Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter!

A/N: Hey guys! This is my very first HPDM fanfic xD Hope you all like it! Comments are more than welcome(:

Full Summary:

In a world with magical creatures but without magic, Veela are among the lowest. They have no rights, no say. They cannot raise a hand against a human, or one above them in the Hierarchy.

Harry Potter is a Veela. Living with his abusive relatives, the young Veela dreams of a day when he finds his mate, imagining it to be a perfect ending to this tragic chapter of his life.

When the young Lord Draco Malfoy saves him from a brutal beating, Harry falls for him instantly. He soon gets swept up in a whirlwind romance with the arrogant Lord, courting him with all sorts of expensive presents.

But there are hidden motives behind everything, and Harry soon discovers a horrifying truth that tears the young lovers apart. Harry wants out, but Draco won't let him go.

Trapped in a world he doesn't understand - a world of Court intrigue and deceit, Harry finds out that Draco is his mate. Draco, who seems to be the only person he can trust.

But will he put aside his misgivings and learn to trust? Will he finally learn about the man behind the mask?

This is about a story of a love so great and pure that it transcends all.

Amor Aeternus.

Love eternal.

Chapter One – Of First Meetings and of Destiny

Thought that I was going crazy
Just having one those days yeah
Didn't know what to do
Then there was you

And everything went from wrong to right
And the stars came out and filled up the sky
The music you were playing really blew my mind
It was love at first sight

'cause baby when I heard you
For the first time I knew
We were meant to be as one

- Kylie Minogue; Love at First Sight

"BOY!"

Harold James Potter of No. 4 Privet Drive closed his eyes wearily, grunting slightly in pain as he rose to his feet, making his way to the living room. His wings of ivory and green fluttered slightly where they lay, neatly tucked behind his back.

He sighed, smoothing a trembling hand against the silky appendages, wistfully dreaming of the day that his wings would finally support him in slight. Oh how He had soar up and up and up, away from the terrible cruelty from this household, never looking back.

A blow to his head shocked him out of his daydreams. Harry staggered forward a little, spinning round and baring his small fangs silently at his uncle, head throbbing mercilessly. His uncle raised a meaty fist threateningly once more, and he flinched, backing down and baring his neck in submission, a soft, dismayed sound escaping him.

"Hurry up!" Vernon snapped, cuffing the boy roughly once more. "I haven't time to waste with your freakiness."

Of course – the real reason his uncle disliked him to the point of hatred. His apparent freakishness, otherwise known as his Veela heritage.

From what he had gleaned through whispers and gossip, he had apparently gotten that particular genetics from his father's side of the family. Being a submissive Veela, Harry had always been slender and petite and his wings – barely twice the size of his body – would not support him in flight. Not until He had found his dominant mate.

Veela were exotic creatures, especially in this age, when most of the Veela population had died out after a pandemic that had swept the land a few years back. Indeed, the price of one's wings or feathers would have fetched a small fortune. They were also considered one of the Undesirable creatures, due to their un-humanlike characteristics, and were mostly looked down upon and disdained. Furthermore, to add salt on top of the wound, Veela were considered as a Lower Creature and were right at the bottom of the Hierarchy of Creatures, hence could not, under any circumstances, attack a human or an Upper or Royal Creature. Of course, his Uncle frequently enjoyed displaying his knowledge of that particular fact.

Harry sighed, holding his hand up for the weekly shopping list, his eyes falling upon the dark bruises that mottled the tan skin of his arm. He supposed he should be grateful to have food and shelter – however meagre – especially when there were so many less fortunate them him. But it was so hard, when he was kicked and pushed around like a ball.

"Go straight there and don't stop to gossip," Vernon snapped, pushing his large, beefy face closer to the teen's. "You better come back before sunset, boy, or mark my words, you'll be sorry you were ever born!" With that, he shoved Harry roughly towards the door, marching off towards the kitchen and muttering something about beer.

He stood where his uncle had left him, body shivering with helpless anger and remnants of fear as the feathers on his wings ruffled. He hated his mother's family – he really did. With a last bitter snarl, Harry limped off towards the door, shopping list tucked safely inside his shirt pocket.

The marketplace was the same as it had been a week ago – noisy, smelly and crowded. Harry slipped quietly from stall to stall, unobtrusively making his purchases – or trying to be unobtrusive, as much as he could with wings.

The scent of food permeated the air, and his stomach rumbled. Whimpering slightly, the young male had to physically drag himself away from the stalls, making his way to the fruit stall with sheer determination. Hopefully, if his uncle was in a better mood tonight, He would be fed the leftovers from the table. Not that there was much – especially with his uncle and his greedy walrus of a son.

As he drew closer, he felt, more than he saw, the fruit stall vendor gave him a curious look. Harry hunched in slightly, drawing his wings tighter around him and tried to ignore the greedy gaze.

Sometimes, he really hated being a Veela. It only gave others a new reason to stare at him and hate him more.

"I'd like that diamond necklace – and that matching set of earrings," a cool, drawling voice spoke from the next stall over.

Harry looked up from where he had been choosing oranges, an orange still cupped in one hand, at that rich tenor. His eyes caught the other man's form – and his breath caught.

Clad in the richest of clothes, subtle jewels flashed on his fingers and on the lapels of his shirt. The man's silky blond hair was impeccably combed and parted, and his face was aristocratic.

Harry could feel himself shivering at the sight, the smooth voice sending tingles down his – wings? Harry ruffled them anxiously, glancing away hurriedly as the young man turned his way after completing his purchases.

He had never had such a reaction to a man before – or anyone, at that.

Biting his lip gently, Harry peeked over his shoulder once more, hoping to catch a last glimpse of the man before he was lost in the crowd. He flicked his eyes to the right – and his eyes were immediately caught by the young Prince's. Emerald green stared into slate grey.

"Veela!"

Harry jumped in shock, spinning around to face the angered shopkeeper, ducking his head and whispering frantic apologies, hands scrabbling inside his pockets for the last bit of money that Vernon had allocated him.

Where was the money? Harry vigorously searched his pockets – but to no avail. Had he been robbed without noticing?

Cold fear gripped his heart, and the young Veela slowly paused his desperate searching, nervously meeting the eyes of the shopkeeper, who looked angrier every passing second.

Oh hell, what was his Uncle going to say? What was he going to do? The last time this had happened, He had beaten Harry black and blue, with at least three broken ribs and leaving him unable to walk for days. And He had said – He had said that the next time, He had pluck Harry's feathers like one would do a chicken.

His breaths came in short pants, and his hands trembled as he begged the shopkeeper, "Please, please sir. I'm sorry; someone must have stolen my money! I had it – I swear. I'll pay you back the next time, I come here every week, and you know my Aunt and Uncle. I promise!"

He was panting by the end of his speech, eyes wide and terrified as he backed away from the larger man who was emerging from the comfort of his stall.

"Yur promises don't mean nothin' 'ere! You pay upfront or you don't get the fruit!" He stuck out his hand, palm up, as he growled, "Ten Ruids – no, fifteen. That'd five extra for wasting my time and contaminating my stall, you good-for-nothin' Veela scum."

His stomach plummeted. Harry backed away slowly as the other man advanced, shooting a desperate look at the bags of groceries left at the stall.

"Please, sir-" he began, only to cry out in pain as a harsh blow to his cheek from the man's fist sent him tumbling to the ground, his wings crushed painfully under him as he as he panted heavily, a hand flying to the bruised skin.

Another shrill cry escaped him, a series of pained and pleading chirps flowing from his mouth as the man's leg drew back to kick. Harry's wings shot in front of him instinctively to protect, realizing too late that, unmated, his wings would be especially tender with all the nerve endings and none of the armour that being with his mate would bring.

Harry closed his eyes, preparing himself, but not fully expecting the line of fire to rip up his wings, as they jerked convulsively, and the boy keened lowly in pain.

He curled defensively around himself, trying desperately to sheath his poison-tipped claws before they were seen. Harry made low sound of apprehension, drawing his wings tighter around himself, bracing for another kick – which never came.

Instead, the same, velvety voice of the Prince sounded like a clarion call in the cacophony of noise.

"Halt!"

His voice was like steel – unyielding and harsh. But to Harry, it seemed to most beautiful noise He had ever heard.

"Have you no honour? To kick an unarmed, defenceless child?" he continued, his cool voice imperious and haughty, face arrogant, seemingly not noticing that he himself was about the same age as Harry was.

"Explain yourself! All this violence over a basket of fruits?"

"That's no person, Your Highness! 'Tis only a Veela. They ain't worth the dust on my boots!"

Harry took his chance to look up, slowly pushing his battered body up into a sitting position, torn between a star-struck thankfulness for his saviour as well as disbelief over the young Prince's callous words. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed guards shifting closer, ready to attack, should the Prince be in danger.

"Watch your tongue."

Harry shivered fearfully at the Prince's voice, suddenly gone frigid and ice-cold, biting as the winter wind. Breathing hard, Harry gathered his strength, preparing to flee.

"He's only a Veela, sir." Harry blinked in shock. He didn't think He had ever heard the loudmouth storekeeper ever sound so respectful. "Scum of the earth, they are. Bloody unnatural with their freaky wings and noises," he reiterated, explaining as though he thought that their Prince was nothing was a simpleton.

Even though He had heard the words a thousand times, Harry couldn't stop the instinctive flinch of hurt that resonated in him at the words.

More sounds of arguing and scathing comments broke out, and Harry took this chance to stand up shakily, brushing clumps of dirt and dust off his worn pants and shirt. Eyes darting warily about, green dulled and flashing with fear and hurt, the young Veela backed away slowly, trying to fold his aching wings back.

As he bent them back, a white-hot flare of pain travelled through his whole body. Gasping in shock, Harry's knees buckled, and he clenched his teeth in pain.

Bloody hell. Uncle Vernon was going to have a field day with him.

A pale hand suddenly entered his range of vision. Harry's gaze followed the pale arm, up to the regal face, so beautiful that it could have been carved in marble by the Gods themselves. Harry's fingers suddenly ached to touch that flawless skin, to clasp that smooth hand…

Flawless. Suddenly ashamed of his work-roughened hands and scars, Harry glanced away, gritting his teeth as he pushed up determinedly by himself.

Black dots swirled in his vision, and Harry felt a sudden disorientation. He swayed and started to fall. Panicked, Harry gasped, desperately reaching out a hand to grasp something, anything.

A strong grip encircled his upper arm, hauling him upright and steadying him until he got his balance. Harry breathed hard, eyes closed, one ivory-green wing dragging limply on the ground.

Another soft touch on his wing made him open his eyes. Harry's green ones met the slate-grey of the Prince's once more, and a shiver ran through the Veela. Uncomfortable as he was, Harry couldn't help but relax in the Prince's arms, his body involuntarily leaning forward into the rich furs and silks – into the beckoning warmth.

A soft sigh escaped him, as he shifted contently in the embrace, eyes half-closing in near-worship.

A low chuckle brought him out of his daze, and Harry snapped to attention. He gaped like a fool for an instant, wings trembling as he controlled the sudden desire to spread them and preen for the Royal Heir, ducking his head as a soft, warm hand – an un-gloved hand, he noted with some surprise – brushed the green feathers on his inner wing slowly. It traced a warm path from the highest ridge, towards the outer wing, where the emerald green feathers faded into ivory white.

"Y-your highness. I- sor- I didn't mean-" Harry stuttered, squirming uneasily in the half-embrace of the other man. He blinked, desperately trying to snap out of the stupor he once more found himself in, even as he found himself melting, leaning against the other man like a lost child.

Harry's voice faltered when the Prince raised a pale hand towards him, a single finger brushing lightly as a butterfly's kiss to silence him.

"So beautiful," he whispered, the voice like silk and velvet and night time frost, as his grey eyes seemed to burn with the biting ferocity of ice. His gaze caressed Harry's form, lingering on his lips, one hand caressing his uninjured wing, the other tracing gentle circles on his hip.

Harry felt his face heat up, a delicate blush forming across his face as he averting his gaze from the intense one of the man who held him in his thrall. With the young Prince talking so kindly, so intimately to him as no one had ever done, Harry was helpless to break the trance he found himself in.

Bong!

Harry shook himself, feeling as if he was emerging from underwater.

Bong!

Harry blinked, refocusing on his surroundings.

Bong!

His gaze shot back to the Prince, his blush back in full force.

Bong!

Harry shivered, stepping backward out of the embrace.

Bong!

The young Prince smiled slowly, eyes intent and predatory.

Bong!

Harry darted a nervous gaze to the gaping onlookers.

Bong!

Harry broke the hold on him, backing away and sprinting away, heedless of the sensation of wings on fire.

Bong!

The last rays of the sun melted away, leaving only inviting darkness.

He was late!

Fresh terror surged up from him as Harry realized that he was going back empty-handed.

He had left his groceries at the store. His uncle was going to murder him.

He slowed when the modest house came in sight, heart speeding up. His forehead was beaded with cold sweat, and he realized that his breaths were coming in gasps that were loud in the silence of the night.

Shaking, he stepped inside the house, breathing out softly at the warm glow that enveloped him, as compared to the cool autumn weather outside. Harry closed the door softly, biting his lip and hoping against all hope that his uncle was still asleep.

"Veela?"

The slurred voice froze him in his tracks, and Harry clenched his eyes closed in despair, turning round slowly. The hazy, alcohol-induced gaze of his uncle met him, and Harry couldn't help but take a step backwards, fear curling up through his body.

"Gimme a beer. Now, boy!" he spat, meaty fist clenching shut as he squinted at the injured teen.

"There-there isn't any left."

A tension-filled silence ensued.

Harry backed away even more, shaking his head in denial as the heavy steps of his uncle drew close.

"Ple-"

Harry's desperate plea broke off as a meaty fist was planted directly in his belly. He doubled over, wheezing and clutching his stomach, struggling for breaths.

While he was recovering, a hand gripped his injured wing. Fire consumed him, and Harry could feel himself screaming distantly, twisting and writhing as the monster plucked out clumps of his beautiful feathers.

Blood and pain, pain and blood. The agony seemed never-ending. He could feel streams of blood trickling down his wings and back, the sudden chill against his wings, the sudden lightness as all of his feathers were scattered over the ground.

Keening in pain and terror, Harry bucked, toppling to the floor.

Through the agony, he heard a slurred voice growl, "Happy birthday, freak. Pity you lasted till sixteen. Could've gotten more outta you if you'd just do us all a goddamn favour and die."

The rest of the night passed in a haze of pain and blood.