Summary: Draco has to learn what love is after a life without being shown any. Can Harry, who is unexpectedly his mate, show him what it's like to truly be loved? SLASH
Disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter.
Warning: This will contain gay relationships. Don't like it, don't read it. It's that simple.
A/N: This story is based on an rp between me and my friend. And I'm going to pretend books six and seven don't exist. That's all you really need to know otherwise, so just enjoy the story and review when you're done. :D
This chapter has been rewritten. (1 of 6 done)
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Show Me The Meaning Of Love - Chapter One
Harry stared moodily out his window, the moonlight glaring back at him and reflecting off his glasses. His birthday was in five minutes and despite the normally happy event, he was brooding because of his current dwelling. Doing what he though Dumbledore would have wanted, Harry had gone back 'home', only to be greeted by an even more hostile 'family' than before.
He snorted. Some family. Even in the faint light, bruises could be seen on almost every bit of visible skin, hinting that the damage went even further than what was visible. A week old cut could be seen just under the collar of his black, long sleeved shirt.
It was strange, really. Along with the daily beatings, he had received new clothes each day. There was a possibility that it was to make up for treating him so badly. That was what they muttered when they handed him the clothes, anyway. Harry knew better. It was only to make sure his injuries were properly covered up and you couldn't do that with tattered clothes. He wondered when the Dursleys would realize that it would be much cheaper for them to just stop beating him.
A brief glace at the clock told him that midnight was closer and that four minutes had run away during him musings. With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the barred window to face the interior of his room. One half of the room was taken over by semi-organized piles of his cousin's broken belongings and the other side held his own belongings. The two sides were never to touch and, honestly, Harry was perfectly fine with that.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the clock change, but before he could sarcastically congratulate himself on being another year older, a sharp pain hit him in the middle of the back. His wand was in his hand in an instant, but in the next he was on his knees on the floor. The pain spread from that one spot to all across his back, causing him to gasp sharply. His last conscious thought before he collapsed was how had he gotten caught off guard like that and what was that ripping sound?
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Miles away, in the dinning room of a beautiful white summer home, the fork slipped from Draco Malfoy's fingers as he felt a jolt run through his body. After waiting all those weeks and months after his veela inheritance, today was the first time he had felt this feeling. That could only mean one thing. His mate had finally turned seventeen.
Severus, who had been watching over Draco in his father's absence, looked up at the boy from across the dinner table. He raised an eyebrow at him in silent questioning. Nothing could shake this boy. So that meant voicing the question was meaningless.
Draco, however, merely shook his head, looking down at his plate again. He would be the last to admit that he wasn't ready, but he knew it better than anyone else. A few minutes later, he stood, pushing his chair back. The silent urging in his body wouldn't still until he found his mate. He couldn't just sit there anymore.
"I need to go."
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Harry didn't know how long he had blacked out and for a moment, he didn't remember what had happened to have him sprawled out, face down on the floor like he was. The position wasn't so unusual for him, seeing as that was how he ended up most nights after he was beaten. And his shirt was certainly torn up.
Then the moment was gone and he was on his knees, wand gripped tightly in his hand. Dizziness caused his to fall forward again but he caught himself with his hand. Groaning, he lifted a hand to push up his glasses.
His eyes met with the broken mirror a few paces away from him. Brilliant emerald eyes shinned back at him, brighter than before and his somehow longer hung partly in his face. Surprised at the difference, he pushed on the floor so he was sitting back on his heels. What else was different about him? There were some subtle changes, like his eyebrows seemed narrower and his cheekbones were more defined, but no one would really notice that, right?
There were bigger changes. Lifting a shaking hand, he ran his fingers over his the tips of his ears which were now pointed. Had someone cast a Glamour charm on him? Of course not. A Glamour charm wouldn't hurt like that.
That was when his eyes suddenly shifted to the biggest change. Wings. Well that explained the ripping sound.
Not believing his eyes, Harry reached over his shoulder and gingerly touched the place where the black feathered wing merged smoothly with his shoulders. He winced slightly at the contact and drew his hand back. His fingers were bloodied.
"What the hell happened to me?" he hissed softly, staring at his hand.
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Now, Draco knew what was supposed to happen when he gave into the desire to find his mate. He was supposed to apparate to his mate's side. Oh, he knew exactly what was supposed to happen. But this was not what Draco had expected.
At first, he had no idea who it was that was kneeling in front of him. It must have been the wings and the crappy state of the room that threw him off. His mate couldn't be Harry Potter because Harry Potter was a normal wizard with not magical creature blood in him at all. His mate couldn't be Harry Potter, because hadn't he been told all these years that Harry Potter was worshipped by his muggle relatives?
But, of course, his mate was indeed, Harry Potter. There was no denying those green eyes and that scar. Damn that scar!
Cloud grey eyes fell back to the wings sprouting from Harry's back. The urge to touch them suddenly filled him and he could only manage to stop himself from doing so after he had taken a step forward. The floorboards creaked under his weight and he froze.
At the sound, Harry spun around, wand in his hand and pointed at Draco's heart. His eyes narrowed instantly and his grip around his wand tightened until his knuckles were white. His wings folded tightly against him body as if in response to his emotions. "What are you doing here?" he snarled. His body tensed up, ready to spring into action if he needed to. He felt fear seep its way into his heart. If he fought Draco, there was no way he would win. He knew he was weak from what had happened to him.
And what about the Dursleys? If they woke up, what would they think about having two wizards under their roof? Obviously, they wouldn't be overjoyed.
Draco's trademark sneer brought its way onto his face. "Well, damn, Potter. If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have bothered." His face was a cold and emotionless mask, though his eyes still reflected the confusion, and yes, the worry. Damn his feelings for worrying about Harry Potter, of all people. On that note, damn him for even being fated to Harry Potter!
Harry's wand dropped slightly as he frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?" Suddenly there came a loud creaking from Vernon and Petunia's room. Harry turned towards the door, keeping his wand pointed at Draco. "Never mind. Whatever it is, it can wait a few minutes." Harry stood smoothly and walked slowly to the door, his legs shaking slightly. What he heard through the door made his heart sink.
"... bloody boy can't keep bloody quiet... always having bloody nightmares..."
Harry cursed quietly and quickly moved away from the door, hiding his wand away. Turning to his uninvited guest, he shoved Draco back into the darker part of the room behind a tall pile of Dudley's things. "You better bloody stay here," he hissed.
Draco felt a protest rise in his throat, something he stopped quickly. The look in Harry's eyes and the tone in his voice made Draco wonder what exactly would cause the boys such fear. He stood frozen in the shadows of the room and watched as Harry turned to the ratty looking mattress of a bed. He could hear a soft stream of curses coming from Harry as the footsteps grew louder.
Suddenly the door flung open, admitting a fat, purple-faced man into the room, whose beady little eyes immediately locked onto Harry.
"What the bloody hell do you mean by waking me up, boy!" Vernon's jaw fell when he noticed the wing on Harry's back. "Where the hell did you get those, you bloody freak!?" he yelled, pointing a fat finger at them.
Harry flinched as the man lumbered across the room to him. The words 'bloody freak' rang repeatedly in his mind. He said nothing, knowing that would only anger his uncle further.
"All that hard work on trying to get you to be normal and you get wings! You come with me now, boy. We're going to saw those right off!" Vernon took a firm hold on Harry's wrist and made to drag him out the door whether he wanted to go or not.
Harry felt his temper suddenly flare. "Go to hell!" he yelled, yanked his hand away. Pain ran up his arm and blood fell on the floor with a sickening splash. Clutching his arm to his chest, Harry noticed something flash in his uncle's hand. A knife. Vernon had been carrying a knife again. The instinct to draw his wand was several seconds late and his dizziness prevented him from even doing so before he stumbled and started to fall.
Draco watched in amazement and an anger he never knew he could possess filled him as the conversation between the two continued. He stood silent, however, fighting with himself, confused, if he would ever admit to it. More and more rage filled him, enough so that his pale face was blooming with red, his brows knitted together tightly. Visions of this man writhing in pain were filling his mind, dark, bloody deaths and excruciating torture. Perhaps it was fortunate that the smell of blood wafted into his senses, as it snapped him out of his stupor. He moved from the shadows, catching Harry before he fell. His wand was level with Vernon's eyes before the man could even blink.
"I would suggest, sir, that you not mess with a wizard," he drawled, still holding Harry against him. His face was no longer curled in anger, but perfectly masked, an imitation that he had learned from a many observations of the Death Eaters.
"Exessum."
Draco could read the fear on the man's face as the spell hurtled on him and he didn't even flinch when the man fell to the floor, his body rippling in convulsions. Satisfied that the fat man would be distracted, he snatched a shirt from the floor and wrapped it around Harry's arm quickly to stem the blood flow, at least until he could get him somewhere that he could get him proper healing. Holding onto his mate tightly, Draco closed his eyes, concentration on the destination, and vanished from the room.