Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the world of Harry Potter. All recognizable character, setting, props and ideas belongs to JK Rowling. No copy infringement intended, no money is being made off this fan fiction. It is written solely out of adoration and for fun. Don't sue. I'm broke.

Warning: this is HPDM slash with a Veela!Harry and a Dark!Draco. There is none of that sub or dom thing going on here. Sexual explicit with language.

Author's Note: I kind of miss all those creature fics, especially the ones involving veelas. So yeah, decided to make one for the second time. Here's my take on it. Enjoy the ride! 8D

Thank you for beta-ing, Sailormulti01!

Harry Potter was an exceedingly handsome man.

At the age of one, he injured one of the world's most powerful and evil sorcerers, Voldemort. He banished him to limbo, where the lord barely thrived between life and death. At the age of eleven, he became Hogwarts' youngest Seeker ever, being a first year when he joined the Quidditch team. At the age of fourteen, he competed in the famous Triwizard tournament, a challenge that once only resided for those who were over seventeen. At the age of seventeen, he defeated and terminated the Dark Lord once and for all; thus, lived up to his given title, and at the age of eighteen, he became the youngest Head Auror in the history of Britain Ministry.

Harry Potter was a person of characteristics and accomplishments. He had gone through school, made friends, put up with his Muggle relatives, and done his potion homework – all the while balancing the weight of the world on his other shoulder. Some call him great, haters call him not, but most of all, we need to know the fact that he was an exceedingly handsome man.

Why, might you ask, was that detail the most important of all? Why not talk about his deeds? Why must we talk about his looks, the part that least concerned a hero? Looks weren't important to true heroes, why was Harry being handsome important?

Sometimes Harry wondered why too.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're very handsome?" Verona MacBethe said and took a small sip of her tea with her pinkie sticking in the air.

Verona was a beautiful half-blood witch with lustrous brown hair and bright blue eyes. She was the daughter of one of his best Aurors in the department. They met at a dinner party last week.

He smiled back, a gentle and polite smile he used all the time. "Why, what a compliment Ms. Macbethe, you enlighten my heart," he answered, succeeding at keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. She blushed, muttered thanks and continued to sip her tea.

Harry sighed. He was twenty-three and hadn't had a steady relationship after he broke up with Ginny three years ago, even though women catered themselves to him every day. Maybe it was because of his title and money, maybe not. Every single one of them called him handsome. That wasn't false by any circumstances because handsome was what he was. Still, Verona would be a good lay but no more, just like the rest of them.

"That's what you are," she said again, this time in a whisper and with a deeper, redder blush. "That's what you are, Mr. Potter. I think you're very beautiful - Oh my, did I use the wrong word?! I'm sorry-"

"Nothing to go ballistic over." Harry cut her off with another smile. He didn't feel like having sex. He was too tired.

"I'm sorry, but I can't seem to find a proper synonym at the moment," she said with a hint of humor. "I mean, you always look so good in those pictures in the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly. I just thought you'd be... less appealing in person, since that's what I deduced from personal experience. People always looked better in photos, especially with all those editing spells they have today to remove the flaws. If I didn't know better, Mr. Potter, I'd think they've added flaws to your pictures."

Yes, Verona was very easy sounding. "Why are we here discussing my appearance when there's an even fairer lady in my presence?"

At his flattering words, she giggled again.

"You're beautiful- Oh, I don't mean to be rude. Men can be beautiful too."

"I love you."

"Hello handsome."

He stepped back and viewed himself in the mirror- a nightly ritual he would always perform after the evening shower, gazing indifferently at the face that made them adore him so much. He touched his scar, pushing back locks of black hair. The sight of his reflection was almost painful.

There was a tiny twig at the very bottom of his family tree. All the way back to the time of Merlin, in the midst of confusion due to the Twelfth century Renaissance of both Muggle and Wizard alike, one of the Potter heirs - Lars Potter, if he remembered correctly - had an affair with a Veela. The produced child, a little girl named Erissa, was able to pass as a legitimate Potter child, after much alteration of looks and blood, and lived on in the household as one of their own.

How? Harry knew not. He never really bothered with family history anyway. Though now, he regretted not preparing himself for this.

Somehow along the way, the Veela blood that was imprisoned all this time broke out and fought off the Blood-Ensconcing spell. He didn't know if it was the duel in the final battle that dissipated it, whether the amount of magic he released and felt gave this wilderness a new strength or not. He didn't know if the spell weakened over the past centuries and eventually worn out; because six months after his seventeenth birthday, mood swings started to occur more and more often.

It wasn't that strange. He had thought they were a result of the nightmares Voldemort had inflicted on his mind during the battle; that he just needed time to get over it and calm down. The others agreed with him; Hermione even suggested going to the newly opened rehab at St. Mungo's to heal his mind and stabilize his emotions, but Harry agreed to Ron's method of drinking calming potions instead.

It didn't concern him much when he started to find kissing Ginny disgusting. He was saddened, maybe; they had been going out for over half a year after all. It just seemed so strange to suddenly not like her; a girl he'd always dreamt would be his future wife. Still, he told himself, he must have gotten tired of her. Things could happen, people could change. She endured with him for as long as that, Then, after a big fight about him not loving her, they broke off and each went their own separate ways.

For two years since then he messed around with women, alluring and seducing one after another with such ease that it amazed Ron and brought a spot in Hermione's busy political life, who thought him being a "player" while holding such an important position in society wasn't appropriate.

"But I won't meddle with your life, no matter how much I hate the way it is; it's your prerogative... But, damn it, Harry, I hope you know what you're doing because one of these days..." she scowled at him, shook her head and shut up.

That was when life got boring. That was when being handsome got him to think. After wandering around so much, after so many women like Verona, Harry started to see.

Last year was the first time he truly looked at himself in the mirror and grew suspicious. Those emerald eyes were too bright to be a human's. The ivory skin was too flawless. His hair that never seemed to tame? Many men had tamed their hair and some were even wilder than his. Yet it was him, after trying so many charms and products, who can't restrain those chaotic strands. He decided there was something wrong with the way he looked.

Night after night of research, he found out.

According to Newt Scamander's Guide on Veelas, a book that went out of print in the seventies, male Veelas were rare but did exist.

Harry couldn't tell anybody. He knew how people felt about half breeds. He saw the way people treated Hagrid. He saw how much Mrs. Weasley disapproved Fleur - a part Veela herself, only accepting her out of guilt for Bill. He saw the way people used to sneer at Tonks, who told him of how her former classmates used to hate her because she passed her Transformation tests without effort. Looking back, he remembered Remus and his being werewolf, he noted the discrimination Muggle-borns faced in the society and told himself to just pretend that his beauty was a little gift from his great gene pool.

After all, celebrities were supposed to be handsome.

It was too much, though. As he became more informed, Harry the Judge started to surface within him. He saw flaws in his past lovers, discovered the goods and the bads. It became harder and harder for him to pick one out of the great basket of women that lay in front of him. Everything became bland. Everyone became ugly.

He confessed that part to Hermione.

"Harry," she had replied with amusement. "Do you find me ugly?"

He'd looked up in surprise at the question and began to observe his female friend. "Well... No, but, you just don't..."

"Appeal to you?"

"Yes, you're pretty and all, 'Mione, but I don't find you attractive. It's like Ginny. She got old. She got boring."

"Have you ever thought about the trees on the other side of the mountain?"

To this, he blinked. "What do you mean?"

She was about to open her mouth to explain, then stopped herself and sighed, deciding not to and said instead, "I really don't know, maybe it's you. Take a break for the sake of Merlin. Settle down with someone instead of fucking around so much. You haven't stopped long enough to really get to know anyone, don't you realize that? Take a girl and try sticking with her for once!"

He tried, couldn't do it. Nobody kept his attention anymore.

Then three days ago, he reread Guide on Veelas, and found a quote. "A Veela or a part Veela only stays with the one who can compete with her in every way possible, a being who is, to her, the most attractive of them all."

"...The most attractive of them all."

"Are you sure, Mr. Potter?"

Rita Skeeter pushed her rectangular glasses up her face and licked her lips with excitement. Though it was a question of doubt, Harry could see the anticipation in her greedy eyes beneath the spectacles. The familiar Quick-Quotes Quill was already quivering by her side, waiting and ready for his first word.

"Of course. By the way, it's quite nice seeing you again, Ms. Skeeter, I see that Azkaban did you no diminishing, did it?" he mused.

A little harsh of him to mention Azkaban, but that was exactly what someone like Skeeter would need. The woman tensed up and flashed him a forced smile.

"Of course not."

Harry hid his own grin. She was arrested for her mistake of not registering her Animagus form. The Improper Use of Magic office had sentenced her one year in the wizard prison. After she got back from there, no paper would hire her anymore.

As far as Harry knew, she was forbidden to transform. From the lack of money came the lack of a home; she had been living in shelters around Great Britain after the sentence was served, sometimes Muggles', sometimes wizards'. Her knowledge of the Muggle world was very limited, so surviving there was already a no-no for her. He knew she dared not mess this chance up.

"Now, shall we begin?"