Official Disclaimer: The original characters of this story are the property of the J.K. Rowling. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. It is my contention that this work of fan fiction is fair use under copyright law. No monies were received for receipt of this work.

Official Groveling: The beta reader for this chapter was the incomparable Auntie_L. (She is unbelievably patient with me.) Any remaining mistakes are, of course, mine.

A/N: Occasionally, I suffer from bouts of delirium during which I do things that I normally would not do. Apparently I signed up for a Random!AU competition, and I got "Animal-transformation!AU". The challenge creator was generous in that it could be any sort of animal that we wanted including Creature!Fic. If you're familiar with my work you'll know that I like to twist things around so this is about Veelas.

/\/\/\

June 5th, 1997 Malfoy Manor

"Well?" Voldemort asked coldly. Lucius steeled himself. He glanced at Narcissa and saw her almost imperceptible nod.

"Draco has received his inheritance," Lucius said with a quiet calm he did not feel.

"Excellent," Voldemort said with satisfaction. He paused and his red eyes narrowed on Narcissa thoughtfully. He turned back to Lucius. "And his mate?"

"He has not received any indications," Lucius said apologetically. "We believe that he or she may be outside of Great Britain, or too young to trigger anything."

"How disappointing," Voldemort said coldly. Lucius swallowed nervously at the tone in the Dark Lord's voice. He glanced at Narcissa and her eyes were wide, staring at him, willing him to not falter.

The Malfoys often went to France for the summer, so no one thought anything odd in their trip to the Continent. They searched all summer, attending several different Veela gatherings in a number of countries in an attempt to seek out Draco's mate. He hadn't received even the faintest flutter. His parents tried to be supportive, but he grew somewhat despondent as the summer wore on. He saw the looks in many eyes, the repulsion for the mark on his arm. Veela viewed things a bit differently from British pureblood society, and they had little tolerance for these foreign Veela who had willingly marked themselves with evil. He'd overheard several other young, unmated Veela muttering that if his mate were a witch or wizard he or she might not accept him because of the Mark. He worried about that, and after several horrific nightmares, he spoke to his parents about it.

"What if they're right? What if he or she won't have me?" Draco asked fretfully. Narcissa scoffed and stroked his hair.

"Who wouldn't have you, my darling?" Narcissa asked rhetorically. Lucius snorted.

"You would have to be formally rejected, Draco," Lucius said quietly. "You would know."

"But," the younger man turned beseeching grey eyes on his parents and his mother hugged him to her.

"We cannot say why your mate is hidden from us," she said at last. "Your father believes she may be too young. It may be Gabrielle Delacour. She is definitely young enough that it would not yet trigger any reaction in you. You must be patient, Draco. It might be better if she is too young. Now is not the best time for you to claim a mate."

"Your mother is right," Lucius said firmly. "We can only hope that this whole thing is over and done with by the time that she is ready for you."

"I hope you're right, Father," Draco said quietly.

/\/\/\/\/\

May 1998 Bulstrode Manor

"It's over," Quentin Bulstrode said quietly. His words filled the silence of the Bulstrode house, and Millicent stared at him with wide eyes.

"Over?" Camilla Bulstrode repeated hesitantly, glancing anxiously at Millicent. He nodded. She gave a shaky exhalation of breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding and sat down.

"We need to stop the suppressants on Millie right away," Quentin continued and Millicent sat up sharply.

"Father," she said with a frown. He turned toward her in surprise, as though he hadn't realized she was there and paled as he realized his indiscretion. "What suppressants?"

Her mother sighed heavily and shook her head. "Millie, dear, we need to talk," her mother said with quiet firmness. Millie's frown deepened.

"About what?" She asked calmly.

Her mind was racing as she tried to determine what her parents were talking about. Why on earth would she be on suppressants? She glanced down at her lap with a jaundiced eye. They certainly weren't appetite suppressants. She, like all of the Bulstrode women, was 'sturdy'. There were other, less kind names and she had heard them all at some point. She steadfastly ignored that and turned to her parents. Her father looked vaguely embarrassed and the tips of his ears were pink. Millicent blinked. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen her father even remotely unsettled, even during the war.

"You know that the Bulstrode family has, for the most part, remained neutral," her father began carefully. She didn't nod because there was no need, her father was merely repeating information that all of them held in common. "You joined the Inquisitorial Squad at my behest because it looked as though Voldemort might succeed. However, now he has been destroyed and we must reevaluate our family's position again."

"Voldemort is dead?" Millicent said sharply, turning her full attention to her father. He gave a short nod.

"We did not openly support Voldemort because his… goals… were not in accord with the Bulstrode family's goals," her father continued after a short pause to gather his thoughts. Millicent knew this as well. The Bulstrode family had been quietly and proudly pureblooded, but it had never been overly rabid about it. "That was why we encouraged your older brothers to take appointments overseas. It is also why we started dosing you with suppressants last year."

"Yes, but suppressants for what?" Millicent asked flatly.

"A creature inheritance," Camilla said coolly, eyeing her daughter carefully.

Millicent stiffened slightly, but she did not betray her surprise in any other way. Many pureblood families had creature inheritances, but she had not realized that the Bulstrode family was one of them. It was usually the older families like the Potters, the Malfoys or the Blacks. The Bulstrodes were considered a 'newer' family—as they were only able to trace their line back for ten generations. She racked her brain, imagining her family tree in her head and then she blinked.

"Mother?" She asked hesitantly. Camilla allowed herself a small smile.

"Yes, dear?" Her mother said pleasantly.

"It's through you, then?" She asked with a cautious carefulness. One did not simply ask outright if a person's family had creature blood. It was the height of rudeness, even if that person was one's mother. Her mother's smile widened slightly.

"I was a Prince, you know," Camilla said conversationally and took a delicate sip of her tea. Millicent stared at her mother, hoping to glean some kernel of knowledge from the curve of her brows or the angle of her pinky as she held her cup. The Princes were an older family, defunct now, and her mother had been one of the last. Her cousin had been Headmaster Snape's mother. Of course, Millicent had never dared to trade on her familial ties with her Head of House; Eileen had been disowned for marrying a Muggle and it would have been in poor taste to mention her to Professor Snape.

"Forgive me, Mother, but I fear that I do not see the connection," Millicent admitted uncertainly and flushed with embarrassment.

"No one remembers anymore because the Prince line is extant only through the female line, but we had an influx of French pureblood inter-marriages during that nasty revolution business the Muggles had," Camilla explained. Millicent remembered that fact from stories that her grandmother Bulstrode had told her. Several villages where both wizards and Muggles lived together harmoniously had been razed to the ground and the horrified wizarding families had fled to England. She frowned slightly and tossed her head. "I dare say that's where the Malfoys and the Blacks got their creature blood as well. A lot of the older French pureblood families had Veela blood."

"Veela blood?" Millicent squeaked at her mother, her blue eyes wide. "But, Mother, I don't look anything like a Veela!"

"And what, pray tell, does a Veela look like?" Camilla asked a little coldly. Millicent waved her hand helplessly.

"Like Mrs. Zabini or Fleur Weasley," Millicent said, her voice rising with her agitation. "Veela are not supposed to be fat and dumpy!"

"Millicent Elizabeth Honouria Bulstrode! You are not fat or dumpy!" Camilla Bulstrode's voice rose in anger and two spots of color appeared on her pale cheeks.

"There is no set of physical characteristics that define Veela aside from their voices and their beauty," Quentin Bulstrode said firmly. "Your voice hasn't changed because we've been dosing you with suppressants, but you are a very pretty young witch."

"Father," Millicent said uncomfortably, flushing again, but this time her mother interrupted her.

"Millie, you are a beautiful girl," Camilla said firmly. "You went through an awkward stage for a few years, many girls do, and you cannot seem to forget it."

"Mother, not a single boy at Hogwarts has ever asked me out. Not one," Millicent said flatly. "You are my parents and I'm sure, to you, I'm passably pretty, but the rest of the world does not agree with you."

"Daughter, I am going to tell you something and I want you to listen to me," Quentin Bulstrode said firmly, eyeing his daughter determinedly. "The one personality characteristic that all Veela share is their self-confidence, and I will tell you now that there is nothing in the world sexier than a confident witch."

"So it's not that I'm ugly that repels the boys, it's that I'm lacking in self-confidence?" Millicent scoffed rudely. Her mother's lips tightened and she cast her eyes to the carpet. Millie realized that that was not well-done of her at all. Young pureblood ladies did not sass their parents. She could see a world-class grounding in her future with a spectacular loss of privileges. She could kiss having luncheon in Diagon Alley with Pansy good-bye.

"This really isn't something you can argue your way out of, Millicent," her father snapped. "You are a Veela. We will take you off of the suppressants immediately and your body will have sorted itself out by the time you must go back to school."

"You're going to make me do my seventh year over again?" Millicent demanded, aghast. Her father's expression became even more forbidding.

"It is unthinkable and unacceptable that you not complete a proper seventh year of study with proper instruction and N.E.W.T. scores befitting your intelligence," Quentin said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Millicent sighed. "Yes, Father," she said quietly.

/\/\/\/\/\

A storm raged outside the Bulstrode estate, inside, Quentin and Camilla watched their only daughter anxiously and waited. She tossed and turned in her bed, her long, black hair stuck to her with sweat. Her brilliant blue eyes rolled in her head and she moaned fitfully. Camilla bit her lip and watched Millicent shake and twitch with the changes that her body was undergoing. Finally, when they thought they could bear her suffering no more, she stilled. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up sharply. Camilla sucked in her breath and stared at her daughter.

Millicent had never been skeletally thin like Fleur Delacour or like her school friend Pansy Parkinson, and Camilla had never understood why she would want to be. There was no law that stated that Veela must be willowy. Her daughter insisted that she was fat, but Camilla would say that she was voluptuous. Her only daughter had full breasts and full, curvy hips. It was impossible to tell through her shapeless school robes, but Millicent had a small waist and very round bum. Camilla had the same figure, and her husband had said more than once that it was a body made to drive men mad. Long, black hair fell in silky waves to her waist and her blue eyes seemed to be larger and a deeper shade of blue. Impossibly long, sooty lashes blinked in confusion. In short, Millicent Bulstrode was a beautiful young Veela.

"Mother?" Millicent's voice was hypnotic. Bell-like, well-modulated, and clear, it was the sort of voice that caused ships to crash on windswept rocks, which only made sense because Veela and Sirens were related.

"Can you turn down your allure, dear?" Camilla asked gently. Millicent's face screwed up as she concentrated and both of her parents sighed in relief as the allure receded. "Now, do you feel well enough to get up and move around?"

Years of dance lessons had ensured that Millicent had never been ungainly or ungraceful (except for that unfortunate awkward period when she'd begun puberty), but now she moved with a languorous grace that made every movement seem refined. Millicent could never be accused of being delicate—she was a little too well-padded for that, but she was definitely graceful. She felt nervous and jittery, but she assumed that that was completely normal. It wasn't every day that one came into one's creature inheritance, after all.

Her mother was watching her carefully, trying to ascertain whether or not everything had gone well. It had been incredibly dangerous to suppress Millicent's inheritance for so long, but the idea of Voldemort using her as a tool—or worse, as a play toy—made both parents ignore the risks and steel themselves to the task of protecting their only daughter. Both parents smiled at one another, relief evident on their faces.

"You don't appear to have taken any harm," Quentin said cautiously.

Millicent looked down at herself and repressed a sigh. She looked the same. She had sort of hoped that there might be an amazing transformation that would turn her into some sort of stunning beauty and she pushed down the swell of disappointment that filled her.

Throughout her school career at Hogwarts, Millicent Bulstrode had been made painfully aware that she was not one of the Pansy Parkinsons or Daphne Greengrasses of the world. She had overheard too many casually cruel comments to count. There was not a single boy in Slytherin who had ever looked at her with any interest. She wasn't even considered intelligent enough to beg for homework help, which stung a bit considering her grades were exemplary. Maybe she didn't do as well as Hermione Granger, but she certainly wasn't an academic slouch. One might wonder if there might be boys outside of Slytherin who were quietly interested in her, but she just knew there weren't. There was no unspoken rule that Slytherin girls could not date outside their House. Merlin knew that Pansy had dated several handsome Ravenclaw wizards and Daphne had, too. Tracy Davis had dated a Hufflepuff boy and no one had said a word. She sighed dejectedly and looked out at the storm that was raging outside.

Being a Veela was only going to make everything worse, she decided morosely. Veela had mates, and with her luck hers would reject her. Then she'd be doomed to pine to death. Wouldn't that just be too funny for words? Millicent Bulstrode, Veela reject. She shook her head impatiently. Why was she being so maudlin? Normally, Millicent's personal philosophy was reminiscent of the punk movement: f- the world. Not that she'd ever said that out loud — well-bred pureblooded young ladies did not use profanity if they knew what was good for them. She rubbed absently at her forehead and turned to her mother and father who were watching her carefully.

"I think I'm okay," Millicent said finally. Her mother frowned.

"How do you feel?" Her mother asked worriedly. Millicent frowned back at her.

"Honestly? I…I feel kind of a longing to belong. And a sort of melancholy," Millicent said slowly, her brows furrowing. Her mother nodded.

"That's normal, you'll get used to it," Camilla explained. "It's the desire for a mate. It doesn't go away, but you can learn to ignore it. I didn't find your father until five years after my inheritance."

"Five years?" Millicent asked curiously. Her parents nodded and exchanged a fond smile with one another. Millicent smiled at them. Her mother turned back to her.

"Yes," she said firmly. "And that's another thing, Millie. You'll need to be very careful because human males and some females will be drawn to you. Only the weak-willed ones, of course, but it's still enough to be irritating."

"Oh, Mother," Millicent said with a shake of her head and a self-deprecating chuckle. "I doubt that will be a problem for me."

/\/\/\/\/\

Millicent found a private compartment and sighed in relief. She flopped down onto the seat by the window and pulled out her book. Arithmancy always tripped her up, so she was always careful to devote extra studying time to it. Repeating her seventh year would certainly help her N.E.W.T. score in this subject. Her lips were pursed in concentration and she absently twined a lock of her hair around her finger. Selwyn's Theory of Inversion was making her cross-eyed and she was muttering under her breath, repeating the theorem so that it would stick with her.

Her compartment door slid open and she looked up, blinking. Hermione Granger stood there in the doorway for a moment, her Head Girl badge shining on her chest. She hesitated and then sighed and crossed the threshold. Millicent throttled the urge to roll her eyes and sigh heavily as Pansy Parkinson might have done. Such behaviour was unbecoming of a well-bred young lady and her mother would have pinched her black and blue if she'd caught her at it. Hermione Granger was the bane of her existence. Not through anything the girl herself had done. No, it was the principle of the thing. Hermione was pretty, smart, and a powerful witch. It was absolutely disgusting that one person should be so blessed when there were others who were woefully deficient in the blessings department.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Hermione asked cautiously, her brown eyes wary. Millicent did not shrug, nor did she grunt. She gave one small nod, the one her mother said was for strangers and social inferiors.

"Please do," Millicent said politely and Hermione tilted her head to one side and studied her for a moment.

"Er, Bulstrode, isn't it?" Hermione asked cautiously, as though she might be mistaken, although after six years of shared classes, chances were she knew her name, even if they'd never socialised. Millicent nodded again.

"Granger, I believe?" She asked drily, quirking one brow. As if the entire wizarding world didn't bloody know who she was. Hermione smiled hesitantly, but her eyes were still wary.

"Yes," she said simply.

The two witches sat in silence, Millicent struggling through the Theory of Inversion and Hermione buried deep in some book that appeared to be thicker than her arm. After some time, their door slid open again and Tracy Davis popped her head in. She glanced at Hermione Granger in surprise, but turned to Millicent. Tracy blinked in surprise and stared at her for a moment. Millicent frowned back at her. Really, what was wrong with the girl?

"Davis?" Millicent said, perhaps sharper than she meant to have done. Tracy shook her head slightly and made an apologetic sort of gesture.

"I beg your pardon, Bulstrode, but could I sit with you? Malfoy and Zabini are hogging one of the compartments and Parkinson and Greengrass are with them." Tracy said quietly. Tracy knew that Blaise had recently broken up with Tracy and inclined her head in the slightly deeper nod that was suitable for acquaintances and social equals.

"It would be my pleasure," Millicent said calmly, the polite phrases rolling off her tongue. Tracy's presence would guarantee that she wouldn't have to deal with Malfoy's set, which suited her just fine. Pansy was her friend, but she just wanted to be by herself at the moment. She and Davis were not close enough that the other girl would expect her to share confidences. The two chatted quietly about their summers and their family's current concerns.

"Mother and Father insisted that we go to Portugal this year," Davis was saying in a slightly bored tone. "We had to visit with Father's cousins and I was forced to go to several truly hideous balls so that I could meet all the eligible wizards in Portugal. Mother was not impressed. She told Father that after this year, we ought to go to Bulgaria and Germany."

"Did you go to any of the wizarding sites in Portugal?" Granger interjected curiously. Davis stared at her for a moment as though she'd grown an extra head.

"Er, no," Davis said faintly. Granger frowned.

"Well, why not?" Granger demanded. Millicent turned to look at her and then turned to look at Davis whose mouth was opening and closing in shock.

"Father was busy the entire time we were there," Davis said finally, even though it was none of Granger's business. "He was booked with back to back business meetings."

"Why not just go see them on your own, then?" Granger asked, that frown back in place. Millicent gave a small gasp of shock and Davis looked as though Granger had demanded that she dance down Diagon Alley in just her knickers. Just then the door slid open, revealing a tall, red-headed wizard. Weasley, Millicent told herself. He looked from the shocked and horrified faces of Millicent and Tracy Davis to Hermione's determined one and sighed.

"What did you just ask?" He asked with an exasperated fondness. Granger looked at him with a little frown.

"I just asked why they couldn't explore wizarding sites in Portugal by themselves if their family was busy whilst on holiday," Granger said sulkily. Weasley at least had the decency to look shocked and he shot an embarrassed glance at Millicent and Davis.

"Er, Hermione, they can't just do that," he tried to explain. She shook her head stubbornly.

"I don't see why not," Granger said irritably. Millicent glanced at Davis who was watching Hermione with fascination and suppressed a small sigh.

"Well-bred young witches do not go out without a proper escort," Millicent explained quietly. "Any witch who does is assumed to be meeting wizards for assignations of a clandestine nature."

"But that's ridiculous!" Granger protested. Millicent made a graceful gesture with her hand.

"It is the way things are," Davis said firmly, eyeing Granger warily. "One may protest, but one does not go out without an escort."

"But, Ginny goes off and does things by herself!" Granger said with a triumphant expression. Ron flushed.

"Er, no, she doesn't, Hermione," Ron disagreed. Hermione sputtered helplessly. Just then, the door slid open again. Millicent started to wonder irritably if she oughtn't to have put a privacy charm on the damn thing. Luna Lovegood wandered in and bestowed a smile on all of them. Granger demanded Luna's opinion. The pale, blond witch blinked thoughtfully.

"Well, Hermione, properly brought up witches don't go about unescorted," Luna said slowly. Granger sputtered for another moment or two, but then she was silent. Millicent decided that the expression on her face was pensive. Lovegood visited for a few more minutes and then she left.

"Where's Harry?" Granger asked Weasley. He grimaced slightly.

"Reuniting with Ginny somewhere," he said, looking vaguely ill. "I'd rather not know the details if it's all the same to you."

"When I saw Potter, he was visiting with Longbottom, Thomas and Finnegan," Davis offered politely.

"Ginny said she was going to find him," Weasley said with a frown. Davis shrugged.

"I can only tell you what I saw," Davis said quietly. Granger frowned and looked at Weasley.

"We'd best go find him," she said firmly. He sighed, but nodded. The two Gryffindors hurried out of the compartment and Davis and Millicent both sighed heavily and leaned back against their seats. Then they looked at one another and laughed.

"Merlin, she's the most exhausting person I've ever met," Davis said with a slight smile toward Millicent. Millie nodded thoughtfully.

"One wonders how Weasley and Potter manage to keep up with her," Millicent observed mildly. Davis snickered.

/\/\/\/\/\

Defeating Voldemort and rebuilding the wizarding world was not quite as much fun as it might sound. In addition to all of that, Harry had been rather disgusted to come into his creature inheritance right while he was in the middle of trying to save the world. Veela timing sucked, in his opinion. The Potters had a tendency to throw a Veela every other generation, who knew? He certainly hadn't.

Fleur had been impossibly smug about the whole thing, which just irritated him further. Apparently, his ability to withstand her allure was an indicator. Again, who knew? Almost immediately he had felt a strange hollowness — a longing sensation in his chest. Fleur had carefully explained that that sensation was his desire for his mate. It was common to all unmated Veela and it was something one could learn to ignore with a little practice.

When she found him on the train, Ginny had practically flung herself on him and rubbed herself on his body. The irritated expression on his face and lackluster reaction to her behaviour meant that she was definitely not his mate. Ron hadn't really said much, but Harry had the feeling that this whole thing might turn out a lot like his fourth year. Fleur had carefully explained how he would know when his mate was near.

Ginny had had been rather vocally upset about not being Harry's mate, insisting that he could 'choose' her. Fleur explained baldly that that was not possible, but Ginny continued to attack Harry at random moments. It was disturbing on a multitude of levels because Molly and Ron didn't seem to discourage her from jumping out at him, and her touch was beginning to make his skin crawl — so much so that Fleur and Bill had invited him to their home for the last few weeks of August. He had asked Fleur to teach him about mates, how to search for whoever it was, and how to know for sure he'd found his true mate. She had positively smirked at him then and he'd squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

"You will know," she had said enigmatically. Harry had frowned darkly at her.

"Yeah, but how?" He'd demanded. She had shaken her long, blonde hair at him.

"It is difficult to describe, Harry," she had said cautiously and bit her lip. "Some Veela have dreams, some smell a scent, or skin to skin contact. I am not sure which it will be for you. Have you had any feelings that you could not identify? Oh, zut, this is hard to say! I mean, do you have feelings that do not seem to be yours?"

"I don't think so," Harry said hesitantly. Bill smiled at him encouragingly.

"It'll happen when it happens, Harry," the older man said soothingly. "Try to relax and maybe he or she will just fall into your lap."

"He or she?" Harry echoed, frowning. Bill and Fleur exchanged a glance and turned back to him.

"Well, yes," Fleur said slowly, trying to enunciate as carefully as possible. "Your Veela's mate is not based on external factors like gender or appearance. It is, comment dit-on âme en Anglais, Beel?"

"Soul," Bill supplied quietly, his eyes on his wife. She nodded and gave him a small smile.

"Oui, it is the soul that calls to its other half to be completed," Fleur said firmly.

"Although there have been a few cases where there were multiple mates," Bill informed Harry who rolled his eyes. That would be his luck, Harry thought darkly. If it were a thousand to one probability — it would happen to him.

"That's not even funny, Bill," Harry said flatly. Bill shrugged.

"It's the truth, Harry," the older man said mildly.