I am not J.K. Rowling nor am I affiliated with her or Warner Bros. in any way. I do not make money off of this, it is written for mere enjoyment and further my writing talents.

Warning: Story is rated M for mature/dark themes, language, graphic violence and sexual themes. You have been warned.
*Note: This story takes place immediately after, Order of the Phoenix. So, this story will be considered an Alternate Universe fic.

Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela

Author: Schittlez

Chapter 1 - Vampire vs. Veela

(The Inheritance)

The extravagant manor sat on top of a massive, mossy hill. The white pavement contrasted with the dark lawn as it winded from the front of the gargantuan mound, snaking all the way up to the spacious land laid out before the enormous mansion. Flower bushes, full of coloring blossoms stood two meters tall; all were trimmed to have precise, straight outlines. The slightly moist grass was kept short, sparkling with a healthy glow. A stone fountain, modeled after an elegant looking witch and a young, handsome wizard, laid dead center in the lawn, away from the tall, front doors of the manor. Crystal-blue water fell from the spouts that were the tips of their wands—extended high in the air—and landed without noise into the calm pool surrounding the stone figures. If the atmosphere outside the pearly, white walls represented the interior, it must have been exquisite to say the least.

And that it was. The entrance hall alone was stunning by any standards. It was a long, wide corridor, lined with golden pots, which stood on small, matching tables. Roses upon roses that were bewitched to shine as emeralds, rubies and sapphires—too beautiful to seem real almost—settled neatly in each one. There had to be at least twenty sets of flowers along each side. Crystal chandeliers hung high from the ceiling, which stood almost ten meters, and formed a center-line heading towards the greeting area. Pillars guarded the welcoming carpet on each side, stretching from the stone steps outside to the far end of the corridor inside. The fabric was colored a deep emerald, embroidered with intricately placed gold trimmings. The floor underneath that pooled out to the rest of the room was a bold black with gold, marble designs etched into the tiles.

At the end of the hall, the room rounded out and rose higher. A double staircase led to the second floor. Stairs lined with black carpet and gold railings against the walls, rested on each side and connected as they reached the second floor. On both floors, hallways to either side stretched endlessly, decorated with carefully placed greenery and statuettes.

In the middle of the greeting area stood a tall, emerald-scaled dragon that curled as it rose to the ceiling, its glowing white eyes lighting up the entire area. Its talons and the rims of its tail and spine were painted gold, as were the teeth that were revealed from its large jaws.

The features of the Malfoy Manor alone demanded the utmost respect from all that dared set foot on the grounds, let alone enter the mansion itself. However, what really grabbed the praises and respect from the visitors where the people themselves.

Lucius Malfoy was the current owner of the Malfoy Manor. He stood tall and poised with long, sleek, platinum-blonde hair, always tucked behind his ears and not a strand out of place. His eyes were a piercing, gray color. His smooth, pointed face would be handsome had he not displayed it so harshly.

His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, was by far a beauty among others. Her silky strands of golden, blonde hair swept and curled past her smooth, thin shoulders and rested mere inches above her waistline. Her dazzling, blue eyes shined like sapphires, contrasting to her pale, delicate skin. She always walked with an air as if she were gracefully gliding an inch above ground.

The son of Lucius and Narcissa was none other than Draco Scorpius Malfoy. He inherited features from both parents, more so his father than his mother. At sixteen years old, he was a spitting image of his father in fact. He was blessed with the same platinum-blonde hair that rested just an inch below his shoulders and smooth, pale skin to match. His one physical trait that was conjured by both mother and father were his piercing eyes. They were predominately gray, but were adorned with tiny specks of a cerulean color.

Outward appearances gave off an aura of stunning beauty, unmatched by any other family. They took pride in every aspect of their lives, striving to remain perfect.

That was the perfect life within Malfoy Manor…

However, such looks were always deceiving. Their family wasn't perfect because each member did not look towards the aspect of being a family as something that needed to be perfected. They were always 'too busy' to focus on something so insignificant. All were arrogant and power-hungry—Lucius more so than the other two.

As the head of the household, he demanded full obedience and accepted no less. He was always engaged with everything and everyone else, making sure the Malfoy's outward image remained untainted. He very much neglected the inward appearance.

Draco knew this. He knew his family was less than perfect, and the fact that it was made his face cringe with disgust. He had always been brought up to be flawless, obedient and powerful. He always had to come out on top, because his 'dear father' accepted no less. If such standards were not achieved, Draco's punishments were beyond imaginable. Yet, Draco still looked up to him.

He remained faithful to his father, admiring the power that glowed off of him. His father could have well been the most powerful, feared wizard in the world. The Malfoy family line was one of the longest running bloodlines to date. And yet, Lucius was not the most powerful wizard to grace the land. His father was just some lap dog for an even darker wizard.

His father was a Death Eater. He was a servant—slave was a more accurate description—to the 'great and powerful' Lord Voldemort, a wizard who was feared by all. He was feared so much, no one dared to speak his name. His servants called him the 'Dark Lord' or 'Master'. Others referred to him as 'You-know-who'.

Draco was infuriated by how much of a hypocrite his father turned out to be over the years. Lucius brought his son up to make sure he was at the top of his class and the top of his game. He was taught to bow to none of his peers. They should bow to him. And yet, here lied Draco's father, the 'respectable' Lucius, bowing and kissing the feet of another.

How could his father stoop so low? And now, where had Lucius ended up for his loyalty to his master? Why, nowhere else but Azkaban prison; a prison for condemned witches and wizards. All feared going there and all feared dying there, but that was where Draco's father was, locked up behind bars like a common criminal.

One would think that Draco should be upset with his father, upset with Voldemort no less. No, he didn't take it out on them. As angry as he was, he remained loyal to his father, and dared not to have a row with Voldemort. So who did he blame?

None other than Harry Potter.

Harry Potter—the so-called savior of the Wizarding world. Harry Potter became famous at the age of one, when the Dark Lord himself apprehended him and attempted to murder him. Harry's parents did not survive but the young toddler did. The curse meant to kill him backfired and hit Voldemort, leaving him utterly weak and powerless. And what happened to Harry?

All he received was a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead and a credit to be marked as a legend among all wizards and witches.

He was still that famous boy, for Voldemort returned to seek revenge and the power he lost. So where did everyone turn when things got messy? Why, towards Harry of course. A teenage boy who had stood tall against Voldemort countless number of times and always managed to thwart the Dark Lord's plans.

It was that boy, with the help of another great wizard—an old, experienced man by the name of Dumbledore—who, just last year, had revealed that Voldemort had indeed returned. Not only this, but they had also managed to catch a handful of Death Eaters inside the Ministry of Magic-the Wizarding Government Building.

Draco's father was among those Death Eaters who were caught. So, Draco saw no reason why he shouldn't blame Harry. It was that conniving, meddlesome prat who caused all this. It was Harry's fault that Lucius was in prison, which meant that it was Harry's fault for having Narcissa, Lucius' beloved wife, left in shambles.

Knowing all this, one would ask, if the Malfoy family were having issues anyway, why would Narcissa be so devastated?

The simple answer was that she was a Veela.

Veelas were angelic-looking creatures who lived their lives searching for just one mate. Once that mate was found, they stuck by them, and loved them no matter what. They thrived on building a family and without that family created, a veela could not survive. Being a veela was the reason why Narcissa had such and extravagant air; and it was also the reason why she was so distraught.

Days melted into weeks, and everyday Narcissa sat by the tall, oak-trimmed window in her study, staring out into space, overlooking the vast stretches of fields in the back yard. The location of the prison, resting far away, was in said direction. She seemed to notice nothing in particular, but perhaps hoping that one day her beloved would return.

Every day, Draco would pause at the doorway as he passed to go elsewhere and ask his mother if she needed anything, but she always silently declined with a wave of her hand and sent him on his way. Draco sighed as he entered the doorway to his quarters. He wondered if he would ever end up like that. The thought was not welcoming to say the least.

Since his mother was a Veela that made Draco half-Veela. In essence, Draco would come upon a time in his life where his Veela inheritance would come and change his life forever. His beauty, enchanted by a powerful allurement, would be recognized by all, making him seem irresistible, yet untouchable.

And that time had come for Draco. His allurement charms and sense of yearning for his mate kicked in the moment he turned sixteen in April. Yet they remained weak until the inheritance that was passed from mother to son occurred during the summer after he returned home from school. So now, not only was Draco stuck without a father and left with a moping mother, he now had an undying urge to flee from the manor in search of his mate.

The part that infuriated him most of all was that all of those troubling aspects were out of his grasp. He could not bring his father back, meaning his mother would remain tragically depressed and the one hope of happiness left could not be attained until he left the manor.

Draco slammed his fist on the wall beside the door to his chambers before advancing and falling on top of his elegant, four-poster bed. The velvet comforter was a silky, navy blue with a marble design of a sky-blue color sewn in the fabric. Matching curtains hung from the posts surrounding the thick, cozy mattress. He glanced over at the white marble-trimmed, stone fireplace, a crackling fire readying the room for the cool, summer night—the castle-like walls creating a drafty effect no matter what time of the year.

A relaxing idea, to allow Draco's mind to escape from everything, came into play just as he pulled his head back against the silk-lined pillows and closed his sleepy eyes. 'I know what would help…'

In fact, it always helped. Immediately sliding off the bed and strolling over to the silver door that lay right next to it, Draco entered and sighed with satisfaction as he gazed around the room…

The breathtaking bathroom was lined with silvers and greens, reminding him of his home away from home, as were the furnishings. The silver-rimmed stone sink had an elegant, emerald countertop that stretched from one wall to the next. Over to the right was a dark-green futon with silver railings. And lying right next to it on the opposite wall from the doorway was a silver-rimmed, emerald-lined tub that stretched at least three meters long. It was an in-ground bathtub with ten matching faucets-five on each side. With a flick of Draco's wrist the faucets automatically began pouring out crystal-clear water.

Draco smirked at his ability to cast wandless magic. It wasn't an easily attainable skill, but his Veela inheritance helped with the factor a little. Still, the amount of very minor spells he could cast in that manner he could count with just his two hands.

Two faucets, one on each side and set in the middle of the two rows of five, began to deposit a milky-white substance. He started to undress. His black slacks, matching trousers, silver tie and white, button blouse slid soundlessly to the floor. His lean form went to retrieve the items and folded them neatly, placing them on the countertop. The taut, chiseled muscles in his smooth back and flat, defined stomach contracted with the slightest movement as he strolled over towards the awaiting bath water.

Grabbing an emerald, cotton towel on his journey there, he placed it on the floor before slipping his feet into the depths of the pearl-colored water. Slowly sinking into the scalding hot liquid, Draco could already feel the troubles slip away like the water between his fingers. Leaning back against the rim, he felt the edges of his silvery-blonde hair soak with him. The scent was intoxicating as silver vapors rose to his nose. As he inhaled the aroma, a sense of blissful dizziness consumed him and he let it take over; just as he let the substance surrounding him soak into his pale skin.

Yes, this was a good idea…

And just as the water started to still around his motionless form, the flat surface began to ripple once more as Draco was startled—startled by a haunting vision.

It was a person, but not just any person. He could feel it running through his veins. He felt as if their presence was right in front of him, in the tub—accompanying him.

It's them! his mind shrieked as he furiously shook his head to clear it. It was his mate. This feeling only occurred when they were experiencing a terribly strong emotion. And Draco could feel exactly what emotions his mate was going through at that moment.

Hate, hurt, anger, a sinful desire for revenge…

Whatever his mate was going through right now, it was causing them to suffer. Draco clenched his fist, slamming it into the water, splashing it over the edge. It spread on the tile floor and just barely missed his towel.

His eyes grew stormy-gray with cold rage. How dare they? Whoever was doing this to his beloved would pay dearly.

Then, Draco suddenly snapped himself back into reality. Veela or not, a Malfoy did not lose control. Besides, there was nothing he could do to resolve the problem. Even feeling his mate's emotions was not enough to find them; not when he was stuck here, at the Manor. Very soon, he thought to himself, I will find you. Just wait until I return to school.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was the school he had been attending since he was eleven. Draco would be entering his sixth year there. He knew he would find the one within those castle walls when he returned. Draco had knowledge of this because, along with the desperate pull in his heart, he caught the faint scent of his mate, floating through the air during the end of his fifth year. However, he had no time to search for that special someone—being it was the end of term—and reluctantly agreed to find them when he returned in September, when he had more time and his inheritance was already received.

Draco sighed and settled himself deeper into the water until he was submerged neck-high, his hair swimming around his face. With a deep, shaky breath, he regained himself and was forced to relax once more.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back, Draco slowly nodded off with endless visions of emerald green jewels smiling at him.

The door to Harry Potter's bedroom was shut with an ear-splitting SLAM! Harry just stared at the door, his emerald eyes blazing with hate, anger and hurt. A foreboding need to seek revenge upon his so-called 'family' rumbled in the pit of his stomach. He despised being here, but he was stuck without a choice. He heard the deadbolt on the other side of his door click into place and, with a steady jingle of keys, heard his Uncle Vernon stomp through the hallway, threatening to shake the pictures off his small desk.

Harry huffed in defeat for the millionth time that day, but immediately regretted it when an all-too-familiar pain rippled through his ribs. He hissed in response as he slowly stood up, taking careful strides to the small, shabby wardrobe closet that lay beside the bedroom door. Pulling open one of the double, wooden doors, a body-length mirror was revealed. Immediately, yet gingerly, he raised his over-sized, flannel T-shirt that used to belong to his whale of cousin, Dudley.

Purple and black blotches were etched in his skin over his ribs, matching the marks that lay in patches, over his face. The areas around the bruises were red as cherries. Harry growled at his reflection, hating these painful reminders that no matter what happened, he would have to stay within the depressing walls of ugly, chipping, yellow wallpaper. Such a room was far too small for a fifteen year-old—sixteen to be exact once tomorrow arrived.

Focusing on the bruises again, he cautiously slid the shirt over his tanned, toned stomach. Underneath all the baggy garments was a pretty decent, tone figure, but his size still seemed too small for his age. If he kept this up, he would be blown off his own broomstick the next time he tried to fly. The reason was simply because he was malnourished and forced to slave around the house all day. In fact, his task of doing daily chores was the cause of his newly sustained injuries.

He was walking into his aunt and uncle's house after a few, long hours of lawn work underneath the sweltering, summer sun. After performing chores like that was the only time he wished to be inside. However, getting caught up thinking about returning to his real home, he never paid any mind to the dirt that was encrusted underneath his worn sneakers.

His enraged aunt, Petunia Dursley, immediately shrieked and cried over her tile floors, ordering him to thoroughly sweep and mop the entire kitchen floor before dinner. His eyes shot daggers of green ice, but he reluctantly obeyed nonetheless. Successfully sweeping up the contents, Harry was relieved his job was halfway through. But his dear-ol' cousin, Dudley, had other plans in mind. He waddled into the kitchen on an expedition for a hefty snack to settle his appetite before dinner, and just so happened to notice the bucket of mopping water that was lying behind Harry.

Without hesitation, Dudley knocked it over with his stubby, elephant shaped foot. Water spread all over the kitchen and even started soaking into the carpet of the connected family area. Of course perfect, iddle Duddikins didn't get the blame. He never did. Harry was the one who had to answer to his uncle.

Vernon, who was sitting at the table with a cup of tea, shot up, knocking over his teacup and its contents. With pure hatred gleaming in his eyes and his face growing more purple by the second, he forcefully knocked Harry in between his shoulder blades with a shaking fist. Since the abrupt attack went unsuspected, a vulnerable and unprepared Harry fell—face first—onto the floor. His uncle bent over him and grabbed Harry by his raven-colored hair.

Violently yanking Harry's head back in a rather uncomfortable angle, his uncle huffed forcefully in his ear, "You will mop up every drop of water from this kitchen floor and carpet even if you have to suck it up with this unruly, detestable excuse you have for hair." Then after slamming Harry's face into the floor, Uncle Vernon rolled him onto his back and pressed his incredibly large, wide foot deep into Harry's chest. "Do I make myself clear boy!?" Harry could only reply with a weak nod, no air available in his lungs.

After roughly pushing his foot off of Harry's chest, Vernon growled all the way back to the table, cursing the teenager for making him spill his tea, and Harry struggled to pull himself back up to proceed cleaning again. Somehow, and he still didn't know how such a miracle could happen, Harry managed to clean the entire mess, even get the water up out of the carpet; but it was finished well after dinner. Harry guessed it was quite easily after eleven o' clock by the time he had finished.

His uncle would not permit him to leave until the carpet was completely dry. And once that was accomplished, Uncle Vernon grabbed him roughly by the collar, a small plate of food in his other hand and marched Harry straight up to his small, sorry excuse for a bedroom, which was where he sat now.

Resting on the short, dirty mattress, Harry yearned for the next month to go by as quickly as humanly possible. Then, September 1st would arrive and he could return to Hogwarts, his real home. He was fed-up with having to be trapped in his own bedroom, like a prisoner. 'Now I know how Sirius felt…'

However, the immediate thought of his godfather didn't brighten his spirits any. The reason behind that was because he could no longer get in contact with his only true, remaining family member whenever he was feeling worried or depressed—or just needed some comforting advice. His godfather was gone.

Dead.

The word still rang in Harry's mind like an unstoppable bell caught in a pendulum. Harry never thought he would have to fit the words 'Sirius' and 'dead' in one sentence. But that one dreadful phrase kept floating in his mind… Sirius was dead.

Harry forced away the burning tears that threatened to surface like so many other times he recalled the memory of his godfather. Hell, for those short, two years that Harry knew him, Sirius was a father to Harry. The father Harry never had.

Harry couldn't rest upon those thoughts right now. He wouldn't. He had to be strong; but why did that concept seem more impossible as the days progressed? Blinking away the last traces of excess moisture beneath his lids, Harry glanced at the clock on his bedside. It barely worked, considering how old the poor thing was—the green numbers kept blinking—but it was still functional. At the moment it was blinking 11:59 pm. That meant just one more minute until July 31st. Harry's sixteenth birthday.

Yeah right, Harry scoffed to himself. Happy birthday to me… yippee.

And as if his thoughts transferred from his brain to the clock resting on the shabby desk, the clock immediately changed, now blinking 12:00 am within the screen. Harry expected to feel nothing. He never really did when his birthday approached because it was during the summer, when he was stuck at the Dursleys.

Something was different about this birthday, though.

As if on cue, immediately after the clock's face changed, something within Harry started to constrict.

Pain was searing through his chest, and the cause was not due to his recent bruises. This pain was more internal, wrapped around his very heart. Harry collapsed on the floor in agony, unable to move, as the unbearable sensation spread through his bloodstream like wildfire right down to the tips of his fingers and toes. His blood felt like molten lava as if it would burn through his skin any second. 'What the hell?!' Harry screamed inside his head, hoping his body would answer.

"What's… h-hap-happening to m-me!" Harry choked out, but it wasn't his voice that escaped his lips. It exploded like a deep, animalistic growl.

He struggled to crawl to his wardrobe closet. His fingers clawed at the wooden floor beneath him. It was only then that he realized his fingers were sprouting bloody, razor-like nails beneath his original, stubby ones. They slowly pierced through his skin; every millimeter that extended sent another searing pain hissing through his body. He desperately needed to see what was happening. Even now, he could feel his body twitching in horrible angles and positions as it started some strange metamorphosis.

Panting uncontrollably, his lungs begging to cave in, he finally reached the open door to his wardrobe closet. He gazed at the bottom of the mirror, his reflection staring back at him, and it terrified him.

His eyes were bloodshot-red!

Not the veins in his eyes, but his eyes—in their entirety—were glowing red.

Before being able to fathom what was happening, a seething, immense jolt of pressure exploded inside his head, pounding against his scar. He growled in blinding agony and collapsed right where he lay—unconscious to the rest of the world.

And immediately after he did so, the clock started blinking 12:01...

Draco Malfoy immediately bolted upright in his bed.

The silk sheets and linen pajamas stuck to his skin with every movement. To say he was startled was an understatement. He couldn't even fathom it—the devastating nightmare he was startled awake from. Was it a nightmare? It couldn't be. He was feeling that familiar tug once more. It was a desperate pull, but a pull for what?

For help?

Draco immediately clutched his hand to his chest and glanced at his bedside clock. The silver, sparkling numbers informed him that it was 12:01 am. Desperate to control himself once more, he collected his breaths before doing anything further.

It had to be his mate; there was no other explanation. However, they were experiencing an insurmountable bit of pain, almost like they were dying. He experienced this horrible phenomenon in his sleep as if he was going through the torture himself. His own veins almost burned to the core.

Then, as soon as it happened, it stopped just as abruptly. This was the aspect that scared him even more. His mate's signal didn't slowly fade away as it normally would. It was if it just vanished into thin air. Where was his mate? He felt helpless for not being by their side this very moment, but there was nothing else he could do. For the moment, he could do nothing but wait.

Straightening his hair back into place, Draco settled himself completely onto the mattress once more. He turned on his side and gave a tremendous sigh, which felt more like a shudder, as he regained himself and fell into a restless sleep…

…To Be Continued…

Reviews are what keep me alive in this fanfic world. I died once, I will not die again (looks maniacally at the review button)… you know you wanna push it! Oh, and flames will be used to roast my s'mores. I dare you! Roast my marshmallows, damnit! o.O

Slythindor: Excuse her… she's unstable.

Schittlez: Hey look! My muse finally decided to join us (hugs Slythindor)

Slythindor: Let go of me you crazy wench! Go tackle Gryfferin!

Schittlez: (sniff sniff)…

Slythindor: Don't you dare!

Gryfferin: (enters room) did someone summon me?

Slythindor: See! There he is (shoves Schittlez over to Gryfferin)

Schittlez: (looks up at Grifferin) Will you roast my marshmallows?

Gryfferin: HUH!

Schittlez: Credit for inspiring me to incorporate half-veela/Draco and vampire/Harry goes to:

-Magnetic Attraction (written by: Frizzy - you go girl! She was my original inspiration)

-Milk is My Sugar (written by: Michael Serpent – RIP, you were a gift to the writing world and there are those who will never forget you, me included.)

-Family Secrets, Hidden Desires (written by: VirginSuicide – Never finished but she inspired me to incorporate the Vampire/Harry. And who doesn't love a vampire?)

-A Song, Unsung (written by: Well, I forgot her author name. If the author is reading this right now, let me know so I can give credit where it's due. Personally her story is ultimately amazing and dark! She is superb at writing and isn't afraid to express her opinions. There's so much I can say about it but I gotta cut this short. Just read it for yourself. Lots of morbid goodness in there too! Not for the faint at heart.)