Hey folks!

This story should really be subtitled: HAVE ALL OF THE TROPES!

Veela trope? Got it. Soul Mates trope? Sure. Hogwarts Professors trope? Ding ding ding! Haters to Lovers kink? I got you bro! Desk sex? Coming right up! (not right now, but eventually you bunch of hornbags).

Now, important notes: I've taken a lot of liberties with the Veela mythology and have basically Frankenstein-ed it into my own interpretation. I hope no one finds it offensive. If it's not your thing I have no problems with that. Just walk away now

Also, this is probably not how portkeys work. But I consulted Pottermore and couldn't find anything to say they couldn't work like this so I just took some creative license there too. Please don't hate on me too much if I've really screwed it up.

This is not a serious piece and I don't envisage it will be super long. I just felt like writing some mindless fluff with a good dose of smut mixed in. You know, the usual. Also, like always, my world building is pretty damn shit. I'm just here for the banter. I really struggled to come up with a title, so I miiiiiiight change it if I think of something better. I am also open to suggestions :)

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. And if you could leave me a lil review I'll be eternally grateful.

Chapter One: (Involuntarily) Going Cold Turkey

"Charlie Butterworth, I swear to Merlin if you add anymore powdered porcupine quills to that potion I will fetch an unpowdered porcupine quill from the storeroom and lodge it between your brows!"

Scorpius watched as the fifth year Gryffindor student sheepishly lowered the vial holding the offending ingredient to his bench to avoid becoming the Potions Professor's personal dartboard. This was potentially Scorpius' most hated class – fifth year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws first thing on a Monday morning. One half were pretentious nerds, the other half were brazen halfwits, all of them were impulsive and careless fifteen year olds. It was enough to give him a headache. The classroom was a cesspit for teenage hormones, with none of them having figured out an appropriate way of dealing with having a tangible attraction to the opposite sex (or same sex, for that matter). Where other teachers might be able to brush off some of the juvenile behaviour, Scorpius took it very seriously. Being Potions Master, the children in his care had access to a plethora of dangerous ingredients and implements, and with their underdeveloped little brains, they seemed to think the best way to woo their beloved was to lob them at said beloved's head.

He had given out more detentions for dangerous behaviour masquerading as flirting than anything else this year. It was infuriating and unhealthy.

Teenagers were a constant thorn in his side. There were days he seriously questioned why the hell he'd taken up the role as Potions Master when Longbottom approached him about it two years ago.

Then he remembered the comfortable living quarters, the constant access to difficult-to-acquire potions ingredients, and the look of equal parts fear and astonishment first years got in their eyes when they first walked into his dungeon. That made it worth it sometimes.

Scorpius walked through the darkly lit classroom assessing the students' work. Unsurprisingly most of the successful potions appeared to belong to the Ravenclaw students. He was just hoping the Gryffindors managed not to blast off their eyebrows. He was not blind to how a great deal of the female students – and a number of the males – watched him as he passed with something other than the fear he was comfortable with. He liked being feared. Being respected came in at a close second. Desired, however, was incredibly unsettling. He understood it – at 27 years old he was by far one of the youngest professors at Hogwarts, and had inherited a balanced mixture of his mother and father's genes that he could objectively acknowledge made him physically appealing.

(There was also the fact that he was, biologically speaking, designed to be alluring. The potions he'd been taking since he hit puberty only did so much to dull the telltale signs of his true origins)

With all of this in mind, he made a conscious effort to be kind to basically no one. Not the students who performed well. Not his favourite students from his beloved Slytherin. Not even the other staff. He did as much as was required to earn their respect, but he felt absolutely no compulsion to earn anyone's affections, platonic or otherwise. So when two giggling female students raised their hands and asked for him to assess their potion, rather than stepping close, he simply called across the room in an as unaffected tone as he could manage that he knew they'd added too much powdered moonstone at the beginning of the lessons and would need to restart. He watched with delight as the light in their eyes dulled. He was quite sure he heard one of them call him an asshole. Wonderful.

There was a zapping sound in the corner of his classroom that caused him to let out a groan that was louder than he was proud of. There'd only be one person at this school – hell, in all of England – that would have the absolute audacity to travel into his classroom without warning on a Monday morning. Scorpius turned slowly to find Rose Weasley standing next to his workbench, eyes wild, red hair whipping around her face madly, and purple robes just settling to place around her. Her expression was that of thunder, and the glare painting her face told him he was about to be lectured.

He would be lying if he said he didn't find the prospect…entertaining.

"Professor Malfoy," she called in a booming tone that cut through the now silent room, "A word?"

The students dissolved into a chorus of tattering and whispered laughter, their potions forgotten (and likely ruined) in favour of watching the battle about to unfold. Everyone knew Rose had a temper. They also knew it only seemed to appear when Scorpius was around. They'd been doing this since they were eleven, and it astounded him that antagonizing Rose was one of the only past-times he had retained from his youth that he found just as enjoyable today as he did as a pre-pubescent teenager. Even now, as two Hogwarts Professors in their mid-twenties, they could barely go a week without going toe to toe.

And if there just so happened to be days he sought her out to start a fight on particularly boring days, then so be it. Perhaps a comfortable living space, access to potion ingredients and the wide-eyed wonder of first years were not the only things that made this job so appealing.

"Professor Weasley," Scorpius kept his tone cool and body language at ease, a perfect offset to the way her entire body seemed to thrum with anger, "I could have sworn I destroyed that faulty portkey of yours that accidentally transported you to my classroom rather than your own."

"Appears it's still playing up," she quirked an eyebrow at him, "Perhaps your charms work is a little…unpracticed."

Rose outscored him on their Charms N.E.W.T. and seemed hellbent on lording it over him until one of them died. He was quite sure there were a group of Gryffindor boys behind him that said someone should send for Madam Pomfrey, and that he was requiring medical attention for that burn.

"I'm sure that's the only logical answer," he responded, fighting a smile, "After all, I know you wouldn't have established another portkey, especially after Headmaster Longbottom so adamantly agreed it was not appropriate for you to be dropping into my lessons unannounced and uninvited."

A group of girls seated in the section of classroom between Scorpius and Rose shook with silent laughter. Rose's only reaction was to give a small grunt and nod her head in the direction of the storeroom at the front of the classroom, a regular arena for their showdowns.

"If you'll excuse me for just a moment class," Scorpius called as he headed towards where Rose was marching. The second he closed the storeroom door he could hear the class erupt in hoots and whistles.

He really could murder them sometimes.

Thoughts of murder were disrupted by the angry red head who pointed her finger into his chest.

"What. The fuck. Is your problem?"

"Currently? A five-foot-four redhead who insists on interrupting my lessons; I'd be eternally grateful if you could convince her to piss off."

Rose, in a move so practiced and expected he was barely angered, completely ignored him. "Why the hell does Eli Wolfenberg have detention this weekend?"

Ah yes, the Wolfenberg boy. He was expecting retaliation. He was also expecting to at least make it to dinner before he was accosted by her. She was losing her patience in her old age.

"Because he acted out in class," Scorpius chose to antagonise her further, you know, just for his own personal enjoyment, "I thought being a teacher here for the past two years you would understand that by now."

"He said you gave him detention for getting an answer wrong!" she exclaimed in a whispered yell, "Since when do kids get detention on a Saturday for getting an answer wrong?! That's part of learning!"

"Because it was a waste of my time," he really should have at least attempted to keep the shit-eating grin off his face, "If he insists on wasting my time during the week, I'll waste his time on the weekend."

"You're only doing this because of the game!" Rose accused, "Admit it!"

He absolutely was. With Wolfenberg out of the Quidditch match on Saturday, Gryffindor would have to go without their number one seeker in their match against Ravenclaw. And, should Gryffindor lose, it would put Slytherin in such a position that they basically couldn't lose the Quidditch Cup. So while Scorpius usually would have given Wolfenberg a pass for his one, incredibly idiotic comment (that he was sure Wolfenberg was providing as a joke because he hadn't bothered to do the prescribed reading) he had decided a harsher punishment was justified.

However, he was smart enough to know that telling Rose that would get him a broken nose. And he really didn't feel like explaining his injuries to Madam Pomfrey. Again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Scorpius lied, "I will punish my students as I see fit Weasley; if you have a problem with that I suggest you take it up with the Headmaster."

"I think I will!"

"I'm sure he'll be impressed with that," Scorpius smirked at her, sarcasm coating his tone, "I'm sure there is absolutely nothing of greater importance on his agenda than one student missing one game of Quidditch. He'll be all-ears, for sure."

Rose scowled at him and he could see she was conceding he was right - it probably caused her physical pain to realize that. It would probably kill her if she tried to admit it to him aloud. He so enjoyed seeing her squirm.

Rose's voice took on a darker quality as she scowled at him.

"If your precious house can only win the Quidditch Cup by using dirty tactics to take out a better team then they don't deserve the win."

Oh sweet, naïve Rose. She appeared to think he'd take the high ground. It was adorable. Scorpius didn't believe in 'going high' when someone 'went low'. As far as Scorpius was concerned, he was a champion limbo-player in a submarine – people could not conceive how low he was willing to sink to win a petty argument. And he pulled it off with a grace others envied.

He pasted on a smile and replied in a gravely whisper, "And if your team can't win without one player, then they don't deserve it either."

Rose almost shook with frustration. He had her and she knew it. She seemed to be stewing over what she was going to throw at him next, and Scorpius came to the startling realization that she may resort to literally throwing things at him. He didn't fancy copping frogs legs in his eyes, so worked on wrapping it all up as quickly as possible.

(He always felt a low level of unease when he was in a confined space with Rose Weasley. It had been like this since they were children – when left in a room together something seemed charged. Like they were moments away from causing grievous bodily harm, or something else equally or more terrifying. Scorpius' survival instincts kicked in and urged him to flee)

"Now, you might not have to teach students during the day up in your tower," he waved in the general direction of the Astronomy Tower she called home, "But I have a class to attend to. Are we done here?"

It was a rhetorical question but he enjoyed asking it anyway, just to watch her squirm further. It was only now, encased in a tense silence, that he noticed how close they'd gotten. She was barely a foot away from him, trying to be as imposing as possible despite being almost a foot shorter than him. Maybe it wasn't about her appearing threatening, he thought absently, maybe it was about showing him that he wasn't. He could begrudgingly concede that he admired her ferocity. Gryffindor to the core was Miss. Weasley

He needed to flee. Gracefully. As soon as possible.

Scorpius watched her let out a heavy breath and roll her shoulders, a tic of hers he'd picked up on years ago. It was her mental reset; she did it when she needed to gain her composure. It worried him sometimes, all these little things he knew about her. But if there was one muggle saying that he could get around it was 'know thy enemy'. He had a mental encyclopedia on Rose for the sole purpose of getting the upper hand in their arguments. It had worked for him so far; he saw no reason to change his ways.

"I guess we are," Rose finally responded, mildly calmer than before. She took a step back from him, breaking them out of their little intimately hostile bubble, "I'll let you get back to scarring children for life."

She probably meant it as an insult. Foolish, she should really know him well enough by now to know he took it as a compliment.

"Oh, and do be careful, Professor," Rose murmured as she reached towards a jar at the back of the shelf beside them. It was only now, her hand reaching towards it, that Scorpius realized it was a little bit different to the rest.

Another bloody portkey. And in his own potions storeroom. The woman had them everywhere.

He'd be impressed if it wasn't so infuriating.

"I hear there are faulty portkeys all over the place," her eyes took on a challenging glint, "I'd hate for you to go to slip on your robes and be suddenly thrust to the Great Lake."

She was mad.

"See you at dinner," she gave him a sickly sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes before clutching the little purple jar and disappearing right before him.

The woman was a firecracker. A workplace hazard. A permanent pain in his ass.

And this place would be boring as hell without her.

When he rejoined the class, Charlie Butterwoth appeared to be acting out what Scorpius assumed was supposed to some kind of sexual activity with a broomstick and moaned 'Professor Weasley! What will the children think?' to a chorus of laughing school children.

Scorpius gave him detention cleaning the Owlery until the end of the year.

Scorpius had the afternoon free, and used the time to do a little personal potion making. As he did every month, he took out an assortment of hard to come by ingredients needed to keep the family curse at bay for the next four weeks. He really should have taken it two days ago; as it were he could feel the prickling at his edges, like flames burning just out of reach were singeing his outline. The Monster was awakening. Time to put it back to sleep.

Some people would think it weird, he supposed, his perception of this part of himself as a curse; as something evil he needed to contain. Charm, charisma, beauty, desire – these hardly seemed like the traits of villainous creature one would want to harness.

He was willing to bet no one that thought like that had firsthand experience being a fucking Veela. It was a lot more difficult than anyone acknowledged.

Veelas were old world magic, creatures that made appearances in the oldest of magical tomes, and yet there was much about them that was completely unknown, even today. The Malfoy Library did have a significant number of unpublished resources on the matter, given that veelas had a habit of popping up in their family tree every few generations, but even that was limited. All anyone seemed to know was that they were beautiful and alluring, that their dance could make even the most astute of souls lose their composure, and when they were pissed they turned into bird-like creatures that had a tendency to shoot flames out of their hands. It was widely recorded that veelas were only female. Any male veela would not only be considered rare, but especially miraculous.

The prospect of people finding out he was a magical miracle did not bring Scorpius comfort. All it meant was that there was even less information in the world to educate him about his disease.

From what almost 15 years of research told him, there were notable anomalies between males and females of the species. The first was the appearance of the veela itself - in the experience of all the Malfoy men who had kept records of being afflicted over the years, they all reported that their Veela 'awoke' with puberty, rather than females who showed signs of being veela at birth. The medium used to lure in people also differed – females danced, males sung. The telling physical attributes were the same, as was the general impact of their behaviour on others. If these were the only characteristics he had to maneuver, then maybe Scorpius wouldn't detest it so much. He could deal with being, technically speaking, part bird-person, having particularly shiny hair, and the amorous attentions from women and occasionally men. However, being veela – specifically, a male veela, it would appear – plagued him with a particular flaw he simply couldn't deal with.

Scorpius Malfoy had a soul mate.

Or, more appropriately, his Veela did. And the Monster was fucking adamant to find it.

A male Veela would not be restful until they found their One True Mate, no matter how inconvenient it made their life. Veelas would search and pine for their beloved, and would feel fundamentally fractured until they were united with the person they were supposed to spend the rest of their life with. The veela would become a niggling feeling inside the person's skull, a voice in their head and a tug on their heart that drove their actions without them consciously realizing it. Someone could spend their whole life following the pull of their Veela in the direction of the person they felt was their One True Mate with absolutely no say in the matter.

It was this that Scorpius hated - he had a fucking bird brain inside him that would put all his plans on hold just so to find some woman to bone for the rest of his life. Even as a child, Scorpius knew he valued his independence above nearly everything else – the idea that he was doomed to blindly stumble across the planet in search of a woman so the bird in his head would settle was unbearable.

Thanks the heavens for modern potion making.

As soon as he hit puberty and woke up with fucking wings (thank the heavens it was during break and he was at home), his father had taught him how to brew a suppressant potion, the recipe for which had been passed down through generations of the Malfoy family. It had been his first real step towards developing a keen interest and skill in the area. He excelled quickly, and soon making a suppressant potion in the dungeons after hours was nothing out of the ordinary. It kept his Veela at bay in basically every sense – he didn't lure anyone to him with his looks, his singing didn't turn people mad, he couldn't shoot flames out of his hands, he didn't transform into a bird-man hybrid, and he felt absolutely no compulsion to pursue his mate. The only thing he seemed to eternally carry with him was the shiny white gold hair he kept bundled in a bun atop his head and being generally considered attractive to most people. It let him lead a relatively normal life. It was his most favourite potion in the entire world and making it came as naturally to him as breathing.

That's where he found himself this Monday afternoon – locked away in his potions dungeon mixing up his monthly elixir from the supplies recently dropped off by his owl. Scorpius was instantly suspicious when he picked up the package from his desk. It looked and felt considerably smaller than usual. He bit down the wave of panic trying to elevate itself from the pit of his stomach up his throat and unwrapped the items. He had ordered eleven ingredients. He received ten. Of all the items, the rarest was missing – his Southern Blue Monkshood flower. A cousin of the infamous Wolfsbane flower, it was the key ingredient that suppressed his inner demons. Without it, the potion was utterly useless. And he didn't have any.

Sweet. Holy. Fuck.

Scorpius scrambled for the parcel and read the note left by the supplier, hoping to get an explanation. It read:

Dear Prof. S. Malfoy,

We regret to inform you we were unable to completely fulfill your order at this time. Due to a worldwide shortage in Southern Blue Monkshood, we have been unable to supply you with the requested amount. We will supply these ingredients when they next become available. Should you wish to be refunded for this purchase and seek other suppliers, please advise and we will arrange reimbursement of funds owed.

Happy Brewing.

Sincerely,

Foxtrot Potion Supplies

Lucky his last dose of suppressant was still in his system, for had it not been Scorpius was sure he would have gone full veela and started shooting fireballs. Because he was angry. He was fucking livid.

A worldwide shortage. What the hell was he supposed to do?! Foxtrot Potions were the best of the best – if they couldn't get it, no one could. Without the Monkshood the potion was useless.

Which meant it wouldn't work.

Which meant he couldn't suppress the curse.

Which meant, for the first time since he was thirteen, he was going to be a full-blooded, fully awake Veela.

Dear God he was going to faint.

Scorpius looked at the pathetic two twigs on his workbench, leftovers from his last order. He needed at least four to make a proper batch and here he was, faced with half the requirement. He had no idea what the outcome would be if he mixed up a half-batch. Would it only last two weeks instead of four? Would it last as long but not suppress all his ailments? Would it make him explode? Merlin any of those options seemed equally as likely.

(Ok, maybe not the exploding option, but one could never be sure)

Desperate, he flooed his father. Draco Malfoy may not be veela (one of the lucky generations that didn't get hit with the full-blooded curse and simply inherited the blond hair and pale skin from their ancestors), but he had taught him basically everything he knew about the concoction. Surely if anyone had an idea how to deal with this it was Draco.

"Do you have any idea what might happen?" Scorpius asked, completely failing to keep the panic from his voice.

"No," his father answered, face furrowed in concern, "I can't remember reading about anyone having to take a half dose before."

"Me neither," Scorpius conceded and put all his energy into preventing himself from hyperventilating, "I can't risk not taking it. I can't…I don't know…turn in the middle of Hogwarts."

"You'll not suddenly turn into some monster, Scorpius," his father chastised him in a tone Scorpius found to be incredibly too lighthearted for what they were dealing with, "You'll just…go shiny."

"Shiny?" Scorpius deadpanned, "I'm going to go shiny surrounded by pubescent teenagers. That's not my idea of fun. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"You're being dramatic," Draco chided and Scorpius contemplated asking him where he thought he got it from because his mother certainly wasn't the one who threw a tantrum when she found her first grey hair like someone else did, "Veelas teach at Beauxbatons all the time. Women won't start throwing themselves at you desperately. Just don't serenade people in class and you should be fine."

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Well damn, I was planning to sing the students' instructions tomorrow. Guess I'll have to rework my lesson plans."

The coal-constructed face of his father raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Scorpius couldn't help it; he got snappy when he was stressed. This was not exactly the supportive conversation he had been hoping to have.

"I'll send some owls, see if we can find out how long this shortage is going to last so we can make a plan," his father sounded extremely rational and Scorpius felt incredibly envious, "In the meantime, make the potion at half potency. Worst case it does nothing, best case you get a reprieve for a fortnight."

Scorpius agreed with his father and said his goodbyes. He felt better having spoken with someone as levelheaded as Draco – it helped having someone capable of rational thought when he was losing his mind, even if his father poked fun at him a bit. He grudgingly made up the potion with the limited supplies he had. It still had the same consistency and smelled the same, which were both positive signs. Scorpius downed the familiar elixir and sent a silent prayer to any benevolent heavenly body that the shortage didn't last long. As calm as his father had been, Scorpius didn't want to risk 'going shiny' in front of his students, and he certainly didn't want to start subconsciously seeking out his mate. He had more important shit to do than go wildly searching for some woman. He was just fine being alone, no matter what his silly little bird brain tried to say otherwise.

In an attempt to calm himself down, Scorpius reached into his robe pocket to play with the lucky galleon he kept in there to distract him in times of stress. As soon as his fingers found the coin he felt a tugging at his innards as the ground fell out from beneath him and the sky swam in a wave of abnormal colours. His gut tightened and he felt the almost overwhelming urge to vomit as the entire world spun and contorted around him. With a sudden rush of air, Scorpius found himself falling out of the sky and dropped into the centre of the Great Lake.

Rose's fucking portkey. That woman would be the death of him.

Chapter one done and dusted. I'm feeling pretty inspired at the moment so I will hopefully have the next chapter written and uploaded somewhat shortly.
All my love! xo