"It's not your fault," Hermione said automatically.  She'd said that a lot since this had happened.  She'd said it to Fleur, who'd introduced her to her cousin.  She'd said it to Ron, who felt he somehow should have protected her.  She'd even said it to the too-beautiful cousin she'd gone out on the one date with.   Dinner had been nice.  The sex had been fine.   She'd had a good, if unspectacular, time.  She hadn't planned on a second date and probably wouldn't have even seen him again if he hadn't made her into this odd, half-Veela thing.  He hadn't known he was carrying the infection, hadn't known he could give it to her.  He was asymptomatic, Fleur had said as she'd wrung her hands.  It's a Veela-specific condition.  He didn't know.