AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This was my entry for the 2014 Dramione-Remix Fest (dramione-remix . livejournal . com). This is a one-shot.

PROMPT: Meg & Castiel (from "Supernatural")

Thank you to my super-awesome beta, devlinshart, who kindly offered to beta this piece at the last minute for me! I greatly appreciate you stepping in and helping out! Many smooches and hugs your way!

Thank you to the lovely Modlies of the Remix fest, too, for hosting this fantastic event every year! I look forward to the next one.

Please review, if you would!

Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and Warner Brothers. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Timeline: April 1998 - Alternate Universe (war started after the end of 7th year)

Main Characters: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy, Dominique Weasley, Original Character (Alexander Granger-Malfoy)

Warnings: Obsessive desire, Soft sex (non-explicit), Veela mating, Pregnancy, Main Character Death, Bittersweet Ending

Author's Notes:

Incendio Pectus Excavatum= "Incendio" is the spell to conjure fire. "Pectus Excavatum" is Latin for 'Hollow Chest" (usually refers to the part of the body behind the ribs, but can also infer to any location that is a carved out cavity that is not filled in, like a fireplace, in this instance).

In the "Supernatural" series, a demon is a human soul that's been tortured in hell and completely corrupted by Lucifer, the King of Hell. Meg is a demon who falls for Castiel, an angel. She refers to him later in the series as her "unicorn" – the pure thing that is precious and rare in the universe, and that tempts her to give up her life of evil, and is something worth dying to protect. In the end, Meg finds redemption by saving Castiel and his friends, but she dies to do it.

AMONGST THE ANGELS (THERE IS ONLY LOVE)

By: RZZMG

Hermione was scared. Not just frightened, but outright terrified.

What if someone saw them? They shouldn't be doing this. It was wrong and dangerous on so many levels. She should pull her hand out of Draco's steely grasp right now, confront him again with the laundry list of the reasons why a relationship between them was ill-advised, and definitively put an end to this… whatever it was between them.

And yet, despite her resolve, she allowed herself to be half-dragged through the Hogwarts dungeons by Draco, her wrist tightly gripped in his firm, sweaty hand whose iron-banded hold on her brooked no argument or complaint. She remained silent, mostly because the erupting butterflies in her stomach were threatening to force her lunch to come back up and greet daylight in a rather undignified manner, and partly because she wanted to be near him again, even for all the wrong reasons and despite his anger.

Oh, and was Draco furious with her! She could feel his emotions radiating from his magical aura, and see it in the set of his shoulders and in his brisk, clipped stride. The demonic darkness writhing within him—a remnant of his father's brutal teachings from childhood, and a mark of his preordained allegiance in the coming war—spread like blank ink across the parchment of his pale skin, emphasizing the harsh, severe lines of his classic patrician features. Cold fury sparked within his wintry gaze, cautioning her against protest of his treatment.

Obedient to authority did not equate to meekness, however – never where she was concerned, anyway. No, it wasn't timidity that stayed her tongue as he yanked her hard around another sharp corner. It was curiosity… and desire. Eve's age-old curse had come upon her at long last.

She shouldn't want this – shouldn't want him. He was a soldier of darkness, she of the light. Everything warned against such an unnatural union. And yet…

Since the start of the first term in this, their final year, she'd observed Draco closely and had witnessed the changes in him. Something had become distorted over the summer before seventh year, and the little innocence he'd still possessed prior to his seventeenth birthday was now gone. Some fundamental shift in him had taken place, and the loud, obnoxious, braggart of a boy he'd been had been swapped for a brooding, silent doppelganger who'd lost the last of his baby fat and who had grown into his man's body.

Hermione wondered what his father or the man's cronies had made him do once he'd come of age to have altered him so drastically in less than two months. What satanic ritual or oath had he been made to perform that had robbed him of the last of his childhood? Or was it something else all together, some illness of his mind or body that he could not disclose? Or had he witnessed something or learned a secret he dare not speak of openly?

Whatever it was that fuelled the raging hunger within him, it rose up again now, and Hermione was uncomfortably aware of it as a biting prickle against her magic.

Why was he so angry with her? She hadn't done anything wrong! They'd agreed to pretend that none of what had gone between them before the Easter break had ever happened, and she'd more than lived up to her end of that devil's bargain. She'd dodged his glances as best she could and kept her concentration on her schoolwork. She'd made sure Ernie, Head Boy to her Head Girl, never scheduled her to perform any tasks with Draco, who was one of Slytherin's Prefects. She'd burned the few notes Draco had sent her recently to avoid giving into temptation. And until this last trip to the loo (which he'd taken quick advantage of), she'd made it a habit to always travel and study with another person to avoid the chance of him catching her alone. So, what more did he want from her?

Yes, her treatment of him had been quite disgraceful, in her opinion, but there were no other options left to her – not if she was going to keep to their pact.

Besides, despite all of her expected Gryffindor bravado, in her desire for him she knew she could not act so reckless and imprudent again as she had that one night. This separation between them… this was how it had to be. It was the right thing for both of them, wasn't it?

She wondered about that as she was whipped around yet another corner in the stone maze of the sub-basement.

A door appeared ahead, and Slytherin's Fallen Prince of Darkness headed straight for it. As they closed in on it, he waved his wand and muttered an unlocking and opening spell combination. Hermione was quickly pulled through the dark portal, and then the wooden door closed behind her with an ominous creak of the hinges and a click of the lock. With finality.

The room they'd entered was too dark to see, but her companion immediately corrected the problem with a spell for a glowing sphere. The golden, glowing ball of flickering candlelight was sent to the ceiling with a simple command, and it bathed the room with a warm luminosity.

She blinked, her pupils adjusting quickly, and took in the surroundings. It was a bedroom – an old, unused one, by the looks of it. "Where…?"

"Old Head Boy dorm," Draco answered, maintaining his hold on her wrist. "Before they sealed off this end of the dungeons and moved it."

"Oh."

She recalled in Hogwarts: A History there had been a mention of the need for Head students to have a more united front after the events of World War II had slowly bled over from the Muggle world into the wizarding world – specifically that there was a resurging movement by pure-blood families for the complete segregation from those seen as coming from 'lesser' or 'inferior' magical stock. In the autumn of 1944, the Heads dorms were reassigned to the fifth floor, across from the Prefect's bath.

Thank Merlin the move had happened before Tom Riddle had taken on the Head Boy badge just two years later, otherwise, they'd be sitting in one of Voldemort's abandoned bedrooms right then.

Hermione shuddered at the ghastly thought.

"Funny, I didn't think it possible for you to be any colder, Granger," Draco commented. "Seems I've been wrong about a lot of things where you're concerned, though."

Without waiting for her response, he waved an 'Incendio Pectus Excavatum' and lit the nearby hearth with magical, smokeless flames that would only be extinguished when they left the room. Then, he dropped her hand and walked across to the fireplace, where he looked down into the fire silently, seeming to struggle with himself over how to begin their unavoidable, thorny conversation.

"You regret it," he simply stated, knowingly.

Did she? Did she honestly regret what they'd done?

"No." She wrapped her arms about herself protectively. "I regret the consequences."

He was silent again, considering her words. "You mean losing your chance with Weasley."

Oh, how he knew her! And she wondered about that. When had he become so blasted astute as to her private life outside of Hogwarts?

After what had happened between her and Draco, she just couldn't look at Ron the same way anymore. Something had changed and shifted in her this year, too, and there was no going back for her, either. During break, when Ron had finally—finally!—worked up the nerve to ask her on a date, she'd gently turned him down, explaining that they were better as friends. He'd taken back up with Lavender two weeks ago.

She wasn't bitter about it, really, and actually felt it was probably the best course for them both, especially given how confused her feelings were towards Draco, but there would always remain a question of 'what if?' in the back of her mind in regards to her and Ron. That was a path she'd never take, and the curious part of her wondered where it might have led had she never let Draco kiss her.

"Yes."

It was funny how one simple word could convey a world of meaning.

He nodded, understanding. And yet, still, he pushed. "Did you enjoy it, though? What we did? Us, being together like that – did you like it?"

Hermione shut her eyes, trying to banish the tactile memory of his touch and taste from her senses – and miserably failing in the task. How could one disregard the tender beauty of their first kiss or of having one's innocence so thoroughly explored without destroying it all together, or of the discovery of heavenly bliss as one came apart at the seams? Their one night of passion had branded her, and there was no forgetting such a thing. She'd fallen from grace within Draco Malfoy's devilish arms, and forevermore, she would pay for that sin. "You know I did, but we can't…"

Here she faltered. Why was it so painful a thing to deny him? She should be able to just walk away and pretend it was a mistake after their history.

"Hypocrite."

Again, one utterance carried so much significance.

The bitterness was evident in Draco's tone, and she was sure that if he'd been facing her, she'd have seen the familiar smirk grace her almost-lover's handsome cheek and the resentment roll through his arctic eyes. He was outraged at her rejection of him.

"I guess that makes two of us, though," he muttered, his wand hand clenched around the wood, trembling slightly. "Even knowing who you are and what you are, and even knowing that you prefer that ape-like ex-boyfriend of yours, I still can't help but want you."

He turned to lock eyes with her finally, and there it was – the petulant rage, the unanswered torment. The unasked question "WHY?" a bright, silver grief in his gaze.

"Did you know, I spent the whole week of break trying to purge you from my system, to fuck you out of my blood, but no other witch would satisfy," he cruelly admitted.

Hearing his confession of having had sexual relations with others hurt Hermione in a way that surprised her: the very heart of began to blacken and shrivel. She turned aside, biting her lip, trying to ease the sting of tears that wavered before her vision.

She didn't want to know any of this! She didn't want to hear anymore! They'd made a mistake… that's all it had been! It couldn't be more, and she shouldn't let it hurt. They'd agreed!

Draco, however, seemed to have gone back on his word, and was now relentless in his anger. His frustration had reached a flash point, finally spilling over with scorching, exacting genuineness that was like knives burrowing into her brain. He was going to make her pay for giving in to his seductive advances, and she was going to get her come-uppance for allowing him to lead her into temptation.

"They asked me to stay behind, to forget school and take up my place at my father's side, but I couldn't. I had unfinished business, you see – with you," he informed her in a sibilant hiss. "So I came back here to this drubbing, insipid place. I lied to the most frightening people in the world, people who would happily turn me into a pulpy mass of bones and blood if they discovered the truth of what we'd done together, Granger. I lied to their faces, and came back here to this hellhole for you!"

She raised her chin, refusing to take the full blame upon her shoulders for their reckless behaviour. After all, it had been Draco who'd done the pursuing, not her. "I didn't ask you to do that," she reminded him.

He barked a cynical, disappointed laugh at that. "No, you didn't, did you?"

She sighed. "What do you want me to say, Draco?"

She wouldn't apologize for having given in to his kisses that one night, or for stopping them both and pulling them back from the brink when she had. The truth of the matter was she felt they were fortunate to have avoided committing to sex then, as they had dodged the awful repercussions that such a decision would have brought down upon both their heads. Her virginity remained intact, as did a modicum of his pure-blood sensibilities, and they could both chalk the entire incident up to immaturity and lust and the novelty of it all. It didn't have to be more than that.

It couldn't be, no matter how much she might want it otherwise. He'd committed to his father's cause, and she to her survival. There could be no middle ground in this coming war. It was better to cut ties now, no matter how cruel or painful. She couldn't allow this to go any further. Losing her heart to the enemy was out of the question.

It astonished her to find he'd stalked close enough for them to touch again as she'd been distracted with her internal demons. Instead, moved around her and talked in circles, as he always used to do with her, careful not to touch, but continuing to tempt.

"I want you to say you're sorry," he told her.

"For what?" She turned her head to track his movements, refusing to let him bully her in this. "For allowing you to take my first kiss, my first touches. For letting you seduce my clothes from me, for giving you permission to put your mouth and hands all over me, and for eagerly doing the same to you?" She shook her head. "Absolutely not. I told you, I don't regret any of that, so there's no apology necessary."

"Not for that," he growled. "For the rest."

She stubbornly set her jaw. She would not apologize for ignoring him, either. He'd made his choice when he'd gone home over the holiday break. She'd offered him her hand, implying her assistance in his defection. He'd run back to Lucius instead.

He sniffed with contempt. "Pride will be both our downfalls, my angel: yours wielded in righteousness, mine in vanity."

"You wanted this," she shot back. "You proposed it."

"And you eagerly accepted it," he fiercely reminded her. "To appease your guilt, to ease your conscience, you leapt at the chance I presented. All the pleasure you wanted, a chance to walk on the wild side with the most forbidden person in the castle, and my silence guaranteed."

She wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling a bit vulnerable in the face of the naked truth. "You benefited equally from that same arrangement, so what more do you want from me?"

He leaned his mouth against her ear. "I want you to say you're sorry – not for letting me have a taste of heaven and then pulling it away from me, and not for living up to what we'd agreed in the aftermath, but for bringing me to heel."

Hackles up now, she kept her gaze straight at the wall, refusing to let the fact that he was behind her upset her further. "I did no such thing."

"You did, and I hate you for it," he admitted, sliding his cheek against her hair as he switched sides and bent his mouth to her other ear. "You've made me betray everything I've stood for, Granger. You've made me lie to my father, to my mother, to my House and friends, and most importantly, to my Master. You've enchanted me like a unicorn does a virgin, made me want something I have no business wanting." He pressed his forehead to the back of her skull, and let out a shuddering breath. "Has it pleased you to know I'm no better than a panting hellhound at your feet now?"

She gasped, astonished and a bit outraged at his revelation. "I didn't–"

"You did do this to me, whether intended to or not," he refuted, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a shake. "This need for you that you've awoken in me, it's driven me fair mad. It's made me act stupid and reckless like a Gryffindor – and I can't afford that. These… feelings… they have to go. I have to exorcise them, or they'll be the death of me!"

"You're the one who regrets it," she whispered, pressing a hand over her aching heart, feeling the flesh flaying open. "Not me. You."

He was quiet again, but his breath was hot and heavy against the nape of her neck.

Finally, "Yes, I do."

God, it hurt to hear it. It made her feel unclean, used. He'd been the one to pursue her relentlessly since September after they'd met again on the train in the Prefect's carriage, taking her tentative hand in friendship that morning and over the intervening months twisting that innocent gesture into something more, something primal and intimate and binding; something that clawed and stroked and suckled every fiber of her being with abandon. He had freed her mind and touched her very sheltered soul that night she'd let him have his wicked way with her… and now he regretted it.

A small sob escaped her lips before she could cover it up, and she placed a hand over her mouth to silence it, but there had been no mistaking the sound in the hush of the room.

"Before that night, you were merely a distraction," he told her. "A constant one I noticed, increasingly became attracted to, but I was able to keep myself in check. But after that night, after I tasted you for the first time, I was bewitched by you, to the point where I couldn't stop thinking about you, couldn't stop wanting to have you – couldn't stop wishing you wanted me in the same way! Now… there's no taking it back. I can't take it back, Granger! I can't spit you from my mouth, or erase you from my head. You're in me now, and I hate that you've taken my control, you've ruined my sanity!

"I can't do this," she replied, her voice choked by a sucker-punch of pain. "I can't!"

She flung off his hands, turned to go, blindly groping for the door as the haze of tears stung her vision, but he was unexpectedly there, having moved with blinding speed, blocking her from the only exit. "No, you don't get to run away this time," he coldly informed her. "This time, we go all the way. No stopping at the last minute. We finish it. It's the only way to end this and you know it."

"No!" she shouted at him, throwing his hands off where he tried to grab hold of her. "I refuse to let you touch me again, especially not as an excuse to get over your convoluted feelings for me! That's sick, and… and I'm not your whore!"

"I never said you were," he stated, as icily calm as at the start of tonight. He took a step forward, forcing her to step back to keep the distance between them.

"You're treating me like one," she shakily told him, taking another step backwards as he pressed in on her.

Casually, he shrugged. "If that's how you want to see it. Personally, I think instinct is forcing my hand. I don't think I have a choice anymore."

She used the back of her sleeve to wipe the tears from her face. "Why are you doing this? Just leave it be, Draco."

His tall, firm body, a product of years of Quidditch practices and stair climbing, visibly shuddered as she used his name.

He licked his lips. "I can't. I have to know now. I need an answer."

Confused by his vagueness, she asked, "Have to know what? What answer are you looking for?"

He closed the distance between them as she bumped into the bedpost and could go no further, and before she could dodge under his arm, he reached out to stroke across her cheek. As his broom-calloused fingers smoothed down her skin, her knees locked up and it was her turn to tremble. He watched her through narrowed eyes, as silent as a serpent and equally as calculating, as he let his fingers explore over her jaw, palming her throat to feel the pulse beat erratically on both side, and moving up to stroke across her dry lips.

"I need to know," he whispered, mostly to himself, locked in an internal battle with his own soul.

"Give me one good reason why I should consider letting anything happen between us ever again," she countered, feeling her body awaken once more under his touch. She bloomed, naturally and without shame as he caressed her, seemingly as helpless to this pull between them as he apparently was, too.

His hand fisted a hunk of her curls and he drew her towards him. His other arm secured her against his chest, where she could practically taste his frantic heartbeat in her mouth. She stared into his face and glimpsed inevitability.

"Because I think… you might belong to me, and… I might belong to you," he growled and lowered his mouth to hers.

The instant their lips touched, her walls crumbled and her heart unwrapped. His familiar scent, the weight of him, the way his aura stroked hers were perfect counters to the millions of doubts flying through her brain, shutting them down, slamming the door on them. Something about this, about him and her, was fundamentally right, and she was tired of pretending it wasn't.

They moved of an accord, clothing falling away, wands forgotten amongst the piles of fabric. Draco's mouth and hands knew her already, had spent hours that one night learning and memorizing just where to stroke and with how much pressure. There was no fumbling, no fear – no room at all for thought. There were only the sounds they drew from each other, the words they spoke in tender whispers, and the scorching need that was sated only when he was seated deep within her body.

They stilled in that perfect moment, after the breaching of her innocence, and they held tight to it, to the knowledge of what it meant.

"I was right: you are mine," he said, his face pressed into the lee of her shoulder, his mouth hovering over her pulse. "Say it. Say you feel it and it's true, Hermione."

He seemed desperate to have her equal surrender, and it was an easy thing for her to give now. In fact, it felt almost fated. "Yes," she whispered, sliding her arms around his middle and wrapping her legs around his hips. "I'm yours, Draco. I'll never deny it again."

He shook from head to toe with a lifetime of relief… and then he opened his mouth and did something quite astonishing: he bit her, puncturing through her skin with a set of needle-sharp canines, and in so doing, bound them to each other in an irrevocable mating of hearts, bodies, and souls.

This, then, was the answer to all their unasked questions, to their bizarre attraction, and to their pounding need they felt for each other. Here it was, in the starkest, most magical terms possible: Draco was Veela, and Hermione his mate.

Everything was a haze of sexual ecstasy shrouded in white feathers after that. Hermione lost track of how many times Draco loved her that night, of how he growled his possession and love for her into her ear. She returned his cries of love, of bliss, pledging her life to his, caught up in the moment and in the feelings.

In the morning, she awoke alone, Draco's family's ring on her marriage finger, his mating mark upon her throat, his scent upon her skin, and his seed settled within her womb. He was gone, however… and in her heart, she knew she would never see him again.

Three years later…

It was done. Voldemort was finally gone. Light had triumphed over darkness, good over evil.

Aside from an end to the hostilities and the death, nothing had really changed for Hermione, however. Secreted away at Grimmauld Place as she'd been since the war's start, her days were still mostly grey, her research and reading a constant companion, while her nights were long and lonely, plagued with memories of Draco.

It was becoming harder to get up in the mornings, harder to breathe some days. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before her heart simply stopped. Her magical mate bond to Draco would end her as effectively as his life had ended three years before at the end of his enraged father's wand, after he'd explained that he'd come into his Veela heritage and taken a Muggle-born witch as wife. It would end as Narcissa's had just two months ago, as her grief had finally swallowed her up after Lucius' own death.

At least the tale of her and Draco's love would end less bitter and more sweet than his parent's had: Alex had been born nine months to the day after the night Draco had mated her, and their lovely blond-haired, brown-eyed angel remained as a testament of their love for each other.

As she tucked him in for his afternoon nap now, she knew that someday he would find his mate, as Draco had found her. However, unlike Draco's bigoted parents, she planned to explain everything to her son about his heritage in her memoirs so when the time came, he wouldn't be confused and distressed, as his father had been. He would know he had Veela in his blood, and what that would mean for him… and for the mate he left behind, should he die first.

She left her boy upon the divan in her study room with her favourite lap blanket pulled up over his tiny cherub shoulders, and then went to stand by the tall window that was her sole source of natural light into the room. Outside, it was raining over London proper, and the grey skies reminded her once more of her first and only lover.

I miss you, she thought, holding his ring to her lips and kissing it again. But I won't forget you. I won't Obliviate my memories, as some of them advise me to do. I won't spend the time I have left pretending we didn't happen. No matter how painful this is to bear, I will do so. This time, I won't let you go, Draco.

Eighteen years later…

Dominique's hand was small in his, but it fit perfectly. It was warm and gave him comfort as Alex stood over the graves of his parents to present his mate to them.

"Who chose the headstone?" she asked, clearly amazed by its beauty as everyone who came here was.

The male and female angels on either end of a marble heart, holding hands, their wings stretched out towards each other were carved in his parents' likenesses, he'd been told. As all he had were a few pictures from Grandmum Granger and the Weasleys to go on for his mum, he could say it was a nice likeness. There were no images of his dad, however, for him to reference. He could definitely see that he took on some of his father's features, however, such as the pointed nose and defined lips.

"Uncle Harry," he said. "He said they'd hated each other at first, but then, when dad came of age and his Veela heritage bloomed, everything changed. In her diary, mum said their love had saved him from travelling down a dark path. That because of their mating, he'd decided to join the fight to stop dark wizards."

She squeezed his hand once. "Sounds like us."

He nodded, adjusting his blue, woolen Auror cloak over one shoulder. It was true. To Alex's shame, he'd been much like his father in the man's younger days, or so he'd been told, acquiring dark magical power so he could feel in control of his life. He'd also had a lust-hate relationship with Dominique from the moment he'd set eyes upon her, and he'd treated her poorly throughout their school years together. When they'd finally mated, Alex had come to the sudden realisation that it was no longer his life alone he risked by experimenting in wickedness. It had taken nearly losing Dominique to see that, and so he'd reformed his ways and given up the path to Knockturn Alley, embracing only white magic from then on. He'd chosen love over power, just as his father had.

"Except in our cases, it was both our inner Veelas pulling us together," he teased his mate.

Dominique gave him a sexy grin and purred, "I vividly recall."

Alex could feel his cheeks heating at the memory, too, and his body rose to the occasion once more.

Gods be damned, his mate might look like an angel, with that long blonde hair and those beautiful blue eyes, but was a she-devil in disguise (as proven by the solitary streak of fire in her hair and the dusting of freckles across her nose), and she never failed to tempt him into wickedness, no matter the location or inappropriateness of the venue.

"Later," he promised her with a quick kiss to her cheek. "Right now, let's just do this right, yeah?"

"Okay," Dominique resignedly agreed and knelt to set the red roses in her hand down upon the grave of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, noting the dates of their deaths. "Hmm, she lasted a little more than three years." She squinted up at him from her position kneeling near the headstone. "That's a long time."

"The longest in recorded history for a Veela mate to survive alone," Alex nodded and held out his hand for her to retake it. He pulled her up and back into the cradle of his body. "But then, I'm told my mum was an extraordinary witch… like you are."

He kissed the tip of her nose, then turned her and presented her to his parents.

"Mum… dad… this is Dominique Weasley-Granger-Malfoy, my mate and wife."

"He married a Weasley, I can't believe it!"

From their hidden spot behind the grave of Severus Snape, the ghosts of Hermione and Draco watched their son introduce his mate to them.

"I think it's quite fitting, actually," Hermione stated, then shushed her husband to listen to the rest.

"…and she's three months along now," Alex said in a deep, even voice. "We're told there's a good chance it's twins."

"Twins!" Hermione gasped. She turned to her husband. "Is that from your side or mine?"

Draco shrugged. "Probably neither. Weasleys are known to breed like rabbits." He huffed. "Just great. They'll be curly-haired and dark-eyed and freckly, just you watch. Those kinds of traits breed true. All my lovely family's genes, gone in two generations!" He pointed an accusatory finger at her. "This is your fault, Granger. I should never have touched you!"

She gasped. "Why you rotten ferret! You're the one who chased after me!"

A devilish gleam entered Draco's eye and a naughty smirk graced his lovely lips. "I'll chase after you, all right," he threatened, spreading his white wings wide. They were, Hermione thought, as lovely as his Veela ones had been.

"Catch me if you can," she taunted, opening her own set of wings and taking off into the sky.

Elated, she stretched her feathers wide and rode the spiritual currents of the world with Draco hot on her heels, terrified no more, for fear was a thing for mortals and demons. Here amongst the angels, there was only ever love.

~FIN~

Author's Final Notes:

I'd have liked to have expanded on this tale, but I'd run out of time for the fest deadline. Now, I've got too many other projects to tackle to attempt a revision, so it'll stay as it is with no sequel planned. Maybe someday...

Please review!