The Call of the Veela

Her limbs were on fire, twitching relentlessly as if filled with adrenaline. The sensation blazed through her. She could feel it twisting and slithering its way from cell to cell, warming rapidly on its quest. Eventually, each little serpent of magic collided together at the magical core residing in her heart—a supernova exploding outward. She must be dreaming for she had never felt or heard of anything like it. The extreme surge of power rushed through her body like water released from a dam after the walls restraining it were broken. Her body tingled with the aftershocks as the power flowed through and around her, eventually settling inside of her. She was drawn back by a voice, leading her out of the inferno and back to the cool relief of reality.

“I know you’re awake Miss Granger,” the voice murmured, “Twice in as many days, if I didn’t know you better, I would say you were making an odd habit out of sleeping in the infirmary.”

Hermione’s eyes flickered open before quickly shutting in protest of the bright light. Everything felt overly sensitive. She blinked a few times, aching to move her heavy limbs to shield her eyes. She tilted her head to the side and took in the billowing robes of her professor.

“The infirmary,” she rasped, “What…what happened?”

Professor Black stood from her chair and moved to the edge of Hermione’s bed, blocking the light streaming down from the windows with her profile and offering Hermione some relief. She reached towards the table next to her bed and lifted a small potion vial. She observed the silver liquid for a moment before bringing it to Hermione’s lips.

“Drink this,” she said, “it should help with any pain. You hit your head quite hard when you fell.”

Hermione did as she was told. The second the cool liquid hit her tongue danced down her throat, she felt life return to her heavy limbs and the burning pain emanating from every crevice of her body begin to numb. She sighed in relief.

“You, darling,” Professor Black said, “missed your curfew.” Hermione was not surprised by that, she missed curfew often enough but that had never landed her in the infirmary. She told her professor as much.

“Well Miss Granger,” Professor Black continued, “while I may have a knack for finding lost things, and persons, as well as knowing where you like to hide in the library,” she added conspiringly, “you were nowhere to be found. You are quite lucky my sister happened to be on a rare visit. She has a profound ability for dismantling spells. Particularly those of her own unintentional creation.” She added as an afterthought, the last words too soft for Hermione to make out.

Hermione wondered why such a spell breaker was at Hogwarts and why Professor Black needed the help of one for that matter.

As if reading her thoughts, Narcissa Black continued, “While you were in the library, you were completely hidden in plain sight. A powerful magic was blanketed over you making it impossible for anyone to find you well, that is, until we went looking. When we found you, you were on the floor and you did not respond to our attempts to rouse you. I think you can figure out the rest.”

While Hermione was deeply confused, she took the professor at her word. A slight cough interrupted them as Madame Pomfrey bustled through to run her diagnostic.

“Don’t let me catch you again here anytime soon Ms. Granger or you will not like the consequences.” Professor Black turned to leave. Three steps from the door she paused and turned her head back to look at Hermione, “and do make haste in finishing that book I gave you.” With that, she left the room, her robes billowing behind her.

Hermione turned her attention back to Madame Pomfrey as she finished her assessment. Reviewing it, her face quickly morphed into one of shock. She rushed from Hermione’s bedside, quickly shuffling through drawers. Hermione hadn’t seen anything as chaotic since getting her first wand from Ollivander’s. Eventually the old witch returned to her bedside clutching four potions which she placed on the small side table. She quickly schooled her features but Hermione could see that something within her diagnostic had shaken the woman.

“Take these,” Madame Pomfrey said, “One before eating,” she said pointing to an orange vial, “one before sleeping,” she said pointing to a dark blue swirling liquid, “one when you wake,” she pointed to the green bottle, “and this one if you feel yourself getting angry.” She pointed to a dark red, sludgy liquid in a small jar. “I don’t have stocks of these so come back first thing tomorrow and I will give you more. You will need to take these for the foreseeable future.”

Hermione was just about to ask why she suddenly needed the daily potions when something on the side table caught her eye. She tuned out the continued instructions of the nurse as she took the object in.

There, on the side table next to her bed, sat a jet-black feather. It was long and looked silky smooth. Hermione reached for it, drawing it into her hands reverently. It was so very soft and she could instantly feel the power within it. The magic within her, still burning and bubbling from earlier, rose rapidly out of her to meet it and, when they collided, Hermione felt an inexplicable warmth explode in her chest. Shadows danced across her mindscape. Two tall black figures sitting against a yellow, holding a tiny shadow between them. The same two figures gazing out upon an orange backdrop, smaller shadows playing in the distance. The figures once more, holding each other close, sadness darkening the background to a somber blue. The images flicked through her mind so quickly Hermione could make little sense of the colors and shadows.

Suddenly, it all froze, and a voice echoed through her. Not in her head, or in her ears, but through her. “I’ve found you,” it said, “and now that I have, I shall never let you go. We are coming for you, little one, we are coming.”

The power receded from her as quickly as it had come, drawing back into the black feather still held within her hands. She didn’t know what to make of it but she knew, instinctively, that this was no ordinary feather and she was too entranced by it to let it go. Hermione reached for her bag and then the book within it and slid the feather under its cover. Oddly, she felt the two magics, the book and the feather, greet each other and join as if they were old friends.

Dismissed by Madame Pomfrey, Hermione made her way towards the great hall, hunger pulling at her stomach.

She must have arrived sometime after breakfast and before lunch for the hall was mostly empty. Déjà vu.

She took her normal seat and was delighted when a plate of French pastries appeared before her. Quickly thanking Hogwarts, Hermione immediately reached for one of the chaussons aux pommes—her favorite.

She savored the first bite, but quickly made her way through the pastry before reaching for a pain au chocolat. As she enjoyed her breakfast, she pulled the book from her bag and watched as it opened to a random page and the blank sheet began to fill with the now familiar cursive script.

However, as fate would have it, Hermione was not destined for a quiet meal. As she looked down at the page, the book was ripped from her hand.

Her gaze snapped upwards, anger quickly clouding all other emotions. There, in front of her, stood Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Harry had the book in his hands and was rapidly flipping through the pages, Ron looking over his shoulder.

“Gimme that,” Ron said, making a grab for the book and violently ripping it from Harry’s hand.

“Ron,” Harry said, “I was looking at it.”

“Yeah mate, but I wanna see it.” Ron said. After a minute of forcefully turning the pages, to the point where Hermione thought they might tear, he said, “Oh rubbish, there’s nothing here, its completely blank! You would think she,” he gestured towards Hermione, “would at least be reading something interesting, not some scrappy old blank journal.”

“Well give it here,” Harry said, pulling it from Ron’s hand and flipping through the pages.

Hermione was in shock, despite her rather poor experience with her peers at Hogwarts, no one had been so brazen to rip a book from her hands.

“What on earth are you doing? What gave you the right to pull that from my hand? Be gentle! Hey, just give it back. Please, its mine.” Hermione rattled off comment after comment, her anger rapidly raising as her words fell on deaf ears.

She felt something unknown beginning to surge within her. Something much more powerful than she had ever experienced, especially coming from herself. It built up inside of her like a pot boiling water, the steam building up just before it whistled outward. She was about ready to explode, to hex and curse the boys violently and without remorse. The words were on the tip of her tongue, the lights around them flickered and the walls gently shook—the castle bending to the sheer force of her will—when a firm but gentle hand settled on her shoulder steadying her and instantly cooling the force raging inside of her. It was like water dousing a fire. Hermione’s head snapped up and she was met by the blazing golden eyes of one Isabelle Dubois. Hermione could see the anger there, within her gaze, the fury boiling just beneath the surface, but somehow the girl kept it at bay, her hand unyielding on Hermione’s shoulder.

A voice rang out across the hall diverting Hermione’s attention.

“Don’t you know better than to take things that are not yours?” The angelic voice asked, the owner interjecting herself between Ron and Harry and flicking the book into her grasp. Hermione barely saw her hand move, it was like the book just moved on its own, racing towards the safety of familiar hands.

Fleur Delacour stood between Ron and Harry, her eyes a furious gold, magic pouring off her in waves. Hermione watched as the fingers on her hands appeared to elongate, her neck lengthening. She reached out and gripped both boys by their robes, lifting their feet from the ground. A deep, scratchy voice emerged from her throat. “You are lucky that there is an audience here,” she said, “for if we were alone, I would rip your heads off and tear you limb from limb. Don’t you ever, ever, approach her ever again. Don’t you take things that belong to her. Don’t even think about her. I will know if you do and there will be hell to pay.” Fleur dropped them to the floor and instantly turned her attention to Hermione, her face quickly softening and the talon like appendages receding as she approached.

Well, if there was any doubt about it before, Hermione was now certain that Fleur was Veela, and likely Isabelle too.

Harry and Ron scrambled across the floor, rapidly moving away in shock and fear.

Just before she reached the bench across from Hermione, Fleur stopped and looked at the ground curiously. She reached down and picked up a jet-black feather, the same one Hermione had stored in the book earlier, likely thrown to the floor during the altercation. Rage filled Hermione instantly at the thought and only the firm hold on her shoulder kept her from chasing down Harry and Ron and delivering hell.

Fleur smiled softly at the feather before gently placing it, and the book, down before Hermione like a sacrifice. She looked up into Hermione’s eyes as she slowly took a seat across from her. Isabelle slid onto the bench next to her.

They didn’t say anything for a while, just sat together, Isabelle and Fleur helping themselves to a pastry each.

Isabelle broke the silence first, “I’m sorry, Hermione. No one deserves to be treated in such a way.” Her words portrayed both a deep sadness and an immense rage.

Fleur went to say something as well, but Hermione interrupted them both, guilt eating away at her after what she had learned the night before.

“I’m so sorry.” She blurted out. Both girls’ heads tipped in confusion. Had Hermione not been so set on saying her piece she would have laughed at the two Veela looking so much like puppies. “I’m so sorry I’ve bothered you both so much. I know it is the thrall, I know it draws in non-Veela like me and makes us into bothers. I know how painful it is to be the center of unwanted attention and I am so deeply sorry for exposing you both to that. I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable and I completely understand if you want nothing more to do with me.” She finished her, somewhat embarrassing speech, turning her head down to look at her lap.

The Beauxbatons students sat there for a moment, shocked into silence. Reading their silence as confirmation, Hermione made to leave, but a firm hand on her wrist stopped her. A second hand moved to her cheek and gently turned her head until she was face to face with Isabelle. The girls eyes were filled with tears and so much sorrow. In an odd and unexpected movement, Isabelle brought their heads together until their foreheads touched.

In a voice meant only for Hermione she whispered, “Oh Hermione, you still do not understand. But you will. I promise you will. You are so wrong it would be funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. I promise you Hermione, I will make this right.” She looked directly into Hermione’s eyes as if sealing her promise with something deeper before leaning forward and kissing Hermione’s cheek, her arms wrapping around the girl in a tight hug. She pulled back quickly and gave a meaningful glance at Fleur before grabbing a pain au chocolat and retreating out the door.

Hermione was shocked and completely in awe of the interaction. She didn’t know how to process it or what to think. She didn’t notice as Fleur moved around the table to take the seat Isabelle had vacated.

When Hermione noticed her, she couldn’t help but internally roll her eyes at the teasing smirk on Fleur’s face. 

“She’s right you know, Hermione.” Fleur said softly. “You are very misguided in this, for many, many reasons, none of which are your fault.” She pulled the book forward and opened it to a page about two thirds of the way in. “Perhaps this is a place to start.” Her lips pulled up in a smirk as Hermione turned her gaze down to the page before her.

The title read, in elegant black script: Veela and their mates.

Hermione looked up quickly, Fleur smiled at the confusion filling her face.

“Read this and then come find me,” she said, “please Hermione,” she added when observed the girl’s hesitance.

Hermione nodded slowly, once in acknowledgement of the request. Fleur’s smile softened and she leaned forward, gently placing a kiss on Hermione’s cheek, very close to the corner of her mouth. She pulled back slowly and gazed fondly at Hermione as the girl slowly, subconsciously brought her hand to her face to caress the place Fleur’s lips had been.

Slowly Fleur stood, her smirk returning quickly as she also grabbed a pastry and retreated out the door.

Hermione stared after her for a moment, completely and devastatingly confused, before returning her eyes to the page before her.

Veela and their mates…