Mates
If the slaying of the Basilisk two years prior had not been common knowledge, the students of Hogwarts might have assumed it was roaming the hallways once more and that the girl petrified at the end of the Ravenclaw table was simply its latest victim. But, instead of concern, sneers and rude comments were directed her way as students filed in for the midday meal. While her world seemed frozen in place, the rest of the school continued to turn, students hastily eating their meal before retreating to their dormitories in hopes of some free time before the chime of the class bell. The girl sat perfectly still amongst the motion. Her hand was fisted tightly around what appeared, to those who could see it, to be a feather, black as the darkest night. An old bound journal lay open before her. Even after the great hall cleared and classes once again resumed, she remained in her place until a professor with billowing robes set a hand gently upon the girl’s shoulder and guided her out of the great hall and towards a sanctuary in the dungeons.
Hermione sat in that sanctuary now, surrounded by the well-worn books and comforting appearance of Professor Black’s office. The professor had made her a cup of tea, and, after carefully and methodically examining the vials that Madame Pomfrey had given her, took one out and poured its contents into the cup before handing it to Hermione. Hermione remained in a trance as the Professor bustled around her and eventually left to teach her own class, promising Hermione that she was welcome to stay as long as she liked.
Hermione raised the now cool tea to her lips, instantly warming it as it rose. As she took a sip, she felt an unnatural calm drift through her body. Professor Black must have added the anti-anger potion. While Hermione was not one for suppressing her emotions with potions, she was grateful for the instant reprieve it granted her.
Her emotions had been raging through her body, fueling a deep stirring in her magical core for the last three hours (or rather since the Beauxbatons girls had exited the great hall). Hermione was so absorbed in the sensation, confused by it and the new changes in her life, that she didn’t even note the passage of time.
Feeling the calm seep into her body, she took note of her surroundings, finally recognizing her presence in her professor’s office. She took in the room, grounding herself in its familiarity. Well, it was almost the same. Taking in the picture frame above her professor’s desk, something seemed different. She seemed to remember there only being one feather on display but now, looking at it again, there were two more. One, jet black, just like the one currently clutched in her hand. The other, black with amber flecks throughout. The image radiated power outwards and Hermione was drawn to it. As if in a trance, she stood and walked towards the picture, reaching her hand out to stroke the feathers before her.
As soon as her fingers touched the frame she felt a shock wave move through her and watched as the three feathers glowed softly before returning to their normal state. Voices, heard through a waterfall. Images, observed in the dark. Power, infinite power. Together, the sensations filled her mind, propelling her backwards towards her seat, and left her dazed and even more confused.
Hermione could not make sense of how her world was changing. Of the story opening out before her.
As if in answer, the book lifted itself off the table and floated forward before plopping itself directly into her hands. The words shimmered on the page, the words she was hesitant to read.
Veela and their mates.
Hermione had no idea what had come over Fleur earlier, why she thought this should be a pressing topic. But the girl was scheduled to compete in the first task soon and Hermione would be remiss to not at least try to entertain her new acquaintance.
So, with a pure heart, Hermione cleared her mind and focused on the book before her. The familiar voice filled her head, beginning to explore the origin of the Veela mate.
“Blessed with the ancient magic, the Veela were magnificent and benevolent. They were kind and protective, but they were elusive. After their transformation, the five new Veela kept to themselves, hiding away from the outside world. While they were happy and loved one another deeply, the ancient magic could sense that something was missing. The Veela needed to grow, to expand, to love beyond their sisterly bonds. With such knowledge, the ancient magic gave the Veela one more gift: a powerful soul bond. This soul bond connected them to the one person who their protectors deemed worthy for the Veela to spend their eternity with. Their soul bond did not complete the Veela, but complimented them, challenged them, and loved them unconditionally. As the magic of the Veela was based in love, the additional love provided by the soul bond would make them infinitely more powerful.
Over time, each sister stumbled across their soul bond, their mate for life. Men and women alike stole the hearts of the sisters and protected those hearts from the pain of the outside world. They were a balm to the girls’ anger and a confidant in times of strife. Together, the Veelas and their bonded began to produce children. When it came to the Veela, it mattered not whether the partner was male, female, non-binary or anything in between, if the ancient magic deemed the bond worthy and the parents desired it, the couple was blessed with a child. On rare occasion, the parents were blessed with multiple children, the ancient magic glowing brightly just under their skin.
When a Veela meets their soul bond, in modern terminology their mate, they know instantaneously as their thrall jumps from within them to meet their partner. Soul bonding is ambivalent of status, be the partner Veela, of magic, of creature descent, or non-magic. The thrall sits tightly against the soul bond, a protective shield. The Veela themselves are also undeniably protective and loyal—sometimes to their own fault.
Never, ever try to get between a Veela and their soul bond. Never, ever try to get between a Veela and their flock.
The partner may not know of the bond at first, but it will certainly manifest in time and, when it does, the power between the two will grow and grow with their love. The magic strong enough to defend against any and all curses.”
Hermione’s reading was interrupted by the gentle clearing of a throat, the words on the page pausing as her attention turned to the woman standing before her.
Professor Black had a gentle smile on her as she looked down at Hermione.
“How are you feeling dear?” She asked, moving to take a seat across from the girl.
Choosing to be bold, Hermione replied, “Honestly, Professor, I’m lost. I don’t understand why you gave me this book,” she raised the tome in her hand, “I don’t understand why my magic is so out of whack. I don’t understand why the Beauxbatons delegation are giving me a moment of their time. I don’t understand what it all means or why it is happening. You know, Fleur told me to read up Veela mates? Why would she have me do that? I just, nothing makes any sense anymore.” Hermione dropped her eyes to her lap, her breathing ragged as she began to hyperventilate.
Noticing the panic attack before it arose, Professor Black quickly rose from her seat to sit by Hermione’s side. She drew the girl into a tight hug, holding her close. “Breathe with me Hermione,” she said, “that’s it, slowly. Good job, you’re doing wonderful. Just breathe with me.” She overexaggerated her breathing for the girl to follow, her own heart rate calming down as Hermione’s breathing normalized.
She didn’t let the girl go as she whispered into her hair, “Oh my dear girl. I am so sorry. I wish I could have done more for you sooner. I know that life feels so confusing right now, that you can’t tell up from down or left from right.” Her words soothed the emotions screaming out in Hermione’s head, begging for answers.
“I can’t give you the answers you seek, as much as I want to,” She continued, her voice breaking with the words as she desperately wished her answer could be something else entirely, “but you have all the tools you need my brave girl and you are so not alone. I know you may not understand it now, but you will. I hope you will forgive me one day,” she sobbed softly into the girl’s head, “I hope you will forgive me when you know.”
The two sat together as their emotions swirled and calmed down as one. Hermione let herself melt into the older woman’s embrace, clutching her tightly despite being so unsure of what the woman meant. Narcissa Black had no reason to ask for her forgiveness. She had been the only person to truly care about Hermione all these years. She couldn’t fathom a betrayal big enough to warrant such emotion. Nevertheless, she listened closely and took the woman’s words to heart.
They sat together until dark had fallen and it was time for Hermione to return to her dormitory. She stood to bid the professor goodnight when the woman quickly stopped her in her tracks and rushed to her desk.
She pulled out a cream-colored envelope, Hermione’s first name written in an elegant black script on the cover. Narcissa held it out for her.
“Here, this is for you,” she said. Hermione took the note into her hands and gazed down at the envelope. She looked back up at Narcissa and smiled softly, thanking her, before heading out the door.
She almost missed the professor’s last words to her, “She wanted so desperately to stay, but she couldn’t she’ll be back though, I promise.”
Those last words echoed in Hermione’s head as she made her way through the Ravenclaw common room and into her bed. They stayed with her as she swallowed her nighttime potion, and they filled her mind the second she awoke the next morning. She was oddly comforted, despite the continued confusion they inspired.
Hermione moved through the following day on autopilot, too emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed with confusion to do much else. She did manage to stop by the infirmary for more potion vials and took in Madame Pomfrey’s stern reminder to take them all.
It wasn’t until two days later that she finally managed to muster the courage to find Fleur.
She searched the castle for her, but to no avail. After asking a passing Beauxbatons student, they informed her that the champions were in meetings about the first challenge and would not be available until dinner.
Hermione patiently waited, disappointed when none of the Beauxbatons students arrived for the evening meal.
Driven by a growing anger, Hermione stormed her way out the front gates, past the Durmstrang delegation who trailed her with their eyes, and right up to the doors of the Beauxbatons carriage. Knocking on the door once, she was surprised to be granted instant entry.
There before her was a spacious and elegant common room. Students lounged about, resting, playing wizards chess, and studying. In the right corner of the room, on a small couch, Fleur and Isabelle were deep in discussion. Hermione bypassed the other students and made her way directly towards them. They seemed startled when they noticed her standing before them, completely caught off guard.
“Fleur, we need to talk.” Hermione demanded, liquid courage filling her veins.
Fleur nodded at Isabelle and Hermione watched as she stood, said a casual greeting, eyeing the two of them, before walking away, leaving Fleur and Hermione alone.
Fleur gestured towards the now vacant seat next to her, encouraging Hermione to fill it.
“Bonjour Hermione,” Fleur said sweetly, “To what do I owe the honor of your company?” She smirked playfully.
Hermione was too tired and confused for her playfulness. She shoved the book into the other woman’s chest.
“Why?” She asked forcefully, “Why would you have me read that nonscience?”
Fleur’s brow furrowed; she was completely unprepared for this reaction.
“I’m not sure what you mean Hermione. Did you not find it enlightening?” Fleur asked, genuinely concerned.
“Ha!” Hermione exclaimed, “If you find my embarrassment enlightening than sure!” Fleur was dumbfounded, she could not understand the anger and pain rolling off of Hermione.
“I am confused Hermione, did I do something to upset you?” Fleur asked gently all pretense gone.
Had Hermione been in a better state of mind, perhaps less exhausted or perplexed by her suddenly new surroundings, she might have taken a moment to think through her response before articulating it. She might have been calmer, or she may have seen the path Fleur was highlighting for her. But she wasn’t calm and she didn’t see Fleur’s intentions.
“Are you just making fun of me?” She lowered her voice in anger and pain, “I get it enough from Hogwarts and I thought you were different. I can see how happy you are with Isabelle. Were you just trying to explain your bond with her to me? What was the point? I don’t understand this world that is suddenly surrounding me and I can’t, for the life of me, understand why the hell you felt it necessary to go through all of that trouble just to tell me that you and Isabelle are mates. Did I make you uncomfortable? If I did, I’m sorry. I just…well I thought I already apologized to you. You could just tell me to get lost.” At this point the anger had turned to sadness and tears streamed down Hermione’s face as her breathing rapidly started to increase.
Fleur’s heart broke with the words coming out of Hermione’s mouth, but she noticed the oncoming panic attack and moved to stop it. “Hermione, breathe please. I promise, this is just a misinterpretation. Just breathe with me.”
“You know what,” Hermione wheezed out, “I’ll just go and save you the trouble.”
She made to leave, hurrying towards the door, hunched over with pain. Magic buzzed through her veins, bursting outwards uncontrollably, and encouraging her growing rage. A soft hand gripped her wrist, trying to pull her back. Hermione fought against it, struggling towards the outside air. The hand yanked her backwards suddenly with an unpredictable amount of strength and Hermione flew backwards into a firm body. She was quickly tucked into that body as arms encircled her and held her close. Hermione just cried.
A gentle hand began to stroke through her hair and rub her back, pulling Hermione off the edge and towards reality. The scent of vanilla, pine, and roses filled her nose, soothing her more than words as her captor gently rocked them back and forth.
Eventually Hermione settled down, still locked in the embrace. As her heartrate returned to normal, she recognized what she had done and was utterly embarrassed. Hermione was known for keeping a cool head and this was so unlike her. She had planned to come in here and to ask Fleur calmly to enlighten her as to why she requested Hermione read that chapter in particular. She had noticed the close bond between Fleur and Isabelle and, after reading the section, had assumed they were mates. But, with the way Fleur was holding her now, she realized she may have been quick to draw conclusion. She felt horrible for snapping at Fleur, the girl had been nothing but kind to her.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered into the girl’s chest, “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Oh Hermione,” Fleur replied softly into her hair, “everything you must be feeling, the rawness of it all, you have nothing to apologize for.”
Fleur pulled back suddenly; her gaze fierce as she locked eyes with Hermione.
“But you are wrong,” Fleur growled, “I will not have you think such thoughts.”
Hermione nodded, understanding that she must have been incorrect about her assumption of Fleur’s intentions with sharing the information. Talon-like nails gripped tightly into her shoulders.
“Isabelle is not my mate,” Fleur continued, her voice seductive and low, “you are.”
Hermione’s eyes widened comically, disbelievingly, even as her body vibrated, something hidden deep within her reaching out desperately towards the other girl. Hermione shook her head rapidly and shoved the girl away.
She backed away slowly as Fleur circled closer, a mountain lion stalking its prey. Hermione continued to shake her head as she stumbled over a chair and then a table, landing flat on her back. She scurried backwards as Fleur continued to approach, her gaze softening even as her movement remained determined. Hermione stood and took off, running out of the carriage towards the castle.
Hermione, a Veela’s mate? Impossible. But then again, it would explain her professor’s actions and the interest the Beauxbatons delegation had taken in her.
But Hermione? She was a nobody, an orphan laughed at and outcast by the muggle and magic worlds alike. Laughed at by her peers. Shunned by most adults. The nerd, the quiet one.
She was not worthy of being a Veela’s mate, particularly someone as beautiful and strong and compassionate and fierce as Fleur Delacour.
Even as her magic reached out towards the carriage in the distance and the warmth of truth filled her bones, Hermione refused to believe it.
She sank quickly into a restless sleep, plagued by the emotions of the day.
Her potions sat by her bedside, forgotten and untouched.