Please note - all mistakes are my own. I do not currently have a Beta/Alpha to help me correct my horrible grammar.

I do not own the characters created by JK Rowling, nor do I make any profit from this fanfiction.

This is all just fun for me.

Chapter Nine –

Malfoy couldn't deny the instant decision to see her was brought about from pure agony. His nights and days had begun to blur until he received that letter asking him if she could perhaps borrow the book once he was finished. That his interest had brought about a curiosity in her that just wasn't to be sated with the scraps she was able to find. A quiet laugh may have escaped him when he had been reading those words.

When he had sent off the reply he hadn't realized the time and instantly felt regret. He hoped his owl would come out unscathed for waking her up. However, he had been in for a shell shock when he had come back untouched, and with a response. Her quick agreement to meet was a warm balm to his soul, one which he had snarled at himself for. No matter how he attempted to push it away, the smallest of contact with the witch was creating a pittance of relief. A pittance that he was gladly accepting, despite his hesitations. When she had offered to meet him on Monday at the shop – stressing that her shop was closed, but it would give them some privacy from prying eyes, he couldn't help the mix of emotions flitting through his mind.

Relief, that he would be getting a chance to quiet the chaos within, a little hesitation, at being alone with her, and a snarl at her assumption that he would want to keep their contact a secret – though he could see her view point, if he thought about it. He hadn't been kind to her in the past, and he had let her know that he did not appreciate being seen around a mud-muggleborn. If Draco wasn't careful, he would end up calling her that to her face, and then he would definitely be left to die a horrible, well deserved death, alone.

Sunday was tomorrow. That gave him a chance to collect his notes, as well as his thoughts, about this meeting that would be taking place. Part of him hesitated in being alone with her, but the other part was thankful there would be no onlookers. He knew he should let his mother know about the meeting but again, he hesitated. She would push for him to reveal the truth to her – push them together, and if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Hermione Granger could not be forced to do anything. Not even his Aunt had been able to breech her walls. A sick dread filled him when that thought flitted across, but he pushed it back into the dark crevices of his mind. He couldn't let the rage come out again. It wouldn't help anything, or anyone, at this particular moment.

Having taken a seat on his bed, he pushed himself back against the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. Could he really make nice with Granger? Yes, she had definitely grown in the last year, but he could still see the malnourishment under her clothes. He wondered yet again how tweedle dee and tweedle dum hadn't seen it.

Worry had eaten at him. When he saw her, would her hate of him, make her turn him away? The fire and excitement in her eyes the last time he saw her had given him a spark of hope. Hope that he may have a chance; but that thought was desperation. He didn't know her. He hadn't liked her in school, and he wasn't sure that his opinion would change, despite the beast living inside him wanting to reach for her every chance it could.

The conflict was giving him a headache. Rubbing his temples, he closed his eyes and counted out ten deep, long breaths. The headaches had increased the longer he fought against the creature. If he wasn't careful, the creature would win and there was no telling what it might do to Hermione when he got to her.

Forcing himself to sit up, he murmured out loud to himself. "For now – we'll make excuses to see the witch. See if that sates the beast enough for me to get enough rest." Realizing the lunacy, he smirked to himself, but he felt its presence at the back of his skull, and could practically feel the purr running along his spine. Two beasts in one body. A failed death eater with a coward's heart, and a Veela, chasing after an unobtainable mate. The fates were making a cruel joke out of him, that was for certain.

Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

The small little coffee shop that Malfoy stopped at on his way to see Hermione was in muggle London. Over the last six months, he had started frequenting this place in avoidance of the paparazzi and any of the wizarding world. He had easily been shunned by many, and ridiculed publicly, so he chose to avoid that by going where no one would recognize him. Amongst the muggles, he was just an ordinary man with no past, no future, nothing. They greeted him kindly, sometimes a little rudely if said person was having a bad day – but all in all, Draco Malfoy found that he didn't mind. He still didn't understand how they could live without magic, and he was sure that he would never quite understand, but he couldn't help but admit their brilliance in the form of Coffee. If he could, he'd kiss the inventor because these days he found that coffee was the only thing keeping him going anymore. The house elves made a good cup of coffee, but these coffee houses made a piece of heaven in each cup.

He waited in line pondering just what type of coffee Granger drank, but was stumped. She was studious, but thinking back he had never seen a cup of coffee in her hand. She always had tea… but wasn't that a wizard thing? Or perhaps she wasn't able to get coffee at Hogwarts. Making a quick mental note in the back of his head, he grabbed his usual cup, a Vanilla Mocha, and at the last second, added a London Fog for Granger. The barista smiled flirtatiously at him when asking for his name – Drake. No, drac-o, he huffed for the millionth time. He realized it wasn't a common name, but were people really that hard of hearing, he wondered. A deep breath and he was pushing himself through the onslaught of people arriving in this little hole in the wall, a wandless spell to keep the drinks from cooling, and he was on his way to visit the witch.

He arrived ten minutes early and wondered if he should walk around, but there were so many people around. He didn't want to chance running into anyone. So, he pushed himself close to the door and into the shade of the alcove before the shop entrance.

Suddenly, the door swung open, almost causing him to drop the drinks.

"Malfoy!" He turned to look at the witch. He was surprised to find her in muggle jeans, ones that clung to every inch of her legs, and a long sleeve sweatshirt. The strings from the hood tied into a bow at her neck. Her hair was placed atop her head in a messy bun, but her wayward curls were poking out in rebellion. What shocked him even more was the glasses that were perched on the bridge of her nose. They were wide and square, making her golden, honey eyes appear even larger. "You're early! Come in, come in." He took a few steps forward before turning to face her. His arm reached out quickly to hand her a cup.

"This is for you." She blinked at him a few times before taking the cup in question. "I-I realized I don't know what you drink so I just got you a London Fog, but if you prefer Coffee I haven't… Well, I have a Latte if you prefer." His heart thumped widely in his chest when she frowned down at her cup. Damn, he did something wrong. "Or we can just toss it. I just needed my morning coffee…" he trailed off when her head came up and a wide smile was spread across her lips.

"Thank you, Malfoy. I do appreciate it. I actually haven't tried a London Fog before, but I've heard spectacular things." She put her lips on the rim and took a sip. A happy murmur came out of her making the Veela inside him roar in triumph. He held in the smile wanting to escape from inside him. "I didn't realize you drank Coffee. I thought that was an American thing."

"I thought it was a muggle thing?" He titled his head to the side as he followed her deeper into the store. "It's an Americanized drink?" She nodded slowly as she rounded the counter and took a seat from the back before bringing it up front for him to sit on.

"Here," she gestured for him to sit as she turned to take her own seat. He didn't sit down though until she was sitting in her own chair. Manners dictated his actions. She didn't notice. "Americans drink more coffee, and the English, as you well know, are an army of tea drinkers. Though, I've heard we are starting to bring more and more coffee in." Her shoulders went up once. "I'm not a fan of coffee – too bitter for me. I've heard that adding cream and sugar helps, but I'm happy with my tea and honey."

"What types of tea do you drink?" He asked before he could stop himself.

"Breakfast tea, Oolong tea, Chamomile tea," she laughed quietly. "Honestly any tea I can get my hands on." She took the London Fog and brought it to her lips for another sip. "Mmmm.. This is still warm!" She turned it over in her hands. "This coffee shop… it's in muggle London." Her eyes shot across the counter to meet his as her brows went lower over her brow.

Taking a swig of his drink, he set it down and met her stare. "If you have a question, Granger, ask it."

She hesitated. Things were going well, but her curiosity was getting the best of her. Quickly, she spit out her question from behind the safety of her mug. "Did you willingly go to a muggle coffee shop?"

He nodded. "No one knows my history there." She stopped short and gazed at him with wide eyes. "No one knows what a Death Eater is there. It's – a reprieve, not to have to be turned away at the door."

"Oh Malfoy, I'm so terribly sorry that has happened to you. I thought with the pardon you wouldn't have to deal with that," she murmured as she fought trying to reach for him. Her heart ached for the man in front of her. Despite their history, she didn't feel anyone should be treated in such a despicable manner.

Rubbing a hand over his jaw, he pulled out a trinket from his pocket. A quick flick of his wand at the item in question transformed into the book that she had found for him. "Shall we begin?" He watched the spark show up in her eye as she fought wanting to question him. He could see the fire raging and he knew the Gryffindor wanted to go to bat for him. That was the way of the Gryffindors, whether anyone liked it or not. So to avoid it, he brought up her favorite – research. Anything she could get her hands on and she was going to look into it. Obviously, his interest in it had sparked a curiosity in her.

"Yes, let's." She knew his scheme. She knew his trickery. Slytherins were notorious for their sneaky ways, but she understood the necessity for it in his circumstance. He didn't want to be pitied or looked down upon. That wasn't in his nature. She may not know him well, but she did know quite a bit about him just from being in the same classes. She was observant, and unfortunately, he had been her only clear rival in academics. For all his snarling and scheming, she knew he had a brain inside that pretty blonde head. This also gave her an opportunity to scheme herself – to find clues.

"I brought some of my notes along as well," he said as he pulled out the notebook from his coat pocket. Standing up, he slipped the coat from his shoulders to reveal a tight-fitting long sleeve. Snug around his shoulders, she was able to see he had definitely filled out since Hogwarts. "Let's start with you – what have you learned from your sources?"

She leaned forward to set her chin in her hands as she mentally checked off her list. "I know that the Veela presents itself at maturity. Gives them strength, agility and sharper wits – including smell and hearing." He nodded along with her. "That they're either beautiful or handsome, that there is not a displeasing specimen known." This made him chuckle. "That the Veela are considered a rarity anymore. Not much is really known, and there are fewer and fewer each decade. Merlin, each century." That was all information he had found on his own.

"Anything else?"

"That they can spout wings when their mate is in danger." His heart stopped when she said the word mate. "If they do find their mate, that person is their sole reason for living." He looked away from her. His heart still on pause as his breath stopped. "Though, if they don't find their mate they live ordinary lives and whoever they decide to marry has a struggle with women or men flocking for them. Because Veela, no matter how much they love that person, are always on the lookout for that mate."

That was new information. He glanced over at her to see her eyes honed in on him. "Anything else?"

"No, unfortunately it seems you have the book on Veela, and I wasn't able to read the whole thing!" She laughed.

"Veelas are very territorial. It's in their nature as a predator." Her brows rose up. "They are volatile and rash – especially in relation to their mate." He took a deep breath, but regretted it instantly as he caught a whiff of Granger. Tea leaves, parchment and a hint of citrus. A wince at the Veela trying to get closer, he fought the urge. "You're right, a Veela's life is all about their mate. That's part of the reason they're so dangerous."

"What happens… I mean, does the book say anything about what happens to the mate when the Veela is around? Is it a mutual feeling? Does that person realize?" He shook his head.

"From my readings, it seems only the Veela realizes it. It's not a two-way street."

"Huh," she pressed her thumb nail across her lip in concentration. "That's rather sad."

"Sad?" He asked as he watched her movements across her lips.

"Yes, I mean the Veela has these intense feelings and knows that destiny has made them into one! But the other person doesn't get to feel it, or realize the same thing. The Veela is alone in ecstasy."

"You make it all sound like a tragic fairytale."

"Well I mean, it sort of is for me. I grew up hearing about soul mates – a fantastical idea that one single person is out there for you. A magic all of its own. That one person is made to fit you perfectly. So, when you tell me that one person gets to feel it but the other one doesn't – well that is a bit tragic, don't you think?" She turned her head to the side and looked across the counter at him. His eyes were down on the counter with his arms crossed as he seemed to concentrate.

"I-think that you live in a world of make believe, and that not everything is so pretty and quaint." He regretted the gruffness in his tone as he spoke to her, but he couldn't get past her idea. He hadn't realized how she may feel in all this. He hadn't even thought about her, and the possibility of her feeling the connection. Thankfully, none of the research admitted to the mate having that connection in the same way that the Veela did. "Veela's don't get a say in who their mate is."

"What happens…," she trailed off as she glanced out the window. "What happens to a Veela whose mate dies? Or can't be together?"

He felt his insides rip into two as he listened to her question. He had hoped she wouldn't go on this train of thought and part of him so very wanted to tell her right there and then, to avoid this heartache but instead, he lied. "They're miserable the rest of their lives. No other will quite live up in stature to their one true mate." He supposed a half true was better than the full truth. If she realized that she was his mate, and possibly his death was inevitable – she would sacrifice herself. And while that was noble, he didn't want a half of her. He wasn't even sure he wanted the whole of her. While she had grown since school, she was still Granger. This idea that she was the one destined for him was preposterous. How could a Mudblood be the one for him, when his whole life he had grown up being told that they were beneath him? That purebloods were the future, and the only ones worth the magic given to them.

And yet, that thought was quickly swept away, because the woman sitting in front of him, her eyes scanning across the pages of the text in front of her, was one of the smartest and most lethal witches he had ever seen in his short life. There was something to be said there – that a mudblood, a muggle born, could use magic better than those who were born into the wizarding world. That depleted anything his father had tried pushing into his brain for years.

A heavy sigh escaped him, causing the witch in front of him to glance up. "I apologize, I was just thinking. What makes soulmates – or rather, how are soul mates selected for one another?" He glanced out the window as he spoke, to see that the rain had started to drizzle down onto the cobblestone street outside. "What if you are mortal enemies? But the fates decide you are soul mates? How is that possible?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side as she looked at the man before her. He brought up a good point. She knew that if anyone were to pair her with Goyle, or Crabbe, she'd be wondering how on earth was it possible. Searching through her memories of texts that she had read in the last 19 years, she tried to remember what had been stated about Mates, or Soul Mates. Rarities as they were. Even Wizards had a hard time finding their TRUE soul mates because of just how rare it was.

"I think it's the way they fit together. Like they're the missing piece of the other. Two halves coming together. They even out the other. Like... one has a temper, and the other is calm, so they're able to mellow with one another. The one with the temper is also strong and protective, so they're able to watch out for the other, who may be calm, but may have trouble standing up for themselves." She tugged at her sleeve as she looked off into space. "I'm probably speaking in riddles. This is all just theory obviously, but it's how I imagine it." Draco nodded, taking in everything she said as he tried to process this information. "A mate is your better half. They're not perfect, but they complete one another in the most perfect way."

"You are a romantic," he scoffed, but she didn't miss the small smirk that had slipped out from under his mask. "It makes sense though. Let's hope the fates don't play tricks and pair a couple together who make each other miserable."

"I'm sure they would have their reasonings, I suppose." She flipped a page in the text. "It looks like Veela has a strong sense of smell, too. Hmm, that's interesting," she trailed off as her finger followed the words printed on the page and she went about reading more and more. "Oh, they also require less sleep than the average wizard or witch."

Draco hesitated. He felt as if he was sleeping away his days and yet not getting the rest he so required. He wondered if that was a negative effect of avoiding his mate. It had felt good to be free of that need while sitting beside her, but a piece of him hated that at the same time. He hated being needy. It wasn't built in him to require help from another – let alone from Hermione Granger. He felt the inner turmoil turning over and over inside him.

Hermione looked up to see a dark storm passing through Malfoy's eyes. His fists were clenched on the counter top and there was no focus. Whatever he was thinking, it was sparking anger in his body. Furrowing her brow, she recalled reading the passage about Veela and their Volatile nature. Could this be proof? A thought possessed her in that moment as she watched him. Gently, so not to startle him with her movements, she moved her hand down to her side and checked that her wand was there, just in case. Not that she felt he would hurt her unnecessarily, but her thoughts were leading her down a potentially dangerous path.

The only way to be sure, was to test her theories, if she truly wanted to know if Draco Malfoy was in fact a Veela, and she knew that if she wanted to test one theory right now, she would need to egg him on. He already had a short temper, but she had a feeling that it was about to get a lot shorter if she did what her brain was pushing for. The easiest way to egg on Malfoy, to bother him to where he exploded in anger, was to question his family, force the knowledge that Hermione had bested him in every class, or to bring up her lack of pureblood status. Walking a fine line between possible friendship, or rather acquaintances, and enemies, she chose to stick with his and her smarts. Leave family and blood status alone for the time being.

"Malfoy, you have an upper hand on this Veela stuff since you started before me on the research." He woke from his reverie and jerked his head in her direction. "But if I had the book, I could easily do the work for the both of us." She shrugged her shoulders and brought her hands up down to her lap – always at the ready. "I mean, we both know that I'm good at this stuff. I did outsmart you in all our classes."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Just because I didn't go raising my hand in the air at every question, Granger, does not mean that you bested me." He looked at her face and saw the determination written all over her face. She was purposely egging him on, but he didn't know why. They had been having a rather mellow time, but he hadn't noticed the change in her. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to know. Unfortunately for her though, Gryffindors were notorious for having their emotions written all over them. I guess their upbringing didn't teach them the necessity to mask their emotions. It had definitely come in handy with the Dark Lord living within the Manor.

"But Malfoy, everyone knows you always came second." His hand flickered. She knew he didn't realize he had made the movement, but she watched him carefully. What the hell, let's add gasoline to the fire. "It must suck that you came second to a mudblood," she smiled, but it was all fake. There was no warmth as she said those words. His eyes glazed over as she watched him stiffen with each passing word. His hands came to the edge of the counter as he gripped it, probably to keep from putting his hands from around her neck, but he just leaned forward with a glint in his eyes.

"Oh Granger," his voice was whisper soft, but deadly. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that to get under my skin." Lies, and he knew it. She was already buried deep inside where the Veela was currently waiting. "I've had worse than you try to get my ire and this," he swept his eyes between them, "does nothing to me." More lies.

"Fine," she admitted her defeat and leaned back as she crossed her arms. "I guess part of me is wondering why you would willingly spend time with a mudblood."

His eyes swept over her face. This was too close. This was too personal. He couldn't handle it. He felt the terror snaking its way up his throat. There were no words that he could give her right now. There was no reason that he could give that made sense, or that he was willing to explain at this particular moment. His hands flexed out a few times before he stood and took a step back. Keeping his gaze toward the floor, he quickly picked up his coat and the empty coffee container.

"Thank you, Granger, for the stimulating conversation," she swore she could hear the cynicism in his voice. "Have a good day." Then out the door he flew.

Hermione blinked and felt the confusion written across her face. Of all the reactions she could have received, she would not have guessed his abrupt departure.

"Perhaps I was a little hasty," she whispered to the empty store. Glancing down she grinned to herself. Luckily for her, perhaps a little unlucky for him, he had left the book behind in his wake to leave so quickly. Walking with measured steps, she went to the door he had just vacated through, and set up the locks and protection spells before taking her seat once more. Her curls, the wayward ones that seemed to always escape the hair bun she had placed upon the top of her head in a hurry, made an unnecessary measure to tickle the front of her face. Blowing air out, she attempted to get them out of her face. Half heartedly, they moved to the side of her head instead as she tilted it against her fist, her elbow resting against the counter while she leaned over the book.

It didn't take long for her to become fixated upon the scripted words racing across the old papers placed between the leather bindings. Words flowed underneath her vision as she continued to read on, thoughts quickly being raced out of her brain with each passing moment. So many things about Veelas came to light and while she had been in contact with Fleur, she had never really taken notice of some of the traits that they carried. Veelas were usually fair haired – definitely fit for Malfoy and Fleur; striking good looks – a definite for Fleur, but she faltered when she thought of Malfoy.

Her gaze went blank as the thoughts flowing through her head started to take over. Did she think Malfoy was good looking? During school, he had been gaunt and thin, and even as he aged, she wouldn't necessarily say she had been attracted to him. Partly because of his attitude and personality, she was sure, but now? She would most definitely say that the man was nothing short of attractive. His gaze was startling, eye color so vibrant and cold, and he had filled out in all the right places, leaving one to wonder if he had started working out. That made Hermione pause, did Wizards work out? She supposed they did because quidditch players had to be in good health to play but she couldn't say that there were any bulky built Wizards.

Shaking her tirade of thoughts from her head, she continued on reading. Her fingertips brushed against the worn pages, and she breathed in the smell of the old book. This. This was precisely why she chose to stay within these walls, and not in the stuffy bureaucratic office, where the only pages that she came across would be those on laws, or annoying and boring memos that would be sent to her. While many thought she would follow that path, or perhaps follow in the steps of the other two of the Golden Trio, by joining the Ministry, she knew that was not a path she longed for. The simplicity of life fed her plenty now.

By the time Hermione looked up from the book, mostly due to the hunger pains in her stomach, she found that hours had certainly passed, because the sun was well into the sky, casting a golden light in through her store front windows. Sitting up, she felt the stiffness along her backside. A groan as she pushed herself off the chair to a standing position, she mumbled the whole time. Arms rising above her head, she attempted to stretch out the aches and pains. It was definitely time to go home for the day. Crookshanks needed the company.

A/N: Thank you all for the kind words and sticking with me! I told myself I'd be good at updating on a weekly basis on the same day... but I've got a one year old, a full time job, a needy (but lovable) husband so my plans do not always go as planned. It's the good intentions, right?

Anyway, here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy!