Hello

fyi the main characters are in seventh year

after the war

and as you may notice some characters that are supposed to be dead, aren't

horrible i know.

anyway, read on...

"She is in this castle. I'm sure of it." Draco Malfoy hissed through his teeth, knuckles whitening as they gripped the arms of his chair.

Lucius Malfoy held his hand down firmly on his son's shoulder. Not that this action would have any effect if Draco lost control and bolted but perhaps his hand would help serve as a reminder to stay seated.

Dumbledore sighed, never in all his years at Hogwarts any event such as the like of this happened. Sure he'd heard about it in olden stories and certain classified rumors from Beauxbatons but never had he experienced it first hand. He would have to make a trip to the forbidden section of the library, sooner rather than later. He was getting too old for this job. He shouldn't have to put up with stuff like this. Still, former death-eater or not, Lucius was a main contributor to the schools funds and Dumbledore couldn't afford to lose him.

"Have no worries, Mr. Malfoy. My staff and I will do our best to facilitate your sons condition in any possible way. I assure you that we are delighted to have a veela attending-

He was cut off by a piercing scream.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!"

Draco's eyes flashed silver, and he managed to contain himself long enough to mutter, "That's her," before he dashed out of the room.

About a half an hour earlier…

"BRRRIIIIIINGG!"

The girl knew that there was something wrong before she even sat up in her bed, one freezing cold morning in April. She lay still as she could, eyes to the bottom of the bunk on top of her. Her comforter, decorated with golden snitches and looked a lot James Potter's would have, was pulled up to her chin so there was no way she could tell for sure without moving her body and being exposed to the frigid air. But somehow she knew that something wasn't quite right. Eventually after what felt like hours, her bunkmate, who had been woken up by the same strange wizardly adaption of a muggle alarm clock, poked her head down to say good morning. Unfortunately, as the girl's friend laid eyes on her, the friend gasped and fell off her bed.

"Myra what the hell happened to you? Ow…"

Myra (pronounced M-ee-rah) sighed. There was only one explanation for her friend's odd reaction. She had been pranked. The next part of the process was simple, she needed to track down the perpetrator and extract their revenge. That will be fun.

"Calm down, Mione, I'm pretty sure it's just a prank, probably a first year, and you know pranksters, they don't last long after I'm done with them." She smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. "Especially with the Quidditch game today, anyone who interferes with me will suffer, dearly." She added to herself. She was a beater, and damn good at it too. Once, she had a target, they were a goner. Even if they were in the stands.

However, instead of looking reassured like Myra hoped she would, Hermione went paler.

"Myra, you should really look in the mirror, and I mean it, really."

"That bad, huh? I suppose I should then." Myra dragged herself out of bed and winced as she her bare feet touched the cold stone floor, purposefully ignoring Hermione when she muttered, "if that's a prank, I wouldn't mind getting my hands on the prankster so he could pull it on me."

Standing up, she felt even weirder than ever. Dreading what she would see, she didn't look down as she walked to the mirror.

And then she froze in shock.

The image that stared back at her was gruesome.

It had perfect hair, perfect eyes, a perfect nose, a perfect mouth, a perfect chin, and everything below that looked like it was plastic, it was so Barbie like. She had lost a couple inches of height too.

But all this was small pebbles compared to the last most horrible, devastating fact.

All her muscles were gone. All her hard-earned Quidditch muscles, that she had put so much blood and sweat into getting so she would be one of the few females who made the Gryffindor Quidditch team, were gone.

Slowly, glaring at her reflection, she used a tone that could freeze flaming balls of gas (i.e. the sun?), "the bastard who did this is going to pay so much they'll wish they'd never been born."

"Don't worry, we know all the spell used to fix any type of prank that could ever be pulled. You'll be back to normal in no time," soothed Hermione, recognizing the signs that warned when Myra was about to explode.

20 minutes later…

Myra's patience had come to an end. Every spell she knew and still… This?

Hermione was worried, something should have worked by now. Her gaze alighted upon her open DADA textbook and her eyes widened. No, it couldn't be. Surely it was impossible.

"Myra," Hermione spoke slowly, talking as if to a child, "remember what we were learning about in DADA today? About the rare male veelas and their mates? I think you might be a veela's mate."

Myra started shaking, "does that mean I'm staying like this? It's permanent?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!"

And all hell broke loose.

Present time.

The door of the Gryffindor girls dormitories blew open and the blond froze, seeing only the beautiful creature in front of him. The only thing in world that mattered. The word "mine" escaped his lips as he began to make his way over towards his love.

Myra lock eyes with the boy in the doorway. It was, with no doubt, Draco Malfoy. A much hotter and sexier Draco Malfoy, but most certainly Draco Malfoy. What didn't help was that all her hormones were battling with her common sense to jump him right here and now. Her common sense won. It usually did.

Luckily, she was good at thinking on her feet.

"Hermione, NOW!" she shouted at her friend.

Hermione instinctively understanding her friend need and sent a bat boogey hex at Draco.

It merely stunned him, but it was sufficient enough to provide a distraction long enough for Myra to take off.

And as she ran down the stairs, through the broken painting and past perplexed Spanish exchange students being given a tour by McGonagall all the while with a blond Slytherin in hot pursuit, she realized that whatever screwed up genetics had created a male veela and his mate had forgotten to take away the muscle in her legs. Thank you all those painful years of cross country running in elementary school.

And as they say, "hasta la veela!"

disclaimer; if you think you can sue me for it, then I probably don't own it dumb ass.

read and review because I love you