Pansy is a muggle. This fic is alt. universe and non-canon. It's based on folklore of the Vila (Veela source material in which JKR based the creatures on). This fic is semi-dark, and is not about loving Veelas who would do anything for their mates. Please, proceed with caution. If you don't like any of what is stated above, there are many Veela stories out there that have romance and fluff and canon material.

AN: This is an adopted fic from a retired ff writer. Will not have the original author's OC in it; that character will be replaced by Pansy, and rewritten to fit the canon character. This is approved by the original writer.

'Hermione is urgently summoned to examine the admission of two ailing Veelas, not aware that the very moment she steps foot into the Restricted Room at St Mungo's, her life would never be the same again.'

CHAPTER ONE

Narcissa Malfoy's face was taut as she quietly closed the bedroom door behind her, an anxious looking Mediana Zabini standing in the corridor awaiting an update.

"It's worse than we thought," Narcissa spoke quietly, her voice thick with the tears she held back. "He hasn't woken in six days now. He hasn't even stirred."

"Blaise is too poorly to leave the bed," Mediana sighed, her brown eyes filled with pain. Evidently just returning from visiting her sick son in the adjacent bedroom. "We must do something, Narcissa."

"You know our laws," Narcissa whispered, her anguished blue eyes flickering around the white corridor of Malfoy Manor, ensuring that they wouldn't be overheard by her husband. "We cannot allow intervention from outsiders."

"Intervention?" Mediana scoffed indelicately. "The Healers and Ministry can assist us. They may be able to bring our sons back to full health, Narcissa."

"You know that is highly improbable, Mediana." Narcissa shook her head lightly, her blue orbs watering slightly as her emotions washed over her. "Even if we alerted the Ministry and St Mungo's of our sons' conditions, it will not save them."

"You would rather we let them die?" Mediana hissed, her pain morphing into misdirected anger. "We should let them rot in their beds and do nothing?"

"That is not what I want," Narcissa whispered, her voice expressing the hurt at Mediana's accusation. "If we take them to St. Mungo's, we will be betraying the law of the Veela. You know that, Mediana. Draco and Blaise … The only hope we have is to locate their mates."

"Draco's twenty-sixth birthday is only two months away, Narcissa." Mediana seethed, her eyes darkening as her Veela-side threatened to take over. "It is very unlikely that he will find his mate before that day. He will die."

Narcissa leaned back against the wall as she sighed deeply, considering revealing their secrets to the Ministry of Magic, thereby breaking the Veela laws, in order to be presented with a small chance at saving her son's life.

"Do what you wish," Mediana drawled, regaining her aristocratic composure. "I will take Blaise to St. Mungo's. His birthday is a mere four months away, and I will not allow him to become comatose like Draco. I will not allow my son to wither away. The laws be damned! My son is more important."

Two tears escaped Narcissa's anguished eyes as she pursed her lips, nodding slowly.

Their sons were more important than the laws of the Veela.

Newt Scamander reclined in his chair as he tore off the St. Mungo's wax seal on the thick envelope. His weary eyes struggled to remain fully open and alert as he removed the cost-effective parchment from the envelope, unfolding it clumsily as sleep threatened to take him. As the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, his workload was challenging on a good day. So, with the brief sabbatical of Hermione Granger – the head of the 'Being Division' – he had acquired her workload in addition to his own, adding lines to his already aged face.

Suddenly, however, Newt's eyes widened, his jaw almost dropping to the tacky carpet as he swiftly read the letter in his hands.

Mr. N. Scamander.

Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

It is with the greatest of urgency that I, Healer Miriam Strout, write to you in regards to the recent admission of two critical patients into the Magical Creatures Ward at St. Mungo's. These two classified patients are exhibiting similar symptoms and concerns as the creatures currently cared for at Occulta Domum.

The two patients are of high-profile in the Wizarding World, therefore the details expressed in this letter will be kept to a minimum in order to protect their privacy, in the chance that it falls into the wrong hands.

We require your urgent attendance at the Magical Creatures Ward (specifically, the Restricted Room), as well as the head of the 'Beings Division'. The two Veelas admitted are in critical need of examination and treatment, however we are unable to ascertain what is to be administered given the limited knowledge of their species.

Anxiously awaiting a response,

Healer Miriam Strout.

Head Healer of the Magical Creatures Ward and Keeper to the Restricted Room.

.

Newt Scamander dropped the parchment onto his desk, rubbing his hands over his weary face as guilt washed over him at his ensuing action.

"Ms. Patil," Newt beckoned, his receptionist immediately stepping through the ajar door to his office. "Locate and contact Ms. Hermione Granger at once. We require her urgent return from sabbatical."

Padma Patil nodded her head once before dashing out of the office, swiftly following her orders.

An overwhelming wave of familiarity washed over Hermione Granger as she sat in the stiff chair in the conference room, the sound of quills scratching parchment and officials clearing their throats absentmindedly singing like comforting music to her ears. Her fingers tapped against the wooden table top of the large circular desk, her wild curls tied into a stern bun at the nape of her neck. Her pencil skirt and white blouse – correction: Pansy's white blouse that she 'borrowed' – felt like a second skin to her as she awaited the meeting to commence, feeling utterly at ease in her natural habitat. The workplace.

Although, in saying that, this was hardly her usual workplace. Currently, Hermione occupied the conference room on the fourth and half floor of St Mungo's, surrounded by Healers that were privy to the classified information that was about to be discussed. Only one other Ministry official sat at the table, and that was Newt Scamander, Hermione's direct superior.

It was only two days after the arrival of her summons letter that Hermione had eagerly returned to work, sitting at the circular table awaiting the information to catch her up to speed on the latest crisis. Ron, Ginny and Harry had opted to continue their travels around the world when Hermione had announced her premature departure. Pansy, however, decided to travel back to London with her sister, claiming that she had grown weary of the constant drinking and was also eager to return to work. A blatant lie, Hermione knew.

It was obvious that Pansy was merely desperate to return home to pursue her young relationship with a Public Relations Representative ten years her senior. Hermione resisted the urge to scoff. It was hardly surprising that Pansy used her attractiveness to lure unsuspecting, but well connected, men into her clutches, only to draw out her desired information for her column and toss them away when she was finished.

Her sister, ladies and gentlemen. If their appearances alone weren't enough to demonstrate their stark contrasts, their personalities would certainly do the trick.

"Before we begin," Healer Strout began, her rectangular spectacles positioned mid-way down her thin nose. "I would like to thank you all for responding to the urgency of our request, and apologise for any inconveniences this may have caused you."

A few murmurs and nods of the heads occurred in response to the head Healer's opening statement, everyone evidently wishing to dive straight into the juicy stuff.

"As you all know," Healer Strout continued, "Level four and a half of St. Mungo's serves as the Ward for magical creatures under the division of 'Beings'. This includes goblins, house-elves, hags, werewolves and vampires. Now, after the admission of two patients a few nights ago, this Ward is open to Veelas for the first time in St. Mungo's history."

"It is common knowledge," Newt Scamander explained, "that the Veela are a very secretive species. Therefore, the knowledge of them in the Wizarding World is extremely limited. In saying that, we are, to some degree, aware of their bonding rituals and extent of their dependency on their mates."

"At present, the literature we have found detailing the Veela transformations is minimal. Many field researchers that studied the species found themselves lured by the Veela, only to die a slow and painful death, for which there was no cure discovered. Since the last Veela researcher, Nyle Minger, fell victim to the 'Veela Curse' six hundred and seventy-two years ago, no other has attempted to learn the secrets of the species."

Hermione listened attentively as both Newt and Healer Strout took turns in explaining the mysterious species, despite already learning this information during her studies years ago. Her interest and curiosity was only increasing as they reiterated knowledge that she possessed, eagerly awaiting the problems to be presented, thereby providing her with a challenge.

"What is a 'Veela Curse'?" A nurse asked, his expression dubious.

"The 'Veela Curse'," Hermione answered automatically, "is when a Veela bites a human, muggle or magical, infecting them with their venom. Once the venom has entered the bloodstream, it is required henceforth to sustain life. If you, for instance, were bitten by a Veela, your body would require their venom constantly throughout the remainder of your life. If the Veela chooses to not provide you with the venom, your body would slowly deteriorate, essentially dying a very painful death over the span of eleven days."

"I thought Veelas only bit their mates?" another nurse asked.

"Veelas will and can bite anyone they so choose to," Strout answered, her eyes glistening in approval at Hermione. "However, when they are bound to their mates, they cannot bite another. We do not know if this is Veela law to ensure faithfulness, or if they are physically incapable of administering a bite to someone who is not their mate, while bound."

"Which brings us to the issue at hand," Newt spoke, medical staff at the table scribbling notes frantically. "The two Veela that have been administered to the Ward are in critical conditions. Their identities are to remain classified."

A murmur spread through the health and ministry officials, all agreeing to the confidentiality of the Veelas' identities. It was part of their oath, anyway. The ethical oath that was taken upon entering into their respective careers.

"The two Veelas are Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini." Strout spoke in stern tone as gasps erupted around the room.

Hermione's eyes widened into brown saucers as her mouth dropped open, somewhat resembling a stunned fish. Her excitement and academic interest soared within her violently, but a flicker of justice burned inside of her. The joy she felt at Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and 'Pureblood' Prince, being only half-human was indescribable. But very unprofessional, so she quickly composed herself.

"Mr. Malfoy, at present, remains unresponsive as he appears to be comatose." Strout continued once the residents of the room seemed to come out of shock and awe. "Mr. Zabini is ailing also, however his condition is yet to worsen to the same degree of his fellow Veela."

"Have we determined the cause of their conditions?" Hermione asked, her tone professional, laced with mild interest.

"Not of this moment, no." Newt responded, his aging face looking wearier by the minute. Hermione would assume that he had spent very little time the past few days sleeping. Instead, he would have fervently researched the species, attempting to the pin-point the exact cause for their critical conditions.

"This is where we are most perplexed." Strout began, her tone as stern as her stony eyes. "The two patients are exhibiting symptoms that usually occur after a Veela comes of age – twenty-six years old – and has yet to bond with his mate."

"How old are they?" A nurse asked, her brows furrowed as she ceased scribbling notes momentarily.

"Both Veelas are twenty-five years of age," Newt answered, glancing at the parchment of information on the table before him. "Mr. Malfoy is two months away from his twenty-sixth birthday, and Mr. Zabini is four months away from his date of birth."

"But," Hermione frowned, "they are not of age. Yet, they are showing symptoms that occur after they come of age … Premature self-destruction."

"It appears that their bodies have prematurely enacted the process, as neither Veela has found their mate. This is the first case of its kind to our knowledge. Their mothers, upon admitting the patients, stated that nothing like this has happened to Veelas before, according to their records."

"What symptoms are they exhibiting in particular?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes filled with curiosity.

"The very same symptoms as the residents at Occultam Domum." Strout answered.

Hermione raised her eyebrows as she fell back in the wooden chair, the entire room filled with silence instantly. That was not a good sign.

Occultam Domum was a top-secret medical house located in the Scottish Highlands, operated by the Department of the Regulations and Control of Magical Creatures. Its residents – or, more accurately, patients – were mostly a variety of sick vampires and werewolves that had yet to find their mates. However, with those species in particular, there was no time limit in bonding with their mates, unlike the Veela.

The medical team at Occultam Domum had been examining, researching and treating the magical creatures that were patients there, but to no avail. For three years their efforts had failed, many of their patients dying in the end. But there was a steady stream of admissions into the hidden castle, their patient-count sitting in the low hundreds at present.

It just didn't make any sense that the creatures at Occultam Domum were exhibiting fatal symptoms, for they did not need their mates to survive. Only the Veela species required their mates in order to live. But there was not one magical creature at the top-secret castle that had found their mate, therefore the Ministry and Healers assumed that it was connected to their ailing health. If only they could figure out how.

All of a sudden, Hermione found herself wishing that she was back in Prague with her friends and nonidentical twin. For, at that moment, her head was spinning in an attempt to make sense of the puzzle.

A puzzle she did not have all the pieces for just yet.

Blaise sat on the windowsill, his dark eyes scanning the entrance of St. Mungo's Hospice. Currently, he resided in a semi-private hospital room, Draco remaining in a comatose state in the bed on the far side of the room.

Blaise, however, had a glimmer of hope. For Draco had stirred a mere moment ago, at the very same time that Blaise caught of a whiff of strawberries. The diluted aroma merely passed his senses for a second, unable to find it again in the quiet room despite his best efforts. What concerned him, however, was the fact that Draco had frowned and his fingers twitched just as Blaise had momentarily smelled the alluring aroma.

Both Veelas had sensed something, that was for sure. And Blaise just hoped to Merlin that it wasn't a shared mate. For that would be catastrophic.

So he sat by the window, watching as guests and medical staff made their way in and out of the off-white building. Disappointment washing over him as Draco stilled entirely, Blaise smelling nothing but potions once again.

How very strange.