Disclaimer: I claim nothing as my own, for hell hath no fury like an author whose outstanding copyrights hath been infringed upon. (I think that's how the saying goes right?…)

AN: After this chapter there will be one more time skip on to what would be Draco's seventh year. Because Voldemort's return was more covert this time it enabled him to grab control of the country a year sooner.

Chapter 2

"There had bloody well better be a Princess at the end of this, one that looks like that Diana lady on the cover of those magazines, or whatever they're called, you read. If she looks like the queen those muggles have now I'm leaving her here."

"Dobby is finding her royal highness most prettyful!"

"Yeah, the fact that a house elf thinks she's nice on the eyes doesn't prove my point at all."

"Then Dobby is being the one who is going to be saving the queen!"

"And I'll send a wedding gift. Seriously Dobby, why did you even bring those tabloids into our trunk? They are just going to rot your mind, not that there is much of one to begin with."

"Master should not speak such kind words to Dobby!"

I have no idea where Dobby picked up sarcasm, or was that sarcasm? I can never tell with that elf. What prompted him to start bringing home tabloids I don't know either. Although I disparage them to his face I will, on occasion, read a page or two. I justify it by calling it "opposition research." Seriously, those muggles are more twisted than I thought." Father was right, muggles are all freaks.

I force my mind back on track.

Before us stands an ominous fortress. The center keep is ringed about by high stone walls of granite that look to be able to break armies like waves upon the cliffs of a jagged rocky coastline, and appeared just as deadly to those that are foolish enough to venture near. There are towers slicing up from the ground along the walls, some of them ending in jagged crumbling points that, despite their dilapidated state, made the structure as a whole all the more menacing. The entire structure seemed to seep malevolence. I smile, this will be fun.

Dobby and I walk towards the dilapidated entrance, a thing of shattered towers and broken portcullises to which the shadows enshrouding it lend the look of a gaping maw of a great primal titan of old waiting to swallow any foolish enough to enter it's gullet. I crack my knuckles as I walk through the entrance Dobby at my side his blade in his hand and his eyes alight. If the appearance is no lie, and this is some sort of devouring monster of darkness and stone, we are about to give it one hell of a case of indigestion.

The gatehouse is completely dark in a way that can't be natural; there isn't a glimmer of illumination to be seen. A foul sent reaches my nostrils.

"Lumos."

The path in front of me is almost completely blocked by a wall of walking rotting corpses. Inferi, damn. Well that explains the smell. The most commonly held belief is that the best way to rid oneself of inferi is to use fire to drive them away. Conventional wisdom holds that the best spell to cast in this situation would be an incendio; conventional wisdom can go bugger itself for all I care. I'm here to rescue some worthless academics, and I'm not doing that by driving a horde of stinking, rotting, and most importantly, hungry undead in front of me. I opt for the messier, yet still effective, approach of parting their heads from their bodies 'a la severing charms.

I immediately begin furiously casting diffindos and piercing curses, each piercer finds the head of an inferi, and each cutter unerringly impacting a neck. Dobby knows the drill, I'll take care of anything at range and in front and he'll handle anything that tries to flank or get behind me. One of the creatures surges towards me, its arms outstretched, its fingers splayed, mouth wide and jaws gnawing in search of flesh. I spin to my right, wand drawn and fire off a piercer point blank causing its head to explode in a shower of feted gore. Dobby pops next to another of the inferi and cleaves its skull from its neck as it tries to throttle me from behind.

It really isn't much of a fight. Most of the creatures are decapitate before they get close enough to do me harm, and the ones that do get close enough soon meet, or rather are reacquainted with, their end by the fierce edge of "Chopsy." All that is left to do is step over the disgusting twitching remains as we continue to walk through to the end of the passage.

As soon as we make it to the end of the gatehouse I know that something is wrong; it's like an itch between my shoulder blades. We are being watched.

I extinguish my lumos and duck behind a solid block of fallen granite, Dobby right behind me. I take a few moments to observe my surroundings. We are in a square courtyard completely encircled by stone walls topped with sneering gargoyles and riddled through with murder slits that the defenders of old would use to rain down death upon any intruder that managed to breach this far.

It's the perfect place for an ambush.

Now that I'm looking I can see skeletons, their bones bleached white and their skull's empty eye sockets gazing at the sky, littered throughout the entire area doesn't do much to place me at ease.

"This isn't a fortress Dobby, this is a tomb."

"Master is being right; all of the cleanings in the world would not be getting the smells of dead things out of this place."

I nod to myself. "Dobby, can you scout ahead? See if there are any traps to worry about." My elf bobs his head in agreement, snaps his fingers, and disappears from sigh. House elf magic is very useful and can be rather powerful, but is also limited. It pretty much is constrained to movement of objects, invisibility, and "popping," their own form of aperation. All of those things make Dobby great at seeing while not being seen.

I wait impatiently for him to return, my eyes flitting about the gothic displays searching for threats. Finally, after what feels like an hour, Dobby reappears beside me and nods his head.

"Yes master; there is being some kind of ward on the grounds, one much too hard for Dobby to be breaking."

So I was right. Well, if you can't disable the trap, the next best way to get rid of it is to spring it knowingly and unleash hell on whatever comes for you.

I step out into the courtyard

My forward movement is greeted by a chorus of pops and snaps from atop the parapets. I glance up to see previously hidden runes etched into to statues glow a faint red as the gargoyles all began to stir. I count seven of them. One by one animated statues begin to jump down and land with the sound of cobblestones shattering under them from the force or the fall.

Good thing I'm me, otherwise I might be in trouble.

I roll to the side and fire a Bombardment hex off at a cluster of the stone monstrosities across the yard. The light of the spell fills the courtyard with an orange flow, and I dive behind a fallen pillar of stone to weather the coming blast.

I glance over my cover to see my spell impact; the desire to observe explosions is a universal male trait I understand, only to witness the runes on my intended targets flare brighter and brighter as my spell approaches. Instead of impacting as normal, tiny filaments of light brake off and spiraled towards the runes carved upon the gargoyle's slate gray skin. As more and more of the magic from my spell is leached towards the runes my curse grows dimmer and dimmer until it fizzles out half way to my targets. The only changes in the mobile statuary I can notice being that they look extremely pissed. Damn, they're magic resistant. With the muggle repelling wards outside and these golem inside that seem to practically be built to kill wizards, it's becoming clear that someone didn't want ANYONE getting in here. I'm beginning to think I'm not going to return that family's son in anything but a body bag.

If I was a normal wizard I would be saying my prayers to whatever deity it was that I call God. Luckily for me, and unluckily for anything else in the area, I'm not a regular wizard. I had hoped that I wouldn't have to do this but I guess I have no choice. "Dobby, I'm going to unleash on these guys, help me with them then try to find the people we were sent to save and get them out." I don't need the other half of the money but, again, I am a Malfoy.

I concentrate on the barriers that I have constructed of occlumency to contain my rage, the restrains that I have built to make myself safe around others, and let them relax. I feel power flow into me as the heat around me is sucked away into nothingness. Hoar frost spreads out from me in a slow wave across the grass. The water vapor in the air crystalizes as well and settles slowly to the ground, giving me the appearance of being surrounded by a cloak of icy mist. I feel the freezing wrath wrest control from me, and I surrender to it.

I crouch down, lung forward, rear my hand back, and smash my fist into the closes statue's face. Its head dissolves in a spray of pulverized stone and dust. I snarl as I role away from the swipe of another gargoyle.

Another of the golems springs towards me head first; its jaws spread wide, intent on ripping a chunk out of me. As I spin away I grab the creature by the back of its head and use its forward motion to smash its face into the ground. Its momentum continues to carry the now faceless statue tumbling and rolling across the courtyard till it impacts upon the far wall, breaking into dozens of stone shards.

I hear a pop beside me and turn around in time to see Dobby banish a gargoyle at a right angle past me, apparently the runes don't protect against house elf magic. I reach out, grab its arm, rip it off and use it to smash another animate's chest, the force of the collision turns it and my improvised weapon into gravel. Three and a fourth down, three and three forths to go. Make that an even three since Dobby just dropped a granite block the size of a small muggle automobile on the one I maimed.

The rage is driving me. These golems are nothing. They move so slowly to me and they are so stupid I could crush them without trying. The fire singing in my bones demands a greater challenge, something that will test me, something that bleeds. The small part of me that is still myself hopes fervently that I don't encounter the team I am here for before I find something to sate the thirst for violence of the ice in my heart. It's bad business to slaughter those you were sent to save.

The rest is just cleanup. We pulverize them one by one and inside of another minute the courtyard is covered in shattered stone limbs and shards of granite. It isn't enough. I need more.

I feel my instincts pull me towards the entrance of the keep, and hopefully, something worthy of my strength. I stalk over to the ancient ironbound oaken doors and push. They don't budge. I bring my leg up and kick out with all my might. The gates shake but remain firm. Incensed by its resistance, I kick again and again, over and over, until at last whatever is holding them in place breaks and the doors swing open with an almost deafening creak of rusted hinges.

The entrance to the keep is a dark yawning chasm which seems to beckon to me; I gladly rush onward to where even the angels would fear to tread.

First to challenge me is a group of ghouls. They lasted as long as it took me to force my hand through each of their chests and rip out their hearts. Next came a coven of vampires. Generally speaking the traditional method of destroying them is to drive a stake through their heart or expose them to sunlight; ripping their heads from their shoulders apparently has the same end result. The last one did cut open my shoulder before I ended him however, credit must be given where credit is due.

I lose track of all of the creatures that I run into and subsequently slaughter. Finally, after innumerable challenges and obstacles met, and destroyed, I reach the center of the keep.

The entire innermost part of the great citadel seems to be one great circular chamber so vast I cannot even see the center of it, and whose ceiling stretches upward into the darkness. I see a faint glow off in the distance. If I was in my right mind I would have realized that there was no way that this enclosure could fit inside of the structure that I saw from outside. I am not, so only a small portion of my consciousness notes this as I walk towards the center of the room.

Eventually, as I draw near, I see a black robed figure kneeling in what appears to be the center of the room. His head is bowed and his arms folded into his sleeves. As I approach I see his head lift as slowly he stands to face me, his robes billow in flowing black folds that seem to float around his body.

"So, young one, you are finally here. I could feel your rage as soon as you entered my… retreat… you positively seethe with it."

His voice has a refined deep sound to it, like that of a cello played in the hands of a master. Instead of responding I simply snarl and lung for him, my hands outstretched, ready to tear him apart. He simple steps aside and I fly by, my fingers scant inches from his hooded face.

"Is that all young one? I confess that I find myself disappointed."

I can hear the mocking tune in his voice and feel his emotions, there is no fear as there usually is, only wry amusement, and this simply reinforces my rage. I feel the air drop even further in temperature and see ice crystals begin to form along the ground and walls.

"Ah, so you can feel my emotions and affect the temperature around you? Only when you are being controlled by your emotions and only to a small extent as well it seems. You are beginning to show a small grain of promise, but a little is all."

I crouch down and spring at him again, intent on ripping him limb from limb. Again he simply steps to the side but instead of simply letting me pass by his hands dart out impossibly fast and impact my body in a half dozen places. I collapse to the ground and roll, agony pulsing through my body.

Never before have I encountered anything that my rage couldn't overcome, but this man has dispatched me with was seems little to no effort on his part. The fire in my bones burn all the fiercer, but now, like never before, its rage is empty. I am beaten. The figure paces around me, circling me like a bird of prey, hands forming a steeple below his cowl.

"Let me guess, you try your best to control your emotion. Perhaps you have tried occlumency? Or maybe you try, like many before you, to simply coat yourself in indifference and try your best to not care about anything so as not to awaken the beast that dwells inside your breast? After all, the best way to not become angry is to not care about anything enough to be angered at its loss. That is the most common practice of those of our kind that have no guidance when they awaken, but their end is always the same; I would not wish that fate upon you my young friend…" the man crouches over me, and I can feel his eyes looking at me from underneath his hood.

"I could teach you young one, I have done it before in my five hundred years. I could show you how to harness that which you have been given. I could instruct you in how to wield the strength which you now can only call up through anger, how to freeze rivers solid with your hate. I can instruct you on how to latch onto the fear of someone once you feel it and follow it to the ends of the earth. Now you let your emotions rule you, I could show you how to rule them, control them, and gain power from them."

My mind is in turmoil this man, creature, thing, is offering me everything that I could ever ask for. He is offering to teach me how to use my abilities to hunt someone down… I could finally find my parent's murderer. Slowly, with a monumental effort of will I didn't even know I was capable of until that moment, I bring my emotions back under my control.

I can feel the stranger's amusement even though I cannot see his face.

"Good my friend, you are learning already! The first lesson is that you must learn to bridle your emotions, as one would a horse, and ride them, not be ridden by them. Now sit up and let us discuss things together as men you and I."

I bring myself to my feet and follow him, limping slightly from my injuries, as he walks back to where he was sitting before. I now see that what was glowing was not a fire as I had originally supposed, but a beautiful sword lying horizontally across a stand. I sit down across from him and ask the first question that comes to mind.

"What…. What am I?"

"What are you my friend? You are a member of an ancient race that ruled this world while humans still dressed in furs and didn't dared venture out of their caves for fear of the horrors of the night. I suspect that you are a wizard as well?"

I nod in response.

"Then you are a genetic throwback to your family's distant ancestry. Once upon a time there was no such thing as wizards or witches, once there were only regular humans but eventually these human began to interbreed with other, more magical races. Some would mate with what where later known as angels and daemon, others would have children with the fay in their various forms. All of these unions produced offspring that had access to the world beyond, or magic as it is called today. I believed that answered your first unspoken question of how did I get this way?"

Again I nod, numb with this new knowledge. Was my father aware of this when he gave his speeches on the inferiority of other magical races? I suspect not. Even if he had heard it I am sure that he would have simply discarded it as more "Disgusting propaganda of those wishing to excuse their poor breeding." I however simply listen as he continues.

"The race to which you belong no longer exists in its true form. Once the males of our kind were the greatest hunters the world had ever known. Our very aura generated terror, our minds could catch upon the threads of that fear, feed on it, and follow it back to its source. Our ancestors' instincts as predators and hunters were so strong that nothing could withstand them. Only when we were in the presence of a female of our kind, where the female's aura would sooth our minds and calm us, would we transform into something more human."

I can sense touches of sadness and anger enter his voice as he continues.

"Wizards deemed us too dangerous to be allowed to exist, and so began a campaign to exterminate every last male of our kind. They left our women though. Our women are still the most beautiful in existence, but now they are all alone, left to peddle themselves to wizards to so as not to starve, and all the children that they produce are girls. For all intents and purposes the race of veela is dead but for you, me, and a few hundred females."

"Veela!" I breathe in shock. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined an answer like this. When I thought of veela I pictured unspeakably beautiful women with silvery blond hair that transformed into fierce fire flinging bird creatures when sufficiently angered, not the cold rage that strengthened me or the icy aura that surrounded me.

"Surprised?" the dark cloaked figure suddenly stands and begins to pace around me, his shadow twisting and swirling in the faint light gleaming from the mirrored surface of the sword. The hooded robe he wears gives him the appearance of death himself. "Let us compare the facts that we know shall we? Both you and a veela project an aura that affects humans. Yours like your ancestors generates fear, and theirs still attracts the opposite sex, although with human's passions being as fickle at they are it affects them far more than it would you or me. While they are able to manipulate fire at will you are able to suck away heat from the surroundings, both in the end are simply the manipulation of heat. Although you don't have enough veela blood in you to be able to fully transform like both the male veela of old and as women full-blooded enough of today still can, you do have the temper that veela are famous for, and in spades I might add."

"Ok, that may be so, but I must ask, who are you?"

The man stops in his pacing, looks down at me, cocks his head to the side, and seems to look at me considering. Finally, slowly, he brings his hands up to his hood and draws it down. "I suppose introductions are in order. I have been called many names in my time, but you may call me Boruta." The face under his hood has sharp aristocratic features unlined by passing time and framed by pale blonde hair. The silver of his hair was that gained at birth, not through the wearing of time. The only sign of the years he has seen are his eyes, the pales eyes that I have ever witnessed. There is far more silver than blue in his ancient faded irises.

"Ok so let's assume all that you say is true, Boruta or whatever your name is, this doesn't seem like your typical summer holiday spot." I ask, suspicions, like a cyclone compressed to the size of a thought swirl inside my mind.

Boruta slowly closes his eyes, turns his back and faces the shadows. "Humans have always seen themselves as superior to every other being on this world. The have always believed that they are the apex predator. Historically, whenever another being threatens their supremacy, mankind has done everything in their power to drive that threat into extinction. Wizards have done the same but on a far grander scale, only when they find another race useful they add enslavement to the list. You were raised as a wizard were you not?"

I simple nod my head in response. There is no reason to bring up my father's more controversial views on the subject of "lesser beings" staying in their place or being kept in their place.

Boruta turns back around to face me; his eyes harden as they lock onto mine.

"Let me explain it in a way that I believe you can understand. Someone killed my family, I wanted justice, and I was sealed here to keep me from getting that justice. I think you can empathize with that."

I nod my head. That is indeed something I can sympathize with. The fact that I haven't been able to avenge my own family is like a canker in the back of my mind.

"My name is Draco Malfoy. My parents were murdered in front of my eyes when I was eleven. My greatest wish since that day has been for vengeance, but I have been unable to find their killer."

Boruta gives me a sad smile at that and asks gently, "What would you do if you found him Draco?"

"I would kill him!" I half snarl back. The what was never in question, only the when and how.

"So you would simply kill him? Would the culmination of your years of striving for vengeance be concluded simply in you ending him? No Draco, no. There was a saying where I come from, and I believe there is one like it everywhere, let the punishment fit the crime. Does simply killing him make up for the loss of your parents? A well-wrought revenge is more beautiful to the memory than the recollection of a painting by the finest masters, and its taste upon the pallet of the mind is far above than of the finest wines on the tongue. In this I can instruct you as well young one."

I think upon the idea, and find the more that I dwell on the notion the more I am attracted to it. Not simply to find him and see justice done, but to make him feel the same pain that I have felt and have him endure the same sorrows that I have weathered? My decision is made before he has drawn another breath. "I'll do it, teach me, please." Then something suddenly strikes the cords of my memory, Dobby… "Sir, when I came here I was accompanied by a house elf. Would you happen to know where he is?"

Suddenly the sad smile that he was wearing changes to a bemused one.

"Ah yes, the house elf, if I am not mistaken he was caught by the compulsion wards on the second floor and is presently dusting that entire level."

"Hum.. I better go get him then.." I mutter to myself, I knew I should have insisted he leave the bloody duster in the trunk.

"Oh, don't worry about it right now, he is enjoying himself at the moment and there isn't anything dangerous left on that floor. Later you may go get him. You will need him to be your eyes and ears in the world, for you will not leave this place until your training is complete."

"And how long will that take." I ask hesitantly.

"It will take as long as it takes." Slowly Boruta kneels down upon the ground and places his hands on upon the stone floor. I sense a barely perceptible drop in temperature and the stone under his hands begins to glow. Slowly he presses down upon the granite and his hands push through is as though it were water, when he withdraws them in each hand is clutched a shining bastard sword.

"Sword training strengthens both your mental discipline and your physical strength, you are sorely lacking in both." Boruta tosses one of the weapons to me and I barely catch it without slicing myself open with the edge of the blade.

Another idle thought comes to me and I have to ask, "One last thing; there wouldn't happen to be a princess here would there?"

The smile stays, but becomes even more bemused as he glances at the center of the room. "As a matter of fact there is, of sorts anyways. I'll introduce you later."

The smile that has continued to grace his features suddenly turns predatory.

"Defend yourself!"

As I desperately and awkwardly try to parry his vicious slice, there is one thing that I know for sure; if I survive this the tale of my vengeance will be remembered in song a thousand years from now and shall be sung as a warning to those that would seek to do evil to a Malfoy.

~All Is Dust~

Fleur sat in one of the window seats of the Beauxbatons carriage, her feet curled underneath her and her sister's weeping head cradled in her lap. Her sorrow filled gaze was fixed upon the maze of the third task as it slowly disappeared bellow them. So much had changed in the last few days, yet no one was aware of it. The life of the boy-who-lived, the beloved child hero of this country, had been offered in sacrificed for that of a monster, yet the Fudge insisted he was captured by a crazy policeman. It is amazing the damage that small men trying desperately to appear big can wreak.

Dumbledore had called her and the other champions into his office the day before and explained to them what had happened. She had broken down in tears on the spot. That such a kind brave boy could experience such a cruel fate broke her heart. The two boys did not weep but it was clear that each was affected in their own way. Cedric's sorrow at the passing of one he called a friend was clear and Krum's anger at the death of someone that he had considered a worthy and honorable opponent was equally evident. The fact that Harry happened to be the best friend of the girl that had his eye only increased his anger. Fleur had asked the Headmaster if she could tell her sister since she worshiped Harry as her rescuer; Dumbledore had very kindly answered in the affirmative.

Fleur gently stroked her little sister's hair and hummed a lullaby into her ear. It really hadn't surprised her that her sister was taking it badly. Veela always sought out the strongest and braves men for mates, and she had never met anyone braver than Harry. Fleur knew that little Gabriela had dreams of marrying him when she got older, no doubt dreams filled castles and being carried to those castle by Harry on a white horse. Luckily time heals all wounds, especially in the young.

Fleur would always remember Harry fondly, and be greatly sorrowed at his death, but she was in a position to do more than simply morn. Her father would hear everything that Dumbledore had told her. She watched the forbidden forest recede into the distance as the carriage carried them back to Beauxbatons and then, for the two sisters at least, on to meet their father at the Prime minister's mansion. England perhaps, would be taken by surprise with the coming storm, but France would not.

~All Is Dust~

Severus Snape was drunk. Not just drunk, he was more pissed than he had ever been in his life.

It still wasn't enough.

Snape picked up his bottle of fire whisky and took a long pull. He was still trying to figure out why he hadn't ended it all yet. When he found out that he had caused the death of the only woman he had ever loved he had wanted to end it, but Dumbledore had persuaded him that he still had a debt to Lily. The fact that that debt had fallen to Potter's spawn made him want to eat his own cauldron, but it was a debt that he accepted. Now that headache, that constant reminder that Lily had chosen someone else, that emblem of his culpability in her death, and yet also the reason for his continued existence, was dead.

Snape brought the bottle back to his lips, only to find it empty. Damn, he thought, still not drunk enough. But then he didn't expect that he would ever be able to drink enough to purge the memory of the Dark Lord parading the body of Harry Potter through the ranks of his death eaters. The sight of those eyes he loved closed forever had ripped him apart. The fact that those eyes were set in the face he hated did nothing to ease his pain; the fact only seemed to make him bitterer for some reason.

And there it was again, no matter the train of thought or the line of reasoning it always came back to one thing; why was he even still alive? What was his purpose now? To teach snot nosed kids how to brew halfway decent potions and not blow themselves up in the process? No potions and the Dark Arts were his passions, teaching one of them was simply a favor to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore… now there was something to think about. Snape felt that he himself should take a bit of the blame for not spotting the imposter. Perhaps, looking back, he should have looked into the disappearance of the makings for pollyjuice potion more fully instead of blaming potter and his band of misfits, although heavens knew that he had reasons enough to jump to that conclusion. Despite that, the lion's share of the blame had to fall on Dumbledore. How could he not see that one of his best, although admittedly unstable, friends was actually an imposter? The fool.

No matter what decision Snape made after this night one thing had already crystalized in his mind, the old man wasn't to be trusted. Snape had entrusted Lily's safety to him and she was now dead, same story with her son. Whatever he did from now on it would be at his own discretion not the old man's.

And again it came down to the same question but phrase in a different, more deceptively positive way; why hadn't he tried to kill Voldemort yet? The monster was responsible for so much of the loss and sorrow in his life. The true reason was that it would be as useful as trying to kill a typhoon by swan diving into it, nothing that he could do would destroy it and by no conceivable force that he possessed could he stop it.

All of those questions that he had been asking himself always came back to the same disturbing answer. Severus Snape did not want to die, or at least die in vain.

Slowly and with the utmost care his inebriated body was able to muster Snape opened the bottom door on his desk and withdrew his most prized possession, a photo of him and Lily together in their third year at one of Slughorn's potions classes after he had gained top marks in his potions exam. Severus slowly stroked the picture, tears in his eyes.

Suddenly he heard a whisper in his ear, so faint that he almost missed it, in the voice he loved more than any other.

"Severus, I'm with Harry now. I forgive you and have never held anything against you. Be at peace and know that I will always be watching over you."

The voice ran through Snape's mind like a wildfire through drought stricken field, destroying preconceived notions and prejudices, and leaving his mindscape desolate of all of the pain and sadness he had felt before. In its place was left a fertile field for him to do with and plant as he would. Snape was stunned and didn't know what to think. Was it just the alcohol speaking? Had he finally cracked and gone insane? Or had Lily truly reached beyond the grave to give him comfort and absolution? He didn't know, but what he did know was that the forgiveness he felt was real and had changed his life forever.

Finally, he rose to his feet and began to make his way to his bed. His mind still filled with questions, but finally two answers had solidified in his mind. One was that he would always love Lily and wish things had worked out differently between them, but he would finally let go of his guilt. The other came to his mind as he fell into his bed and his eyes rested on the mark on his arm; there was also someone that he would never forgive. He would live for himself, remember the dead, and avenge them both.

AN: I feel that a lot of stuff happens in this chapter so I think I need to explain things a bit. The reason that I wanted to do a male veela was that it is practically a genre unto itself, but usually it is used simply as a plot device in order to hook Draco and Harry up (this has been parodied, with hilarious results, by some great authors), or to hook Harry up with as many witches as possible. I wanted to do a different twist on it that no one has done before.

Basically the way I came up with the difference between male and female veela is the zoologist in me running wild wondering what biological imperative was fulfilled by both the aura and the unearthly beauty in veela? I decided they had both because without them they would never attract a mate. So that's how I came up with a race of hunt obsessed psychic apex predators that are only safe when in the presence of a female of their kind because of the aura that they put out. (Pheromones altering the behavior of the opposite sex is more than common in mammals after all) So I decided to have the female veela aura do that for the males since violent hunters wouldn't usually make the best father figures. (I live in Mississippi trust me I know.) The powers and all get explain in the next chapter which will take place two years after this one (this is also the last time skip FYI) and will be the real beginning of the story since the last three have been mostly set up. Hopefully this will be the last author's note I need! Thanks for reading!

p.s. Do you think I should up the rating?