Hey Guys! Long time no hear from eh? Yeah well the beginning of August anyway. So this is my present to you. Back to school present if you want. Or a hurry up and give me something to do other than homework present, that works too.

So basically this is one of my many first chapter instalments (even though some of my other first chapter instalments already have more than one. i.e. Capella. What ever.) Anyway I'm serious this time okay. Once all of my stories are put up you guys have a week (though I'll probably stop getting reviews in a few days) to vote on my pole! It will tell me which story you guys want me to continue with the most!

So do it. Vote for me please. And yourselves too, otherwise you might not get the story you want. But hopefully you like all the stories I present to you.

So this is the list of stories that SHOULD be up. You'll know which ones are the One story ones because they'll be incomplete. But in case you didn't pay that much detail to my stories here they are.

One Chapter Instalments:

She's the One

Capella

Before the Worst

I Just Want My Life Back!

The Bucket List

Possibly my side project which you will probably here about later during each of my updates, I think I'll call it 'Quirks'. It'll be basically a collection of one shots involving the quirks of Dramione.

So enough of my talking (if you want to read some of those stories you don't see posted let me know I'll be happy to put them up) Let's get on with the story!

"Draco darling." The mixture of a soft rapping on his door and his mother's voice pulled him from his groggy state, ensuring sleep was no longer possible. That didn't stop him from reaching over and grabbing the closest pillow to smothering himself with in a vain attempt to block out her voice. "It's time to get up, I need to speak with you once you're downstairs."

She didn't wait for a response he noted as he listened to the soft receding sound of heels clicking against the hardwood. His mother didn't need to, hence she never did. It was in his best interest to listen to her even if he was still only partially awake. Grumbling a response anyway he threw his pillow to the side and tossed the remaining dishevelled covers aside as well. Trying to blink the sun away he wearily swung his legs over the side of his four poster dark mahogany bed and crossed the room to his closet.

It was the same every morning, at the same time with the same tone she woke him up no matter how little sleep he'd gotten the previous night due to the vividness of the nightmares that kept him awake. Still, no matter how tired he was when she knocked on his door, or how frustrated he was with life in general he never told her once not to wake him up or to leave him alone. It was strange but it felt good that there was something stable in his life. Something that he knew was going to be there the morning after, even if it was just a little thing like being woken up by his mother and then being required to eat breakfast as a family. Just the two of them. reliable. And reliability was safe.

Pulling out a shirt from his closet and throwing on some trousers he started navigating through the all too familiar twisting corridors that made up Malfoy manor. In hopes that his feet would lead him to the dining hall with as little energy as possible.

The manor wasn't as unwelcoming as it had been when the Dark Lord had inhabited the place. Over the past few months the manor had begun its slow shifting like putty left on a desk back into his childhood home. Still, the feeling that he'd bump into Voldemort just around the corner had yet to fade even in the slightest. The corridors weren't as cold, the silence that hung in the air was less eerie. Still, he had his doubts that the memories of what took place within these walls would ever fade from his mind. No, he thought, the little happiness and peace in mind his family once had would ever be returned.

The little life and hope and peace they'd had in their lives when Draco was but a child had been stolen from them with the recurrence of the Dark Lord. The little feeling of what to them was deemed as happiness was taken from them, ironically making the act of cruelty all the more vindictive. To Draco Malfoy anyway. Often he wished the Dark Lord could have just stayed dead, instead of re-materializing multiple times throughout his Hogwarts years.

The walk wasn't long, his mind drifted while his feet walked the familiar corridors; left, straight, a right, two more. He'd timed it once. Walking at an average pace he could reach the kitchen in five hundred and sixty seven steps, roughly seven minutes and 56 seconds or so. A useless fact about his home, but a fact none the less.

Each morning, with that particular route, five hundred and sixty seven steps, engrained into his brain it still wasn't until the smell of breakfast hit his nose that he ever realized he had reached his destination. Today, it was the smell of perfectly cooked toast with various assortments of jams and meats accompanied by the smell of innumerable fruit juices and eggs that greeted his empty stomach.

Every morning was the same, he repeated. No one was going to burst into his room at ungodly hours so he could be forced to participate in the torture of yet another innocent wizard anymore. He wouldn't have to bow every time he passed the Dark Lords chamber anymore. He wouldn't have to sit in during their 'meetings' while some unfortunate victim hung from above them like an expensive chandelier. He didn't have to be afraid of any of these things anymore, and yet that thought held little comfort. Sameness was comforting.

Every morning is the same, he chanted. When he walked through the archway his mother would be seated at a chair at the nearest end of the table with a plate of breakfast already in front of her, but her food would remain untouched until he was also seated with food on his plate. It comforted him that when he turned the corner he saw his mother seated next to the head of the table, her food untouched yet her plate was full.

"Morning Mum," He said leaning down to her level and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Morning darling." She replied. Just like she always did. She didn't ask if he'd slept well like she used to when he was younger. It was a rare occurrence if either of them slept well and neither of them wanted to talk about what it was that was keeping them awake late at night. Forgetting was their best option; their only option. Then again forgetting was nearly impossible; ignoring was much more adequate.

A few minutes passed in silence after he'd taken his seat at the head of the table. Only the clashing of their cutlery gave away their presence in the dining room. The soft sound of his mother chewing tastefully was no longer joined with his father's hoarse clearing of his throat every few minutes to remind them he was there. Since he'd left, they sometimes filled the silence with small talk, but really the silence was more comfortable.

Today was different. Today his mother had hardly eaten any of her breakfast before she spoke interrupting their preferred silence.

"A Hogwarts letter came for you this morning." A month ago the Daily Prophet had addressed a rumour involving the students of Hogwarts. It was speculated that it would become mandatory for all students in their sixth or seventh years during the war to return to Hogwarts and repeat a final year of education. The Prophet exclaimed that there was a possibility those selected students would be receiving a Hogwarts letter like all the previous years but were unable to get a quote from the new Headmistress in regards to the matter. When the truth of the matter was neither disproved nor approved the only thing anyone could do was wait until the time came.

"Draco there's something we need to talk about." She didn't look up from her food but she wasn't eating either. She seemed to be having a stare down with her half buttered piece of toast. But based upon the concentration of her gaze it seemed the toast would probably lose.

"I'm listening." Draco could see his mother was struggling to form her words correctly, something he'd only seen her do a few times. The first time was when she was trying to first explain to him about the Dark Lord's reign before he was born, and the toll it took on their family, and families like their own. If anyone could refer to them as families. The second time was when she was given the task by his father to inform him the Dark Lord had been reborn, that Potter wasn't lying, and that he would be living in the manor when the time came. And the final time was when she had to say goodbye to him after he'd been given 'the task'. She was in tears then even though the Dark Lords servants were watching. He couldn't remember a time when he'd seen his mother looking more perturbed.

His mother was a well put together woman who rarely presented herself as anything less. Having difficulties with conversation was almost unheard of and only happened at the most drastic of times. Immediately he dropped his knife and fork and gave her his fullest attention. Noticing his actions she reached across the distance between them and placed her hand over her son's while offering a smile of comfort. She wasn't fooling anyone. Talking during breakfast wasn't normal, a façade different from completely put together wasn't normal and little displays of affection was not completely normal.

"Draco how much do you know about your bloodlines? Your ancestry?" She asked. How this simple, harmless question could lead to what was troubling her Draco didn't know. But he answered anyway.

"A lot. We are what was considered purebloods, that much is extremely clear but I know most of our relatives where they came from and what they were known for. The family tree in the Manor is and has been burned into my mind. Why?" He knew anything his father had told him about their family. He could recite it backwards in his sleep because when speaking about his family tree it seemed like something real fathers would do with their sons. Bonding time plausibly, but either way anything his father ever mentioned about their family, he knew it.

"Your father and I kept something from you for a long time that we really shouldn't have. It's about you specifically Draco, but you must understand we did it with your best interest in mind. We didn't want you to worry with the tough times that were approaching." She squeezed her son's hand. An action that she hadn't done since before he was able to attend Hogwarts. That was notably bothersome.

"Worry about what?" His voice was tense, and already a little agitated.

"You were a smart child Draco. We knew if we told you everything you'd be able to put two and two together eventually and what with the Dark Lord rising and his presence here at our home, we didn't want you getting all worked up about something that could wait till later. We weren't even sure if it would happen to you or not then so we didn't see the point." She replied waving off his question for the time being. She was rambling, not once had he ever heard her ramble. Draco didn't know if he should be panicking yet. Malfoy's dont panic a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

His father was a man of few words, his mother was just the same. It was completely unorthodox for her to begin rambling.

"Mother, what exactly are you talking about?" He didn't know what to expect at this point. This confrontation wasn't comparable to the last few times. Their breakfast lay forgotten in front on the porcelain plates in front of them.

"You're part Veela Draco. Your Great Great Grandmother was a pure Veela and naturally her blood runs through all of her descendants. Some are lucky enough for their Veela blood to remain dormant; in fact the majority of our family have dormant Veela blood. But some have been known to have inherited active Veela blood. Your Great Uncle had active Veela blood, your father as well." He was speechless, but as his mother had said, he can put two and two together. In this case, two and two adding an extra dash of luck that his life had brought him equalled active Veela blood. There wasn't a doubt in my mind about that.

"And you think I have it? The active Veela blood?" It sounded like a disease the way Draco said it. But now it was his turn to have difficulties organizing his thoughts and words.

"We are quite certain. You, you have the characteristics of a Veela. You are extremely handsome for a man of your age with a charm that has young women throwing themselves at you, yet you have no reaction to any of their advances. You're just like your father was during Hogwarts and apparently his uncle as well." Was it hard to believe that one could be this good looking with an amazing effect on women without having to be some sort of twisted creature? Yes, according to his mother, it was.

This idea was insane. It was aggravating and insane.

His mother was crazy; she had to be for her to be spouting such rubbish. And yet for some reason he somehow believed all this rubbish she was spouting. It was such an unbelievable statement that he felt the obligation to believe it. Did that make sense? He thought it did.

Draco wanted to yell at her, to throw a tantrum like he did as a child when things didn't go his way. How could they not tell him he was part Veela? How could they keep something this crucial from him? As far as he knew, based on the limited knowledge he had about Veelas, being one was no walk in the park. But one thing was clear. He couldn't yell at her. After everything they'd gone through, after everything she'd gone through he didn't have the heart to yell at her. She was all he had left.

"So why now? Why tell me now?" He kept resentment from his voice. Barely. And only because he knew that there was a reason they could hide this from me no longer.

"Your father would be better at explaining this given the circumstances. If you wish we can go see him tomorrow." Draco nodded, mostly for her to continue, but half-heartedly because he knew his father could offer vital insight upon the situation. Given at one point he had also been in this exact dilemma.

"Your Veela blood will only really start acting up sometime this year so you may start reacting differently than you normally would." He felt as if he was being given the 'talk' again like he had over Christmas break during his Fourth year.

"Anyway a Veela requires a mate Draco, someone they must find and convince to allow themselves to be marked as a Veela's mate. But it won't be easy finding your mate, especially as a part Veela where your senses won't be as strong. There is also a time limit in which you must find your mate and once you do you must either mark them or have them promise to be marked in the near future. And it's crucial that you find her before the time limit runs out." Draco nodded again not sure what to say. What did you say when you find out you're part magical creature?

"If you don't find your mate by your eighteenth birthday you'll die Draco." That sounded more like Mother, straight and to the point. She didn't ease into it. She simply dropped the weight of the situation onto his shoulders, like ripping off a bandage. Quick, but not painless.

Words caught in his throat. Swallowing suddenly became difficult and the inside of his skull prickled with too much information. What do you say when you find out that there's a good chance you'll die by your eighteenth birthday? Because with a little under a year to find his 'mate' the odds of surviving were not in his favour.

After that, breakfast didn't seem so important. Pipsy took away their half eaten plates and his mother and he walked down to their library to find what they could on Veela's.

Some texts were interesting, quick to the point and informative. Others were not as they were repetitive and contained practically useless knowledge.

Most spoke of a Veela's need for their mate. And how strong their bond is, even unmarked a veela can feel what their mate is feeling if they are close enough. They spoke of mood swings and changes in appearances and senses.

The two spent all day in their library placing books in piles. One for books to take to Hogwarts as they held plenty of knowledge, and other's based on the various types of knowledge and insight they offered.

It wasn't as if they had that many books based on Veela's. But given their bloodlines, they did have an impressive amount. Draco soon learned the number books about Veela's were scarce, and the newest book he'd been able to find on Veela's was written back in the seventeenth century. The pages were brittle, the writing was faint and varied depending on the author. Some writing was even in different languages, therefore undecipherable.

It wasn't until an hour before supper that Draco decided first-hand knowledge would be quite valuable and possibly more advantageous than ancient theories. His mother didn't seem surprised about the conclusion he'd reached when he asked her if they could pay a visit to his father later that night.

In fact, there was a part of him that knew she wanted to go see Lucius because to put it simply, she missed him. And she loved him. She continued loving his father even after everything he'd done because she acknowledged him for all he'd done right in life instead of the one thing he'd done wrong. She even changed his opinion on the matter eventually, and every time Draco thought of him now all he could hear was the conversation between he and his mother the first time she went to visit him.

"Draco it's time we go pay your father a visit. You've avoided this long enough now give up this childish act and get ready to leave." She was tired of the excuses, the spurious reasons not to visit the man that donated half of his DNA for his survival.

"They are not childish antics mother. I simply do not want to go." On the other hand Draco however wanted nothing more to do with the man that provided shelter for the Dark Lord at the cost of his family.

"Well that's not an option now hurry up and grab your coat." Her tone was harsh and implied there better be no backtalk today as she put on her own coat and grabbed some navy coloured gloves.

"Why do you want to see him? After everything he's done how can you find it in yourself to go to that awful place just to see him?" His mother was a woman that frightened him greatly, but he still needed to know why she put up with it all. Why not run away from this life and that man? Why not take her son and run away if not for herself then to provide a better life for her son?

There was no time to finish his thoughts as his mother whirled around and met his eyes with the fiercest glower he'd seen since he'd called his Aunt Andromeda a blood traitor right in front of his mother.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy don't you dare speak one more unpleasant word towards your Father. He is a good man who deserves better than having his own son bad mouth him." It had been a long time since his mother's had given him a lecture in such a demanding tone. And even longer since she'd reminded him his father was a 'good man'. As Draco saw it, he deserved nothing better than to spend a few of his precious days in an Azkaban cell with his name on it.

"What good has father ever done? He worked alongside the Dark Lord before I was born and welcomed him back one measly decade later. He cursed an eleven year old girl and he even offered his own son up as a sacrifice to appease for his failure!" Draco's rant was cut short by his mother's silencing voice.

"Enough! Now you may either come with me to visit him or you may stay here moping by yourself. But if you choose the later then think about this while I'm gone. Your father is still your father, he provides for you and cares for you and shows it in his own ways. He is still the man that you looked up to as a boy and for good reason. And I am going to visit him today for all the things he's done right because I've forgiven him for the few things he's done wrong. He is still your father Draco." Her tone was stern making sure he understood everything down to the last bit that she had to say. And with that she left, only hesitating a moment at the door listening for footsteps that suggested her son would be accompanying her.

Draco didn't go to visit his father that day. He didn't even go the next few times she went, but each time she left her voice rang throughout his thoughts like the chimes of a church bell sounding through a city until she came back. One day though, he decided he didn't have it in him to hate the man he previously idolised, and with that he asked Mother if he could accompany her the next time she went to go see him. She didn't display any huge gestures of joy or utter happiness, except for the small smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes that had been long gone since his fifth year.

As the end of summer approached coats and gloves were no longer needed to visit his father, only a fist full of floo powder, a fire place and the proper pronunciation. It wasn't anything new to Draco anymore; visiting that horrid place.

"Azkaban Gates!" He shouted and almost immediately he felt the familiar pull below his naval. His feet hit the ground with a loud thump and the feeling of being shoved through a small tube slowly left his body. A pop next to him signalled his mother's arrival.

She smiled slightly before grabbing onto his arm and leading him towards one of the Gate towers where aurors in training took watch. Father had once told him it was part of the job requirement to fulfil a certain number of hours at this gate post. Draco never thought then that he'd get to experience visiting them first hand. But once the war started, he was sure he'd get the honour of meeting each new guard personally; as they walked him to his cell.

'A Malfoy' they'd say as they tossed him none too gently into his new room. 'About time' one would say, 'Rotten the whole lot of them' another would give his two cents worth. And they'd talk just loud enough for him to hear. Provoking him till he reached his breaking point. Pushing him further until they could charge him with assault just to see me behind those bars for yet another sentence.

Sometimes he let his imagination run away with itself a bit. Sometimes he envisioned their conversations outside his reach. Each time he did so a new wave of self-loathing washed over him, consuming him in hatred and regret. Soon he was able to diminish the feeling of self-loathing until it was almost unnoticeable. But regret was something he never would be able to push to the back of his mind.

The screams were still to vivid. Sometimes he wondered if being a bystander watching as others are tortured was worse than holding the wand that tortured them. Maybe if someone could forgive him or accept him for his actions he'd be able to push away some more of his self-loathing. Maybe he'd work on that. But it was unlikely that anyone would ever forgive him for his past; for his alliance.

But he was fully prepared to have his own cell after the war. And he was surprisingly okay with it. Now being back every so often only reminded him of how fortunate he was things turned out the way they did.

His mother pulled away to talk to one of the guards leaving Draco a moment to brush some of the soot off his clothes in an attempt to make himself presentable. He still found himself trying to impress his father. Not one to go to extreme lengths anymore of course, but still trying desperately for his father's approval. So he would make himself presentable when he met his father. At least as presentable as one can be before walking through the gates to Hell.

"Let's go Draco." His mother's voice spoke to his left before taking his arm once more. The walk up was as long and uncomfortable as it ever was. The silence which was normally welcomed was now accompanied by the padding of footsteps directly behind them. A guard's way of letting them know he was there, wand pointed at them beneath his robes in case of any suspicious or sudden movements.

Just like breakfast this procedure was unchanging every visit. His mother would talk to a guard saying she'd like to visit her husband for a few minutes. One of the guards in the gate tower would Floo up to Azkaban to announce that father was to be taken from his cell and be placed in a small room with guards directly outside. Once they reached the prison numerous charms and spells would be cast upon them to make sure they could cause no harm.

Six, there were six charms and spells they usually casted. Then their wands would be taken, a final act to humiliate visitors before they would finally be allowed to enter for a visit shorter than the screening.

Just like breakfast here at Azkaban Prison everything was consistently the same. Because consistency was safe.

"Stand here." One of the aurors, a rather bulky man with five O'clock shadow instructed. "No moving."

And the process began. Five minutes and they were done with the screening. They were getting faster. Improving. Good for them.

"Wands." The same auror spoke as he held out his hand. Reluctantly Draco pulled his ten inch hawthorn wood, core composed of unicorn hair, wand from his robes and handed it over, any sense of power leaving with the departure of his wand.

"Ten minutes." They won't get more than five minutes. But they won't argue either. That would only waste time.

The room is small and vacant; walls all different shades of dark grey matched the cracked concrete floors. There were no windows, and no table or chairs, only a small lantern attached to the roof emitted any light into the barren room. Outside the door guards and aurors peered in at us, like some caged animals on display; as long as they don't start tapping the glass he thought

The moment they walk in it's like hitting a virtual wall. The air is thick and damp, smelling of mould and mildew. And despite the warmth the end of the summer should bring, his breath freezes in the air. Despite the warmth the summer should bring, he's shivering.

Standing at the other end of the room, hands cuffed and feet chained stood his father. His hair was longer and greasier than it had been last time accompanied with more apparent facial hair. His face was paler, much resembling his son's back in sixth year, and dark bags resided under his eyes though he showed no signs of being tired; unlike his son's appearance during sixth year. But underneath the greasy hair, baggy clothes, scruffy exterior and sleep deprivation, other than that, he looked like the man that once ruled their house hold.

"You told him then." His father was first to break the silence and his sentence though seemingly a question was not. His father rarely questioned, and when he did he knew the answer already.

Mother nodded in response. I could see she was struggling to stay where she stood; no contact of any form was permitted with Azkaban prisoners. A rule they'd been informed of with the last guards fulfilling their required hours.

"Then what do you wish to know?" He most likely knew what questions were reeling throughout his son's mind, he'd been in Draco's shoes only twenty years ago and had most likely had similar questions regarding the circumstances. Even in itself this 'question' was a test. A chance to gain approval.

Despite all the questions he previously had that were making it difficult to concentrate just moments ago, Draco couldn't think of the correct one to ask first. Time was short and it would run out much quicker than he'd like. Experience told him so. But he needed to know something unavailable on paper, something he couldn't have answered in the form of a text or journal. Leaving only direct experience. The reason he'd come.

"How do you know?" He knew what his son meant. And for a moment Draco thought a flash of approval was evident in his father's eyes; perhaps he commended his son's choice. Perhaps Draco passed the test. Perhaps he was only wishing it to be true.

One question was all he'd get as time ticked away; but his father was a man one simply did not rush.

"Instinct," Never a man of many words. "Trust it and you will find her eventually."

Draco nodded, despite the many answers his question could end with his father offered little to build on. But he could see his father was not yet finished speaking.

"You know time here is limited. I cannot take the time to explain everything you wish to know. But there is a letter sealed on the underside of my desk for you, it should answer most questions you have." He could very easily, very briefly answer a few of his questions here and now but he has chosen not to. But he has taken precautions just in case. How old the letter was he didn't know. But he's written a letter supposedly that could explain more in greater detail about his experiences as a Veela in search.

He truthfully intends to help his son. The thought alone almost made Draco smile.

Time goes quickly when you are allowed only a small piece of it. And soon the small family of three found themselves standing in preferred silence, wasting the time they have, waiting for the guards to call them out. Staring at each other. Taking in each other's appearances.

Draco wondered if it gave his father any comfort that he and his mother were doing well. They were healthy and looking presentable; they were as far as a Malfoy was concerned, content.

A tap on the clear door signals their time is finished. Turning away from his father with no more than a nod he didn't expect to hear his voice calling him back. Not when they wasted a minute or two staring in silence.

"Draco," His voice is softer than he's ever been able to recall it. Which only intrigues him furthermore to turn around, so he does.

"I-I apologize," He clears his voice only after just starting. And he stutters not long after that, followed by an apology, something to his knowledge he's never done before. "For how difficult this year will be for you, given all the circumstances."

He refers to the war. He refers to his left forearm. He refers to being part Veela. He refers to all the variables.

His father's gaze never leaves his own, showing what he's told his son is strength, even while apologizing. Draco doesn't know what to do. His mother is smiling greatly to his left. His father believes he is teaching his son how to show strength even while apologizing in front of him. His father is attempting to be a father to his son.

Draco nods, he accepts his apology. It would do no good not to. And he really wants to accept it. It feels good to accept it. But again he is found speechless, and he doesn't know what to say. Unfortunately at that moment guards come into their room to remove them from his presence. Grabbing them by their forearms muttering that their time is up.

Draco looks back for a moment and smiles at his father, a last gesture of appreciation; a small smile gracing his lips. It feels natural and easy. And he thinks he spots a smile on his father's features too.

So there you guys have it. First instalment of my Veela Dramione rendition. So, let me know if you guys like it. I'm not going to lie it really is the reviews that get me all pumped to write more and publish sooner. And I do apologize in advance for any slow updates, hopefully the quality of my stories makes up for it (if there is any) :)

If you guys have any ideas where you want this to go, any plot ideas. I'd be super excited to hear your ideas. This story is suposed to be as exciting for you as it is for me so let me know. I want most of my stories to be approximately 25-30 chapters soo ideas would be awesome.

Also! This is really important. Aside from voting (that's important too) I'd really appreciate it if you guys could help me out with some of my homework. This is a survey my friend and I made for our class ASP (Anthropology, Sociology, Phsycology) Anyway, it's completely anonymus so we wont know who you are and it's only ten questions to help us figure out were personalities come from!

Kinda cool. Maybe I'll tell you the results if you're interested. Anyway thanks for all you spectacular readers reading my stories and reviewing (hopefully helping with my homework ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I did create this plot but J.K's lovable characters are not mine :'(

I'll talk with all you people later ;)

-Dini

P.S. Might change my Author Name to something else. Not sure yet but if you have any ideas let me know.

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