Draco hadn't broken his word, and the moment that he had left the headmaster's office he had waltzed straight into the Slytherin dormitories without a second glance and began breaking things and screaming his pretty head off. But what was even more worrying for him was that he wasn't only screaming form his hatred toward Potter, but his inability to hate him. Throughout their entire conversation Draco had hated himself more and more as his mind kept flashing to the limp figure and the weak emotions like pity and worry that kept swallowing up his rational 5-year-old hatred.

He really was going soft.

He threw the other candlestick off the mantelpiece and it landed with a very dissatisfying 'clunk' on the table without so much as a dent.

"Weakling," he growled to himself as he picked up a delicate wooden chair and smashed it against the wall. It shattered with a very loud crunch and he smiled gleefully before sinking to the floor with the knowledge that his rage was spent up.

Veela were very temperamental, and Draco was no exception.

Eight days later, Draco was once more gliding through the corridors, this time on his way to the hospital wing, still brooding. Since that meeting with the headmaster he had barely spoken a word to anyone, trying to make it clear that he wasn't happy with the coming arrangements, even though it was more to convince himself than anyone else. His usual placid mask had been replaced lately with a slight scowl that creased his brow and accented his cheekbones; making the others wonder if he could ever truly look bad.

They doubted it…

He knew that he couldn't anyway, so he didn't worry…

He shot a quick glance around the room, never even slowing his pace, before striding over to the only occupied bed in the corner and slipping through the drawn curtains. However much his logical mind had stressed that he should under no circumstances visit Ha-Potter (Merlin, softie) he still found himself sinking into the chair by his bed to watch him as he rested. What in the name of was Merlin he doing? It'd only been eight bloody days and already he'd lost to himself in a battle of wills to find himself by the bed of his enemy.

He sat there in complete silence for a few moments with his eyes closed, trying to convince himself that it was not a good idea and that he should leave before he truly saw him. He knitted his eyebrows further, more in a look of desperation than a scowl as he sat on the edge of his chair, practically feeling the body before him as he tried to force his stubborn self to leave.

It didn't work.

He wasn't overly surprised…

His stony eyes opened quickly and became used to the light streaming in from the window much faster than most people, but they still managed to find themselves fixed on the curtain above the bed rather than the patient. It seemed that he still had a little will left, just enough to delay the inevitable for a further few moments as he chanted 'leave, just leave' in his mind. He took a deep breath and a frown that no one else ever saw brushed his gentle features as he sighed, finally giving in to himself.

Slowly his vision wandered down, and it stopped when it came to rest on the sleeping form. He felt himself sink into his chair as he saw the peacefulness on the face of his enemy, and however much he loathed the thought of the serenity that washed over him, he couldn't stop it. He was definitely changing, and Draco could see it more than anyone else; having shot curses at the boy for years.

His dark hair looked a lot shinier, he noticed, it was sleek and a little longer than he had remembered it too. It was spread around his peaceful face like an ebony halo that only made him want to hate him further, but he couldn't. His rough, quidditch abused skin was fair and rosy blushed under his cheekbones, that looked too natural for any sort of makeup. His normal look of saddened pain had left to be replaced with the most peaceful look he had ever laid eyes on, and he was pretty sure that if only there'd been wings he'd have mistaken him for an angel.

"What the hell am I thinking?" he muttered disbelievingly but his eyes never left the form before him.

Dark Veela, he knew for a fact, were the rarest of them all, nicknamed the shadow Veela for their elusive nature and the little knowledge found on them. It was common knowledge on the black magic market that Shadow Veela were worth a lot of money, their beauty unique in comparison to their fair cousins in Europe that are far more common. It's said that for every 1000 light Veela there was one dark, and that the dark were so hard to find that many had given up.

From the little hard evidence that there was on them, gathered from a woman alive nearly 1000 years ago, they found out why they were so hard to find. They were human for the first 17 years of their life until their magic was finally at its peak, and even while their beauty shone out to all who saw them, they could blend much better than the lights. Their powers of seduction were just as strong, and many could go as far as to say that they were even more alluring than other Veela. But because there was so little information on them, even though many believed them to be far more powerful, no one could find anything to suggest that their powers weren't the same to the lights. Of course, they are automatically stronger thanks to their magical wizarding blood, but having one lying right in front of him, Draco couldn't help but feel awed.

"Damn me," he muttered again, but he still couldn't draw his eyes away. The second he had seen his enemy's new face, even though not even half complete, he could tell that he was in for hell in the coming years. Even though he would technically be able to withstand a Veela charm, it didn't mean that it was the same for this one. His beauty was beyond his mother's family in France, and he was sharing a bloody dorm with the menace, walking the halls with him, hell even keeping a bloody eye on him for the headmaster.

Draco blanched… he'd no longer be the best looking in the school. He paled another shade, he'd lose to Potter… the colour came back into his cheeks a little as he looked back at his enemy, well, he thought, at least I can say I lost to that.

His eyes widened in the horror of what he had just thought, and before he could protest, he had already torn open the curtains and run from the room. He needed time alone to think, and maybe check for the Imperius curse while he was at it. He shook his head angrily as he gracefully breezed down the corridors, and knew that for his own mental stability he couldn't ever go back to visit the stupid ruddy Veela, it was giving him a Vulcan mind mould or something, and it wasn't even awake yet. Draco let out a frustrated half cry, half growl as he tore out into the grounds to take a cool dip in the lake.

Albus Dumbledore rose from the chair that he had placed in the corner of the hospital wing as he heard the cry of frustration echo down the corridors to show that Draco had gone. His eyes were sparkling with joy as he walked over to the bed and drew the curtains again to make sure that the boy would sleep undisturbed. It seemed that Harry was having an effect already, he thought idly, driving a Malfoy to talking to himself and running from the room was quite a feat, and even more so in his unconscious state.

He chuckled lightly as he made his way to the door, looking back to see the sleeping silhouette through the curtains, before closing it behind him and heading towards his office. It seemed that Harry would have no problem in finding his life partner in the coming years, and he just hoped that he wouldn't deny the love he was to feel for fear of others' safety. Whoever it was, he mused, although he already had a good idea, would show themselves as a match soon enough. Burying his hand in the pocket of his robes he pulled out a lemon drop and popped it in his mouth, smiling as he heard a splash coming from the lake that could only have been made by one hot headed blonde. He shook his head playfully as he walked, the next generation, he thought happily, were such fun at times.

…

A further 10 days later, and Draco lay on his back by the edge of the lake, catching the last of the summer sun before the days became shorter and the sunlight cooler. His blonde hair shone out against the lush green grass like a beacon to passing airplanes as the sunlight bounced off it to light the space around it. It was in this sort of weather that Draco's bloodlines really showed, and the four girls on the other side of the lake were having trouble concentrating on anything else.

Draco knew that they were staring at him without even opening his eyes, their hushed giggles floating over the water to greet his ears as he smiled wryly to himself. Yes, he still had it, however much of a bastard he acted they always came back. But the thought that those times could change as soon as Potter awoke drove him to the edge of insanity.

He liked his life, yes it had its flaws, he was the son of a Death Eater, his father was in Azkaban, his mother in France and there was a dark lord soon to track him down and try and recruit him. But other than that it was great, he could be a bitch and get away with it, he was handsome, popular, rich, an adequate flyer and had anything and everything at his disposal whenever he wanted it. But now Pothead was just going to waltz in with a new face and take it all away from him, and Draco was pretty sure that by the end of the two years he'd be rich and very much alone.

He sighed, but one would barely notice from the discreet way he let it out. Why couldn't he hate him? He was going to ruin his life, and it didn't take any intuition to work it out, he was going to be popular, he was already rich, he was famous, and Draco knew that he would be pushed aside instantly. But why wasn't he loathing him for it? Why couldn't he bring himself to hate the person who was undoubtedly going to ruin his life without even bloody trying?

"Oof" Draco breathed as something heavy landed on his chest and disrupted his sunbathing. He wondered if it had perhaps been one of those ruddy Hufflepuffs with their muggle ball games again, but he felt pretty sure that he would have remembered had they been feathery. And warm…

He cracked open an eye and leaned forward slightly to let himself take in the strange site of the headmaster's phoenix sitting on his chest, staring at him with disconcerting eyes and a letter in its beak. He raised a delicate eyebrow as he gently took the letter from it and eyed the bird suspiciously as he broke the wax seal and took out the letter. Draco gave the bird one last look before looking back down to the piece of parchment and he began to read it propped up on one elbow.

Northeast spiral tower, 7th floor, 5th door on the right. Password- beauté d'ombre

Enjoy yourself my boy

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

"You have got to be kidding me," Draco mumbled, his heart once more filling with dread as he looked over to the tower, and back at the letter in his hand. Not only was that stupid tower absolutely miles away from any of his lessons, but it was completely uninhabited too, meaning that he couldn't escape.

The phoenix let out a small chirrup that warmed Draco a little, making him tingle with some sort of unseen magic and he felt some of the dread lift from his shoulders. Trust Dumbledore to send him something to give him absolutely no excuse to go into a sulk, he thought half-heartedly as he suddenly seemed unable to hate anything any more.

"Alright bird-" he began in defeat, addressing the phoenix that was still looking at him with interest, its golden head cocked to the side. "You going to come with me to face my sentence, or leave me to jump off that tower all by myself?" With that the phoenix let out a happy cry and flapped its wings to land gracefully on his shoulder, once more warming him up inside.

"I'll take that as a yes then," he muttered as he scratched the phoenix on the top of its head before heaving himself to his feet and heading towards his newest home with more anticipation than dread. He couldn't help but smile as he felt those envious eyes on the back of his head, his last reminder of better days.

…

"Beauté d'ombre" he muttered to the fair women in the portrait, not stupid enough to miss the conveniently 'hidden' meaning behind the words. Beauté d'ombre roughly translates into shadow beauty, and he grimaced as he spoke them, Fawkes letting out a cheerful cry that eased him a little. He absently scratched the bird again in mild appreciation before he took a deep breath and stepped through the revealed arch, turning as it melted back behind him.

The entrance that had previously been there was now replaced by a lush, hanging tapestry, depicting a moving scene of trees gently swaying in the wind. It was surprisingly tasteful for Dumbledore, he mused as he watched them moving softly, suddenly unaware of his surroundings as he watched as though transfixed.

Fawkes broke him out of his trance with a gentle nip to his ear lobe, and he jerked in surprise before he realised what had bitten him. "Ruddy bird," he muttered dryly and he could have sworn that the phoenix gave him a disapproving look in return. He shrugged off the thought and turned slowly to take in his newest quarters, and was met with mild surprise.

It was far too tasteful for Dumbledore…

The walls were cream with wooden flooring and panelling running half way up the walls, and gleaming like water. In fact, on closer inspection Draco could actually see them rippling in the sunlight, casting dancing lights on the walls in its own natural light show. He quirked an eyebrow as he cast his look over the dark brown leather arm chairs by the huge fireplace, the serene portraits on the walls, the thick carpet by the fire.

There was a bookshelf reaching to the ceiling along the right wall filled with different volumes, their thick spines reading names like 'advanced Alchemy- from the words of the masters', 'natural magical components in the British evergreen,' and 'read the stars- a complete guide for the fluency of celestial readings' and he couldn't help but feel impressed as he ran a dainty finger over them, practically feeling the wisdom hidden within each page.

He turned around again and looked up to see the oil lamps suspended in the shape of hands on the walls, burning brightly and casting their glow on the comforting room. There were two desks on either side of the room, and upon opening the drawers, he was surprised to find them filled neatly with inkwells, quills and parchment ready for use.

Looking across the room his eyes came to rest on another door leading from the room, reading 'Harry Potter' in golden italics on the front. He snorted, "not like they trust me to pick for myself or anything," he muttered and Fawkes gave him another warning nibble before letting burst a short song that made him forgive the ruddy turkey immediately.

"Bloody manipulative chicken," he muttered, but with little spirit as he read his own name inscribed into a door opposite to the other and began making toward it. The second that his hand wrapped around the brass door knob he felt a brush of heat run through his body but he shrugged it off, knowing that they were merely the wards reading his magical signature. He had to give it to the old coot, even though he was off his head barmy, he was exceptionally brilliant.

Silvery walls glistened in the sunlight and the green silk drapes that hung around his bed fluttered in the wind from the huge open window. There was a spacious wardrobe, a desk, bookshelf and two comfy looking chairs by a small fireplace in the corner all furnished and shining brightly. Due to the colours, he guessed that the headmaster had gone to the effort of colour coding their rooms to make them feel more at home, and it didn't take a genius to work out that Ha-Potters was going to be all Gryffindorish.

He didn't even have the heart to call himself a softie, or mock the Gryffindors in any way, because for the first time in many long years, he finally felt at home.

Back in the hospital wing, Harry stirred gently upon feeling a small tingling wave of happiness brush his body, and smiled in his sleep.