Unwanted

This is my first time writing a veela fic. I have only read a couple, so my tale may be a little different from the norm…

 Reviews are appreciated.

Chapter 1

It was dark but the stars were clearly visible their first night back.  Hermione patiently waited for Harry and Ron to catch up to her while she pretended to study to her nails.

Less than three months ago the Dark Lord had been defeated on these very grounds; Harry had died once, or so it seemed, and then magically resurrected.  Many lives had been lost, and all of them were irrevocably changed. 

Every year, their lives were changed in some shape or form.  Now they had returned to lick their wounds and move foreword with their lives.

Hermione was happy to be alive, happy to share her future with her friends and her lover.  She had been afraid to come back to Hogwarts this fall, and yet the moment she had seen the familiar turrets she was immediately flooded with a sense of comfort.

This place could never be corrupted.

She felt a hand seize hers and turned to meet Ron’s familiar amber gaze. 

She felt oddly light. 

Another hand took her other, and she didn’t even have to turn to know it was Harry.

“It feels good to be back.”  Harry murmured.

She turned her head foreword and swung their arms back and forth in unison, “Let’s go boys.”

__

Malfoy stared somnolently at the ceiling. 

“Tell me again why I’m here?”

Lazarus looked at him imploringly, “My Lord—“

“Tell me.”  He snapped.

Lazarus spoke as if reciting a memorized piece, “Your parents wish for you to rebuild your image with the community.  You must—“

“Fucking yes I know exactly what they want me to do.”  Draco bit back a smile, he certainly loved his parents, that was true but he deplored dancing in front of the pigs, which was exactly what they were calling upon him to do.

His father certainly had no compunction, but Draco loathed certain charades, most specifically the one which called upon him to bow and scrape to mudblood lovers.

The Dark Lord had been a madman of a certain kind, but his demise had done little to endear mudbloods or their sympathizers to the Malfoy clan.  All Draco had learned was that he had little desire to call another man master anymore than he had any desire to live in the Dark Lord’s future.

No, his world wasn’t quite so extreme—but it wasn’t going to come to past if he had to pretend he was coerced into becoming a servant of the Dark Lord in order to protect his parents.

He would have to don his best mask, and pretend he didn’t quite hate the little mudbloods—at least not enough to support their virtual enslavement and perhaps the annihilation of a few. 

He gritted his teeth.  Some things just weren’t stomaching.  But if he didn’t clean up his image, he wasn’t going to be allowed to complete his schooling.  It was small; but the little things went a long way in allowing him footholds in the world of power and prestige.

He would do it.