"It all began with the dream," he remembered with a sad smile, "The dream."

)(FLASHBACK)(

He was just sitting in The Three Broomsticks, nursing a Butterbeer when he saw her through the dusty window. Jumping to his feet, he dropped a Galleon next to his drink and ran from the pub. Once outside, he kept his eyes trained on the girl, her long red hair flowing down her back. Somehow he knew her... and somehow he wanted to know more. The girl, so familiar, yet so unknown, had stopped now, as did he. Walking slowly toward her, he saw that her face was upturned toward the drenching rain. Looking around he saw not a single person but the girl, whose name he could not remember, as hard as he tried.

"Hey," he began, but when she didn't respond, he continued, "Rain."

It was all he said, but it seemed right. The girl, Rain, turned to him. Though her clothes were plastered to her self like a second skin, and her fiery hair was soaking and in her eyes, she took mind of nothing but the absurdly blonde boy in front of her.

"No."

"No, what?" He asked, confused.

"I'm not her anymore," she replied, flustering the teen more. "I used to be, but never, never again. Not after what happened."

"But Rain-" he started, but she cut him off.

"I love you," she whispered, almost inaudibly beneath the wind, "But I'm not who you think I am."

"Yes, yes you are-" he stopped when she sat down in the mud, her stormy gray eyes turned once again toward the sky and her knees against her chest, making her look as though she was a small child, not about the same age as him. That is when he noticed the knife at her neck. He knelt beside her and went in to kiss her petite nose, though he didn't know why at the moment, and she pushed him away, glaring.

"No, I told you no. I'm not real, and neither are you," the girl replied in a calm, but cold voice. "You've got it wrong. And don't call me that. I told you to never call me that!" Her voice was rising, but not due to anything he noticed. She seemed to be yelling at someone behind him, but he was unable to turn. It was as if he was glued to the spot, sentenced to be forever staring into her hurt and angry, but nonetheless beautiful eyes. The eyes destined to die, soon.

That is always where he was woken from the dream, usually by a house-elf that he quickly shoved out of his room. Then, the tears came. After the dream, he would cry for hours as though he had lost something dear to him. It felt as though he had lost something, like both his heart and soul were tearing themselves into pieces.

It had been that summer, mere weeks after the dream had come for the first time, the summer after his 17th birthday, that Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune discovered that he was a Veela. Part Veela at least, his Grandmother on his mother's side had been a Veela. Marrying a magical creature was considered better than marrying anyone with muggle blood, and with so few pure-blooded families left in Europe, and inbreeding at an all-time high, Veelas seemed to be a popular choice, despite the fact that they weren't at all human.

Draco had taken this news remarkably well, with small amounts of pouting, stamping about and breaking objects. This was a plus, seeing as it had been Narcissa who had had to tell the boy, while his father was in Azkaban. His father, arrested after the war, which the wonder-boy had won, with help from Draco. The platinum blonde boy had decided it was better to be a colleague of the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die than to be a servant of the most insane and wicked wizard of the century. Potter had won by the smallest percentage, really. Narcissa had joined Draco in the fight for the Light, just to spite her husband, who had not really been Narcissa's mate.

Moving on with Draco's story, he had taken most of the Veela news in stride, besides the fact that he would be stuck with one girl (or boy) for the rest of his natural born life. Sure he'd be extremely attractive, sure he'd be twice as powerful as before, but he'd be under the control of one person, his mate. Even the word made the Slytherin Play-Boy's skin crawl. Attached to one person for his whole life- ugh! It sounded horrible! What if she- he- they were a bad kisser, or worse, bad in the sack! He couldn't take it anymore! The tall, slim boy climbed into be and put a pillow over his head, and tried to not think of the horrors that might become him at school. What if his powers were unleashed? Or what if his mate was a Hufflepuff! With many queries floating about the depths of his mind, he fell asleep, and once again dreamed of the girl called Rain.