PROLOGUE

"Ron, I don't want to talk about this right now." Hermione sighed, wondering why she even tried to express her opinion anymore, when it hadn't had any results in the past. She should have just smiled and kissed him like he was expecting, and then she could have been packing her trunk in peace.

"Why, Mione? I just don't understand why you're acting this way! You should be proud of me for getting this job. Obviously they think that I would be so good for this position that they don't need me to finish my education. Clearly my experience in battle was far more than sufficient to fulfil the requirements."

Hermione flinched. She hated when Ron tried to make it seem like she was always trying to be better than him. All she wanted to do was go back to Hogwarts and complete her final year, as she would have done if not for the maniacal psychopath who tried to kill them all. Despite knowing that she would have been competent at any of the jobs offered to her during the summer, she just did not feel that she had earned them. She wanted tangible proof of her intelligence, something that would show her future employer and co-workers that she had as much right to be there as any of the rest of them. In both the Muggle and the Wizarding Worlds, she had seen how those who did not have money or important connections, despite being equally or even more qualified than those who did, were not regularly offered as many opportunities. Hermione resented it. And yet she grudgingly accepted that, at her level, there wasn't much she could do to change the system. What she could do, however, was rebel in her own small way. She would not play into the system by relying on her newfound celebrity to achieve her aims. While she might have done some incredible things in the last few years, many of which were certainly not expected of a witch of her age, she wanted to have the same qualifications as every other person in her field. This also meant she wanted to start from the bottom, adding yet another thing to the list of choices that Ronald simply would not understand.

Ron felt that, by her turning down each and every one of her job offers and returning to Hogwarts, she was showing him that she did not believe he had earned his place as Assistant Head Security Wizard of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. And that was true, to an extent. Hermione did feel that he wasn't applying himself and living up to his true potential, and she certainly did not believe that he had earned a position many others with his credentials would have worked more than ten years to achieve. But Ron failed to recognise that she wasn't making her choice because she wanted him to feel inferior. If Ron could accept his position and feel fulfilled while doing it, then fine, she would let him. But that did not mean she could do the same.

"Never mind, Ron. And I am proud of your accomplishments. This is a perfect job for you." All of that was true. Ron's new job was perfect for him. He would get to order people around (which she hoped would help him shake his "sidekick" mentality), he would not have to do much analytical or critical thinking, he didn't have much responsibility for his own actions, and he would get to interact with all of the Quidditch players, coaches, managers, agents, and groupies both off and on the pitch.

"Thank you for finally realising that. And I guess it's good you're going back to sit for your N.E.W.T.S.; it's not like you can rely on anything else to get yourself a job." Ron snickered and kissed her, snaking both hands around her waist to grab her bum while he forced his way into her mouth. She tried to move her body away from his hands, but she only succeeded in grinding herself slightly against him. "I love that I can make you squirm," Ron murmured before squeezing again. "You're getting a little better. Just make sure you practice on a mirror or something while you're at school. You're lucky I don't care about you being sexy or anything yet. I know! Just think of it as your homework assignment for me: Sensuality 101 or some shit like that." Ron laughed and snorted as he continued to nibble on her lips and squeeze her bum, all the while Hermione was beet red at the thought that Ron still didn't find her sexy at all, not to mention she was apparently incapable of even a simple kiss. She wanted to please him, but it was not as though she could get a teacher or read a book to learn as she normally did. She resolved that she would just have to try harder for Ron and, in the meantime, be thankful that she had a boyfriend who loved her in spite of not being particularly beautiful or sensual.

As she watched her boyfriend leave her and Ginny's shared room at the Burrow, she tossed another pair of sensible knee socks into her trunk and tried to excite herself with thoughts of the Hogwarts library, seeing Hagrid again, and most of all, that shiny new Head Girl badge nestled carefully in between her oxford's shirts…

Some two hours away, residing in a house on an unplottable piece of Wiltshire land, this year's Hogwarts Head Boy was also struggling to finish packing. Yes, he had all of the essentials—all of his shirts, trousers, socks, shoes, robes, books, a few bottles of Ogden's Finest, and other school supplies were all neatly fitted into his trunk, yet the boy felt he would need something else this year for his main extracurricular activity. He just wasn't sure what it was.

"Darling, staring at your trunk will not make it pack itself," the voice of his mother trilled from his doorway, "that is, of course, unless you perfected a wandless, non-verbal summoning spell while I was not looking?"

Narcissa slowly crossed the room to where he was standing, facing his trunk at the foot of his bed, and placed a gentle, elegant hand on his right shoulder. She really was quite beautiful, his mother. Meeting her eyes, he wondered if his future wife might look like her, but he quickly banished the thought from his mind for fear of developing an Oedipal complex. No, his future wife would look nothing like his mother, he decided.

"Take a deep breath." Narcissa soothed her only son with her peaceful voice. "You will be fine. I know it seems like a daunting task, but that is only because you have yet to find her. Once you do, your instincts will help you along."

"I don't even know where to begin looking, mother," Draco replied, sinking onto the edge of his bed, "she could be anywhere."

"Now we have been over this many times, Draco. The universe does not just decide one's mate at random; your dormant Veela has been with you for every interaction you have had over the entire course of your life, carefully considering every individual and searching for the one who would be your best match. Your mate is a woman you have already met, my dear, and since most of the girls you know currently attend Hogwarts, it is quite likely you will find her there." She lowered herself to her knees in front of her son, framing his face in her hands as she brought his gaze up from the floor. "I am not saying this will be easy, Merlin knows I made it quite difficult for your father," she stopped to laugh softly and look past his left shoulder as she recalled her own school days, "but I am sorry to say that there is nothing on this earth, no book or token, that you can take to make your task easier."

"Wonderful. Thanks for the help, mum." Draco grumbled, pushing off his bed to go scowl at the sunny gardens of the manor.

Narcissa raised herself back to her full height, quite tired of dealing with the broodiness inherent to all Malfoy men. "Oh Draco, do stop acting like a child," she exclaimed, her voice full of the power she demanded as a matriarch, "and stop glaring at my arnica plants—you're making them turn red."

He did as she bade, and focused his stormy gaze instead on a far-off patch of grass in the hopes of withering it without his mother noticing.

"It's about being brave, sweetheart. I know we Slytherins do not know the most about bravery, but from what I've learned, it does not mean that you have to banish all of your fears and charge head first into danger. That, I assume, is Gryffindor bravery, something you would be better off avoiding, in my opinion." Narcissa chuckled lightly, making her seem almost child-like and innocent. "This kind of bravery," she continued, "is about accepting that you and your mate are meant for each other. This is about understanding that who you are is not a burden; it is a gift. You have been blessed with this chance to experience a love about which other witches and wizards can only dream. You are treating this as though you will have to persuade some woman who you had only seen for a fleeting moment to fall in love with you with no pretence. Firstly, your Veela would not have chosen your mate based on a half second of eye contact, and secondly, you are as much meant for her as she is for you."

Draco nodded, already aware that he was being excessively broody. But he was a Malfoy—being broody was his prerogative! In fact, he wasn't so worried about finding his mate or even who she would be. He trusted his Veela instincts enough to know he would be able to identify her eventually and, if she were indeed supposed to be his perfect match, whatever sort of opinions he had of her previously wouldn't really matter. What he was worried about was finding her and convincing her to complete the mate bond in time.

Ever since June, Draco not only had been coming to terms with the changes overcoming his body but also with the fact that he had to bind his mate to him before his next birthday. Because the idea of finding eternal love just wasn't stressful enough, was it? Of course it had to have a time limit, or else it just wouldn't be interesting.

If Draco failed to mate in the next nine months, the second he turned nineteen his brain would signal the release of a liquid that would neutralise the chemical in his body responsible for sealing his mate bond. However, the neutralisation process would not just prevent him from experiencing the legendary and eternal love of male Veelas. Ironically, this was the one instance in which his "pureblood" heritage was much more of a burden than an advantage. Due to the centuries of pureblood marriages both before and after the birth of the first male-Malfoy Veela—which inevitably allowed for a substantial amount of inbreeding—Draco's immune system was relatively weak. Essentially, if the chemical were to neutralise, his body would try to compensate for the disturbance in equilibrium by overproducing the main protein constituent of the chemical. However, those proteins would eventually come into contact with the original neutralising liquid to create a new chemical that would be, for all intents and purposes, harmless. That is, of course, unless his intents and purposes were to include his mate. His combination of human and Veela genetic material would cause this new chemical to be harmless to all except the woman to whom he was fated. To her, it would be more deadly than a cap of Weedosoros potion. After his nineteenth birthday, he would have to avoid her at all costs, for even something as innocent as a kiss between them would subject her to a slow and painful death. Incidentally, Draco's problem was not something characteristic of all male Veela, but the result of one of his less intellectually gifted ancestors. No doubt his name was Cuntus or Cockupius or something else equally indicative of his immense ineptitude.

This ancient Malfoy had discovered his mate when he was eighteen, but the woman had many doubts about bonding herself to him for the rest of her life. Now, instead of giving her some time to come to terms with the idea or offering her a more platonic relationship as a way to get to know one another, he decided to try and alter his biology. As would be expected, messing with one's anatomy and internal systems is a tricky business in even the simplest of creatures. This is simply because no being's biology can be fully understood, so there is always a chance of triggering an unpredictable response. However, in creatures such as Draco and his ancestor, whose systems were a mix of human and magical, there was next to no predictability in how their bodies would react to tampering. But the elder Malfoy decided to ignore the warnings, and proceeded with his plan. Since his mate did not want to bond with him immediately, he concocted a potion intended to stimulate the release of a neutralising liquid in his body. In this way, he could promise never to bond with her against her will, and they could simply marry instead when she was ready.

Months later, on the night before his nineteenth birthday, the ancient Malfoy and the woman wed in a small, private ceremony in France. When the new couple returned to their bedchambers and proceeded to consummate their marriage, the man's Veela instincts reawakened, propelling him to seal the mate bond in spite of his promise. The elder Malfoy was unaware of the fact that, when his Veela realised that an opportunity to reproduce had come about, it tried to stimulate an increased production of his mating chemical, as increased fertility was an additional result of being bonded. It was this stimulation that allowed for the first creation of his new toxin. In the early seconds of his twentieth year, he bit his new wife where her shoulder curved into her neck. Almost instantly, her body began twitch violently, and she let out a cry that sent the coldest and deepest sense of fear to his heart. The elder Malfoy panicked, and hoped to save her by completing the mate bond. He bit the other side of her neck with his teeth, believing that his Veela magic could counteract whatever chemistry was causing her such pain. However, this only served to seal her fate, and for the next three days her death was prolonged as a constant state of pain and terror. When she finally died, the ancient Malfoy, overcome with grief, cursed himself never to know real love with another woman. Adding yet another notch on the belt of his failures, the elder Malfoy's curse did not have its intended result. In fact, the curse itself was pointless, as the nature of male Veela prevents them from having any strong romantic feelings towards any woman apart from their mates. So even if his curse had been successful, it would not have achieved anything for him. However, what the curse did achieve was to make his biological alteration a dominantly inheritable trait. And so, from that moment on, every male Malfoy grew up with the knowledge that as soon as they turned eighteen and came into their birthright, they had exactly one year to seal their mate bonds.

In order to continue the Malfoy line, the ancient Malfoy's parents arranged a marriage for him with a wealthy, pureblooded witch from a neighbouring village. Together they lived loveless, lonely lives under the harsh parapets and bargeboards of the ancestral manor. The curse, he told his son, was a symbol of the consequences of grief, and would provide an incentive for him and all future Malfoy men to find their mates quickly, so they would never have to know the despair he had.

Draco, meanwhile, felt that his ancestor's justification was bullshit. It was something born out of guilt at having plagued all his descendants with a terrible burden in a moment of anguish. But now, because of Cuntus, he had barely over nine months to seal his mate bond with the woman meant to be his perfect match...but first he had to find her and convince her to give him a chance.