Summary: When Draco discovers he's not really Lucius' son, he's truly a half-veela, he also finds out that in a few weeks, he'll attain his soul-mate. When he discovers his mate is Harry Potter, how will he react, and how does Harry feel? DMHP Slash.

A/N: Hope you all like it so far! Let me know what you think after you read Chapter 1. As before, rated R for future content, and contains slash!! Don't blame me if you read slash and don't like it.

Disclaimer: All (except the plot) belongs to J.K. Rowling.


Lost Without You
Chapter 1: A Veela in Hogwarts

Slowly and steadily, the Hogwarts express picked up speed, leaving the station. Draco Malfoy sat in a compartment all alone, thinking to himself. Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and the rest of his crew were nowhere to be found; good, he wanted it that way. Watching the trees blur together into an indiscriminate line of green, Draco reflected on the weeks after he discovered his secret and worried about the weeks to come in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts.

Foremost on his mind, however, were thoughts about Lucius and the Dark Arts. Before he had aligned himself with Lord Voldemort simply because that's what was expected of him. He never even thought otherwise. He would become a Death Eater after graduating Hogwarts and faithfully serve the Dark Lord. What now, though? As he had asked himself every day since that conversation with his mother, "Who was he? Where did he belong now?"

Perhaps he could follow his mother's advice and run, hide, escape. Malfoys don't run away, he told himself. But he wasn't really a Malfoy, was he? Leaning his head back against the seat, Draco let his eyelids relax, falling over his sparkling silver orbs. It was hard to imagine his life any other way. Could he really exist without the Dark Arts? He had belonged to them for so long. His joy came from tormenting anyone not aligned with him, could he suddenly turn around and be their friend? What would those so-called friends of his in his House think?

The best course of action seemed to be none at all, for Draco. Perhaps it would be best to ride things out, and see where this year would take him. He could get strong and prove himself to Voldemort, perhaps then he would be worthy enough for his master. Maybe, however, he wouldn't even waste his time where he wasn't wanted. He would simply wait, that's all. Time and fate would tell him what he should do.

Thinking of fate reminded Draco of his soul-mate. In a matter of weeks he would be turning 17, and then he would find himself matched with the person of his dreams. He could almost see it now. She would fall at his knees, exclaiming over his beauty, saying how she wanted to belong to him and none other. He would pick her up and crush her close. 'Never kneel to me, my love, we are equal, and belong to each other,' he would whisper to her. They would make passionate love and be together until Death called one of them away, and the other would shortly follow, heartbroken without their mate.

Draco opened his eyes, chortling to himself. Somehow, he doubted it would happen like that. His mother had told him he would just know who his soul-mate was. So, he would just have to wait for that, too. One course of action he had decided on, however, was to keep his veela heritage hidden. There would be no way he could explain to the school how he is half-veela without revealing his parent's past sins.

When he began to worry about his who his perfect mate would be, Draco shook his head. Too many times had he thought about his potential cohort. Who would she be, what would she look like? She would have to be in Slytherin House, wouldn't she? Draco grumbled to himself; he was getting a headache, and getting himself absolutely no where else.

The compartment door sliding back, Draco looked up sharply to see who was disturbing his peace. Harry Potter walked in, looking over his shoulder, talking to that poor trash Weasel. Where was the mudblood? She was always close by these two.

"Did you see his face when your dad asked how cars actually worked?" Harry laughed. "I would swear Vernon was going to—" he broke off, seeing Malfoy sitting in the same room, glaring at them icily. "Oh, sorry, didn't know this was the Dark Scum Compartment, must have missed the sign."

Draco glanced at Harry, and then looked Ron up and down. "Robes in no better shape, I see. Weasel couldn't afford how much it would cost him to sit in here with me. It would take all of his father's earnings, which isn't much."

"Malfoy! I bloody swear—" Ron began, rapidly turning a dark shade of red.

"Maybe one day he'll earn enough to keep up with your mother's string of bastard children. I doubt they're all his, but he doesn't seem to mind."

Flying at Malfoy, Ron's fist almost collided with his face before Harry hauled him back. "Shove off, Malfoy! You only insult Ron because you're envious. Face it. Ron has the freedom to choose the life he wants. He's got real friends and real love. He's brave and stands up for what he believes in. You cower behind two great big oafs that don't give a damn about you. You're a self-conceited prick, bending over backwards for Voldemort." Ron flinched visibly at the name, but Draco refused to blink. His eyes radiated fury at Harry. "You're a slimy, disgusting, carbon copy of that servant father of yours. Trying your best to be just like him, for some strange reason. I'll bet both of you lick the scum from Voldemort's rotting flesh and love every minute of it. Grow up, Malfoy! Get your own life, and stop living your father's. Come on, Ron, let's go back to Hermione, our great, true, real friend." Turning sharply on his heals, Harry practically drug Ron from the room, slamming the compartment door behind him.

Once outside, Ron turned to stare speechlessly at Harry. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he could utter, "Bloody brilliant…just brilliant, Harry." His face broke into a wide grin. "Brilliant, Harry! Did you see his face?" Ron roared with laughter, walking down the narrow hall to find Hermione. "I mean, I thought he was just going to die!"

Harry followed Ron, the joy his friend felt nonexistent in himself. Yes, he had seen Malfoy's face. It was seething in anger, but sometimes, at certain words, he remembered seeing Malfoy flinch, almost like he had physically inflicted pain. Why? Why did he look so hurt, so very briefly. Harry saw it in those masked, mystifying grey eyes. He only voiced what everyone was thinking; it's not like he had stated any surprising observations about Malfoy. Somehow, though, Harry had deeply wounded Malfoy, and he knew it.

Ron found the room with Hermione in it, cooing praise to Crookshanks. He burst in the room, still laughing. "Hermione! You wouldn't believe it! It was just, I mean, Harry was like, and then Malfoy—" he couldn't even speak through his laughter.

Hermione looked at Harry, who had just sat down. "It's like he's trying to speak to me, but it's just in a foreign language. What happened, in English?"

Harry shook his head, and then told her of their latest encounter with Malfoy, not sparing himself at all. When he finished, he sighed and looked out the window. Noticing, Ron stopped laughing, and looked concerned.

"Mate, what's wrong? You won, he lost, what's the big deal? We got what we wanted; I'll bet that hurt the ferret like hell!"

Harry snorted in frustration. "That's it exactly, Ron. I didn't want to hurt him!"

Ron narrowed his eyes, not in anger, but in confusion. "Well then what did you want to do Harry? Because to me it didn't sound as if you were trying to compliment him."

"I just, I wanted him to lay off you. He has no right to speak of you, of your family that way. I didn't want to hurt him, but I did. And now I'm confused because I'm not glad that I hurt him. I should be laughing with you, Ron, why aren't you?"

Ron lifted an eyebrow. "Uhm, because you ate something that was bad for you? Perhaps you have a stomach ache?" he suggested tentatively.

"Oh Ron, honestly!" Hermione said. "It's obvious why Harry is feeling this way. He acted out of love, which is only natural. But in doing so he ended up acting like the object of his negative feelings. He isn't proud of this fact, because he's a good person. Bad people gloat over their enemy's pain. What Harry is feeling is a natural emotion in regards to hurting others, especially in a negative manner. It's easy, really," she finished.

Both Ron and Harry stared at Hermione, blank expressions on their faces. Finally, Harry nodded. "Well…from the bits of English in that, I think I agree."

"Where did you learn all that nonsense?" Ron asked her.

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly. "I took a class this summer on self-analysis and emotions at the local college."

Ron looked at Harry. "Even during the summer, can't take a moment off school. Has to go a Muggle college to learn even more."

"You just don't understand, Ron. It was exciting, really!"

Harry looked out the window while the two fought good-naturedly. Foremost on his thoughts was what Hermione had said. It was true, he was a good guy. He didn't take spoils of war. He was just Harry, the good-guy, whoever that really was. He never truly hated Draco as a person, just hated what he did and how he acted. But did that make a person who they were, or was there more on the inside? Shaking his head, Harry tuned back into his friends' fight, which had gradually gotten more heated.

"—how you learn from Muggles, I'll never know."

"My parents are Muggles, and they're wonderful people."

"Well I'm sure they are, but not nearly as educated as us."

Grinding her teeth, Hermione bit back a nasty reply. Deciding to intervene, Harry commented dryly, "Like your married."

Two pairs of eyes focused on him sharply. "What did you say?" Hermione asked.

"I said it's like you two are married. Fighting over each other's choice of activities, and then bickering over the in-laws. It's funny, really," he added, smiling at their expressions. Hermione blushed furiously and looked down while Ron mumbled something about "can't help myself" and looked away. Laughing, Harry beamed at his friends. "Come on guys, let's get something to eat. I think I hear the food tray coming."

xXxXxXx

How dare he pretend to know what I'm feeling? Who does he think he is? Just because he's the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't give him the right to even remotely think he understands how I work and why I do the things I do, Draco thought furiously to himself. "…self-conceited prick…" and "…carbon copy of that servant father of yours. Trying your best to be just like him…" The words kept floating back to him.

"Draco," a part of him whispered to himself, "are they true? Do you want to be like him?" The smoky tendrils of self-recrimination entwined themselves in his mind, ensnaring him fast. "You serve the Dark Arts for no other reason than the fact that your father, or rather, Lucius, serves them. Do you have no freedom? Are you bound to a future that you didn't make your own?"

Snarling to himself, Draco shook the thoughts away, mentally fighting the tendrils of doubt away. "Fuck Potter!" he said aloud, slamming his fist into the seat cushions next to him. At that same moment, Crabbe and Goyle walked in. Seeing Draco hit the cushions, they looked at each other, and then joined in, hitting everything in the compartment blindly.

"Fuck Potter!" they chanted, hitting the cushions, windows, everything in sight.

Draco snorted in disgust, amazed at their stupidity. "Idiots," he said aloud, but then stopped himself. They cussed and hit because they saw him do it. They served him blindly and would do anything to please him. Was that how he was with Lucius? Did he punch blindly and serve the Dark Arts for no other reason than he saw the man he thought was his father do it? When a fist came dangerously close to his face, he snarled at his friends. "Knock it off, imbeciles! What do you want to do, kill me?"

Stopping, the two thugs looked at each other, shrugged, and then sat down. "Sorry, Draco," Goyle muttered.

"Yeah, sorry," Crabbe nodded. Shaking his head, Draco only looked outside as rain began to gently soak the countryside.

xXxXxXx

"And now, let the feast begin!" Dumbledore said, sweeping his hand in a gentle motion through the air. Food appeared on the house tables as the clamor once again filled the Great Hall. Draco served himself with light foods, like bread, and water. His stomach still rolled at the thoughts he had been having on the train.

Looking around the Great Hall, Draco felt a wave of sadness swamp over him. Have there always been so many couples? He thought to himself. Everywhere he looked, there was a happy couple somewhere. Snorting, Draco even saw that mudblood and Weasel sitting close together. They murmured softly to one another and blushed every other second. Disgusting part of him told himself, while another part whispered, I want that. Tearing his bread into smaller and smaller chunks, Draco thought again about his soul-mate. At least thoughts of his potential wife didn't make his stomach pitch and roll like an angry wave. In a few weeks he would 17, and then he would find that perfect someone who would complete his life.

Across the hall, Harry watched Malfoy tear apart his bread. He was a stupid, slimy git, but he couldn't bring himself to want to hurt him. He would also rather face Voldemort again than apologize to the prick, but still. Looking at Ron and Hermione, Harry grinned widely. It was really quite funny to watch the two lightly dance around their love. Ron would say something really not that funny, but Hermione would laugh and giggle and flutter her eyelashes. Hermione would say something way too intelligent for Ron, and he would nod and agree as if he understood. Trying to smother a chuckle, Harry watched as Ron fed Hermione a berry, blushing the whole time. Gently his fingertip brushed against her lip and her checks flushed red, too.

Harry turned to listen to the conversation between Dean and Seamus about the Quidditch activity over the summer. While he had to stay at the Dursley's for awhile during the summer, he had thankfully been allowed to stay with the Order for the last month of the vacation. Sadly, though, he missed a lot of what had been happening in the wizarding world. Deciding to forget all thoughts about Malfoy and being a good-guy, Harry joined in the discussion, glad to be back home.

xXxXxXx

Lying in bed on Friday night, Draco counted down the minutes until he would turn 17. Born at exactly midnight, he anxiously awaited the two hands of the clock both reaching toward the 12, the moment when he would be 17 years of age. 5 seconds. Would he feel different? 4 seconds. Would his soul mate feel different? 3 seconds. What would he tell her? 2 seconds. What if she didn't really love him? 1 second. Here we go. His eyes glued to the clock, Draco watched it strike midnight. Finally, 17 years old. Breathing deeply, Draco closed his eyes, waiting for something, anything. A full thirty minutes later, Draco rolled over, annoyed and upset. His soul didn't leap out and say, "I'll be back soon; I'm going to look for our mate," or anything even remotely interesting. Hell, he didn't even feel a year older. Grumbling, Draco muttered, "I hate birthdays," and then fell asleep.

Awaking at dawn of Saturday morning, Draco felt sick. Getting up, he stumbled to the bathroom, vomiting in the toilet. What was wrong? He felt absolutely awful. Groaning, Draco staggered to the sink, splashing water on his face. Looking at himself in the mirror, he felt even sicker. Gods, I look like Death come to Earth, he thought. Inside, though, he felt even worse. It felt almost like there was a giant hole inside of himself, as if a large piece of Draco Malfoy had just gone missing and was lying around the hall somewhere. Going back to his bed, Draco decided to take the day off. It was Saturday anyway, homework could wait until tomorrow.

Around breakfast time, Draco awoke to a gentle pecking and soft coos. Lifting an eyelid, Draco saw one of the family owls. Sitting up, he took the package the bird offered him, with a letter attached to the package. "Go on to the Owlery, Dalton, they'll feed you there," he told the owl, gently stroking his feathers, wishing he had a treat nearby to give Dalton. The bird hooted and took off, leaving behind a surprised Draco. He never really cared about animals before, let alone wanted to reward one and pet it. He even tried to get that hippogriff executed third year. Perhaps it was the veela nature in him, making itself known and finding a way out.

Setting aside the unopened letter, Draco ripped into the package. He just loved getting presents. Inside the small box was a black, velvety jewelry case. Opening the box slowly, Draco saw the most beautiful ring he had ever seen. Silver and gold vines were entwined around each other, each claiming, but never quite possessing the other. Set in amongst the vines were emerald leaves, glistening in the light of the room. The main stone of the ring was a beautifully cut diamond, centered in the vines, surrounded by the emerald leaves. He had never seen this ring before; who was it from?

Draco set down the ring in its case, and opened the letter. Immediately he recognized his mother's light, curling writing.

Dear Draco,

Happy Birthday, my son. I want you to have this ring, but only temporarily. When you find you mate, give it to them, as my Arna gave it to me the night we completed the bond. It symbolizes the depth and power of the love that mates share. I read the letter Lucius wrote to you; I know I shouldn't have, but I felt compelled to. Do not listen to him, son. Follow your soul, trust your heart, let your instincts lead.

You probably felt a little sick this morning. I should have warned you, I'm sorry. It often happens when your soul goes to search for its perfect mate. Your soul hasn't really left you, but part of your essence has, searching the school for your true love. You'll feel empty for some time, but when you complete yourself with your mate, life will be wondrous. You will know your mate when you see him or her. Reading, Draco thought to himself…him or her? What does that mean? You will just know when you see them that they are the one for you. Keep an open mind, Draco dear. Sometimes, love can be found in the most unlikely of places.

Always fondly,

Narcissia

Him or her? Keep an open mind? What did all this mean? At this point in time, Draco did not feel like unraveling mysteries. Unhooking the chain that held his Malfoy medallion, Draco slid the beautiful ring down the chain next to it. Somehow, though, it didn't look right. There was this beautiful ring that looked as if it fell from a golden tree, and next to it laid the dark and dismal Malfoy medallion. Slowly, Draco took the Malfoy medallion off the chain, and laid it in his dresser. Climbing back into bed, Draco fell back to sleep, dreaming of falling in love with men and women in the forest, where all the leaves were green, gold, and silver.

xXxXxXx

Three weeks passed by since Draco Malfoy's seventeenth birthday, but he still remained alone. Girls watched his every move, admiring his perfect body. Some of the braver girls would come up to him to talk, only to get rudely rejected. He started to get angrier and angrier, lashing out at everyone. When Pansy told him one morning how stunning he looked, he snarled in response, stalking away. While retreating from his friends, he escaped more and more into the solitude of nature. Sitting by the lake, looking at the stars, watching the Forbidden Forest, Draco observed all the aspects of nature that he never really looked at before. Truly, it was magnificent. Every day though, he felt more and more alone. Where was his mate; why hadn't he "just known" who he or she was?

Walking into the Slytherin common room after dinner one night, Crabbe called Malfoy over. "Could you help with the Potions homework? I don't get it," he stated stupidly.

Scanning over the parchment quickly, Draco immediately spotted the error. "You idiot, you're doing the wrong assignment. It's page 314, not 413. Get a brain," he spat, and walked out, going to his room. Blinking, Crabbe looked at the paper, and then he grinned.

"Oh, huh, yeah. Wrong page." Laughing dully to himself, he proceeded to do the right assignment.

Draco entered his room and kicked his bed. He was sick and tired of being so damned upset! It was one thing to make fun of others and have fun doing it, but now he lashed out at everyone because of how horrible he felt. He was lost, empty, helpless, and so very, very alone. He wanted his perfect someone, no matter who they were, he decided. If only all the answers were in books, he thought, and then suddenly had an idea. What did that mudblood Granger always do when confused? She went to the library. It was worth a try, certainly. Sweeping out of his room and common room, Draco went to the library, ready to do some research on how a veela worked.

xXxXxXx

Finally, a stack of books and a large headache later, Draco had 2 feet of parchment with scribbled notes on it. Covering the page were notes on a veela's mating habits and other topics concerning his heritage. Scanning through the paper, Draco read what he had written. A veela's soul-mate is usually always well known to the veela. Well that made sense. Obviously you couldn't find your mate if he or she were another continent away and you had never met them before. The mate of a veela may not always be the most likely choice. Often, a veela's mate has been the source of many strong emotions throughout the veela's life. It has been discovered that these need not be positive emotions. That part confused Draco. Why would the mate be someone that you didn't have good feelings for? Why would your soul want an enemy for a mate?

If the veela's potential soul-mate is also a veela, and consequently of age, their soul will also be searching for their mate. In result, the two searching souls will find each other much quicker than that a soul searching for a non-veela mate or a veela mate who is not yet of age. Well, as far as Draco knew, there weren't many other veelas his age at Hogwarts. Most likely, his mate was a non-veela, which could explain why it was taking so long for him to find his perfect match. In some cases, it has been documented that a veela's soul will not find a mate. In these instances, the veela has usually led a dark life, hidden from nature and corrupting the lives around them. Their soul will not search, or if it does, it will not find a mate suitable for such a dark creature. They will lead meaningless lives, devoid of love and light. Panicking, Draco reread the lines over and over. He had been hidden from nature; outside was never the best place to be for such a fair skinned boy. He loved to corrupt others lives, it was just so fun before now. What if he had no true love, no perfect match. Was there even anyone out there for him? Scared, Draco tried to reassure himself. Of course there was, he couldn't help it he didn't know he wasn't a veela until just recently. His soul wouldn't hold it against him, or be lost forever because of that, would it?

Once a veela's soul has found its mate, and the veela has recognized their mate, the bond must be completed. If the bond is not completed for any number of reasons, both mates will continue to live, but their life would be more accurately called 'existing.' They will experience no more joy, or happiness. Their lives will be filled with emptiness, sadness, and loss. For happiness to exist, and for the bond to be fully fulfilled, the pair must mate to finish the binding of the souls. From this moment on, each mate belongs to each other and no one else. They will be bound in such away that science or magic cannot explain. They will know each other's thoughts, and feel each other's pain. Without one, the other cannot exist. Truly, they become almost one individual. Draco read in awe of the power of such a bond. It was amazing, actually, when he thought about it.

Half of the veela pairings are heterosexual, while the other half are homosexual. Some cultures consider this mating style odd, sometimes even disgraceful. This is not true among the veela, however. To them, every creature is a creature of nature, neither wrong nor disgusting. Two creatures coming together for love, no matter what the gender, is an exquisite thing. The veelas feel that no one else has to the right to condemn a person or judge a person on any basis, let alone who they fall in love with. Draco put down the parchment, the words heavy on his mind. So that was what his mother meant when she said, "him or her." There was a fifty percent chance that Draco's mate would be a male.

Heading back to his room, Draco mulled over all that he had read. How did he feel about possibly being gay? The wizarding world did not exactly frown down upon the act as much as the Muggle world, but there was still…some confusion and uneasiness regarding homosexuality. The wizards understood better than any Muggle, however, that no one has the right to judge another being on any basis. Therefore, homosexual marriages were allowed and celebrated like any other. Could I really be with another man, Draco thought to himself, climbing into bed. Apparently, all that he had read told him that gender did not matter to the veela, so, Draco accepted the fact that perhaps, maybe, the veela were right. If love was love, and it was pure and true, who cared what sex the partners were, as long as they were happy.

xXxXxXx

Sitting up in bed sweating, Harry Potter looked around the room. He felt as if someone was looking for him, calling his name. Grabbing his glasses off the nightstand, Harry settled them on his nose. He looked at Ron, who was sleeping deeply, muttering to himself, "…but 'Mione, you're the only one for me." Looking around the room, Harry saw no one awake or calling out to him. Confused, Harry took off his glasses and laid back down, only to feel himself being pulled around the middle. Jumping out of bed, Harry swatted at the air. "What the hell?" he whispered harshly, his wand at the ready. Silence answered his question, and then a mumbled curse from Ron made Harry spin around.

"What's goin' on?" the sleepy boy muttered.

"Nothing, go back to bed, Ron," Harry replied, climbing in bed himself. It didn't feel like anything Dark or tainted. This, calling and pulling, felt more like, a needing and loving feeling. He felt, almost…sad, not being able to respond to the pull that had continued to tug on his middle. It wasn't a physical pull, he realized, as much as it was a mental, emotional tug. He wanted to follow it, but every time he moved the tugging stopped. Harry tried to whisper to the force tugging his heart, "Please, I'd help you if I could. I don't know what to do. Just, show me, okay?" He felt a brush against his check, and then the pulling stopped.

Putting a hand to his face, Harry felt his skin. "Maybe it was just a breeze," he told himself, and snuggled down under the covers. Something strange was going on, something strange indeed. But then again, Harry Potter was no stranger to unusual activities. He would simply wait to see what it all meant, and that would be that.


A/N: So, so? What do you think? Let me know, please. I won't be able to make the fanfic what you want if you don't tell me what you want. Although there still wasn't much action in this chapter, there will be more to come, I promise you! So, make my day and press that little button down there to review, please. :)