It all started with a kiss.

Fourth year after the Yule Ball, with a Butterbeer in one hand and a giggling Pansy's shoulder under the other, he turned his head to try to find her mouth.

It was wet and messy and repulsive.

His conclusion, in his egocentric youth, was that Pansy was pants at kissing. It was his first time too, but she hadn't seemed grossed out at all. He had a hard time shaking her unsubtle attempts at a repeat for the rest of the year.

After that there wasn't much opportunity to test out other witches, but each time was worse than the last.

Yet that wasn't his only trouble at the moment, which began and ended at Hermione Granger.

The war was long since over. Potter had pretended to be dead, Voldemort cheered, and then he was dead instead.

There would have been much cheering by everyone else, if half the fighters hadn't been killed brutally.

Draco Malfoy wished people ignored him now the way they had at the Last Battle.

The lady behind the desk at the Ministry was giving him a look that would chill the bollocks off any man. She was hardly unique in that respect, Draco often endured sneers or harsh whispers behind his back.

"Yes?" she snapped.

Draco took the higher road, mostly because he had no choice. "I'm here for the meeting on Magical Creatures."

She looked behind her and back at him. "Right then, I'll have to check the list." She picked up a scroll with no more than ten names and searched over it seemingly forever.

"Well?" he bit out, unable to take a fourth minute.

"Mmm. I see your name." She pointed to his name with one magenta nail, as if he couldn't see it as plain as the pointed hat on her head. "Please go in."

"Thank you." It took everything in him to force the two words out.

If the searing hatred in his voice could kill…

The meeting room was huge, considering the small amount of attendees. Nothing but the best for the Defenders of the Light.

Arthur Weasley was the first person he spotted, the paunchy, tired looking wizard with fourteen-hundred kids. The older man noticed him, but tried to hide his look of distaste.

The others were not so polite.

Falkner, a peon in the scheme of politics, tried for a threatening leer, which just looked as if the skinny ponce had forgotten how to work his facial muscles. Harvey looked as if she bit into a Wobbly Worm (guaranteed to wriggle the whole way down!), and pudgy Potage squealed in horror.

For Salazar's sake, the war had been over for two years. Draco had his trial years ago, resulting in a house arrest for one year. Considering the length of time his parents earned, he considered himself lucky.

"It looks like we are all finally here." This pointed comment came from none other than his greatest detractor - or second or third, perhaps - the woman everybody worshipped.

Literally.

She had untold hordes of admirers amongst even her co-workers, given the way they found ways to follow and hang on her every word whenever she stepped outside of her office.

She wore the most boring color of blue ever made, cheap fabric, and hair wrestled into a tight knot that would make McGonagall wipe away a tear of pride. Her lips were even pursed as she looked away from him. "I want to thank you all for coming today. I wanted to address the progress we've made on the Werewolf Assistance Group. Head of Magical Creatures, Ms. Harvey, has repealed that awful law allowing the discrimination against werewolves which, as we all know, are harmless and not contagious while not in their alternate form."

There was a round of uncertain applause, as if they were worried they used it up too early.

Draco was here purely for his mother. She kept donating to the cause because of Andromeda's involvement. Though his aunt hadn't answered any of the letters Narcissa sent, she was nothing if not tenacious.

The amount his mother donated made them the top, and probably only, sponsor. As such he had to attend, since his mother wasn't going to step one foot out of the Manor for the better part of the next four years.

"Yes, that is excellent news. Of course, it's not the end of the road. I want the word spread amongst businesses along Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, it's no use if they won't follow it because they don't know. Also, Potage, isn't your sister looking for a young hire in her cauldron shop?" Granger asked the sweaty little man kindly.

Potage sputtered a little, twisting the front of his robes every which way in his sausage fingers. "She might be, I'd have to ask her."

Not so high-and-mighty when it came time to have a 'harmless and not contagious' animal working alongside his sister, was he?

Draco smirked.

Granger easily cowed the little man with a smile full of consternation. "Let me know as soon as possible if there's going to be a problem."

If she weren't such an unrepentant self-righteous cow, he'd have to admit she came off her post-starvation days quite nicely. Those were definitely lovely bouncy curves under her off-the-rack robes, and her skin was smooth and creamy where he could see, like the lines of her neck and flashes of her wrists as she spoke.

His second kiss was with Daphne Greengrass early in fifth year, fueled by a loud Quidditch party and a spectacular win against Hufflepuff. She had grabbed his face and laid one on him.

He immediately had known she had some practice at this.

And yet it had taken everything in him not to shrink back in revulsion from her skilled tongue.

The meeting lasted another half hour as the others chatted about methods to ease the mangy, homeless werewolf community back into society. She didn't mention Potter, but he knew for a fact she mentioned in every press release how strongly he supported this. Manipulative witch. He liked that.

But he wasn't here to alternately ogle and loathe Granger, he was here because the Malfoy money still mattered.

When everybody was finished patting themselves on the back, they left to push papers or sleep or whatever they did at the Ministry.

Granger looked at him straight in the eye and motioned him to come closer.

Draco waited until the last wizard and witch was gone before he approached her. "Fantastic presentation as always. We'll have those creatures blending in with polite society in no time."

Color rose high in her cheeks. "Funny, I've met more people in polite society who fit the definition of 'creature' than outside of it."

"Takes one to know one," he muttered, straightening his immaculate, tailored robes.

She shot him a filthy look. "I didn't ask you to talk so you could insult me."

"And yet that's why I stayed."

She closed her eyes and blew out a slow breath. He wondered if that worked.

When she opened her eyes, her jaw was still clenched. "It would greatly benefit our awareness campaign to find several Pureblood families to throw their support behind this."

"You mean you want me to pressure a few friends to publically announce what a wonderful idea this is." He figured that would be asked of him eventually, but he was going to make her work for it. "Isn't our galleons enough for you?"

She scowled. "There's been a lot of resistance from the more influential families. You're in a position to help people here, Malfoy."

'People' was such a subjective term. "I'll get right on that."

She seemed unconvinced, for some reason. "I'm sure I could put in a good word on shorting your parent's house arrest."

"Resorting to blackmail, Granger?"

She scoffed. "Malfoy, it would only be blackmail if I said I would lengthen their time if you don't do what I say. No, I'm offering to do you a favor in return for you doing the right thing." For once in your life remained unsaid.

"I'll think about it," he said bitterly. She had him by the wand and they both knew it. Granger only had to crook her little finger to get half of the wizarding community to openly spit on him in the street.

He left before she could open her sanctimonious mouth again.

Was this was what the Malfoy name had came to, being the lapdog for the Ministry's every whim? It should be the exact opposite!

Draco arrived at the Malfoy Manor through the Floo, throwing his cloak on the closest parlor chair and calling for a house elf.

It appeared with a crack and a cringe. "What can I do for you, Master Draco?" it squeaked.

"Have a full tea tray ready for me in the Periwinkle Room." His mother had been manically redecorating room after room in between bouts of depression and ennui. The only places she wasn't allowed to change was his father's study and the Grand Library.

Draco's room used to off-limits, but she had been dropping hints so heavily that he finally relented.

Speaking of the witch, he heard her call his name as he passed the newly minted Mint Room.

"Oh, Draco!" she entreated again when he didn't stop to talk.

Reluctantly he turned around. "Hello, Mother." He dropped a light kiss on her cheek, noting the way her tired face lit up.

"You were gone for a while today, dear. Were you meeting up with your friends?" She seemed so hopeful, he hated to disabuse her of his having friends at all.

"Of course, mum. Just a lunch, nothing exciting. What have you been up to?"

"I've been putting finishing touches on this room. I might as well get it all out of my system before you bring home a new Lady of the Manor." She let out a little tinkly laugh.

"I'm sure she couldn't find any fault with your decorating. Where's Father?"

Narcissa smiled wanly. "In his study, dear. You know him, always taking care of business."

"Yes," he said slowly, then excused himself.

She stared at him as he left, as if he was the only person left to save her from her quiet, desperate existence.

Perhaps he was, thanks to bloody Granger. It might as well be blackmail.

His father was indeed in his study, and Draco planned to do nothing more than pop his head in and call out a hasty greeting before going to his rooms per usual.

Luck was not on his side today.

"Son? I need to speak with you." Lucius half-suggested, half-instructed.

These conversations were never positive. It always seemed to end up with his father ranting about the way a Malfoy could not just be put in the corner and forgotten. Then it was often followed up with how people were so ungrateful for all his work saving society from being overtaken by filth and Mudbloods.

Draco stepped further into the gloomy study, standing before the ostentatious walnut desk that had been owned by his grandfather Abraxas and his father before him.

"Sit, son."

Draco sat warily.

Lucius cleared his throat. "Have you ever been with a witch?"

Sweet Salazar, was he going to have the owls and pixies talk?

How was he going to get out of this? "Father, I hardly think-"

"I'm serious. Have you?" The older man pinned him with an intent stare.

Trapped. Draco could make a mad dash upstairs, but that would be marginally less dignified than admitting the truth.

"No," he spat out. And what made Lucius think he had witches lining up to shag him? His sixth year was ruined by having his parents' looming death hanging over his head, and seventh year wasn't exactly a time for hedonistic pleasures. Then there was the war itself, after which most witches acted like they smelt something bad when they saw him.

He was so busy blaming his father that he didn't notice the look of relief.

"Oh, thank Merlin." Lucius sighed.

That he noticed. Draco threw him a disbelieving look.

Lucius negligently brushed off the reaction with a flick of his fingers. "I must admit, I had truly hoped that you hadn't inherited certain….quirks of your family tree. Now, however, we need every advantage we can get."

"What are you talking about?" Draco hoped his father hadn't cracked under the forced isolation. He thought they were coping well.

Narcissa ordered new furniture and Lucius sent out letter after letter in a bid to stay relevant.

"The Malfoys have just a hint, the veriest bit, of Veela in our blood."

If his father had climbed on his chair and started to do the Wizard Wriggle, Draco wouldn't have been more shocked. Or disgusted. "Veela? We're part-creature?"

No, that wasn't even possible. His father always talked about their unbroken line of Purebloods. He even once sent it in a letter once about Quidditch, as if talent on a broom was somehow Pureblood related.

Then again, Draco had been taught for many years it was.

"When one makes a deal with a Veela, you have to take a blood oath and share powers. Every generation after is affected. Certain latent abilities weren't passed to me, but it seems clear you've inherited them."

"Because I didn't get shagged at school? Honestly, you sound a bit mad. Have you been getting rest?"

Lucius stood up, his pale cheeks a bit flushed. "I'll prove it. I have it here somewhere…" He went to the squat bookcase behind his desk, the one place his father always shooed Draco away from when he was a child.

Books were shoved aside, there were bumps and thumps as he searched quickly. "I could have sworn...did I move it...ah, here!" Lucius stood up triumphantly, holding a small box made of ivory and covered with rune carvings.

His father carefully opened it up, revealing a heavyset white-gold ring set with a stone that looked like trapped flames. If he tilted his head a little, he swore he could see them move.

"It's a bit gaudy."

Lucius turned slightly wild eyes on him, a smile stretching his lips back. "This is our salvation, son. It'll enhance the Veela blood enough so every nearby witch can feel it. I know I've raised you to know how to take advantage of that."

Curious despite himself, Draco allowed his father to press the strangely hot ring into his palm. Years of being duty-conscious kicked in. "All right, Father."

"Oh, but there may be some witches immune to the power of the ring. That only means they are not worthy of you, son," Lucius said very seriously, laying a heavy hand on Draco's shoulder. "Do our family proud."

He slipped on the ring, unsurprised it fit perfectly. Powerful antique jewelry often had a charm on it to adjust size for its wearer.

He nodded at Lucius. Time to raise the Malfoy name back where it belonged, at the top.

And Draco knew exactly which witch he would start with.

Author's Note:

Editing old chapters! Not adding much, but cleaning it up!

HMJ