an: I was working on Chapter Twenty One of this story two weekends ago, when a sudden shift in movement caused my USB to snap and break from my laptop. Instantaneously, four years' worth of fan fiction/original fiction (over 400,000 words +), pictures, school papers, and resumes were gone. It could not be recovered. My soul was/remains crushed (why didn't I have back this information up?!)

Other than what's been already posted, I am now re-typing from scratch (thank God a rough outline was handwritten). It took a few days to rebuild my spirit and push forward with re-writing this story. I apologize for the wait in between updates, but it took quite a bit to get back into the swing of things, when I had been so far ahead. But I promise I will continue to update this story. Thank you all for your patience.

Chapter Eleven: Two Roads Diverged

"Enjoying your summer holiday?"

On the surface, the benign question during the height of summer should have been expected, but between Godfather and Godson, it carried a wealth of undertones and subtleties.

Draco sneered to the green hills, the only constant since his arrival to the Crestmoor two months ago. "If you call imprisonment a holiday."

Severus Snape had stopped by at least once a day to check on him. The Potions Master lifted a brow as he asked, "You didn't want to travel with your mother and the Shacklebolts to France? I'm sure that would have been allowed."

Draco gave a petulant frown. "My mother's been fawning over Granger since the debacle at the Ministry. I'm sure she would have hardly notice if I was there or not."

"You never took jealously well, Draco."

Draco looked at Severus, pausing before continuing, "My mother told me something before she left for France. I'm not sure how to take it."

"Well…?" Severus drawled, clearly annoyed when the youth did not continue.

Draco looked out to the countryside. "According to her, Father had made an arrangement with Shacklebolt a bit after I was born."

Severus placed his hands within the sleeves of his robe as he stood shoulder to shoulder with the teen. "You mean that you are affianced to his daughter?"

"How did you know?" Severus raised a brow to that, to which Draco replied, "Never mind. I know better than to ask." Arrogantly, he asserted, "I'm not surprised my father arranged a match he thought was beneficial to our standing, but to Granger?"

Severus tsk-ed. "To a reputable House, to prestige, to power, Draco. The Slytherin trifecta."

Deep in thought, Draco's frown deepened. "Her friends and father are the reason my father is currently in Azkaban and remains there."

Severus clipped, "I'm quite sure you knew where your father stood on current events, Draco. But the question is, do you?"

Carelessly, the teen shrugged a shoulder. "The thought had crossed my mind."

"Then you know what is coming. How important it is to make wise decisions."

"And what exactly is the best decision, Severus? Should I follow in your footsteps?" He lifted a blond brow to his duplicitous professor.

"This isn't about me, it's about you, you twit. Are you prepared for what is coming? For what is coming for your family? Your father was supposed to protect your mother, and you by extension. That Granger persuaded Kingsley to bring you both here to safety speaks of the regard they hold for your family. But responsibility for your family now lies with you."

"What are you saying?"

Severus turned and started back for the house, and the fireplace within, no doubt off to wherever he went during the summer months. "I'm saying it's time to stop whinging, Draco. It's time to think and make decisions for yourself. Not for your mother, not for your father or his allegiances, but for you."

His interest peeked, he tagged along beside Severus. "Are you saying I should …?"

Severus interrupted him coolly, "I am saying there are moving pieces, that despite your feelings on the fairness of it all, that are hurling towards you faster than you think. Some want to shelter you from it. I prefer if you were presented all the options."

Draco smirked, as the conversation finally grew interesting. "Then by all means, do tell."

Ginny Weasley was incensed. Ron scooted ever closer to a freshly-tanned Hermione on the couch they shared, while Harry and Neville seemed genuinely happy for her.

"I still can't believe you didn't tell us you went to Paris?!" the rising fifth year simmered as she leafed through a Qudditch magazine. It took until the end of August for Hermione to finally visit the Weasleys, Neville, and Harry. Her summer had been quite busy as her world expanded with people and information that demanded her attention. She tried to impart this to her friends, as they all underestimated how much her world would change after Kingsley rose to the position of Minister.

"Honestly, I didn't know I was until Kingsley informed us a break in his schedule," Hermione argued on behalf on her father, a bit defensively. "I've hardly had the time I wanted to spend with him since the vote in June, so the moment the opportunity presented itself, I jumped at it."

Ron moved closer to her on the couch. As their arms touched, she leaned away inexplicably uncomfortable with the contact. Bu the more she did, the more he followed. It was subtle, but unwanted nonetheless.

Ginny sat on the floor of the Burrow, while Harry and Neville lounged on a sofa opposite she and Ron. There was one week until the start of their sixth year and Ginny's fifth, and after a trip to Diagon Alley, the teens gathered around the Weasley home's lower level for ice cream and general chatter before the new term started.

"So, how was Paris?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. Hermione smiled at her friend who was so easy to read. Harry was much more relaxed, and seeing how he hadn't gone back to the Dursleys, he seemed in a better mood than the annoyed Ginny. "Sirius and I spent some time in Romania with Charlie, but I bet it wasn't as nice as Paris."

Hermione leaned back in the couch comfortably as she twirled her rose- and lightning bolt-charmed bracelet. "It was lovely. We went shopping, attended the French Ministry of Magic's Wizengamot, and met my mother's family. It was very informative."

"You mean Phlegm?" Ginny mimed gagging, as she pointed a finger inside her mouth.

"Gin, that's mean. Fleur is my cousin, and is actually very pleasant."

"Don't tell me you've fallen for her Veela charms too?" Ginny laughed. "You're as bad as Bill."

Hermione blushed at the mention of 'Veela', unsure how to continue to conversation at this juncture. She hated to hide things from her friends, but this was something she was unsure of herself. And it would do no good to fuel speculation until she knew the facts. And the only way to know would be to wait for the morning of her birthday.

The date in question was three weeks away, and she was pretty sure something other than traditional puberty was happening. She noticed boys paying her more attention. At Madam Malkins' and Flourish and Botts', twice she had been approached by strangers for a date outright. Cormac McLaggen chatted her up until Harry had come to her rescue. Even Ron seemed to smiling more her way. It was all very confusing and unwanted, but she steadily catalogued every occurrence for reference later against the books her Aunt had loaned her. She imagined it could be Veela pheromones, but there was no way to sure. She wished she could have discussed this with Marie.

So until September 19th, she would remain mum on her latest discovery. The generous amount of Veela history and information Apolline allowed her to borrow had kept her thoroughly engaged these past few nights.

She pulled away from Ron again, and this time the annoyance manifested on her face. "It's hard not to notice their exquisite features up close," Hermione clipped. "Though Mrs. Malfoy is more suited to their company that I could ever be. She practically oozes grace." Hermione smiled at the memory, oblivious to the tension in the room at the mention of the Malfoy matriarch.

Ron stiffened beside her. "Travelling with the Malfoys. Politicking on behalf of the Ministry. It's like you're entirely a different person, 'Mione," Ron harrumphed beside her.

Hermione internally cringed at the short-handed version of her name. "I am not. Kingsley's moved into the most visible position within Ministry during a particularly volatile period. I'm his daughter, what do you expect to happen? But all of that does little to negate who I am." She pulled her legs up underneath her as she leaned in conspiratorially, seeking to change the topic. "But you won't believe what I've learned from Kingsley about Voldemort's movements."

That peaked the room's attention as she shared with Neville, Harry, Ron and Ginny the plans Kingsley began to set in motion at the Ministry. In consultation with Dumbledore, there were tentative plans to strike hard before Voldemort could. Kingsley worked to strengthen the Auror program, and had proposed relaxed requirements to bolster their lagging numbers. If the new measure passed, seventeen year-old wizards would be allowed join the Ministry's efforts against Voldemort.

"Blimey," Neville sat back stunned after she had finished.

"Seventeen!?" Ron asked, astonished. "I could go right from Hogwarts to fighting the Dark come March," Ron surmised, his eyes meeting Harry's across the way.

"You'll finish school first! How can you possibly fight experienced wizards while you're learning basic defense!" Hermione sternly reminded them.

Harry nodded resolutely at Ron, catching his meaning. "Why not? We've known for a bit that it would come to this. The battle this past June proves it and Sirius says we can fight. If Kingsley need the numbers…" he trailed off meaningfully.

"As if Mom will allow you both to sign up for war." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Don't rightly need her permission, now do we?" Ron countered. "And besides, if Harry's going, I'm going," Ron and Harry shared a serious look as if plans were being made right then and there.

"You can't possibly be serious?" Hermione argued.

"You can't possibly expect me to remain in school when there's a war going on?" Harry challenged her back.

"I'd expect you both to act like rational adults before rushing to something rash. Besides this is proposed legislation and will need to be enacted by decree of the Wizengamot," Hermione finished, though it did nothing to soothe her worry. Her friends could little be stopped once they had their minds set on something, and though she did not regret sharing this newest piece of information with them, she did worry what plans she had now set in motion.

But before the room could further delve into argument, Molly announced dinner. She pestered Hermione to stay, while indiscreetly pushing Ron towards her. Politely and forcefully, Hermione declined, citing meal plans with Kingsley that evening.

She floo'ed to Shacklebolt Hall half past seven. The Hall was a stately red-brick Colonial situated within the heart of Cambridge. After Kingsley had been elected Minister, the home had been placed under a Fidelius and Muggle repellent charm to protect the family's safety. Two Aurors were stationed on guard at all times. Established as the seat of the Shacklebolts over two hundred years ago, the home was well cared for, boasted 6 bedrooms, and a grand hall on its main level for entertaining. The kitchens were hidden away in the basement. After their trip to France, Kingsley remodeled the closed-off room that had been Hermione's as an infant into a room fit for a mature teen.

Unfortunately, the calm night she thought awaited her evaporated the moment she saw Narcissa Malfoy sitting with her father in his study.

"Hermione," Narcissa greeted from her chair across from Kingsley's desk. She tried to smile, but her eyes were red. "It is good to see you, dear."

Hermione looked between her father and Godmother. "Is everything alright?"

Kingsley sat behind his oak desk, the weight of the world on his shoulders as he clearly struggled to address his daughter. "Please," he offered to the empty chair beside Narcissa. "Sit down."

Hermione did so, dread settling into the pit of her stomach. "What's the matter?"

Kingsley closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as she often did when stressed. "We've little time to discuss familial matters as of late. But that is solely my fault. This position has taken more time than I've realized."

She nodded encouragingly. "I know. I don't fault you for it."

Kingsley sighed, grateful for her support but still apprehensive. He leaned forward onto his desk, his hands interlocked as if in prayer. "You must know, that as the Minister for Magic's daughter, certain customs are expected to be upheld. Traditions bring a stability to our world, even in the midst of turmoil."

"What kind of traditions?" Hermione whispered, the dread in her stomach turned into clammy fear.

Narcissa responded, softly and kindly, "Marriages, dear."

Hermione blinked rapidly at her hands in her lap, though she saw nothing. "You've arranged a marriage for me, you mean?" Her heart raced faster than the pace of the conversation.

"You were a babe," Kingsley began.

"To who?" she grated between clenched teeth, still looking at her hands.

"Had everything not had unfolded the way it did, then Marie and I could have properly prepared you," Kingsley continued.

"To who?!" she pleaded, though a sinking part of her had an inkling.

"You have to understand, Emme. Our people will look to your union."

"To who?!" But Hermione looked at Narcissa, who smiled timidly and suddenly, she knew. She swallowed and guessed, "To Draco, you mean?"

Sighing, Kingsley explained, "Lucius and I made an arrangement, shortly after Draco was born."

Now she lifted heated eyes to her father and Narcissa. "You both knew about this the entire time?!"

"I had just found you, after thinking you dead for so long. It wouldn't have been the proper time to bring up such a matter, especially after learning your initial history with Draco. But you need to know before you both return to school."

"Is it permanent?" Hermione reached, thinking through spells and curses that could remedy this.

"It has been set in blood. As long as both of you are alive, then you are to be wed."

Hermione started to hyperventilate in her seat. Her life had been flipped too many times to count since last year. And now this? But what about her potential creature inheritance? What if her mate was someone else entirely? Did Kingsley ever think of that possibility? That his daughter could be a Veela and possibly mated to another different than the one had bethored her to? Her breath she shallow with each passing thought.

Narcissa continued, seeing as Kingsley was pained to have caused his newly-found daughter distress. "Draco recently learned of this betrothal as well, Hermione. He always knew his father would make a match among one of the old families, but honestly, we didn't think much of it until it was confirmed that you had returned to us. I know this is a lot to take in, dear…"

"Yes, you should know!" Hermione jumped from her chair, glaring accusingly at Narcissa. Her Godmother knew her predicament; knew what she was waiting for come the morning of her birthday.

"And we will figure it out together," she vowed to Hermione. Both ignored Kingsley's raised brow. "But you are the Minister's daughter…"

Hermione interrupted them both in a fit, her curls flying wildly with unrestrained magic. "But I'm not the Minister's daughter." Tears at the unfairness of it all burned heavy within her eyes. "I'm just…Hermione," she finished as if that one word summed up how much she did not ask for this.

Kingsley nodded understandingly. "And an heir to a great House. Just as I was, and Draco's father before him. There are responsibilities that come with that, sweetheart."

"I don't have to accept this. I mean, I can't." She looked at Narcissa imploringly, who looked sympathetic to her plight. Narcissa grabbed a hold of Hermione's hand.

Kingsley leaned back in his chair, as he rubbed the bridge of his nose once more. "The magical arrangement I drafted with Lucius was sealed in blood. It's nigh unbreakable, unless broken by death."

"How can wizards and witches continue a practice so archaic, and for your own children no less?" Hermione posed to them both, though she knew any answer they gave would be unsatisfactory. She was not wrong.

"It is how we were raised," Kingsley dutifully explained. "And what is expected of us as parents. We aspire to give our children nothing but the best. Believe me, Marie was never a fan of the practice either. She thought that I had sold your future to another, when we both knew where his father loyalties laid."

"And with good reason!" She shouted back.

"Emme, please! You and I both know Draco is not like his father."

But she was beyond done with this conversation. "I'll be in my room for the remainder of the evening." She started for the exit. "Excuse me."

Summer had started on a high, before it came tumbling to a low. From finding out that she could be part-Veela, that her friends were anxious to rush off to war, or that her life had been pre-arranged; the constant thread was no say in the matter. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place and with no place to turn. She thought she could handle it all, but the combined weight of societal pressures, pureblood culture, and a potential creature inheritance strained her relationship with her birth father and her Minister as their populace marched toward war.