Hermione brushed a piece of her long, curly brown hair behind her ear as she concentrated. For the past week, she had been preparing for this class. At the front of the room, the desk closest to the teacher, sat Hermione and Harry. Hermione scribbled more notes as Professor Mcgonagall continued preparing the class for their practical session. Harry finally, almost lazily, swiped her quill from between her fingers.

"Come on, how much more can you possibly have to write?" Harry held her quill away from her as she scowled and grabbed for it.

"Plenty! I need to be properly prepared for this, Harry, it's important."

"Mr Potter. Miss Granger. Something to share with the class, perhaps?" She stared beadily down at the pair of them. She was making an extra effort to treat them as if they were any other students. Unfortunately, that meant they were extra-scrutinised.

Hermione flushed deep red. "No, professor." Harry smiled gloatingly and handed her back her quill. She snatched it without looking at him.

It was their fifth lesson in the newly established Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts class. The professors had decided before the term had begun that it seemed unfair – and a tad patronising – to have the students who had participated in the downfall of Voldemort to be placed in the regular DADA classes. Therefore, their solution was to set up a new class, with even more advanced defensive skills, which would be open to the seventh- and eighth-year students who had been a part of the Order of the Phoenix or Dumbledore's Army. The class, decidedly much smaller than other final year classes, was comprised of almost exclusively people who had physically fought alongside Harry only months ago. Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and Parvati Patil sat at the table behind Hermione, Ginny Weasley sat on Harry's right side. Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and Lavender Brown were at the table across from theirs.

It was a class of veterans, Hermione thought soberly. They had all lost people. Padma Patil, Parvati's twin sister, had been lost in the first wave of the Battle of Hogwarts. Lavender – who herself had been left with a gruesome scar on her neck from Greyback's attack – had lost her father when he'd gone to Hogsmeade to collect her younger brother before the Battle had even begun. All of them had lost friends.

For the last week, Professor Mcgonagall had been educating them on the technical side of the Cruciatus Curse, having made abundantly clear at the beginning of the year that they would be looking at very sensitive subject matter. At the end of each subject, the students must try to resist whatever spells they have been put under. Anyone who was not willing to participate in the subject of the class was able to leave should they wish to, an option that had been offered to, and declined by, Neville, for the Cruciatus Curse lessons.

"I don't think it's helpful to me if I don't learn about it." Neville had told Hermione when she had asked him about it. "I need to be prepared."

Hermione couldn't believe how quickly Neville had grown up. He no longer even looked like the round-faced boy she'd begun school with; he was a man who had survived a war. He was the first to volunteer when Professor Mcgonagall had finally told them that they would experience the spell themselves now, and were instructed to try to resist.

All of the students, most especially Neville, handled the task well. Most barely released a sound as they were tortured. This was the result of having so much pressure and grief put on them so young; most were so hardened that they fought off the torture well. Neville seemed to thrive, and fought off the spell with ease, but with no joy.

In the last few moments of the class, it was Hermione's turn. She moved to the front of the class, without nerves, because all of the people watching were friends, allies. No one would judge her for her reaction.

She took a deep breath and stepped towards Mcgonagall. Mcgonagall, sombre from her task, repeated the same words she'd said to each of the other students in turn. "Before we begin, are you quite sure that you are up to receiving this curse? There will be no judgement or reprisals if you choose not to participate, Miss Granger."

"I consent to participate in this practical lesson for educational purposes." Hermione replied formally. Mcgonagall aimed her wand.

"Crucio."


Draco Malfoy was in excruciating pain. One minute he was walking down the charms corridor, alone, as was his usual state nowadays, and the next minute he was collapsed on his knees. The pain and shock were so intense, his throat didn't understand how to shout for help. He curled into a ball on the stone floor, his mouth in a silent scream, fire burning in every vein, in every organ, in his very bones. The fire ripped through him, and he was helpless, paralysed by the burning. He vaguely felt hands on his skin and heard shouts through the corridor, but his brain was entirely focused on escaping the fire.

Air rushing past him had no effect on the heat that was scorching his body as he was rushed by unknown people to the hospital wing, and only after he was resting on the cool fabric of the hospital bedsheets did the pain finally, immediately abate. He gasped at the clean air gratefully as it moved in and out of his lungs without causing a fire in his oesophagus. It took him an embarrassingly long time to notice the gleam coming off of his skin. When he did finally look down at his arms, he almost jumped out of the bed, convinced there was someone else in it with him. He gradually, gruellingly came to realise that the silver flesh glowing up at him, reflecting the daylight coming through the windows, was his own skin. He couldn't make more than a strange strangled sound in the back of his throat.

What. The. Hell?!

He looked around, but only Madam Pomfrey was in the room with him, the curtains pulled tight around the bed to spare him the mystified gaze of the other students.

"Here." She passed him a mirror. He stared, stupefied into the mirror, his confused brain failing to process what it was witnessing. In the mirror was a creature that looked vaguely like Draco; the same pointed chin and white-gold hair, same prominent cheekbones and strong jaw, but the skin was entirely silver. It glowed in the light streaming through the windows. But the most unusual thing on the face was the eyes. Pitch black where there should be white and colour. White-gold eyelashes blinked over obsidian eyes.

He dropped the mirror on the stone floor, where it shattered.

"Oh, really! Reparo." Madam Pomfrey hurried to restore the mirror and place it on the end of his bed.

"What in the name of Merlin have you done to me?" He raged, attempting to use the bedside table to stand on his shaking legs, but the table collapsed under his hand, small splinters of wood crumbled beneath his fingers. On top of everything else, his voice was different; a deep, two-toned sound replacing his own regular voice.

"Sit still, Mr Malfoy, or you can pay for the damage yourself!" Draco obediently sat, having decided he had no other choice. "I have done nothing to you. And frankly, your insinuation that I would do anything that might put a student in harm's way is incredibly misplaced, given my position as Matron of Hogwarts!" She glared beadily at him.

"Then what's happened to me?"

"Your parents will be here shortly with the full explanation. Until then, do sit still and be quiet. You don't want to be drawing extra attention to yourself at a time like this, correct?"

Draco sat forwards on the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and staring at the curtain around the bed, unable to process any more for the time being. As he sat, he slowly watched his skin return to its regular pale appearance. Gradually his hands returned to their normal shade, then his wrists, elbows, and up to his shoulders. When all trace of the silver had retreated from his arms, he assumed it was safe to look in the mirror again. The face staring back at him was entirely his own, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a clattering at the end of the room, and less than five seconds later, his mother appeared around the curtain, closely followed by his father.

"Oh, Draco!" His mother placed a hand on his shoulder; her estimation of a hug.

"Do you know what's going on?" He couldn't restrain himself from asking. "What's happening to me? Am I diseased?"

"No!" His mother said quickly, her eyes reassuring. "No, Draco, you are not diseased. There is nothing wrong with you." Narcissa looked pointedly at Lucius.

Lucius quietly summoned two understated gold chairs to sit by Draco's bedside as Madam Pomfrey and Professor Mcgonagall appeared from behind the curtain also, rolls of parchment in hand. Mcgonagall waved her wand, muttering a silencing charm so that no curious eavesdroppers could listen in on their conversation. All were silent, until Lucius began.

"A long time ago, your great-grandfather's brother, my father's uncle, Xanthus Malfoy, went travelling after his time at Hogwarts. He explored much of Europe, visiting first the more wealthy countries – as was his interest – before embarking on a journey into the less developed countries he came across. He was only twenty-three when he first entered Bulgaria. While there, he travelled to a lesser-known area, one cloaked in secrets and magic, in the hopes of finding a native wizarding village. But what he found was much rarer. Amongst the roughs of forestry in the mountains, in the shadow of the Pirin Mountain, he accidentally stumbled into a Veela settlement.

"The creatures were beyond compare. They were so inhumanly beautiful, their songs enticing and hypnotising, he couldn't help himself. He fell head over heels in love with a Veela woman, Iolana, and stayed with her. They lived for two very happy years in that Veela settlement, but Xanthus missed his home in England. Eventually he convinced her to move back to his home with him, where they got illegally married, and shortly afterwards found themselves with child.

"Abraxas Malfoy, your grandfather, my father, was the Part-Veela child born to Xanthus and Iolana Malfoy."

Stunned silence filled the small curtained bedside.

"But you said Xanthus was my great-grandfather's brother?" Draco said, confused by the sudden revelation of family history.

"Yes. Xanthus and Iolana were not well thought of in society. Xanthus's name has even been scorched off of the Black Family Tree, all because of his love for Iolana. They were not of the same species, and she was not a pure-blood witch. So she had the child in secret, feigning Dragon Pox until she delivered the child. When the child, Abraxas, was born, they knew they could not raise him. They gave him to Xanthus's brother, Antonius Malfoy, and his infertile wife to raise as their own. They intended never to reveal the true nature of the child to anyone, including Abraxas himself. Xanthus and Iolana returned to the Veela settlement, and were never spoken of again.

"Abraxas grew up as a normal, pure-blooded child. His Veela-originating gold hair and grey eyes were so similar to the signature Malfoy colouring that nobody ever questioned his parentage. When he was old enough to receive the Hogwarts letter, his parents waited tensely, not knowing whether his Veela blood would warrant acceptance into Hogwarts, and they worried. His letter arrived, and they were thrilled.

"In Abraxas's sixth year, however, he began experiencing something strange. He felt a pull, not unlike the feel of a portkey. He saved the life of a classmate one day, when she fell from a tree on the Hogwarts grounds, and discovered his skin had turned silver, his eyes black, and he had more strength than he had ever known. His parents had no choice but to tell him the whole story. The classmate whose life he had saved was, as it turned out, his mate."

"His what?" Draco's mouth gaped. His hands went up to his temples. So much information flooded his brain, he felt suffocated by it.

"Mate. We'll get to that." Narcissa placed a gentle hand on her son's shoulder.

"Abraxas opted to keep his identity a secret, like his parents before him. He and his mate, Constance, grew up, and got married, and eventually, had me."

"So you're… Part-Veela?"

"Yes. A quarter Veela on my father's side."

"Which means I'm…" Draco trailed off.

"One-eighth Veela."

"Oh." Draco was feeling rather dizzy. His head swam.

Professor Mcgonagall, who had been furiously scribbling on her rolls of parchment the whole time, looked up as Madam Pomfrey spoke.

"You won't suffer any health issues due to your Veela heritage. I dealt with one other Part-Veela during the early years of my Healer training. They aren't very common, incredibly rare in fact, but others do exist, and there is some research available because of that. We have some of the documents here, in the Restricted Section of the Library. Nearly all of the documentation claims that Part-Veelas have impeccable health, much healthier than normal wizards. But you may choose to do your own research into all of this."

"In fact, I recommend that you do." Mcgonagall interjected. "Nothing will be more valuable to you on this subject than self-discovery."

Lucius nodded decidedly. "When I discovered my Part-Veela heritage I was sixteen, like my father, and I had taken on my Veela state while I was on my own in my dormitory, thankfully. The Veela state that Part-Veelas enter, where our skin turns silver and we become very strong, happens because we feel what our mates feel, but only in certain situations. Pain, for example." Lucius looked at Draco. "You felt intense pain when you entered a Veela state, didn't you?"

"Yes. It was excruciating." Draco's voice was small.

"That pain was what your mate was experiencing at the time. You entered the Veela state in order to protect them, even though they were likely nowhere near you."

"I have a mate?" Draco's words twisted around the word with disgust.

Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other. "Unfortunately, yes. That has become apparent." His mother spoke. "We… We had rather hoped that the bloodline had been diluted enough by now so that you didn't experience anything like this, but it seems this isn't the case."

"Usually, the signs of Veela heritage start showing up around the age of sixteen, and no later than seventeen-"

"But I'm eighteen! This shouldn't be happening!"

"I know. We don't have a clear explanation. We simply have to accept that this is happening." Narcissa reasoned.

"Easy for you to say!"

"Draco!" Lucius stood. "You will not speak to your mother in that tone."

There was a beat of awkward silence.

"It was not always so easy for us, either." Narcissa levelled. Lucius took her hand as he sat back down beside her.

"What happened?" His mother's tone had piqued Draco's interest again.

"That's… a story for another time." Narcissa ended the conversation decidedly. "You have enough to be dealing with right now."

"You need to be researching your background, to make sure you have full control over yourself and your abilities-"

"Abilities?"

"Yes, abilities. You need to learn about them, and you also need to find out exactly who your mate might be." Lucius looked beadily at Draco.

"Right." Draco agreed unenthusiastically. "Aren't they supposed to just drop into my life like they did with you and Grandfather?"

"Please, Draco." Lucius and Narcissa shared a secret-filled smile. "Narcissa didn't just 'drop in' to my life. I had to look for her. And so will you."

Draco had never felt so overwhelmed in his life.


Please review and tell me what you think, and thank you for reading!

- EllaPenny x