A silvery breeze played on the platinum strands darting about a clearly defined cheekbone. Draco dropped his head to lean against the cool surface of the open window pane, his hand lazily dangling in the cold night air. Sighing softly he contemplated life.

He now had a miserable months worth of detention at the bats disposable. Pansy had a mere two weeks as well as Ron. He had helped the situation, and he hadgot a month!

Living in the life of Draco Malfoy seemed amazingly out of proportion to the life of others. However, being a Malfoy, Draco accepted this with his arrogant chin pointed upwards.

His veela instincts may have been sated at the decrease of permanent harm to Ron, but his Malfoy instincts certainly were not sated at the result of a months worth of detention. Draco ground his teeth together as he attempted to ignore his inner Veela.

Being a male Veela meant he only had a total of three months, instead of six for female Veelas, to persuade his Veela chosen partner to see the beauty within, truly accept him, and be willing for a life relationship between the two. After the three months came to a close and his Veela chosen partner had turned away from him then life would be meaningless. Slowly his inner magic, both Veela and Wizard, would dwindle to the equivalent of a Muggle if he did not mate with Ron before three months had passed. If this were to happen, he would surely be disowned. A low pained moan escaped his lips. He could cope with no family fortune, but no magic and especially no Ron would be unbearable.

Shooting back from the window in shock at the thought Draco shook his head to clear the sappy motives. He did not want Ron, no, the Weasley. It was just wrong, all wrong. A Malfoy and a Weasley were never meant to be. Fire and ice were equal counterparts, they could never mould as one. He and Ron could never mould as one.

Dropping his head into his hands Draco ran his fingers along his forehead and another low moan escaped his lips. Life had finally reached the inevitable cross-roads he had believed had been escaped. With the diminishment of the Dark Lord and the death eaters imprisoned, it left him free to live his life as he pleased not bowing to the whims of Voldemort.

Destiny had other plans it seemed. He was to bow down to a Weasley. A Weasley who had un-beknown to him, captured Draco's mind and soul, and soon to be, his heart.

He had to plan, had to fix this-this, problem. Lifting his head from his hands Draco stood up and made his way to his desk. A prefect did have its bonuses, one being the benefit of his own room. Sliding into the wooden chair he reached for a piece of parchment and a quill. Dipping the quill into coal black ink he poised the quill above the parchment to write. Biting his lip he paused.

Where was the solution to this? Was there a solution, minus the inevitable? The inevitable that fate was pushing him into this new path that he had been steered onto…? If fate existed, surely he and Ron would just live happily ever after, life's choices having been made correctly to lead them to endless bliss, but if that was the case, where is the meaning in making choices for oneself?

Dropping the quill he sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. The golden trio knew nothing of the situation, of course. Dumbledore, Blaise and Pansy did however. Dumbledore being the old fashioned fool he was had been of no help, and both Blaise and Pansy refused to acknowledge the situation fully.

Severus knew of his Veela blood, practically being a surrogate father to Draco, but not of his Veela choice of partner, yet.

His father would have many dark spells which may be of help, but all the knowledge of such arts had been lost at the Ministry's hands with the fall of the Dark Lord, as well as his father himself.

The elder Malfoy had sold his soul to the dark empire before Draco's birth, and had poured his life into his 'work' until it had eventually killed him. A miserable summer had followed that. Lucius Malfoy had never been a model father, but never the less he was Draco's blood and a true Malfoy. The Malfoy Manor deeds had been passed onto Draco at the tender age of sixteen, along with the responsibility of adulthood. It was then that he had begun talking to-

A soft tapping at the window stopped him mid-thought and stirred him from his inner ramblings.

Glancing over his shoulder to locate the noise, he spotted a tawny owl perched on the open window ledge. Frowning, Draco stood up from his chair and strode over to the bird, which by now had hooted at him and struck out a leg.

It was a Hogwarts bird, but not an official letter, as no Hogwarts crest had been indented into the parchment. His frown deepened as he slid the parchment from the owls' leg and watched as it spread large wings and took off into the night.

Malfoy,

I caught sight of him, and he seems alright, although, he did stink of vomit. He was sleeping when I last saw him.

Nodding at the parchment Draco reached for his wand on the bedside table and held the parchment away from him. "Incendo," he muttered, dropping the parchment as it caught alight and crumbled into ashes on the floor.

A second tapping echoed in his small room. Spinning around he was met with another owl. The owl shook its feathers out and flew straight into the room, not bothering to wait for an invite, and perched itself on Draco's bed.

Draco raised his silver brows. "Rude little bugger."

The owl merely hooted back at Draco and extended its leg in a hurried manner. Raising his brows at the owl Draco took his time untying the roll of parchment until the owl bit him in its haste. Gods, had he not had enough things bite him today? He snatched the untied roll from the owl in annoyance and leant back as it flapped its wings at him and flew out the window.

Unfolding the letter, a neat scrawl started writing across the cream sheet. Draco waited for a moment until the scrawl had stopped and he held a complete letter in his fingers. He began to read.

Malfoy,

He's okay, no permanent damage done, just a little pissed at you, as am I. We have to meet at the usual spot on the sixth day, to re-plan.

Don't forget.

At the last word the scrawl began to disappear, leaving a plain piece of parchment in his grip. Today was a Tuesday, being the third day of the week if one counted Sunday as the first, making the sixth day a Friday. He had three days, and he had this extra help he had forgotten about in his panic.

Relaxing slightly, Draco folded the parchment over and placed it on his desk. He did frown at what he had thought would have been a metre lengths worth of a rant at his stupidity, however, instead of the brief scribble he actually got. Draco rolled his eyes as the next thought struck him; that rant was obviously going to be arriving in person.

Minus the up-coming rant, being a Malfoy did have its advantages over leading the lives of others though. Draco smirked into his room; he had a permanent eye on his Weasley through two contacts on either side.

His smirk grew.