Warnings: SLASH! Triad (or maybe just sharing. Not quite sure yet.), swearing, possibly violence/gore in the future, maybe [semi-]graphic -cough- physical affection.

Disclaimer: Credit where credit's due. Which is to say, I own nothing but the plot.

Date: Jan 18, 2011

A/N -

Woo-hoo! A fic of my own! Finally! Not counting Consequences, which I am currently completely disregarding due to its utter failure. ∏_∏ SO! I am super excited because I think I managed to come up with a completely original idea. At least, I've not seen anything like it so far. What is it? Not what is seems so far. You'll just have to read to find out. ;D Also, REVIEW! When you don't, I feel like an awful, awful writer. D: Seriously, even flames are welcome. Some of the time they even make me giggle. ALSO! This is not beta'd. Beta and/or Brit-picker (I absolutely do not remember where I read that term so do not ask) would be more or less welcomed. PM me if you're interested or know of somebody who qualifies and might be interested.

To keep in mind: Set after 5th year, but Sirius is still alive, because, well, I like him. Let's just say Bellatrix is the one that fell through the Veil, because, face it, we pretty much all wish that is what happened. Horcruces (Latin class FTW) play no part in this, unless I decide it is sadly lacking in plot.

Draco Malfoy grew up with Blaise Zabini, somehow managing to become true friends in a world of Pureblood politics and façades. Considering, it was little surprise when, on his sixteenth birthday, he came to see Blaise in a new light. In fact, it was nigh expected. Draco's inner Veela had chosen him for his mate. Blaise, in fact, had a touch of Veela blood running through his veins. Though several generations diluted — and rather negligible —, it still could be seen if one knew what to look for. A body a bit more svelte then is natural, eyes too bright for their deep shade of brown, hands slightly too elegant for a male, and most of all his easy charm. In addition to all this, it left him with an almost unnoticeable predilection towards the Malfoy scion himself. Upon discussion, however, the young men in question decided take the romantic and sexual relationship slowly. While they had strong feelings for each other, they were purely platonic and the Veela did not need satisfaction of the bond until the wizard or witch's coming of age, seventeen years.

Draco was raised with the knowledge he was part Veela, inherited from both his parents, though mostly dormant in the pair. — How, exactly, the gene became active in Draco was a mystery, though later on Blaise and Narcissa would be adamant that Fate herself had intervened even as Draco and Lucius reluctantly agreed. None of them, however, could explain why the Lady would do so. — Thus, he highly anticipated his sixteenth birthday, knowing that one's mate is a major part of a Veela's life. Upon his birthday and subsequent discovery of his mate, he was surprised by the fact that he felt very much the same as before. With all the fuss people made about coming into a Veela inheritance, he expected to feel very different. He looked very much the same as well, except he seemed to exude an aura of grace and beauty that he had scarcely lacked before. Upon research, however, he discovered that that same aura would have been much stronger, along with a pheromone of sorts attracting others to him, until he found his mate. The qualities tapering off were a sort of defence to keep others from pursuing the Veela in question — as much as they would have before — and possibly draw the Veela from his or her mate; an unprecedented phenomenon and an unlikely one at best.

With those explanations given and out of the way, we may begin with our tale.

Harry lay on his thin mattress in his room at the Dursleys', head propped on his folded arms, staring at the ceiling, waiting for a response to the letter he sent to Remus. While Harry considered Sirius a father figure, in reality he was much more a hyperactive older brother. Remus, on the other hand, was also a father figure, but one with adult levels of maturity. Because of this, Harry had taken to talking, writing in this case, to Remus when he needed advice. And advice was what he needed most right now. Harry shut his eyes tightly shut at the very thought of the contents of the letter he sent. He had been having… questionable dreams recently. The first, however, was the strangest, though also the most normal at the same time. It left him with both a sense of peace and foreboding.

He was in a place of… nothingness. He was insubstantial, and that bothered him more than he felt it should upon waking. Then a figure started walking towards him, her delicate steps somehow causing ripples in the void and with each one she appeared differently. A different age, race, build, hair, clothing, even gender — though always effeminate —, the only constant was her being barefoot. She stopped only a few feet away from him, her form now solid. Her frame was that of a preteen girl — though somehow appearing to be ageless —, clothed in a nearly translucent dress reminiscent of ancient Grecian or Roman style that somehow managed to retain her modesty, hair of indeterminate colour draped over one shoulder tied at the collarbone and falling to her knee, and eyes and skin also of indeterminate colour. Her face was both unremarkable and indescribable, and she stood at the same height as Harry. When she spoke, her voice rang clear and seemed to echo around the non-space they were occupying and also through Harry's own mind.

"Dear one, we finally meet." At this, Harry became even more baffled.

"Wha— Wait, dear? Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?" At this she laughed, a bright sound that somehow brought to mind the impenetrable darkness of an underground cavern.

"No, I expect not." Her eyes and voice danced with amusement. "Though I would think you have thought quite a bit about me, especially in recent times." Harry gave up trying to figure out what was going on for himself.

"I don't even know who you are. Why would you think I think or thought about you at all?"

"Because, dear one, I am largely responsible for your fortunes and misfortunes. Yours and everyone else's."

"I don't follow." Harry was surprised that he remained calm throughout this. "Who are you?" Rather suddenly, she became solemn.

"I am known by many names."

"Sure, whatever, but who. Are. You?"

"I, dear one, am Fate." Her tone changed to one of sad affection. "I am the one that controls all else."

"And by 'all else' you mean…?" Harry wasn't buying that she sat around controlling every aspect of every moment of all time.

"No, I do not." She answered his thoughts as opposed to his voice. "Yes, I can hear your thoughts," She paused, "Perhaps 'hear' is not the right word. I, put simply, know your every thought. Every thought you ever had and every thought you might have." Harry began to ask what she meant, but before he could, she waved her hand as if to forestall the inquiry.

"Dear one, these are questions better left unasked. If you choose to ask despite this, I shall not answer.

"No, I am not the only higher power, but without me they would not exist. I am, in a vague sense, their mother. All beings have free will. This is all the explanation I shall give, as this is not why I called you here. Dear one, you have been prophesied to banish an evil, as you well know. One of my daughters is the one who gave you this path, and I cannot divert you from it without taking the only chance against this evil. She is Destiny, and I cannot outright change her plans. I have done all I can to simplify this task so you may lead as normal a life as possible.

"I have come to realise that I left her to her own devices for too long in this matter, and that I cannot continue as I have." She drew closer to him, her appearance remaining the same this time. She took Harry's face into her hands. He felt nothing from it, however. Her gaze grew sharp and hard, though not unkind.

"What I bestow upon you now, dear one, may be a gift, a curse, or possibly even both." With that, Fate stood on her toes to kiss his forehead. He felt a warmth spreading through his veins, quickly becoming a burning, and just as quickly a severe cold, before cycling again numerous times. She stared him straight in the eyes the entire time, and by the end Harry didn't know how long he stood there bearing this excruciating pain, bedamnedly calm all the while. When the pain dispersed, her eyes softened and she traced a finger down his face, a sad, almost tragic, smile across her features. "I am truly sorry for all that has befallen you, dear one. I ask of you this one thing, though I cannot guarantee it to be the last; use it well, dear one." She released him and backed up a few paces.

"This is likely the last time we shall meet in this lifetime, though I promise to watch over you and help where I can." She lifted one hand, palm out, in his direction. He felt a gentle, almost caressing, warmth pool across his upper back before dispersing with the sensation of a cool breeze blowing fleetingly across his skin. "I leave you with my mark. Only those whose paths are most intertwined with yours shall see it, so do not fret over hiding it if you became so inclined." With that, she again became a constantly shifting figure. Harry's vision began to blur and fade.

A/N: Whoa! I actually managed to get out a chapter of this fic! The idea had been floating around for months now, but I was too cowardly to write it. -.-; I decided, however, that I really like my portrayal of Fate! :D One last thing (two, actually), I do not have a plan for a regular posting schedule (sorry!) and I might change the title. So… Review, review, review! Whatever you have to say, I want to hear it.

~Z