Last time:

They reached the door to Albus Dumbledore's office a meager few seconds later, and Draco's consciousness still to befuddled to notice that the Gargoyle guarding the door to the Headmaster's office jumped to one side, admitting the two, without either of them repeating the password.

As the revolving staircase took the pair upward, Draco clutched his cheek, hoping it was fading and wishing it would forever mar his beautiful features. Opening the door to the Headmaster's office, Roanoke beamed at Draco, then turned back to see Dumbledore himself at his desk.

"Ciel, Hiver est ici," the oddly attractive girl informed the old man in purple robes.

Looking up, the man graced his features with a smile and invited them to sit. When Draco looked inquiringly at his Headmaster, asking the elder with his eyes what had been said about him, Dumbledore smiled again, his eyes twinkling, and replied to the unasked question, "Ask her yourself Draco."

"Hm?" The girl in question asked with a small noise, recognizing she was being discussed.

"What did you say to him?" The Slytherin blonde whispered at her.

"Oh," Roanoke comprehended, "All I said was that you were here."

"My mother speaks a bit of French, and that's not what you said," Draco argued in a hushed tone as the Headmaster shuffled papers.

With a soft smile, Roanoke simply murmured, "I'll explain later, okay?"

Unable to disagree, the Veela merely pouted and acquiesced her request. Turning back to Dumbledore, Draco abruptly realized that he would have to converse about the bond with the old man.

"Oh no," he thought, "As if it wouldn't be bad enough to have to talk about it with her, but no, we all have to confer."

At that precise moment, Severus Snape walked through the office door.

Finally the conference was over and Draco was able to leave and talk in private with his mate. The discussion had not been as bad as the Slytherin had thought it would be, but there had been many a blush upon his cheeks (Slytherins don't blush), and many an awkward pause. Thankfully he knew most of what Dumbledore told him, except a few tidbits strictly about part-Veela.

Stepping off of the revolving staircase, Draco heard a laugh. It was not the musical voice of his mate, and yet it was so recognizable. Whirling around, the Slytherin saw before him his arch nemesis, or who had been before the last war, one Harry Potter, who was now hugging his mate. After a moment, Roanoke released the boy wonder and laughed.

"Long time, no see, eh Potter?" She asked playfully.

"Far too long, m'dear," he replied just as teasingly. The two friends would have gone on in their light-hearted conversation, had it not been for an odd growl erupting from the blonde behind the couple.

"Oh," Roanoke said, cringing, "I completely forgot to introduce you two," she finished cheerfully, completely oblivious to the identical murderous looks on the enemies' faces. Looking to her feet, the short girl put both of her hands out, palms up, one toward each boy standing on either side of her.

"Draco, this is Ha-"

"I know."

The snarling cutoff surprised the girl, and she glanced at Draco's angered face with a questioning look.

"We've known each other for some time," Harry retorted in a cold voice.

"Harry, I didn't know you knew Draco," Roanoke tried again, confused.

"I didn't know you knew him either," Harry cut back with ice in his voice, "I'll see you later."

He turned and walked away without so much as a glance behind him. The girl, still in a bit of a befuddled daze, stared after him for a moment before turning back to her mate, to see him already half down the hall.

Draco fumed. Harry and his mate. The world was completely wrong and upside-down. His vision turned crimson as he stalked down the hall to his private dorms. The Veela faintly heard a voice call to him. He wanted, needed to let that melodious speech drag him from his rage induced darkness, but he was too far under to be reached. It was if a sinister undertow had taken him with no struggle on his part, he had no desire to be free, except from the hand that reached out to grab his robes in an attempt to bring him to halt. About to shake off the pale hand, he stopped, and blinked. The touch was so warm, comforting, a thing he had never felt from his own parents. Draco turned to take in her lovely face, and all he could think was, "She doesn't love me. She wants Harry Potter."

The rage returned, with slightly less force, to the Veela's eyes.

"What was that about? How could you have tricked me like that? You love him don't you?" A thousand questions were expelled from his mouth.

"No," came the muffled answer.

"What?"

"Can we go somewhere else to talk?"

The blonde was about to refuse and demand every answer, when he noticed the pleading in her voice and eyes.