist. She gazed down at Hermione with an indecipherable expression.
"Are you alright?" Hermione leaned forwad. "What happened? Where are we?"
Pansy's face twisted slightly. "You still haven't figured it out." Her tone was almost pitying.
Hermione stared, her eyes widening.
"What are you doing, Pansy?" she asked after a moment.
"I'm saving Draco." Pansy said, straightening and tensing further.
"You know," she pivoted away from a Hermione and walked over to the gloomy window. "I've always been in love with him. Even before Hogwarts. We've known each other for as long as I can remember. I was sure that eventually we'd end up with each other. I tried everything to get his attention at school, and it never worked. I mean, we dated, but it was never serious for him. After the war, I thought that if I waited, he'd realise how I'd always been there, that I was important to him, that he couldn't do without me." She gave a brittle laugh. "I even became a journalist—because I thought it could be an asset for his family."
Hermione's mind was reeling. Pansy had kidnapped her.
Because of Malfoy?
She couldn't understand why. Was Pansy under the impression Hermione was some sort of competition for her so she was 'saving' Draco from having his bloodline sullied by Hermione?
Pansy turned back to look at Hermione, her expression was wistful, and open compared to the guarded look she usually wore.
"Eventually I realised that he would never return my feelings," she sighed, "And I decided that I could live with that. It was enough to love him and be someone he trusted." Her mouth twisted into a thin smile. "I'm sure you find that terribly un-Slytherin of me. But, I thought, that as long as he were happy I'd be able to bear it."
Her voice grew bitter and her features were twisted into the same sneer she'd directed toward Hermione so often back in school.
"When he wanted to help you pass the WRA, I agreed to help even though I suspected why he was doing it. But—When I realised he was dying because of you..." Pansy choked and was silent for a moment before declaring fiercely, "I'm not his mother. I don't care about 'respecting' his wishes. I can live with him hating me."
Hermione stared at Pansy in bewilderment. The woman was mad. They had both seen Draco only a few hours before and he was fine.
"Pansy," she said trying to use a calming voice. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
"Of course you don't," Pansy said bitterly, tears welling up in her eyes. "That's the worst part. He's putting himself through hell for you and you haven't even noticed."
"Why do you think Draco dying?" Hermione tried again, still keeping her voice even.
"I don't think!" Pansy snapped, "I know he is. And you would too if you'd look up from your legislative drafts long enough to realise he's in love with you or anything other damn thing!"
Her voice had a slightly hysterical note to it.
After taking several steadying breaths, Pansy brushed away the tears and seemed to compose herself slightly.
"Draco is a Veela. Well"—her shoulder twitched—"quarter-Veela, but apparently it's enough. And of course—he ended up choosing you," she said the last sentence sharply.
Hermione stared in disbelief. Even as she sat doubting the witch's grasp of reality, the gears in Hermione's mind began turning. The missing pieces suddenly all clicking into place.
He can't be, she thought.
But it all fit. All the things that hadn't made sense. All the strange inexplicable things she hadn't ever been able to find the answers to.
"But he won't claim you." Pansy said. "He refuses to. So he's dying. This is the the only option I have left."
Pansy stepped toward Hermione and her expression became remorseful.
"I doubt this will make you feel any better, Granger, but this isn't anything personal. It's the only choice I have left. I tried easier ways. I tried to help you. I thought, if I dropped enough hints you'd figured it for yourself over time, so that he couldn't just obliviate you. But, it's too late now. I just—I want you to know, I would never do this if there were any other way."
Hermione's heart was pounding as the implications of Pansy's words began to dawn on her.
Theo's kiss. Telling her about Prima Verde's earning report. Even the picture of Draco in The Daily Prophet. The bludgers...
Pansy's fingerprints were on all of it. Subtle manipulation. Trying to make Hermione pause. To make her question. Urging her and Draco toward each other.
Hermione felt cold. If the bludgers were Pansy's idea of easy...
What are you going to do to me?" Hermione breathed the question, her eyes widening.
"You'll know soon enough." Pansy said, glancing down at her wrist watch.
Hermione pulled experimentally against the ropes again, they wouldn't budge an iota. She would never have imagined that Pansy Parkinson would be so good at hostage taking.
Taking a slow breath she tried reasoning, wracking her mind to remember anything she had read about Veela mates.
"If Draco really is a Veela and I'm his mate he is going to do more than just hate you for this, Pansy."
Pansy laughed, bitterly.
"You don't even know the half of it yet, Granger. If he ever sees me again, he'll probably kill me." Tears slipped down her cheeks and she brushed them away carelessly with the back of her hand.
"Pansy," Hermione said nervously, "if you're trying to save Draco then let's go talk to him. I—I didn't know I was his mate. Now that I know—I'm willing to help. I want to help. There's no reason to resort to something this. Let's go talk to him."
Pansy looked sharply at Hermione.
"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" Pansy snorted. "I suppose it would seem that way to you."
She cocked her head to the side, staring at Hermione thoughtfully.
"Maybe I am a little crazy," she said. "But I hope someday you'll believe that I wouldn't be doing this if I felt like there were any other option. I've tried—" her voice cracked slightly. "There's no time left. This is my last chance. I'm not doing this to force you, Granger. I'm forcing him. This is the only thing I can think of that will make him give in before it's too late."
Pansy's voice was shaking as she finished speaking, she drew a sharp panting breath that sounded like a whimper.
Before Hermione could reply, a foreign wave of emotions welled up through her. They'd seemed to be growing fainter over the last few days, but a bolt of fury suddenly struck her like a wave. A moment later the building shook as if there had been an explosion.
Pansy stumbled slightly but seemed unsurprised.
"Right on time," she said looking at her watch again. "It takes about three minutes to get from the front door to this room."
Hermione couldn't hold back her panic as Pansy moved closer, her wand was gripped so tightly her knuckles were white. There was an expression of steely determination on her face.
"I really am sorry, Granger. I hope for both you and Draco that this works," she whispered in a shaky voice.
She cast a slicing hex down each of Hermione's upturned wrists. The cuts were deep and blood immediately welled up and started flowing from them. Before Hermione finished the cry that ripped itself from her lips Pansy cast a swift, practiced anti-coagulation charm.
"I'm sorry." Pansy whispered again and then reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a knife.
Hermione whimpered, trying futilely to pull away. Twisting her arms forcefully, trying to get the blood to lubricate her wrists enough to escape.
With a quick step forward, Pansy buried the knife into Hermione's stomach.
Hermione gasped and slumped down.
Stepping back, the knife dripping with blood, Pansy cast a nervous glance toward the door.
"I'm sorry. I hope you survive, Granger."
She reached into her pocket and, pulling out a portkey, vanished.
As Hermione stared at the empty space where Pansy had been, time seemed to stretch out.
She knew she'd lose consciousness within a minute at the rate she was bleeding, but it already seemed longer than that.
She had never felt so close to dying, even during the war. Even when Bellatrix had tortured her until she had wished she could die. The actual nearness of it had never occurred to her. There had been so many other things to worry about, there was never much time to stop and think about how likely it was that she might die in the next few minutes.
But sitting, tied to a chair, unable to do anything but watch her blood drip into a growing puddle around her feet, there was nothing to do but think.
She didn't want to die.
She had so many things she hadn't done yet.
She—had things she needed to say.
Things she'd promised herself she'd do.
She didn't want to die.
She tried to rouse herself, to try to escape again. But—she could barely move. The ropes had no give to them, and she was already so weak from shock and blood loss that she had little force to exert.
A whimper slipped from her throat.
"Help," she called out. Her voice wobbling. Someone was in the house, somewhere. If they could just find her in time.
The phantom feelings of fury and panic kept rippling through her like tiny shocks.
"Help," she whimpered again quietly. Even her voice didn't seem to work anymore.
The room was swaying and the edges seemed to growing dark.
Her head lolled back and she fought to keep conscious.
The door blew opened as Draco Malfoy exploded into the room. He looked panicked and seemed to grow even paler at the sight of her.
"Granger—!" He flung himself across the room. In seconds he had the ropes off of her and was sealing the cuts on her arms to staunch the bleeding.
"Oh god! Granger..." He seemed to be crying as he cradled her in his arms and rapidly cast spell after spell on her, doing a rudimentary healing on the knife wound.
"Malfoy?" Hermione said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"I'm sorry,. I'm so so sorry. This is all my fault," he said, holding her closer. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Hermione's eyes started to slip closed. It was too hard to hold on...
"Granger. Granger! Hermione!" Malfoy said sharply. He shook her. "Stay awake! You can't die."
Hermione forced her eyes open to look at him.
He was panting, short panicked breaths and he continued to murmur a rapid succession of spells over her before checking with a diagnostic charm to see if they were working.
Hermione felt as if she were floating, somewhere slightly above and to the right of her actual body. It was a strange sensation. She felt weirdly removed from dying and her mind drifted away from all the spells Malfoy was casting on her.
She studied his face. Was he dying too? He didn't look like he were dying. Pale, yes. Maybe slightly feverish.
Then again, she didn't know much about Veelas and bonding, maybe it was hard to tell when they were dying.
Or maybe Pansy Parkinson was completely bonkers and had tried to murder Hermione.
But... Malfoy was there. Not Harry or Ron. He did seem very distraught over her; like he cared. And all those foreign emotions she was sensing did seem to match the grief and panic and rage that he was experiencing as he tried to save her.
Maybe Pansy was-
"Granger!" Malfoy's raised voice pulled her back from where her mind has wandered. "I need to get you to St Mungo's. You've lost too much blood. How did you get here? It will take too long to carry you past the anti-apparition wards. There has to be a faster way."
Hermione tried to think.
"A portkey." She remembered hazily.
Malfoy swore and cast a series of detection spells around the room.
"Incendio!" he snapped aiming his wand at the cold fireplace.
"Accio floo powder!" He shouted, pointing his wand in several directions.
Hermione could feel herself fading. She gripped the fabric of Malfoy's robes, as if holding them would keep her there. They were drenched in her blood.
"Fuck!" Malfoy said with a sob, slumping down he drew Hermione closer into his arms.
"Granger," he said her name again, his voice pleading. He turned her face up toward his with a shaking hand, "Hold on. You need to live. You can't die. I can't let you die."
Hermione's hold on his robes slipped and he noticed. He took several long breaths and stroked lightly across her cheek.
"I don't know what else to do," he said after a moment, his tone despairing. "There's a way I can save you. But—" his voice hitched. "It will come at a cost."
Hermione stared up at him for a moment.
"Are you a Veela, Malfoy?" she managed to whisper.
He stared at her. "Yes."
"And I'm—your mate?"
He looked away. "Yes," he said after a moment of hesitation.
Darkness began swallowing her vision. She gripped his robe tightly in her hands, pulling him down towards her as she stared deep into his grey eyes.
"Do it, Malfoy," she said.
He stared at her and then blinked. When his eyes reopened again they shone silver and his features shifted, growing sharper and sharper. The magic in the room seemed to twist and thrum around them.
Malfoy slid his fingers up into her hair and tilted her head back to expose her throat. He dipped his head down until his lips brushed against her skin and sighed softly.
"I hope you'll forgive me when this is over."
Drawing back for a moment, he seemed to be bracing himself, and then, curling back his lips he exposed two, long fangs in the place of his canines. With a quick jerk, he leaned forward and sank them into the juncture between Hermione's neck and shoulder.
Hermione gasped.
It felt like pure magic being injected into her veins, an icy burning sensation spread through her body and seemed to well up until she felt like she would burst. It continued to grow until it was as though every cell of her body were being pulled taut as a violin string, until she were practically vibrating with tension. She felt as if she were about to shatter into atoms. And still Malfoy's bite held and his fangs pumped more and more magic into her.
Her mind was on fire. As if there were a supernova in her brain. The waves of magic were breathtaking and also familiar feeling. She could feel her own magic giving away to the new flood coursing through her, melting away and then melding until it mixed together in a swirl.
After what could have been minutes or hours the flood of magic gradually eased and she became aware of her surroundings again.
She wasn't dying anymore. But, while she could feel herself somewhat refashioned on a magical level, her body was still failing. It was a strange duality. As though something had grabbed ahold of her life spark and was just barely keeping it from slipping over the edge.
A low, tortured groan drew her attention to Draco, who was still clutching her in his arms, but now knelt almost doubled over. His eyes were closed and he was shockingly pale. If she couldn't see his shallow breathing she would have thought he was dead. As she stared, his shoulders twitched bizarrely and then suddenly twisted, his back arching unnaturally.
Another groan was torn from him and he pulled Hermione even closer, crushing her protectively against his chest. It was as if he were possessed. His body was writhing and twisting uncontrollably. It reminded Hermione of watching Lupin transform during third year.
"Draco," Hermione whispered, reaching up and laying a hand on his face.
He shuddered violently upon the contact and pressed his cheek against her hand for a moment, as though her touch comforted him.
Then he dropped his head to the floor and screamed.
It was horrible. Simultaneously human and not. The sheer agony it contained made Hermione's heart stutter. The sound wouldn't stop, it went on and on, lasting until his throat should have been irreparably mangled. He kept screaming.
She wanted to do something, but she could barely keep conscious. She could only watch, feeling as though her heart were breaking.
As he continued to scream, she watched with wide eyes as suddenly two, huge wings ripped themselves out of his back. As they did so a mirage of white feathers burst out over his skin until his body was covered. Only his face remained bare, his features sharp and his eyes glowing bright silver.
Gripping Hermione tightly in his arms, he stumbled to his feet, his wings fluttering unsteadily to balance him. His pallor was still deathly. He cradled her carefully against his chest as he tensed and then, with a superhuman leap, launched them through the window and straight up into the air.
Hermione had thought flying by broomstick was too fast. It was nothing compared to this. Malfoy was cutting through the air at an impossible speed. She was convinced they were breaking more laws of physics than even magic was supposed to get away with.
After shooting straight up into the air until they were at an insane height, Draco brought them up sharply and angled into a dive, zipping over land and water like a rocket as they sped downward.
Hermione struggled to stay awake, but she could feel herself slipping away again. The thread holding onto her was pulled taut.
"Granger." Draco's voice suddenly cut through the fade. "Stay with me. Please."
"I'm trying," she murmured, slumping against him.
"We're almost there," he said. His wings drew back into a sharper dive.
She was fading in and out of consciousness. Fighting to hold on, she forced her eyes open in time to see them crash through the window of Purge and Dowse Ltd.
The crowd of witches and wizards sitting in the waiting area scattered as Draco burst through on a twenty foot wingspan. He slid through the flying wooden chairs until they careened to a stop near the WelcomeWitch.
"Save her!" Malfoy snapped, his wings twisting and folding themselves and his feathers vanishing as he reverted back into a human. "You have so save her! She's dying."
Several healers hurried towards them, their lime green robes blurring into floating blobs before Hermione's eyes as everything went black.