At Detention

The Yule hols had been hell. With the exception of Christmas day, Draco had been under constant attack from his father. Lucius had two tactics. The first was shouting at Draco, demanding that they go immediately to the Grangers's home to resolve the matter once and for all. Draco held firm, showing the first true signs of defiance against his father. It was tough to withstand day after day, but it wasn't anything like the hell of surviving his father's other approach.

While Draco had always seen his parents' relationship dynamics, his father had never been overly demonstrative with Narcissa in front of Draco. That was, at least, until Draco came home without his own mate. After the first shouting match between Draco and Lucius, they'd sat down to a very tense dinner as a family. By pudding, the edge seemed to have softened, and Draco thought he would be able to enjoy the treacle tart in relative peace. He was most mistaken.

As Draco put his lips around his fork the first time, savouring the flavours and textures, he noticed his mother stand up in his peripheral vision. That was most unusual. He turned to watch as she delicately set her napkin on the table and sauntered, hips swishing, to his father. Lucius had pushed his chair back just slightly, and with a challenging smirk in Draco's direction, Lucius removed his napkin from his lap. All eyes were on Narcissa as she gracefully slid on to Lucius's thighs.

Draco's cheeks flamed, and he tried to take deep calming breaths as he focused on his dessert. What his new heightened senses picked up was a combination of treacle; his father's pheromones, which were now detectable to him; and both his parents' arousals. His face scrunched up in horror and disgust. Certainly his father wouldn't... wouldn't....

Draco's head jerked up, and there it was: His father's hand on her back while he fed Narcissa dessert, her sounds of delight clearly about something more than the delicate tart. Draco glared at his father.

"If only your mate were here, Draco, perhaps you could enjoy your pudding as thoroughly as I am enjoying mine." Lucius's challenging stare only served to make the triumphant shape of his mouth even more crude.

"You're disgusting. At the dinner table, Father? Really?" Draco threw his napkin down and pushed away from the table.

"You are not excused. Sit down," Lucius commanded in a voice that would normally have stopped Draco in his tracks.

However, Draco managed to exit the dining room and make it to his own chambers. As it turned out, he spent a lot of time in his chambers, only leaving for meals and to see whatever guests came by the Manor. Any time he chanced to step foot outside his rooms, he'd find his parents....

Draco shivered. He was back at school now, had been for about a month, but he couldn't stop the flashbacks. He breathed deeply. Life was better, but still rocky. He had worked out with Dumbledore how to avoid her that night after the ball. He would arrive to every class before anyone else did. This meant leaving his preceding class five minutes early, but the difference was made up by arriving early as well. Dumbledore had insisted that his attendance be immaculate, and Draco more than lived up to his part of the bargain. Also, professors were to allow him to sit as far across the room as could be managed, and he now had Defence with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, instead of his fellow Slytherins and the Gryffindors. He also retrieved his meals directly from the kitchen and would eat by himself there. They were actually very simple concessions, and they worked fairly well.

Draco discovered the most circuitous routes to Quidditch practice, changing every time so as to be untraceable. Vincent got him books from the library. Blaise helped by looking out for signs of her, and when she was in class with them, Blaise would help Draco focus anywhere but on her. Some days were easier than others.

He couldn't quite figure out why. She seemed to get prettier every day, if such a thing were possible. Her hair was shinier, softer looking. Her skin was so clear; Draco had noticed hateful glares radiating off the other girls. The rumour mill had blown up, apparently, when he'd dragged Hermione from the ball. He'd heard all kinds of things when people thought he was out of earshot. Most of all the rumours had started with some root in what had happened, but it ultimately became Vincent, Blaise, and Draco all duelling to the death over Hermione. Seeing as no one had died, this seemed pretty far-fetched, but that was the way of rumours.

Since his friendships had withstood the test of time, the rumours died down. Hermione's reputation recovered, but only barely, and as the term wore on, the boys began to be drawn back to her. Well, sometimes, at least.

Draco had watched that seventh year Ravenclaw walk right past her on some days, while on others he made his way decisively towards her. She smiled smugly to herself each time, and Draco had to wonder what she was up to. He'd been able to continue on his not-so-merry way when he encountered their encounters. Somehow, he thought he should be prouder of himself for that than he was.

Turning his thoughts back to the conversation, he saw Blaise leaning towards Vince, talking conspiratorially. They were enjoying a little seating area in one corner of the Slytherin common room, and Draco thought it would be a good time to pay attention. He heard Blaise say, "...wasn't at dinner either."

"Who wasn't at dinner?" Draco asked innocently enough. He couldn't deny that he was a little bit jealous of the trials of having to find a witch the hard way; at least his friends had a say in the matter. Draco almost missed having his pick of the witches.

"No one," Blaise said evenly.

"Don't lie, if it was no one then...oh." Draco had figured it out. They must have been talking about Hermione. Why wouldn't she be at dinner? Wait. It wasn't his business. Yet, the words were out of his mouth before he knew it. "She was probably out with her friends."

Vince and Blaise exchanged looks. Vince sucked a breath through his teeth before closing his eyes and saying, "I heard she got caught helping them get out of the castle today. She's got detention, they got away, and like the damned Gryffindor she is, she's not going to rat out her friends. Snape said she'd scrub cauldrons until he had the full truth of the matter."

Those little pricks. Draco saw red thinking that her friends had let her suffer on their behalf while they were out gallivanting about Hogsmeade without her. Also, Draco knew that if Professor Snape had said she would scrub cauldrons until he got the truth, he meant it. There would be no meal breaks until he got what he wanted.

Draco was at the door to the kitchens when he pulled himself out of his thoughts. As the house-elf passed him a tray of food, he closed his eyes. Why was he doing this to himself? To the both of them? She'd probably eaten, and he'd been doing so well in keeping them apart. Why ruin it all now? Yet, the idea of letting his mate go hungry was impossible to endure. He had to see her. He didn't have to eat with her; he didn't have to talk to her. He could just throw the food on a table and get out of there.

"Can I help you, Mister Malfoy?" Professor Snape was standing in the doorway with his arms across his chest. Behind him, the sound of Hermione gasping as she dropped the scrub brush stole Draco's attention. Professor Snape snapped his fingers a couple times to get Draco's attention, and breathed a sigh of relief when the boy finally responded.

"I heard that... you... have been monitoring a detention all day, sir, so I thought I would bring you some respite." Draco thrust the tray toward the professor.

"Well, isn't that... considerate." Professor Snape sneered down at the tray, hardly convinced by the lie. "As I told the others who came bearing dinner to my door, I have eaten."

"Very well, sir." Draco stared at his professor, entirely lost as to what to do at this point. After what felt like a very long time, Draco closed his eyes. Gods, he was stuck. Clearly he'd brought the food for his witch, but he couldn't get through the door without admitting it, and it was far too late to turn back now!

Fuck!

"However," Professor Snape said, "I would like to retrieve something from the staff lounge, if only there was someone who could watch this miscreant for a few very short minutes while I am on errand?"

Draco's eyes snapped open. "I would be happy to assist you, sir." Draco stepped away from the door and Professor Snape moved out of the way, gesturing for Draco to enter.

"Granger, I would like to think that, by the time I return, you will have remembered whom exactly that you feel the need to cover for. I have plenty more hours of physical labour I could use your assistance with." He closed the door behind Draco, warding it shut and going directly to the headmaster's office.

Alone with Hermione Granger for the first time since the ball, Draco was almost overwhelmed by his desire for her. Though his mind clamoured to move back to the door and wait for the professor, his feet led him towards her. She was kneeling, motionless, her hand tightly grasping the cauldron she'd been scrubbing.

Draco stood behind her, breathing in her sweet and spicy scent and savouring it as though it were the first pleasant thing he'd smelt in his entire life.

"I bring you food," Draco whispered.

Hermione swallowed audibly, her body quaking with the effort of staying down instead of dashing into his arms like she wished to. It wouldn't be easy for him this time.

"Will you eat it?"

Hermione closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by his presence. There was the heat of his body on her back. There was the smell of him and his pheromones in her nose. There was the gently glowing light of creature magic. What she was focusing on were the pulsating claw marks on her hips.

She could feel his body in her. She could feel his heartbeat, his desperation, his fear.

Hermione stood up, turning slowly toward him. With her chin level, she stared straight at his chest. Slowly she dragged her eyes up his body. He had on no robe, no tie, not even his oxford shirt. No, he was wearing a deep green tunic that looked like it was the most comfortable shirt ever made. It had a round neck with a notch cut out in the front, accentuating the lines of his neck, his Adam's apple, his jaw. His perfect mouth was shiny and pink, his nostrils flared, his grey eyes like boiling silver as they stared down at her.

Part of her wanted to do whatever he wanted just to be near him. Part of her wanted to throw his denials of her in his face, watch his face fall when she said no. He clearly hadn't planned this. Most of her, parts included in the other parts, wanted to press her body against his and eat him, not the thrice damned food. She said nothing and did not move.

Draco was lost. Why wasn't she answering him? Her face was so expressive, and yet he had no idea what she was expressing. Her belly gurgled loudly, so he knew she was hungry. He brought one hand up to her chin, and lifted it so he could gaze in her eyes. She whimpered, leaning to his touch. "Please?"

Stuttered breaths parted her lips, and she swooned forward a little. "Will you eat with me?" Hermione asked, her voice deepened by the trance state of the magic.

"No," Draco whispered. He shook his head softly, but lifted his other hand and moving to hold her gently by the neck with both palms. When a tear escaped her, he wiped it away instantly. "I must not."

"But...?" Hermione tried to interrupt but Draco was too fast for her.

"I know it is hard now, I know," he whispered, his body moving closer to hers, "but you'll thank me one day."

"Ma..." she tried to whisper, but he stopped her mouth with his.

Once he was there, he realised it wasn't the brightest move, but she tasted too sweet to stop. He kissed her, their tongues dancing together, for a long time, longer than it should have taken for the professor to finish his errand. Draco pulled away. Turning, he gently shoved Hermione toward the tray of food.

She tried to pull him with her, holding onto his tunic.

He simply shook his head and moved to the furthest corner of the room. "Eat until you're full." Draco had watched Hermione pick at many meals over the years, and he knew that times when she was lost in her thoughts, times like this left her weak from under-nutrition.

The magical light that had formed around them seemed to diffuse throughout the classroom.

When Professor Snape came back nearly an hour after he'd left, he could barely hide his disappointment at seeing Draco perched in the corner, watching Hermione like a hawk and Hermione barely having the grace not to clank her silverware like a recalcitrant child.

Draco stood, gave his professor a knowing look, and left.

Curling into his warm bed was divine compared to the extended cold shower that he had taken immediately upon leaving the Potions classroom.

Hermione sighed as the door shut behind him. She was positive that, even though they had not broken bread together, her meal had counted as the final ceremony before her claiming would take place. She had read about Veela rituals, and how, when Veelas were greater in number, there was more competition for mates. Occasionally two Veelas would be mated to a third, and there would be competition between the two. In these cases, the third Veela would have to be guarded all the time until mating was completed, and often the food ceremony was exacted by only one half of the pair.

Draco, of course, was as confusing as ever. He'd all but claimed her. Hermione never thought she'd hate the word 'but' before, but she did now. Not that dinner wasn't lovely, but it wasn't nearly as thrilling as the ball. Sighing again, she lifted her head to find the contemptuous glare of the Potions professor.

"Get. Out," he sneered.

And that's exactly what Hermione did. Walking back to Gryffindor tower, she couldn't even contain her thoughts; they just rolled back and forth around in her head. Once she got to her room, she went straight to bed, the physically and emotionally exhausting day finally bringing her the peace of sleep.