Draco is a Veela who came into his inheritance early, but something has been blocking him from finding his mate. After a second summer of searching, Draco returned to Hogwarts for his sixth year to find that his greatest rival has changed, although no one else seems to notice. As he digs into the life of the Boy Who Lived, what will he discover? DMxHP. Good!Dudley. Manipulative!Evil!Dumbledore. Rape. Abuse. Ron bashing.

A/N: VERY IMPORTANT! The prologue occurs in the summer between fourth and fifth year, but the remainder of the story is during their sixth year.

Prologue

Draco sat in the middle of his large bed, the thick comforter piled around him like a nest. A dull ache filled his body, but he ignored it. The muscles that had been cramping so painfully not a few hours earlier were not as much of a concern to him anymore. There was something else that was far more wrong.

He glanced over at the clock on the bedside table and frowned. It was five in the morning, five hours since the fifteenth anniversary of his birthday had begun. The giant wings on his back fluttered in annoyance and sadness at the thought. His heart ached. He was supposed to have felt something by now, but there was nothing.

There was a knock at the door and Draco's head whipped towards it. His father slipped into the room, his white blond hair shifting slightly over his black robes. Draco covered his face with his hands and fell back onto the bed, groaning.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lucius studied his son. His shirt was in tatters, hanging loosely from his frame like rags. Two wings, as white as his hair, were spread out. They stretched out to almost ten feet and glistened faintly in the light that sprung from the burning fireplace. His long strands of hair were wild and loose, resting softly on pillow under his head.

"Nothing still?" Lucius asked.

"No," Draco moaned, dropping his hands to his sides.

Lucius shook his head, astounded.

"The Malfoys have always come into their inheritance early, but I've never heard of this happening before," he murmured.

"A Veela whose mate's identity is complete blocked from him?" Draco hissed in anger.

"Unfortunately," Lucius replied.

Sitting up, Draco looked over at his father, eyes full of sadness. Lucius met his gaze, replying with a loving look. Reaching out, the older Malfoy brushed the wild blond hair as he attempted to tame it for a moment. When it refused to cooperate, he turned so he faced Draco.

"The future that we once thought was clear is no longer such. I don't know what this will do to you, Draco, but you'll have to endure it. For most of our kind, to be away from our mates for long is a painful experience," he murmured.

"But I don't have the ability to find my mate like all of the other Veela!" Draco shouted.

"No, you don't and we need to figure out why. We have the two months until school begins to search, but, no matter what your reservations are, you are going to go when that time ends. I won't have you falling behind. Meanwhile, I will continue to search for answers," Lucius said.

"What if I never find my mate? Will I have to live for the rest of my without my mate like you?" Draco asked sadly.

"We'll just have to take it all as it comes, but what do I always say?"

"With hard work, a Malfoy will always get what they want."

The night outside was a tempest, fierce winds rattling the windows on the other side of the metal bars. Rain fell in heavy sheets, soaking the world so that it appeared blurry and faint to his eyes. Lightning flashed and crackled, illuminating his tiny bedroom every now and then. When the thunder followed not long after, the roaring it brought was welcome. It distracted him from the pain that coursed through his entire body as it tried to form the beat and rhythm of a soothing lullaby.

Sleep, however, eluded him completely. All he could do was lie on his bed, his body curled up into a ball as he watched the storm rage outside. His fingers dug into the scratchy sheets beneath him as he silently cried. The tears ran horizontally down his face, completely ignored. His mouth and chin were contorted into the tight face of sadness and his body shook with sobs, but he made not one sound. If anyone heard, the punishment that followed would only get worse.

Blood from a single open cut that ran along the entire length of his right jaw pooled somewhat on the plateau of his cheek. More of it soaked the sheets, but, just like his tears, he ignored it. He was too used to it being there to really notice.

His room was dark and dirty, every surface except for the bed covered in dust. The only breaks in the field of white particles were the small footprints that had created a trail from the bedroom door to the bed. In one corner, a white owl sat preening her still wet feathers. Her gold beak made quick work on any dirt that had gotten stuck between them during her long flight. The letter she had delivered lay on the floor next to the bed, abandoned, its contents haunting the boy's mind.

Slowly and quietly, the bedroom door creaked open and a teenage boy quickly stepped inside. He closed the door behind him, a steaming bowl of water in one hand. Making his way over to the bed, he set the bowl on the small stool that served as the bedside table. The blue eyes of the teenager moved over the picture that sat in the broken frame on the stool, saddening as they gazed at the three people in it.

Turning his attention to the much smaller figure on the bed, the teenager reached into the bowl and retrieved a soaked cloth. He wringed it out and carefully started to clean the wounds on the thin shoulders. The smaller teenager didn't even move as he was silently tended to, his mind shattered.

When he was finished with the back, the larger boy leaned over his cousin and started to wipe away the blood from his cheek. This finally garnered the smaller teenager's attention as he turned his dull gaze up to the figure over him. He tried to crack a smile, but it quickly faltered, chin quivering. A giant hand stroked his black hair and the overly thin boy closed his eyes, fighting back more tears. Curling up as tightly as possible, he clenched the hand that was offered to him, holding on like it was the last thing that connected him to life.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Dudley murmured as he gazed down at his broken cousin. "I'm so sorry."

"He didn't believe me. He said that I was just being paranoid and that I was safe here," the black-haired teen murmured, his voice almost nonexistent.

"Even if he had believed you, they couldn't have done anything. He would have already gotten you before they arrived," Dudley whispered back.

"That isn't the worst part. At least he wouldn't have trusted me enough to believe me," was Harry's quiet answer.

"May I read it?" Dudley asked.

Harry nodded and relinquished the hand so Dudley could get up and walk around the bed to where the letter lay. Dudley Dursley had once been a hulk of a boy, always the largest in his class. Now though, he had lost weight and his skin sagged in places. He'd even built up some muscle from the intense workouts that he'd assigned himself.

Easily leaning down, a feat that he couldn't have done even three months earlier, Dudley picked up the letter and unfolded it. As he scanned the contents, his sadness was replaced by rage, but he fought it down for his cousin's sake. Finished, he looked down at his broken cousin and sighed, letting it drop back onto the floor.

It read:

Dear Harry,

I do not see why you believe these delusions. I admit that your aunt and uncle aren't the kindest people, but they would never hurt you. Put these fears aside and look at the facts. You've lived with them for almost fourteen years and they've never laid a finger on you. Why would they now? You're perfectly safe there.

As such, I cannot remove you from the Dursley's home as you requested. You will remain there for the remainder of the summer until the school term starts. Have fun and enjoy the freedom that summer brings.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore