Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela

Chapter 11 – Changes

(Giving In, Part 2 - Unlikely Savior)

By: Schittlez

The heat was unbearable. His heart was an active volcano, sending massive amounts of lava swimming through his veins. On top of that, the burning soot seemed to travel to his lungs at an alarming rate. His throat had already started to singe from the hacking he had to endure sending all of that fiery smoke up to his nose. He would give anything at that moment to stop breathing.

… Scratch that. Just send a killing curse his way. He wanted to snuff it as soon and as quickly as possible.

Draco had no idea how he made it from the Medical Wing to his dungeon dormitory, but there he sat on his bed, heaving in breaths that burned his chest every time he inhaled. At least the room was unoccupied by any fellow Slytherins. The day's lessons were only halfway over, which meant the Slytherin common room was almost completely empty as well; save for a few bodies. He had spent half the morning in the infirmary upon the insistent request from Professor Flitwick during his Charms lesson. Draco didn't mind. The lesson was far too easy anyway.

Another shaky breath entered his lungs and it ignited another fit of debilitating coughs. The agony was too much and Draco gave way to gravity, falling on top of the mattress. The bed jerked underneath the pressure of a few more hacks and finally settled once Draco felt that the wave had subsided; but the moment when that source of noise faded in the air, another audible burst erupted from a different section of the room. The sound of his door slamming had Draco grudgingly pulling himself up off the bed and glowering at whoever disturbed his first peaceful moment in weeks.

He sighed when he realized his death glare would get him nowhere when the intruder was none other than his Head of House. Draco groaned exaggeratedly, collapsing back on the mattress once more, arms spread out and blonde strands of hair sprawled in all directions underneath his head.

"Skipping classes?"

The blonde Slytherin scoffed but didn't bother lifting himself from his comfortable position. The cold sheets were welcomed by his sweltering skin. "Madame Pomfrey excused me for the rest of the day. You can ask her yourself."

Draco caught the sound of his Professor's footsteps clapping along the hardwood as he approached his student.

"Was that before or after you physically attacked her?"

The teen graced the Potions teacher with the sight of his face. "You heard?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You expected me not to find out?"

"No. I hoped you would not find out."

"Well, you know better than anyone to even tempt such emotions. As such, your well-deserving punishment will be administered in due time. The case in point, which is why I am seeing you during my free period instead of grading essays, is this illness you've found yourself under."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I've not fallen ill. Just a little under the weather—I'm fine."

"How I wish it was that simple; then I wouldn't have to be setting myself behind schedule in setting up next semester's curriculum by seeing to it that your 'problem' is taken care of."

"Please, don't let my little issue interfere," Draco shrugged as he waved his hand; but Professor Snape seemed intent upon staying right where he was. "Honestly, sir, it's nothing. I'll be back in class first thing tomorrow. I just need rest, is all." However, as soon as that statement was uttered, the teenage wizard's chest shook violently once more as he gagged on more burning coughs.

"Once again, how I wish," Snape drawled as he drew out his wand, muttered a few silencing and locking spells upon the dormitory entrance and moved closer to the occupied four-poster. "But it seems that if we do not start to resolve this matter, you might not find yourself taking classes for very much longer."

Draco involuntarily wiped his hand across his mouth before speaking, words coming out in pants as he regained control of his breathing. "What do you mean by that?"

"This really isn't my place. Trust me when I say I'd give my wand hand to avoid discussing this with you…" Snape sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Didn't your mother discuss the consequences that ensued once a Veela is unable to find his mate?"

Draco's eyes sparked at the mere mentioning of his mother. Despite how dysfunctional his family was his parents were still people that he had admired. Their high level of status and reputation was something he coveted and couldn't wait to obtain for himself. Now their name was tainted with scandal and he was the only one left. His parents were ripped viciously away from him and a mere teenager was left to do damage control amongst the scrutinizing eyes of the wizarding world.

All thoughts of mounting pressure and mourning were brushed away the moment the blonde Slytherin heard the faintest sound of one seemingly-impatient professor clearing his throat.

"Well? Did she?"

"…Yes," Draco hesitantly replied. He didn't like where this conversation was headed.

"How much?"

"What?"

Snape sighed again. "Did she give you detailed information after you fell into your inheritance about the guidelines and consequences in finding your mate, building a relationship with your mate and ultimately… bonding with your mate?" The last part came out strained.

Draco couldn't believe his ears. What right did Snape have to bring this up? The blonde Slytherin's eyes changed from a very faint-blue, unclouded sky to a stormy-grey one. He even had half a nerve to shove his professor's words back down his throat with a scathing reply.

Of course he knew. He had been brought up to learn and discover almost everything being a Veela did—and would—have to offer. However, the only area that was still fuzzy was the topic of consequences for bonding, or not bonding, with one's destined mate—being a half-Veela probably did alter some factors also, he was sure. Not to mention his mother was primarily too busy moping while he fell under his inheritance, and therefore, 'final details' might have been left out here and there.

But it didn't take an Arithmancy Master to calculate what the fates had laid out for him if he didn't bond with his mate soon. He just didn't know the details of how he would meet his demise; but witnessing his mother leaving this world first-hand gave him a vivid idea of the possibility.

He knew discussing this with Snape was not a good idea, considering his situation; but the man was relentless at the very least. "I believe so."

"Think hard, young Malfoy. This is crucial for your survival."

Grey eyes darkened even more as he scrunched his eyebrows together. Since when did he need to relay his personal relationship with his Head of House? Thoughts of his meeting with the Headmaster and said Potions teacher flooded through his mind.

"Professor, I am in no condition to go diving into my brain to uncover the depths of its memories. I'm far too tired to even know what I'm thinking right now. Could we possibly conduct the rest of this conversation in a blunt manner?"

"You are obviously having trouble finding your mate or else you wouldn't be currently suffering from Veela Separation Syndrome," the Potions teacher immediately spat out.

Draco snapped his head at Snape quicker than a spell cast. There was no way… "But sir… I-"

"Have you found your mate yet?"

The hesitation did not sit well with the Potions master. He shifted his full body to face Draco, urging him to answer.

"…Yes," the blonde Slytherin was reluctant to reply.

"Okay," Snape's drawl trailed off. "In any case, even if you hadn't found your mate yet, you wouldn't start to undergo the symptoms of this illness until two months before your next birthday anyway. The reason I'm postulating is that you're having a hard time retrieving said person, am I correct?" Draco's silence that followed suit confirmed his suspicions. "They rejected you didn't they."

"He hates me is more like it…" the blonde teen immediately clapped his hand over his mouth. His eyes shot towards the other occupant of the room, who he could see was clenching his jaw. The room was devoid of any sound for a few more moments.

"…Granted I am aware that Veela have no sexual preference when seeking a mate, I prefer not to know any student's choice of flesh, whatever it may be." The blushing blonde merely nodded in response. "Either way, we must find out why he is rejecting you… He must be openly doing it or else you wouldn't be suffering right now. Is it because he is not gay? I'm quite sure an ambitious character of your magnitude could corrupt him just fine."

The younger Slytherin merely let out a breath he felt he'd been holding for far too long. He was uncomfortable enough, having to relay his gender preference. Now the Potions master was discussing it with him as though they were merely giving opinions on wizarding politics while sipping tea.

The older wizard clicked his teeth, clearly annoyed with his pupil. "If I am mistaken, and I usually am not, were you not the one who said we needed to continue this conversation in a blunt manner?"

Draco hated it when he was right. "Yes, sir, but that is not the reason why."

"They why is this fellow student—he is a student, right?"—Draco nodded—"Then why is this fellow student pushing you away so vehemently? I admit Veela have the tendency to pick the strangest of candidates as life partners. Sometimes their mates are real challenges to acquire. For example—like it may be in this case—they don't have a compatible, sexual predilection at first; but I've rarely—and I do emphasize rarely—come across references where one subconsciously selects an impossible companion."

The young half-Veela glared at Snape, tempted with the information he possessed; but if what Snape said was true, did that mean that Harry must be…? Or could he turn out to be…? Impossible.

"He didn't reject me because I'm a guy. I probably couldn't even get that far. He hates me because I'm Draco Malfoy."

The Head of Slytherin merely scoffed. "Even so, I doubt even many Gryffindors could refuse you if you applied yourself, simply because you are Draco Malfoy. On top of that, although it is weaker than that of a pure-blooded Veela, you have the use of a lure. The only way I could foresee you never obtaining your mate is if he was, say… Ronald Weasley, or…"—Snape actually allowed himself to chuckle, albeit darkly, in amusement of the idea—"Harry Potter."

When Draco immediately started to become fascinated by the intricate, silver patterns woven into the black rug beneath his feet, Professor Snape's eyes went wide and lost all mirth. "It couldn't possibly…" Draco only shrugged in response, now playing with the edge of a pillowcase. Minutes snailed themselves across the room before the dark-haired wizard cleared his throat. "Well… which one?"

The young Slytherin let go of the satin material and began picking his nails, never looking his professor in the eye.

"…The latter of the two."

His sentence decided to hang around the suffocating atmosphere as he witnessed the teacher standing before him sport the reaction one would display when doused with a pail of ice water. Draco could even see the older man shiver.

"Well then… I guess this would be one of those rare, impossible occasions then." The blonde sixth-year frowned. Snape walked over to him and clasped a hand over the boy's shoulder. "Do yourself a favor. Just kill yourself now and get it over with." His tone was completely casual as if the suggestion was merely a simple one.

"With all due respect, that's not funny." Draco snapped.

Snape's face held no emotion as he replied, "Who said I was joking?" Though when the teenage-Slytherin's icy orbs retorted with a set of brass daggers, the professor sighed and finally sat down for the first time since he entered the room. "Alright, young Malfoy put the sharp eyes away… May I remind you that I am still your Head of House?"

The blonde student reluctantly tore his gaze off of his professor.

"To say that your situation is… severe is an understatement. You need to find a way to resolve this. And unfortunately you have only one option if you want to make it out alive. I can't believe I'm even allowing myself to say this… "

Draco dreaded what would be spoken next.

"You must mate with…"

"Ugh—don't say it," the young Slytherin cringed.

"Mister Potter."

The way Draco's shoulders fell slack was a sign of defeat. Hearing someone else verbally draw out his situation made the voice in his head ring true for the first time in over a month… his mate was Potter. What in Merlin's name was he supposed to do? What string of fate decided to tie those two together? And who had snockered themselves with Firewhiskey when they tied the threads?

Snape allowed the thoughts to seep into the boy's head before he continued with his proposal. "This choice is up to you of course. I have no say in your personal affairs whatsoever," continuing his statement with a muttered 'Thank Merlin'.

Draco was lost in a massive, swirling dilemma. Thoughts compiled together and flew through the winds of said-storm faster than a swarming band of insects. The blonde teen could even feel an agitating buzz picking up and humming against his ears.

"Young Malfoy,"—Draco raised his gaze upon the professor—"Do not take what I am about to grant you lightly. This is only because of how dire your situation is… not to mention it was mainly the Headmaster's idea. So, starting today, you are hereby excused from your courses for the period of a week. Within that time I advise you to take it upon yourself to gather your health back up by resting out this wave of illness and finding some means to stop it from developing further," Snape said as he began to excuse himself from the dormitory. His emphasis on 'means' weighed on Draco's body like a lead weight.

As he released his spells and pulled the wooden door open, he turned his head to the side giving the boy a profile view of his face before adding, "The only obligation you have will be serving detentions as I see fit for three days out of this week, starting tomorrow. I suggest you get plenty of rest and report to my office first thing in the morning at seven sharp. Do I make myself plain?" Draco simply nodded, unable to argue any longer, and the Professor left without another word. Leave it to Snape to not make anything easier if he could get away with it.

When the Slytherin was left alone with nothing but his thoughts, he really began to wonder if he'd survive this year. One task that needed to be accomplished in order for him to survive conflicted with another and so on. What was the best course of action?

As if to respond to his queries, his body began shivering violently. The clammy feeling crawling all over his skin had not left him since it started up a few days ago. No matter how many times he stood in a shower or soaked in a tub the icky sensation never left.

Draco hung his head and sighed. If he didn't at least befriend Potter soon, he was dead. To believe that his life was in that wretched Gryffindor's hands. He hated Potter even more, already blaming the boy for everything else.

Storm clouds rumbled underneath his closed eyelids as he strained to find a proper solution. Could he even possibly reverse the rivalry that had been brewing since the moment he initially proposed a friendship between the two? He didn't have a choice. If he was to preserve his life and the Malfoy's legacy, he would have to change his demeanor around Potter.

Being nice to Potter… even contemplating it seemed to make his nausea increase; and yet, at the same time, some small shred of comfort settled in his chest, easing the tremors. It must have been because he was reassuring himself that his reasons were completely selfish. He kept chanting that mantra in his head as he feebly made his way over to the bathroom to take yet another bath, wondering where he should start. Turning Potter around, let alone getting the boy to be civil with him, would be the trick of the century.

Draco ventured into the dorm bathroom and as he stripped his clothes and slowly stepped beneath the steaming spray from the shower faucet, he also made a mental note to study further into his heritage. He needed to know every shred of detail there was to know about being a Veela so he knew exactly where he stood. If his mate was someone tolerable, he wouldn't have to even worry this far. Now, though, he was faced with a complicated situation and he needed to have the upper hand at every moment.

Encouragement swam over his skin just like the scalding liquid that swirled down his body. He leaned his head back and sighed, closing his tired eyes. He could do this. He was Draco Malfoy. Nothing was out of his reach.

Harry's trip to Gryffindor Tower seemed to take a lot longer than usual. It didn't help that his steps faltered and slowed quite often when his mind kept reflecting back to his encounter with the Headmaster, back in the Infirmary. The sixth-year concluded that when that man wanted to make someone feel a certain way, nothing could stop him. Guilt painted itself all over Harry's skin; he absent-mindedly rubbed the goose bumps off of his arms as he entered the common room, not wanting to do anything but go up to his room and back to bed…

"Harry!"

…It seemed like someone had other plans.

Harry looked up at Hermione, who was surrounded by books as she sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. Ron was sitting next to her, but didn't respond as lively. The red-head merely glanced up acknowledging that he realized the raven-haired teen had just entered the room, and then returned his attention to a book that Harry was sure he wasn't even reading.

The sandy-haired girl rushed over to him before he could even get three steps in. He halted his feet while she immediately grabbed his shoulders and looked him over. Merlin, she was as bad as Mrs. Weasley.

"Hermione, what're you doing?" Harry sighed, not wanting to be touched right now.

"Are you okay? Gosh, Harry, I was so worried. You didn't come back last night and you were gone all day. I tried to ask Professor McGonagall but she said she didn't know anything either and when we found Professor Dumbledore earlier before lunch, he said to merely wait in the common room after classes. And… and… oh Harry, what happened?"

"Breathe Hermione," Harry insisted as he grabbed her hands and pulled them off his shoulders. "I was only gone for one night." But Hermione's intense stare never wavered. "Look, training with Snape got a little rough and I fell unconscious—nothing to worry about," he quickly added when the bushy-haired Gryffindor's eyes went wide. "I've just been trying to learn a lot to prepare myself and I went a little over-board. I regained myself in the hospital wing and I'm fine. I even have permission to skive off tomorrow's classes to rest up a bit. See, no need to blow your top."

Hermione looked as though she calmed down a bit, knowing nothing serious happened, but her eyes still had that creepy, calculating gaze in them.

"Well, I don't think Professor Snape should be pushing you so hard. Yeah, we have a war to fight, but it's the year before N.E.W.T.s, you're the Quidditch Captain—" there was an 'hmph' in the background that went ignored by both Harry and Hermione, "—and you're teaching DA meetings again. You've got a lot on your plate Harry. You should be more careful not to stress yourself… If it's so bad that you have to miss classes to keep up your energy, then I think a re-evaluation of priorities is in order."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it would get back to the topic of school. "Her-mio-ne," Harry pulled out his infamous whine that always got the girl to cave in. "I know all that, alright? But right now, I don't want to think about all that. I just want to go up to my room and pass out, okay?"

The brown-eyed girl seemed to be having an internal debate, but immediately softened when she saw the pleading look in her friend's tired eyes.

"All right," Hermione sighed. "But you're not in the clear yet. I want you to take more caution. You have your health to think about you know."

Harry humored her with a smile before scooping up her hands in his and kissing the back of them. Once again, the girl softened even more. "I know. I promise. Just, starting tomorrow, okay?" Hermione reluctantly nodded and let him pass so he could tread up the stairs to his dorm.

The hike to his bed was too long and he was more than relieved when he finally collapsed onto the wonderful mattress. So much so, he didn't even realize how fast he fell asleep. One second's worth of feeling the inviting blankets against his skin and Harry was lost to the realm of reality.

The swirling, dark abyss was cold and cruel as it always was when he waited. He hated these particular dreams and yet, he yearned for them every night. He despised how it always started the same lonesome way; despised how he had to wait and when he was fed up with being patient, he had no way of breaking free; but most of all, he despised how he nevertheless chose to wait, like a loyal puppy who knew his owner would return. How pathetic.

Then, his sneer quickly faded from his pointed face as he felt a change in the aura around him. Once again, he was no longer blind to his surroundings. He could actually take in the fact that his surroundings were just black. The malevolent gusts stilled all around him and warmth started to spread over him. He knew what was coming next…

Just as Draco had suspected, it was not long before those familiar, strong hands wrapped up from behind him.

"We have to stop meeting like this," a voice purred in his ear.

He could feel the amusement as the chest behind him rumbled from a small chuckle. Why couldn't he respond? He would gladly reply with a witty retort like, 'Well, if you prefer, we could always go to my room.' He opened his mouth and not one ounce of vibration would erupt from his throat. No matter how much he moved his lips, he could not create a sound. His frustration was getting the better of him. Being helpless was not his forte'.

And just as he thought he might explode from the negative tension, his body was once again being massaged by the most unlikely person he'd ever thought possible. So what if it was just a figment of his imagination? It felt real—as if Harry Potter was really behind him, teasing every fiber in his body.

The thought would have probably disgusted him a few months ago; but now, it was the most exhilarating feeling he felt in a long time. Firm hands worked gently along his frame, tracing his arms up and down, then pulling behind him to knead and rub his back; and he could only help but gasp when they ever-so-slightly grazed across his arse as they wound back around to his stomach.

He tilted his head back just a bit, relishing in the heat that swirled and traveled behind the path of those talented fingers. They were currently underneath his shirt, working up towards his neck. The tip of one of the digits brushed past his nipple and it took all of his strength not to fight against the bonds that held him incapable of turning around. He was left to suffer. Suffer from whatever explorations his mate wanted to venture towards.

Mesmerizing hands reached their destination—Draco's shirt pulled up along with them—trailing along his collarbone; and just as he began to sigh and relax against the touch, a pair of soft lips joined the fingers, planting sizzling sensations on top of Draco's shoulder. The blonde Slytherin bit hard on his lip as Harry's tongue licked and his teeth nipped at every inch of skin, from the nape of his neck to the back of his earlobe.

Did he have to be subjected to this torture every time he had this dream? Would there ever be an outlet? The swell in his pants prayed to Merlin that there would be; and as if someone had tapped into his mind, he got his break…

Unfortunately, it wasn't the one he was hoping for.

Draco knew something was wrong when the air around them changed once again, which never happened until the dream state he was trapped in would begin to dissipate. Though this time, the feeling among the wind was completely different. Different from the beginning, where he could feel the abyss he was engulfed by—and different from the heated rush that swept through when he was tugged away from his mate and out of his subconscious surroundings… out of his dream.

This aura was just… unusual. And scary. Definitely scary.

Unnoticed as it always had been this year, the blue tint that created a film over grey eyes faded away and stormy clouds took over Draco's objects of sight once more as uncertainty filled his thoughts—and he had good reason to.

The palms resting on his shoulders that were once slightly warm were now clammy and hot. Hands that were once gentle gripped harder than the blonde teenager was comfortable with; and arms that were once inviting were frightening as they reached out and clenched tighter—one wrapped around his torso, the other, his neck.

Draco let out a silent cry of protest. What was going on? Was Harry actually still behind him? Or had another, more deviant entity taken his place? The unnerving part was he could still feel the other sixth-year's essence but it was mixing with something else, something… darker. What was happening to the raven-hair behind him? Did he even want to know?

If the blonde could emit any type of noise at that moment, he would be shouting. His eyes grew wide as he felt his skin threatened to be pierced. Hot breath rolled over the skin of his collar. A low growl erupted in his ear as his throat was caged by a strong, unyielding hand.

Draco's eyes darted here and there before finally closing shut when his neck was ripped into by unforgiving daggers. Everything exploded before him, bright and painful; a loud ring violently pierced his ears. So much pain! And as if the world around him housed protective instincts and decided enough was enough, he was tugged away from his mate once more. Seeing as how the monster behind him wouldn't give up without a fight and began raking its nails down his chest as he departed, Draco was more than grateful. Unfortunately, his Veela blood boiled with remorse and confusion. It didn't want to leave; couldn't seem to understand what was going on. Bubbling with every emotion known to one's human mind could be overwhelming. He wanted to scream the walls down…

And as a bright light filtered through the darkness, that he did.

Sweat streamed out of pale skin and drenched, blonde locks as Draco shot up out of bed; even the curtains draped over his sleeping area were unable to contain the dramatic sight. The blonde quickly fought to regain normal breathing, among other things. The last thing he needed was for people to become more suspicious of him than they already were.

A bare—or padded—foot hit just the right spot in the room, in front of the door, which creaked under any pressure, providing Draco with the evidence that someone was a witness to his—most-likely animated—reaction towards his nightmare; the remnants of which still permeated in his mind. His elegant hand pulled the hangings open just enough to see that the voyeur was none other than Blaise Zabini. The dark-haired, dark-skinned teen, whose haughty presence rivaled Malfoy's own, acknowledged Draco's return to the conscious world by turning his head towards him, his back still facing the disheveled blonde.

The quirk of an eyebrow and his fellow Slytherin merely faced the doorway once more and exited the room.

If the grey-eyed wizard had been in a right state, he would have dragged his dorm mate back by the collar and bonded him to secrecy with a little insurance in the form of threats devised from the darkest depths of his mind; but Draco wasn't in his right state of mind.

All he could focus on was his dream. It seemed so real; right down to the pain still throbbing in his neck. He absent-mindedly reached a hand up to it and rubbed—all the while thinking about what could have possibly caused his startling vision. Every thought that flooded in reflected on one thing… Potter.

Even though it was a dream, something about those dreams made him feel connected to that Gryffindor for some reason, as if it were a real, present vision shared by their minds. The only problem was if that was the case, was the transformation that Potter subconsciously experienced something that reflected a real, physical issue? That alone was disturbing. Draco could vividly recollect the frightening aura that surrounded him—dark, lustful and painful.

Was Potter in some kind of trouble? Self-preservation in mind of course, Draco knew he needed to find out…

To say that Harry awoke with a start was an understatement. The moment his blood exploded with boiling pain, he shot up into a sitting position with inhuman speed. Sweat poured out in rivulets, soaking the clothes he'd yet to change out of since his return from Madame Pomphrey's ward. His arms quivered as they removed his shirt and began their feeble attempt of wiping his face clear of moisture.

What had his dream consisted of to make him react so?

As if waiting for that very question to be addressed, the trembling pain in his body gathered and centered into his stomach, and Harry involuntarily lurched forward wrapping his arms around his abdomen.

"Not now," he weakly demanded of himself. How could his body be so out-of-control so soon? He remembered Professor Dumbledore's words clearly during the agonizing lecture he received hours ago in the hospital wing; he was afraid he still wouldn't be able to get rid of the quiver that erupted whenever he recalled how icy the headmaster's eyes became when he calmly scolded him in a way only the Headmaster could achieve.

However, Harry was unaware that he was in immediate need of heeding the old man's orders to sustain his own control and prevent his vampirism from 'running amok' again—as the professor had worded it. He'd assumed he had at least a day or so to get used to the idea of hunting before his body would demand such foul nourishment once more. The screams of hunger inside him were proving his assumptions false, though, and were itching for a way to get what it needed. He had no other alternative this time, and, from the way he couldn't help but leer at the other sleeping occupants in the dorm, he knew he needed to get outside as quickly as possible.

Shoes and robes completely forgotten, the only thing Harry gave a moment's notice and went to reach for was his invisibility cloak. Doors were pushed ajar just enough for him to slip through and steps were leapt over three, four, five at a time as he kept nothing but his destination in mind. He wanted his hunger-driven body to focus on nothing else but its goal and not the minute-few, wandering bodies lingering in the halls, whose faces went unnoticed.

They were all food to his howling blood. It would be so easy to snip up an unsuspecting student—who would be too busy sneaking around themselves—or a hall-monitoring prefect and provide his stomach with quick relief. They wouldn't know what hit them. They barely registered him running, if that's what it could be called. It felt more like he was gliding past them; and when they did take notice, and turned in said-direction, he was already around another corner, through another door or down another staircase.

Recalling enough years' experience of staring at the marauder's map, Harry took the passage he knew would hold the least security while still giving him a short path to his destination. He breathed in the sweet scent of the night air as it slapped him in the face when he reached the clock tower courtyard, drowning out the scent of all the human blood calling for him back in the castle. His body seemed to twitch with disappointment and sped up in frustration. However, it only took mere seconds for elation to swell within him again as the scent of the forest, and its inhabitants, grew closer.

Harry's mind faded into darkness, growing blank as pure, animalistic adrenaline began to take over. His speed and strength grew to unfathomable levels as he tore through the forbidden forest in search of the most gratifying game. His blood grew to melting temperatures; his eyes turned the darkest crimson they ever held...

... And Harry was lost to the world.

Draco had been on his share of hunts for potion ingredients. Some of them even led him to corners farther in the Forbidden Forest than some teachers have ever trekked; but this was ridiculous. The distance he had to travel and the amount of different items labeled on the parchment list he kept pulling out of his robes was maddening. He was set out by Snape to begin his search the moment dawn broke over the horizon. Draco allowed himself a glance towards the sky when a clearing in the forest was finally reached and the canopy of trees broke apart, permitting him to do so. The sun bared straight down, perpendicular with the ground below. High noon, the Slytherin noted to himself. He had been at this charade for almost five hours!

He knew returning with spoils that amounted to less than what he was set out for would be far more than unsatisfactory for the Potions Master—not to mention, Malfoys never did anything half-arsed—but his body was screaming for a break. He knew sleeping the remainder of the day before would do little for his health, but Snape was treating him as though that was all he needed. Draco rarely thought negatively of the Head of his house, but a slight nerve was twitching to hex the man. Maybe a memory charm. Just enough to confundle him into forgetting that he ever assigned Draco detention.

Grey eyes darkened as he sighed, knowing that thought was impossible, but the need for a short rest was indeed in order.

The clearing he found himself surrounded in was by far the biggest he'd ever seen that resided within the forbidden land's borders. The treetops above held branches that were many meters in length, permitting little sky or sunlight to pass through, giving the illusion that the land spread out before him was smaller than it seemed. However, as he took in the meadow and realized just how far the tree-built perimeter truly stretched around him, Draco noticed that the clearing spread easily more than three times the size he originally assumed it did.

The ground beneath him was very uneven. Rocks covered with moss were expertly camouflaged within the surrounding grass they burrowed themselves into. Luckily some were bordered by flowers of various assortments, so Draco made sure to tread lightly around the small, circular fences of reds, yellows, blues, and violets.

He exhaled pleasantly when he came across a crystal-clear brook that trickled and flowed directly across his path. Setting his satchel down softly, he bent down and splashed the refreshing water on his face, wiping away any sweat and smudges that had collected from his trek through the woods. He was definitely taking a well-deserved soak in the prefect bathroom when he was finished with his business here. As he straightened himself up, something on the edge of the clearing caught his attention.

An object perched on a boulder.

It wasn't just any object. It was a cloak; one like he had never seen. To call it immaculate wouldn't have been an understatement. It would have been an insult. The material literally shimmered with power, calling out to him; and even though Draco noticed he was moving closer, it felt like it was pulling him rather than him walking. His hand was stretching out of its own accord, literally itching to touch it. The magical object before him was mere inches away from his fingertips…

And the fabric had just grazed his skin—the immense softness of it allowed to register in his mind for only half a moment—before he was ripped viciously away from it.

Five, very sharp points pierced through the skin of his back and hooked into place, yanking him like an object being summoned by an Accio charm. His body sailed through the air before hitting a tree on the other side of the meadow and rolling back towards the ground.

The pain was intense… but the anger bubbling inside him was boiling over, beyond measure; and before Draco could even comprehend what was happening, his body began changing.

His eyes were shimmering silver as the pupils within them grew thinner and stretched vertically into two, little black slits. He could feel his nails stretching as well. Whoever had the audacity to toss him around like that, well, he wasn't planning on letting them live long enough to regret it.

He kicked himself up with amazing speed and turned towards his attacker, baring teeth that grew sharper by the second. Draco had already pushed up off the ground into a mad sprint before his eyes finally settled and focused on the extraordinarily daft victim…

…His feet slid to a halt. He was frozen in place; the only part of his body that moved was his heaving chest, trying desperately to reel in calming breaths. The picture before him was wrong. All wrong. There were too many issues about the sight standing in front of him for him to be able to determine which one baffled him most.

His attacker was none other than Harry Potter.

The fact that it was Harry Potter wasn't actually the confusing part. Potter always hated him and Draco returned the favor with ferocity. So, being attacked by him per say wasn't too hard to grasp.

It was everything else.

Potter did not look like Potter. Draco realized that early on in the year already; but this green-eyed wizard had now managed to stun Malfoy a second time. His eyes were blood red, almost glowing. His hands were equipped with claws—that would explain his bleeding back—and his teeth were more menacingly sharp than Draco's.

But Potter wasn't moving, which was the second peculiar thing. If he initiated the attack, why wasn't he continuing the fight? His body was crouched defensively but the raven-haired boy was stock-still and taut like a trigger, as if waiting for someone to pull it.

Draco decided to take this small moment in time—however long it would last—to gauge the situation better. He would have easily won the battle in his Veela form were it any other person, even with his change being a rushed, fraction of the actual transformation Snape had been teaching him to tap into. Normal full-blooded Veelas only transformed when provoked violently and had no control over their actions except instinctual behavior alone. Being that he was half-Veela, it didn't control his mental state as harshly and many meditation practices had went into his lessons with his professor to keep Draco's mind his own if he was ever provoked into becoming that infuriated.

Nevertheless, rushing into this fight would have been foolish. Power rolled off of Potter in waves as well. It made the blonde teenager's skin tremble slightly. Obviously, with this new information in mind, the wizard in front of him wasn't fully human either. Draco's stomach began to dip as he put all the physical pieces he was witnessing together into one full puzzle.

This being occupying the clearing with him was a vampire!

Thoughts of the entire school year that had passed by so far burst through his head. All the peculiar behavior, catching Potter out late at night in the halls, heading towards the forest, his meeting with Dumbledore when they ran into each other, his physical changes… and his dream last night. It was Potter's teeth that pierced his throat during his nightly vision. How in the hell was Potter a vampire?

If the growling figure poised in front of him wasn't so intimidating, his rivalry attitude would have shot Potter's way for hurting him—and for muddying up his clothes. But he couldn't bring himself to retaliate. The pull in his chest moved in every direction, confusing him. It was tugging his malevolent thoughts behind and shoving his lustful ones forward.

Although now wasn't the best time for those. Potter looked ready to pounce the moment a leaf hit the ground the wrong way. Draco had to come up with a solution fast. The boy needed to calm down, to be brought back to his senses. Maybe then he could escape without being injured again. The twinge in his back was a lovely reminder of what Potter was now capable of.

Thinking through all of this took only a moment and it took only a fraction of that amount of time to remember Snape's suggestion of a lure. The only problem was he didn't want an irrational, bloodthirsty creature pawning after him; but he had to do something…

And then it hit him. If he could emit one emotion to seep into a person… why not another? He needed to focus carefully else he might not come out of this forest alive. He didn't want to close his eyes, but his powers of meditation hadn't stretched that far yet. He slowly slid his lids shut and concentrated. His Veela instincts were sitting there waiting for him to use them. He could see them plain as day within himself. However, it wasn't quite what he wanted. He needed to bring together the right type of thoughts when tapping into them.

He began to pull out his lure, yet centered on an entirely different emotion as he did so. It was mentally stressful to say the least. He thought of everything to make the emotion ring with as much power as possible. The emotion of calm and ease.

He couldn't tell what was happening around him as he was directing all his energy into pouring out energy. He couldn't even focus on whether or not it was working.

And then a 'thud' resonated throughout the clearing. Draco waited a moment before allowing himself to see what had happened. When he did witness the result, he mentally sighed with relief. Potter was on his hands and knees, desperately trying to breathe. He seemed to notice nothing but the ground facing him. And was that a sob Draco detected? The shirtless wizard in front of him—why did he only now notice Harry shirtless?—punched the dirt beneath them, creating a small divot from the hole he just made. The half-dressed vampire shivered violently, but the blonde Veela was sure it wasn't from the temperature.

Draco couldn't stand to see this pathetic act of a breakdown much longer; it was too awkward to say the least, especially considering who was having it and who was witnessing it. He very casually cleared his throat to announce his presence but the other person's reaction to it was more than nonchalant.

Potter shot his head up, emerald-eyes as wide as galleons; more or less from being caught in such a state, Draco assumed. But said orbs grew even larger when realization dawned on the Gryffindor as to who was watching him. And everything went downhill from there…

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Potter shrieked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Hello, Potter, nice to meet you too. You know, the last time I checked, despite your arrogant displays of being a glory hog I don't remember you owning the Forbidden Forest as part of your list of achievements."

"That's not what I meant, Malfoy, and you know it! What are you doing here in this very spot? How did you find me?!"

"Once again thinking the world revolves around him. It wasn't like I was looking for you, you dense twit. I'm collecting potions ingredients, not that you would know what that looks like. You wouldn't be able to comprehend that even if a how-to manual slapped you across the face."

Potter's anger was increasing by the second. Draco could feel it. He knew he should be careful or else the Vampire in Potter would most likely come out once more, since he obviously didn't know how to control it from what Draco witnessed. Not to mention, his heart started clenching with every insult he threw at the boy and he could feel his sickness rising up once more; although it felt duller when the object pulling at his Veela blood was standing right before him. But he couldn't help himself. A few months worth knowing that Potter was his mate couldn't erase years of hating the git.

"How much did you see?" the question seemed to rumble out of the Gryffindor's chest more than actually come out of his mouth.

"Come again?" Draco threw an eyebrow up.

"How much did you see, damnit?!" Potter shouted, causing a few birds resting on the branches above them to take flight.

"Wow, Potter, that's the thanks I get for preventing you from rampaging through the school, hurting the other students, getting expelled and then sent to Azkaban for being an unregistered Vampire? Such an ungrateful, little vampy you are," the blonde Slytherin tsked in mock disappointment.

And instead of shouting more demands—or even threats—like Draco had expected, the color just seemed to drain from Potter's already pale face, if that were possible. He gave off a very transparent look; skin, eyes and all. He looked defeated. That was the best word Draco could use to describe it.

Then, without any hesitation, the sulking Vampire turned around, spared a partial moment to collect the cloak resting on the boulder and tore deeper into the forest quicker than a bolt of lightning, leaving Draco alone once more.

Unexpectedly, his body began to feel as empty as the meadow now seemed; as if it reflected his soul. Why did he feel this way? Damn Potter to hell, Draco cursed to himself as he slowly strolled over to the tiny brook to collect his satchel.

"Um, why aren't you going after him?"

"Ugh, not you again… I thought I got rid of you."

"Very funny. You didn't answer my question."

"I thought my scathing welcome would be answer enough."

"You know resisting this is only going to kill you in the end."

"I don't care… If it was just about any other person, I would go after them. But it's Harry-blooding-fucking-Potter!"

"You mean to tell me you didn't feel anything at all while he was present, here in the clearing with you?"

"I don't have to answer that."

"No, your refusal to do so is answer enough."

"I'm not going after him."

"Suit yourself. Kill yourself for all I care. Go be suicidal and self-righteous. Because that's what a Malfoy is really all about."

"You know, your skills in sarcasm are seriously lacking."

"Nevertheless, you know I'm right."

Draco sighed and directed his feet in the direction Potter left. He could find him easily enough. All he had to do was follow the pull his mate was giving him. "Why am I doing this?" he inquired the trees that he past as he grudgingly sped up a little. If he didn't pick up the pace, he'd never catch up.

And all the while, pushing away brush and stepping over logs, he continuously muttered, "Self preservation, self preservation, self preservation..."

...To Be Continued...