Narcissa Malfoy was worried. This was an odd event, because it was unheard of for her to be worried. Of course, this fact was due to her habit of refusing to tell anybody she was worried. But here it was. Her son's sixteenth birthday had come and gone and she knew something was not normal about it. She had no illusions about what sort of mother she was. But even though she cared for Draco less and less as he grew older and older and farther and farther away from her limited affection, it was still there. A bond had formed when she held her baby for perhaps one minute before he was swept away from her, to be cared for by hired nurses who did all the messy work needed involved with feeding, changing, and generally everything about babies that Narcissa as a Malfoy was not wont to do because it was just beneath a Malfoy mother to do them. Perhaps if she had tried harder just a bit back then, set up some appointments to hold her baby and hear his gurgles and giggles, perhaps... But that was then. So now, to assuage her worries that niggled at the back of her mind, she quietly observed her son like she had always done, never touching nor talking to him.

It became clear to her what was not normal, what was going to happen. Her son would Blossom. At first, this idea was so absurd, she dismissed it. After all, how can a male, with so much diluting human blood, Blossom? But the signs were there, undetectable by all save those with Veela blood. Narcissa considered the evidence. His looks were uncommonly fine; he was always such a beautiful baby. He had passion, alien to the Malfoy line. He desired with all his heart, and hated with the same vigor. He was a constant seeker of attention, sometimes too much for his own good. All strong Veela traits. And he was beginning, not too much, but beginning to show the first signs of Blossoming. Narcissa could faintly in the chairs he just left and in things he just touched, detect wisps of the Veela pheromones. If Narcissa had a more developed sense of humor and a less developed sense of decorum, she would have laughed at the irony of it all.

She had not Blossomed herself. In her, all that remained physically of her long dead Veela ancestor was a certain beauty, intangible and untouchable by time and an instinctual knowledge of how to pacify and entrance men. And this dubious skill of hers was useless after she was claimed and courted by Lucius Malfoy. He was untouched by her charm after marrying her, after she did her duty of producing a son. And perhaps the unseen legacy of her Veela ancestor was in her acceptance and indifference to the neglect from her man. She knew that was all he desired of her anyway. There was nothing left for the both of them but her acceptance of him as her husband and his tacit duty as a husband by not straying. But that wasn't the point. The point was that her son, Draco Malfoy and descendent of Tatyana the Peerless of Carpathia, would Blossom and become irresistible, despite being male and despite being so human that if it weren't for the faint pheromones, Narcissa would have gladly checked herself into St. Mungo's for her thoughts. To prevent any Nasty Surprises, Narcissa decided that she would tell her son.

Draco Malfoy just had a Nasty Surprise. His mother had just calmly informed him that he would soon be a Man Magnet. Okay, so she had put it in more delicate and diplomatic words, but the horrible meaning was the same. He sat dazed as she went over the Blossoming that happened to every young Veela or part Veela with enough Veela blood and what to expect. Afterwards, he heartily wished he could just Obliviate himself. He couldn't really be part Veela, could he? He was a male! He went through the Manor library in a state of detached panic. He had to restrain himself from burning the genealogy charts. Father would punish him if he committed property damage. He was part Veela and a bud about to Blossom, if one used his mother's words. But he just couldn't accept it just yet. In the back of his mind, there was a basic idea that every reasonably humanoid magical species capable of interbreeding with humans had separate genders. If he was going to Blossom, then by all rights he should be a Woman Magnet. Once again, a point should be taken. He was male!

So he searched for all he could find on the physiology of Veela. The relief at finding there are such things as male Veela was short lived. Male Veela were not born. Veela were all female by birth. During the mating season, a number of the strongest and most aggressive Veela in a population of Veela would turn 'male' for the duration. They would breed, clutches of eggs would be laid, and then they would return to their normally female state. Apparently, Draco's human blood nullified the mandate that Veela be female while not preventing him from being a Man Magnet. The injustice of it all. Draco was definitely not looking forward to next term at Hogwarts.

Fever. Fever. Fever! Draco could die from the fever.
"Too soon, too soon," he muttered into his soaked pillow.
But he could not deny the new force fighting its way out of his body. He could practically taste pheromones leaking through his pores. Leaking into the Boys' Dorms. Draco's body galvanized with fear. Males. Too many males. Draco ran. Cold night air chilled him, but it was no relief for the fever. Just get away from Slytherin, with its vicious vicious males. He ran, not looking nor caring where he was going, not caring that Filch might appear from behind the next corner. In his panic, he ran into something in the middle of the hallway and a surprised Harry Potter appeared, his Invisibility Cloak pooling at his feet.
Harry was gawking at Draco. Draco took a step back and was about to run, when his change completed itself. Raw waves of desire inducing pheromones hit Harry full force and he pounced.

"I am going to kill myself."
Harry was unsteadily buckling his belt, refusing to look at the battered and supine form of Draco on the ground. Draco slowly propped himself up on one arm and raised an eyebrow at Harry.
"And just how do you think I feel?"
"Shut up! This is all your fault-"
Harry was definitely not expecting such a candid admission from Draco and he stared, forgetting that Draco was completely nude. Draco sighed and fell back on the flagstones.
"No doubt you will go crying to Dumbledore about how your virtue was forcibly taken without your say so. But you should be Griffindor enough to hear my explanation."
Something about Draco's resigned tone compelled Harry to listen.
"I am part Veela."
Harry blinked rapidly, giving a rather uncanny impression of Hedwig.
"But you're a boy!"
"Thank you for noticing. Apparently my human blood kept me male but didn't prevent me from having unspeakable amounts of attractiveness to other males. How else do you explain the fact that you were the one behaving like a possessed goat?"
Harry's face squinched and Draco would have laughed if he weren't preoccupied with finding what was left of his pajamas.
"You may leave now."
"What happens next?"
"I get expelled after you tattle on how I forced you to do unspeakable things to me because I'm part Veela. Saint Potter Has Been Sullied. Headline for the Daily Prophet if I ever heard one."
"I don't have to tell."
"Blackmail? How unlike a Gryffindor."
"I won't blackmail you."
Draco frowned.
"Really. Just- just can't we both keep quiet about this? Neither one of us wants anybody else to know, right?"
"Ah. Of course."
Draco held his hand out, and Harry took it and they shook hands for the first time without anger between the both of them.
"We share a secret then."

Two weeks later found Draco sulking by himself in bed, the curtains shut and warded with the heaviest blocking spells he knew. Veela were female, Draco knew now, because being male and being desired by other males was just too much to handle. Especially since he didn't like other males in that way. It was ridiculous. He didn't know if his completed Blossoming would make him attracted to males the way he could attract them, and at this rate, if he did find them attractive, he would be bloody grateful for the ending of this torture. There were some near accidents and he was in a state of accelerated paranoia. Dancing was a no-no. Not that he did it on purpose, but he once absentmindedly did a two-step in Potions when he was bored and Longbottom, of all people, was so enthralled that the resulting cauldron meltdown was record breaking. Quidditch practice was a hazard to his life, what with the showers and the smells that went with it. And the strain of keeping his pheromone cloud in check was excruciating. He had figured out early on that if he let it all out in one big blast near a group of girls, nothing would happen. So he did this, until unfortunately the backwash hit some Hufflepuff boys. Luckily, he managed to escape that particular hall. And from what he heard, he had facilitated some new inter-House relationships. Blah. He never wanted to be helpful, especially if people benefited from his discomfort.

Another night of burning fever and that particular problem was solved, replaced by another. As Veela defined induced desire, desire defined Veela. Now, it was all he can do to prevent being tackled and undergoing some rough copulation, because he wanted it. It was disgusting, when he realized that he had somehow catalogued in his mind all of the most attractive boys in Hogwarts, with rankings based on personality or looks. This was doubly disturbing, because somehow he had included Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers in this list. Apparently, his body desired all and had no scruples whatsoever. In addition to his shocking new egalitarian views on sexual partners, he craved physical contact. He would become wildly covetous when he saw couples holding hands or hugging in the hallways. He needed this sort of attention, yearned for it above all else, and to make matters worse, he could not have it. People of his ilk always shunned physical contact, for familiarity bred contempt and it was imperative that no one be familiar with a Malfoy. Therefore, any physical contact was severely curtailed to the minimum social ritual of handshakes. Draco hated it.

Then there was the additional problem with Potter. Potter was the only male in Hogwarts whom Draco had ample physical knowledge of. In fact, right now, Draco could exude the exact cocktail of pheromones that would leave Potter helpless and completely susceptible to every carnal whim Draco had and it would not have affected anybody else. But that was not what Draco wanted, because he still despised Potter. Again, his body betrayed him, because it had a taste of complete mindless pleasure from Potter, with no social constraints or even personal constraints between them and it was fervently urging for another go. Draco knew that Potter could only put up a token resistance before succumbing. He came to a decision.