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Every Samhain, Hermione’s Veela mate appears on her doorstep, wings on full display and a heavy bulge in his trousers to indicate he desperately wants to have sex with her.
The rest of the year, Draco Malfoy throws her snark and shade across a courtroom, where they are litigative rivals, but Halloween always gets him hornier than an Erumpent.
This year, Hermione decides to bolt the door. Sure, she’s missing out on some fantastic sex, but it’s high-time Draco learns that his attitude must be as good as his cock if he expects her to accept him.
“Granger, open this bloody door!”
“Are you seriously demanding something from me, Malfoy? Aren’t Veela supposed to woo their mates?”
“Woo this,” he snarls. The door blasts open. “Fuck the Halloween trickery, Solicitor,” he growls and folds his wings as he enters, “and just give opposing counsel the treat already!”
She points her wand at him.
“Not until marriage is on the table, you randy git!”
He tsks.
“Don’t be daft, woman. We’re mated. Technically, already married.”
“Oh.”
While she’s distracted by that thought, Draco moves in. He folds his wings around her.
“Now, about that treat… You mentioned something about a table?”