A/N: I was updating this very slowly because it was for a specific challenge and it wasn't to go above "T". (This story is definitely going over a "T".) I'm not sure what's happened to that challenge so I guess it won't hurt to go ahead and post this here.

The wonderous Auntie_L beta'd this for me yonks and yonks ago. Any remaining mistakes are, of course, mine. (She is practically perfect in every way.)

A constant ache, a desperate longing, an empty feeling that consumed her had made Millicent listless and apathetic. She wasn't eating or sleeping well and it didn't help at all that she had unexplained waves of dizziness at the most random moments. So here she was, on ordered bed rest, and her parents trying to decide if they were going to ship her off to St. Mungo's or to take her to the French wizarding hospital St. Denis's because they had a whole wing dedicated to Veela illnesses.

Her mother and father were both guilt-ridden, convinced that their decision to dose her with suppressants was directly responsible for her strange symptoms. Her mother had been crying for days and her puffy, red-rimmed eyes tore at Millicent's heart. Her brothers were trying to arrange international portkeys home because they had been told that her condition might prove fatal. Millicent sighed and twisted her blanket in her hands. She supposed that she hadn't been meant to hear that part, but she had done; it seemed somewhat tragic that her parents' attempt to save her might prove her destruction.

"Er, hello," the Granger girl said hesitantly, standing at the foot of her bed. Millicent started in surprise and her blanket slipped. What on earth was Granger doing in here? She hadn't seen Potter brought in on a stretcher, and that was usually why Granger came to the Infirmary.

"Are you looking for Madam Pomfrey?" Millicent asked politely. "I believe she's floo-calling my parents again. She'll most likely be back in a few minutes."

"No, er, I came to see you," Granger said quietly and she flushed pink. "Um, I never meant to insult you, you know, all those years ago."

"I realize that now," Millicent said with a slight smile. Circe's bangles, was Granger still dwelling on the things that had happened in second year? Millicent had moved passed all that years ago. "I apologize for putting you in a headlock until Potter pulled me off of you."

"Um, I'm not sure how a person does this in polite, pureblood society, but Blaise Zabini recognized me as his Veela's mate. He wants to court me," Granger said nervously. Millicent blinked slowly. Well, that was news. House Zabini was foreign, but had always been among the most prestigious of the international families. She wondered what the head of his family thought. Still, if they had Veela blood, they might not care. The Veela chose the mate; the wizard or witch had no say in the matter.

"Congratulations," Millicent said politely. The ache in her chest intensified and she gasped, her hand automatically clutching at her gown. Granger bit her lip and moved closer.

"Are you… is it very painful?" She asked sympathetically. Millicent bit back a sharp retort. She could tell that Granger was honestly attempting to be kind. Would wonders never cease, she thought drily. Why did Granger have to decide she wanted to make friends just when Millicent was dying? Why couldn't it have been a couple of years ago? She sighed and decided to be decidedly un-Slytherin.

"Yes, it is rather," Millicent said faintly, struggling to speak normally around the pain. "It feels like my chest is going to implode."

"Oh," Hermione said her eyes wide and worried.

"Do not let it concern you, Granger. What will happen, will happen," Millicent observed fatalistically. She knew what all the whispered conversations meant. She knew why her father and mother always looked at her with those tortured expressions, tears in their eyes. She had come to the point where she just wanted the pain in her chest to stop. Trying to breathe hurt, trying to move hurt, and trying to eat or drink hurt. Millicent was tired of everything hurting.

The Head Girl gave her a small smile.

"I just… if I am Blaise's mate, I thought it would be smart to get to know you. I mean, your lot have social functions, don't they?" Granger said with an embarrassed little wriggle. This whole conversation was so awkwardly painful that Millicent managed a weak laugh.

"If he has said you are, you are," Millicent said firmly. She looked at Granger for a moment. "I will tell you this, Granger. Don't ask any random pureblood if they've got creature blood. It's considered incredibly rude. Blaise will tell you who the other Veela are — I believe they may have private functions."

"I see," Granger said quietly. She nodded thoughtfully. "I promise I won't ask."

"That would be best," Millicent said gently.

She looked at Granger for a moment and thought that Blaise's Veela must be thrilled with its mate; Granger was an accomplished witch: pretty and intelligent. Granger was a war heroine for Merlin's sake. She couldn't help the little pang in her chest. Even Muggleborns like Granger had mates who recognized them while she, daughter of an esteemed lineage, was going to die because no one wanted her. Normally, Millicent thought that people who sat around and felt sorry for themselves were pathetic. She felt that a person should pull on her big girl knickers and deal with what life threw her way. However, she had decided today that if one were dying, one was allowed to be a bit melodramatic and maudlin and any other 'm' words that one wished to commandeer.

"If you, er, if you get better would you be willing to come to tea in the Heads' common area?" Hermione asked hesitantly. Millicent graced her with a slight smile.

"I will most likely not get better," Millicent said gently. It wouldn't do to pretend otherwise. She paused for a moment as if considering something and then continued. "If, however, that happy event does occur, I would be pleased to receive an invitation to tea. Hand-written on good quality vellum and delivered by owl would be a nice informal touch. If you are concerned that your calligraphy is not equal to the task, I am certain that your mate would assist you. He has a lovely hand."

"I hope that you do get better," Hermione said quietly.

Millicent Bulstrode and Hermione Granger had never been more than polite strangers who recognized one another by sight. Yes, they attended the same school and even some of the same classes, but the internecine strife between Houses had curtailed any possibility of a closer relationship. Hermione knew exactly what Millicent had just done. The girl lay there, dying in front of her, and she was trying to politely explain the proper way to invite a person to tea. It made Hermione want to giggle, but she knew that would be highly inappropriate.

"Thank you," Millicent said graciously. Granger shifted uncertainly.

"Would you like me to plump your pillows? Or, fix your blankets?" Granger faltered, her unease almost palpable. Millicent graced her with another small smile.

"It would be very kind of you to do so," Millicent acknowledged. Granger nodded, and moved forward to help her shift the pillows that were supporting her and pull her blanket back up. Granger tucked her in firmly and Millicent throttled down a comment about her mothering instincts. Finally, the Head Girl was satisfied and she stepped back. Millicent felt the strange lethargy that seemed to be ever-present seep into her bones and her eyelids fluttered.

"So, I think I'll let you rest," Granger said with a gentleness that soothed Millicent. She nodded and listened to the sound of Granger's footsteps leaving the Infirmary.

/\/\/\/\/\

"What on earth are you doing?"

Draco's arrogant drawl didn't irritate Harry the way it used to do. He was rather getting used to it, not that he had a choice. Draco's parents had been… kind… to him when they had sat down with Draco and Harry to discuss the possibility of multiple mates. They had explained everything in bald, undecorated language that made it quite clear that if they did share a mate, they'd better start getting used to one another. If he was going to spend the rest of his life shackled to someone, he supposed there were far worse options than Draco Malfoy. He couldn't think of anyone off the top of his head, but they had to be out there somewhere.

The blond tossed his head, expertly flipping his platinum hair out of his eyes. Draco had grown a good six inches and was now as tall as his father. His shoulders had grown broader as well. Harry knew that the Veela inheritance and the final growth spurt of male adolescence had changed his own physique in many of the same ways. Fleur had said that it was a combination of the two, but that the Veela genetics could give him more muscle mass. He had grown almost a foot, making him slightly over six feet now. He'd had to go to St. Mungo's to help with the joint pain over the summer. His shoulders had broadened substantially and he knew he didn't look half bad without his shirt on. A bit pale, but that was to be expected when one spent the majority of the year stuck in a castle in Scotland.

"Waiting for 'Mione," Harry explained, turning to glance at Draco who was frowning back at him.

"Blaise isn't going to like that," Draco said slowly. Veela jealousy was well-known, and Blaise most likely would not like the fact that Harry, an unmated Veela, was anywhere near his mate. Harry snorted and pushed himself up off the wall.

"Yeah, well, then perhaps Blaise might not want to insult and upset his mate," Harry said flatly. Draco frowned, but just then the door to the Infirmary swung open and Hermione came out.

"She really doesn't look well," Hermione said quietly and cast a sympathetic glance over her shoulder. "I wonder if someone cursed her. Malfoy, is there a way to test for that? Hey! What the — ack! Get off!"

Both men had snapped straight up the moment she came near them and they were now sniffing her all over. She shrieked and backed away from them. Harry and Draco both had rather intense looks in their eyes, which was unsettling to say the least.

"You… you smell–," Harry said hesitantly and he stopped and closed his eyes, inhaling again. Hermione shrieked in indignation and smacked Harry on arm.

"I smell?!" Hermione yelled at him. "What a horrible thing to say Harry James Potter!"

"No," Draco disagreed, shaking his head. "There's a scent that's not yours…"

"A scent that's not mine?" Hermione repeated in surprise and then pursed her lips in thought. "Oh! It must be Bulstrode!"

The three of them turned and hurried into the Infirmary. Millicent Bulstrode was lying in her hospital bed, her cheeks pale and sunken, dark circles under her eyes. There was a fragility to her appearance that hinted her illness was far worse than anyone had supposed. Harry moved until he was standing over her and lowered his face to hers. He inhaled deeply, which caused two blue eyes to snap open and stare up at him in surprise. She squeaked and shrank back into her pillows. Harry pulled back hesitantly and he stared at her, at those blue eyes.

Draco moved to stand next to him and frowned at Bulstrode.

"You're ill," he said flatly. He was irritated with himself. How could he have forgotten that Bulstrode had blue eyes? Millicent nodded nervously and clutched her blanket a little tighter. A particularly strong dizzy spell swept over her and she fought for control. He reached out and touched her hand, just brushing the back of it with his fingers. He felt an electric jolt go through his body and he stared at Millicent uncomprehendingly. She stiffened and stared back at him and he removed his fingers immediately, assuming he'd given offence.

"No," she whispered. "Please, do it again."

"Why?" He asked curiously. She flushed — two brilliant spots on her pale cheeks.

"It makes the dizzy spells stop," she whispered, embarrassed. Malfoy took her hand in his and stroked the skin with his thumb. She sighed in relief and her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment. Granger was frowning at her.

"Bulstrode," she said slowly. "When I came to see you, you spoke normally, why are you whispering now?"

"Because it is easier," Millicent said softly.

"Easier than what?" Potter asked curiously, moving to stand next to Malfoy. He seemed to be breathing deeply and appeared to be leaning towards her. She frowned hesitantly. Millicent might not be a Granger, but she was no slouch in the brains department.

"Touch me," she demanded in her normal voice, the hypnotic, musical sound of it making Granger gasp softly. Potter leaned closer to her and touched her cheek with the tips of her fingers. Malfoy's thumb continued to stroke her skin and now Potter was caressing her cheek with his hand. The dizziness had stopped and her chest no longer felt as though it were being crushed slowly. She sighed in relief.

"They're your mates!" Granger announced triumphantly.

Millicent opened her eyes and looked at the excited Gryffindor. She looked up at Malfoy and Potter, who were staring at her in shock. She flushed uncomfortably.

Malfoy's hand tightened on hers.

"What's the matter," he demanded.

Potter looked worried.

"You don't want me, do you," the Gryffindor muttered, looking unbelievably sad. "It's because I'm not a pureblood, isn't it?"

"Don't be stupid, Potter," Malfoy snapped at him. He turned back to her and frowned at her, a flicker of unhappiness in his grey eyes. "It's me she doesn't want. I was a bloody Death Eater. The Bulstrodes were neutral."

"Language, Malfoy," Granger chided.

Millicent sighed. Just a small sigh, but her mother would have noticed.

"Granger, a lady never draws attention to a gentleman's faults," Millicent said patiently. "A gentleman knows when he has erred and he knows that any lady present will know, too. He will apologize, of course, and the lady will pretend the incident did not happen. I tell you this only because if you correct your mate, you will imply that he was not aware that he erred, which implies he is incapable of understanding proper decorum. I trust that you will understand how Zabini would feel about that.

"Oh," Granger said faintly, her eyes wide. "Oh, Malfoy, I beg your pardon."

"I apologize Miss Granger, Miss Bulstrode," Malfoy said with embarrassed stiffness.

"Now," Millicent said smoothly, ignoring Malfoy's apology as though nothing had happened. "I have not rejected anyone. I am lying here because I am dying. Mother and Father have given up hope and have called my brothers to pay their last respects."

"Dying?!" Potter sounded panicked. His green eyes had gone wide and he'd moved his hand away from her cheek. Her chest started to squeeze again and dizziness swept over her. She whimpered and his hand returned almost instantly. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"What's the matter with you?" Granger asked worriedly.

Millicent clenched her jaw and looked down at her hands.

"During the war, many families were forced to make difficult choices," Millicent observed quietly, looking at Malfoy.

His grey eyes widened in horror.

"They didn't!" He hissed, his hand tightening on hers. Millicent averted her eyes.

"What?" Granger asked worriedly. "What is it? We can fix it, whatever it is. I'll research it and we'll figure out how to fix it."

"The Bulstrodes are a pureblood family that has never had ties to other magical races, mostly because they are one of the youngest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Malfoy said absently. "They probably thought that they could conceal their daughter's inheritance for her protection."

"Yes," Millicent agreed.

Malfoy's grey eyes looked stormy.

"You could die!" He hissed, his Veela coming to the fore.

Potter frowned at him.

"Draco, what the hell is going on?" He demanded.

The blond snarled softly and Potter growled at him.

"They dosed her with suppressants," Draco snapped angrily. He frowned down at her. "Did you know?"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head.

"How long?" Draco demanded sharply.

Millicent thought for a moment.

"From August before seventh year until they got word that Voldemort was dead," Millicent said calmly. The three of them stared at her for a moment. She had said Voldemort without stuttering or flinching.

"Well, we can figure out something, right?" Granger asked Malfoy anxiously.

He frowned at Millicent.

"I should probably owl my parents," he said with a frown.

Potter nodded.

"I shall owl Fleur," he said firmly. Then he turned and looked at Millicent with those intense green eyes. "We will fix this, as Hermione said."

"I'll write the notes," Granger said in a bossy voice. She glared at Malfoy and Potter. "You two certainly can't leave her. You'll have to stay here."

"No, we shan't leave her," Malfoy said firmly, glancing at Millicent who was watching him curiously, a strange warm feeling in her chest.

/\/\/\/\/\

Madam Pomfrey had been thrilled that the presence of Potter and Malfoy helped ease Miss Bulstrode's suffering. Poppy was a pureblood whose own mother and grandmother had been excruciatingly strict, so she recognized traditional, formal manners when she saw them. She was aware that Millicent had been in almost unbelievable agony, yet the young woman had lain there quietly, making almost no noise at all. She had carefully moved Miss Bulstrode to a tucked-back corner and surrounded her bed with screens for privacy. Then she had transfigured the bed, making it fully large enough so that Malfoy and Potter could climb into it next to her. They had stared at her in shock when she'd told them to get into bed with Miss Bulstrode and the young lady had seemed shocked as well. She made a 'tch' sound in the back of her throat.

"Touch helps," Pomfrey pointed out flatly. "More touching helps her even more. It may come down to skin-to-skin contact and if that is the case I'll strip all three of you naked and tie you together if I have to do so."

"Let us all hope that it does not come to that," Lucius Malfoy drawled coolly as he walked toward them. He frowned at his son. "You heard Madam Pomfrey, Draco. Get into bed with your mate; she needs you."

"Yes, Father," Malfoy answered in a slightly dazed voice and climbed into the hospital bed with Millicent.

"Miss Bulstrode," Lucius murmured and bowed deeply to her. Millicent sat up and Malfoy slid an arm around her waist to support her. She inclined her head as deeply as her current condition allowed and held it for the proper number of seconds before raising her head.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, you honour me," Millicent said courteously. Warm approval shone in Lucius' clear grey eyes.

"Please, Miss Bulstrode, you are our Draco's mate," Lucius said smoothly. "It would be our privilege if you would call us Lucius and Narcissa."

"Of course, Lucius, Narcissa," Millicent said as calmly as she could while a becoming blush rose in her cheeks. She turned to Draco who had flushed a deep red.

"Please," he murmured looking into those deep, blue eyes. "Call me Draco."

"Oh, and please call me Harry," the Veela on the other side of her with his thigh pressed against hers pleaded.

She blinked.

"Of course, Draco, Harry," she said softly, her blush growing darker. "Would you all please call me Millicent?"

"Multiple mates, Draco," Narcissa noted quietly with a proud smirk. "Trust you to try and outdo everyone else."

"Mother," Draco huffed indignantly. "It isn't as though I went out to do this on purpose! You know that it doesn't work that way."

"I am only teasing you, Draco," his mother said gently, her smile widening slightly. She turned that smile to Millicent and Harry and smiled warmly at the both of them. "Welcome to the family. To both of you."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, with a little half-bow. Millicent felt a spurt of pride in the instinctual courtesy of her mate. Harry might not have been raised by pureblood wizards, but he seemed to sense when gentlemanly behaviour was required.

"Thank you, Narcissa," Millicent said politely. "Mother and Father were trying to contact St. Denis and they were going to meet my brothers at the International Portkey Office. I'm sure they'll be here soon."

"Millie!"

Three large men rushed toward the bed that Millicent was lying in, ignoring the two boys in bed with her and snatched her up, crushing her between them. She whimpered, the loss of her mates' touch making her chest constrict and waves of dizziness overwhelm her again. Harry and Draco both growled, their claws and fangs extending. They snatched Millicent back and clutched her between them. The three men frowned darkly at Harry and Draco, just now realizing that both of them were in bed with Millicent. A man and woman hurried toward them, worry and grief etching their faces.

"Quentin! Camilla!" Lucius said smoothly. They paused and glanced at him nervously. "How fortuitous that you've arrived. Your Millicent is the mate of our Draco and Mr. Potter."

"Mate?" Camilla said hopefully, turning toward her daughter. Millicent nodded, the blush working its way back up her cheeks.

"Wait, with…with your son and Potter?" Quentin Bulstrode looked stunned. In one fell swoop he had gained the Malfoy heir and the Boy-Who-Lived as his future sons-in-law.

"We were just as surprised as you are, of course," Narcissa confided to Camilla, "but one can't argue with the Veela, can one?"

"Why are they in bed with our sister?" One of the large men demanded, eyeing Draco and Harry suspiciously.

"Ah, well, unfortunately the suppressants seem to have played merry havoc with Millicent's Veela and she needs physical contact with her mates to alleviate her Veela's distress," Lucius explained mildly.

"We've contacted St. Denis," Quentin said quietly. "They said that we must not move her under any circumstances. They're sending specialists; they should be here tomorrow morning."

The specialists arrived with the dawn; they were cordial and polite, they did not waste time with recriminations against Mr. and Mrs. Bulstrode for dosing their daughter with suppressants. What was done was done. They couldn't waste precious time berating people for stupid mistakes while their patient lay dying. They patiently explained that merely stopping the doses wasn't enough. Millicent's system had to be completely flushed, which meant that she had to chug a rather large bottle of a potion several times a day to remove the last of the suppressants. It took two days to completely flush Millicent's system and Harry and Draco had to stay with her. Even their extremely brief trips to the loo were painful for her. They staggered them so that one of them remained with her at all times, but still she whimpered when one of them slipped out of the bed and gave a tiny sigh when he came back. After her system was completely flushed, she turned to Harry and examined him carefully. She could feel a pull toward him, a tug as though there was some sort of cord that connected them. She turned to Draco and felt the same, subtle pull. Finally she turned to the specialists, confusion evident in her features.

"Both of them?" She asked cautiously. The Veela healer smiled gently at her.

"Yes, dear, both of them."

"And…and that's okay? I mean, it's not because of the suppressants, is it?" Millicent asked worriedly.

Another Veela healer shook her head.

"No dear, if anything the residual suppressants were masking your mates and making it harder for you to find them. Every time one of them got within a certain number of feet you would become dizzy, but you didn't know that touch would relieve the dizziness. Now you should all be able to go to the toilet alone without causing each other pain, but I strongly recommend that you three still share a room and a bed. I am not, by any means, suggesting sexual congress or a completion of the bond before you're ready, however your Veela is still healing and she is unusually fragile. You need the added support of having your mates near to hand, as it were," the Veela healer explained mildly. "Headmistress McGonagall has graciously offered to adjust Mr. Malfoy's current rooms so that all three of you will be able to share the room comfortably."

"Oh, but," Millicent flushed and looked toward her parents. Her father didn't look thrilled, but her mother was smiling gently at her.

"Millie, a Veela bond is a permanent thing," her mother reminded her. "You're just giving us two sons-in-law instead of one. I'm confident that Mr. Malfoy will help Draco choose the appropriate way to express that sentiment."

"And I'll help Harry," Draco said hurriedly when he saw the distressed look on Harry's face.

He gave Draco a grateful look and then turned to Millicent and gave her a slightly shy smile.

She smiled back hesitantly.

/\/\/\/\/\

Hope and joy surged through Draco as he helped move all of Millicent's things into his room, but all of that was superseded by an almost overwhelming feeling of pride and possessiveness whenever he spied the sapphire-blue of Millicent's eyes. His mate hadn't rejected him, she didn't hate him. His worries and fears were unfounded and that relieved his mind greatly. He had never been one of those who picked on Millicent, and he had never been more grateful for anything in his entire life. He silently thanked Harry Potter for giving him a focus for his energy. Both he and Harry had been almost giddy in their relief at having finally found their mate. The last year and a half had seemed interminably long to both men, but now that their mate was here with them it seemed worth it.

With a wave of his wand, Draco created two new wardrobes so that Harry and Millicent would have somewhere to put their things. He was feeling rather smug as he watched Millicent and Harry settle into his room. He paused and frowned to himself. No, that was what he felt — he was smug that Harry was moving into his room, not just Millicent. Draco sat down heavily on the bed as he realized that he felt possessive about both of them. His parents certainly hadn't mentioned that he would start to have possessive feelings for his co-mate. He frowned darkly to himself. He was going to speak to his father about that the first chance he got. He wondered if he would start to want Potter. Oh, fine. Harry.

Draco was bisexual—he had enjoyed relationships and quick shags in random broom closets with either witches or wizards; it usually depended on the person's intelligence and their magic. Draco liked smart people in his bed and all Malfoys were attracted to powerful magic. He'd never viewed Harry in that way, he'd just always been Scarhead or Potter or Potty. The blond frowned at the back of Harry Potter, bane of his existence since first year, and realized that the ruddy bastard had had the nerve to grow up and look rather handsome. His wild black hair was long enough that it occasionally fell into his face and he had to shove it back with a careless grace. His eyes were an intense, vibrant, emerald green that seemed to pierce a person's very soul. Draco always felt naked and vulnerable when those emerald eyes pierced him. He was a couple inches taller than Draco and his shoulders had grown to be quite broad. Draco was forced to admit that his bum looked rather nice in those jeans as well.

"Are you well, Draco?" Millicent's musical voice teased his senses. He swallowed and shifted slightly in his seat. They weren't quite sure how they should treat her—she had almost died and was still quite weak—so they opted for courteous and gentle.

"I'm fine, Millicent," he said with a slight smile for the witch. His mate! He reached out and took her hand in his for a moment. It was not a tiny hand; it was neither delicate nor finely boned, but it was graceful and her fingers were slender. He squeezed that hand affectionately. "I was just enjoying the fact that we've found you."

"I see," Millicent said softly. Draco hadn't looked as though he was enjoying anything. He had looked distinctly unhappy about something. If he'd been thinking about her, then… then she was the one who made him look unhappy. She swallowed the little ball of grief that welled in her breast at that thought. "I — I think I'd like to take a nap."

"Of course," Harry said quickly, looking at her worriedly. Draco was also looking at her worriedly. Were they afraid she was going to get ill again? She lay down and closed her eyes, ignoring the soft murmur of masculine voices and the feeling of safety and security it gave her.