I wrote a "Draco is a Veela" fic years ago, and in my opinion it hasn't really stood the test of time. So since I have time, I thought I might try another one of these!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters and don't profit from this story!

Chapter One: Happy Birthday

On the eve of his eighteenth birthday, Draco had prepared everything.

With great care he had rearranged his room at Malfoy Manor in such a way that he could easily reach the platter of dried meat and Doxy eggs from his bed. He had removed most items from around him, closed the curtains and the shutters. His bed was devoid of his usual silk sheets, instead he had folded a simple comforter by his pillow.

He glanced at the clock - 11:40 - and sighed heavily.

He gave himself a moment of reprieve, passing his hand through his disheveled hair and cursed under his breath.

Swiftly he cast a silencing charm over his room and started to settle on his bed. He put his left hand into a cuff that was attached to the bars behind his bed and whispered a timer incantation, automatically unlocking the cuff after 12 hours. He cuffed himself on the other side and performed the same spell wandlessly.

He checked that everything was secure and breathed deeply, waiting and bracing himself for what was to come at midnight.

He had been preparing for his inheritance for years, however, he had hoped, and expected, that he wouldn't be alone for it.

The eventuality of his father being killed in Azkaban, and his mother fleeing the magical world in shame, hadn't truly occurred to him.

The war has been over for the better part of six months. Draco and his entire family had stood trial for the acts committed during the war. Lucius had proudly confessed to his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Knowing the evidence against him, there was no doubt he would be charged. Draco always figured that by bragging about his position by Voldemort's side, Lucius hoped to gain some notoriety amongst the inmates at Azkaban. He did as it happened. It had just gotten him killed.

Draco and his mother had equally stood trial but were found innocent after there was proof enough of Lucius' coercion. The real game changer for them had been Harry Potter's testimony of how they had helped him during a crucial moment in the war when he had found himself inside Malfoy Manor.

After Lucius' murder, Narcissa had started to receive threats. Combined with the shame of keeping up a fallen family and the pressure of living normally in a new world that wouldn't accept her, she had been incapable of staying and had retreated into the Muggle world.

Draco had understood and knew of her whereabouts. She had of course offered for him to come too. But the last thread of Draco's pride made him stay amongst his peers, vowing he would rise above his circumstances, at some point.

But for his birthday, he wished he wouldn't have to do it alone.

Not that he would have expected his father to be particularly useful in this context.

Fucking prick.

But his mother could have been there to advise him.

As it was, Malfoy Manor was void of any presence safe for himself. He had let the estate get dilapidated, not having the money to entertain the idea of having a maid or a gardener.

What's the point anyway?

It's not like their family name has any value anymore, even less so with Draco's coming inheritance.

He had always known that his maternal grandmother was a Veela. In normal cases, the Veela gene is transferred only to the female descendants, however, Narcissa had had a miscarriage of a daughter before having Draco, and it is thought that it thus transferred to him, as her only descendant. Perfect.

He had readied himself the best he could: learning about the usual directives for the coming of age, and promptly doing the opposite.

Had he not been tied up, screaming at the top of his lungs from the burning sensation spreading from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers, he would have flown out into the night and found his mate, he would have started courting them, and he would have found a happily ever after that was just a bloody myth created to sell stories to sappy Gryffindor girls.

Draco was not a sappy Gryffindor girl, he was about as opposite as the opposite can get.

So he was not going to fly into the sunset and find his mate, thanks. Like he needed any of that drama. He'd be the exception to that damnable rule.

Click.

It barely registered in Draco's mind that the cuffs had come undone, until his arms fell heavily against his sides, a sting in his shoulders omnipresent.

Superficially he looked very much like himself, safe for the fatigue that had taken over his delicate features and the way his hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat.

When he lifted his head and breathed in deeply, a small blue shine could be perceived within his eyes. His entire skin seemed to glow.

Inside however, he didn't feel like himself.

Draco reached for the comforter next to him but felt only the remaining shreds of it. He didn't remember quite what had happened during the night, but he knew it had hurt.

He had felt a pull that was so strong he had bruised his wrist trying to escape. He wasn't even sure he could explain it. It was like his heart was being pulled out of his chest, leaving only a thread to guide him.

It didn't feel like he was reaching for something new.

It felt like he was grasping at something he had been missing. He felt empty and distant. When he watched his hand move, it was like seeing a painting move for the first time, frame by frame being drawn. It didn't feel natural. When he touched his skin, it was fleeting, like his hand was made of paper and barely grazing him.

Everything felt faraway. He felt faraway from his body and his mind. Like a veil had been drawn around him, separating him from the world, and making everything just a little blurry, a little bit off.

Draco opened his curtains and shutters, allowing the sun to reflect on his smoother porcelain skin.

For all intents and purposes, in that light, he looked like an angel with his shine, his beautiful eyes turned blue, his platinum hair and his translucent skin.

He put his forehead against the window. Surprised at how cold the rays of the summer sun felt on him.

Soon he would have to return to Hogwarts; the disgraced Slytherin Prince. No title, no family, not a sickle to his name. All he had was himself and he felt that slipping away from him slowly.

As if I haven't lost enough.

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