This is my own attempt at a Veela story. I figured it was a good topic, and a person can always find a new spin on it. It is rated PG at the moment, for a little swearing. It'll go up as the slash appears. And as to be expected, it is HPDM slash. I don't write anything else, anyway. And yes, I don't own Harry Potter or anything else affiliated with Harry Potter. Yeah, like anyone thought I did. Well, on with the story. . .

Spirit of the Veela

One: Related

By: Roslyn Drycof

It was July 30th, two minutes before midnight, when Harry Potter became aware a strange tingling in his chest. He was only minutes away from turning seventeen, the age when he would become a legal wizard adult. He'd been waiting for this day for so long, wanting to be able to do magic outside of Hogwarts with an almost-desperation.

Sitting on his bed in the Dursley household, he pressed a hand to his chest. The tingling was growing stronger, almost into a burning sensation. It was getting quite uncomfortable.

A minute before midnight, he felt a wave of dizziness crash over him and he had to shut his eyes to stay in a sitting position. Confusion churned in him. What was happening?!

Finally, the grandather clock in the Dursleys' living room chimed midnight. Another sound joined that chime on this important night for Harry Potter. It was a scream of pain ripped from the boy's very throat.

His whole body felt like it was one fire and he couldn't breathe. Black spots danced across his vision and he could feel something changing inside of him. His muscles danced across his bones and his joints popped, his bones growing and transforming. He dropped to the floor, feeling as if the Cruciatius curse was being performed on him by ten people at the same time.

"Boy, quit your yelling! Some people are trying to sleep!" Uncle Vernon's voice boomed from the hallway.

The door crashed open and Harry faintly heard his uncle gasp. "Stop it! I won't tolerate any freakishness in this house!"

Harry would've laughed if he could, but he was too busy writhing on the floor in agony to do anything but keep his sanity from buckling under the immense pain.

Suddenly, as the clock finished chiming the hour, the pain was gone. Gingerly, not entirely sure that his body was okay, Harry got to his knees. Everything seemed fine and he didn't feel even a twinge of pain. He stood up and walked over the floor length mirror he had on his closet door.

And he froze. What the hell had happened to him? He'd grown at least six inches and now stood at a steady six feet, his skin had a luminescent glow to it, and his bone structure was ten times more refined than before. And his scar. . .it was so faint, it was just like a silver line jagging across his forehead.

Harry traced a finger across the scar in amazement. It actually looked kind of cool like this. Suddenly frowning, he looked down at his pyjamas that were now much too short. The bottoms came to well above his ankles and the shirt showed a lot of skin on his torso.

"Boy, you tell me what you did right now or I'll take my chances with those freakish friends of your and take my belt to you!" Uncle Vernon shouted, anger blazing in his squinty eyes.

The Boy-Who-Lived turned to his uncle and was astonished to see that he was taller than the whale-like man. "I don't know what happened. I was sitting on my bed, waiting for my birthday, and then suddenly I was in a lot of pain."

"You're lying! This has something to do with your MAGIC!" His uncle yelled, spraying spittle from his mouth and shaking his fist furiously.

"I'm serious! I have no idea of what happened! You think I actually want to look even more like a freak?" Harry argued with his mother's brother-in-law.

Vernon couldn't deny that his nephew did look more freakish than before, and the boy did seem disturbed about his change. Harry was a freak, even among those freaks he hung out with. Certainly looking even more freakish was something someone wouldn't want to purposely do. Still. . .this was that boy, and he was as weird as they come. Who knew what went on in his freakish head?

"You are not leaving this house the rest of the summer, understood? I will not have the neighbors see your freakish new look. And no magic!"

Harry thought his uncle's ultimatum was quite fair, considering who it was. Normally, Uncle Vernon wouldn't have capitalated like that and would've probably shoved him in the cupboard under the stairs. And considering his new height, that would've been a bit of a problem.

"Okay, Uncle Vernon."

The rest of the summer passed by pretty quickly, Harry deciding to use the time to go over his schoolbooks from years past. By the time the day before school arrived, he'd managed to memorize them all. He was even fairly confident he could do well in Potions class, quite a boast.

He'd made an agreement with Uncle Vernon to leave the day before school so he could go shopping for a day for school supplies. The whale-like man had agreed easily, glad to have the freak out of his house a day sooner.

Harry knew he could've gone to Ron's earlier in the summer, but he'd been uncomfortable about his new looks and didn't want to break up Ron's cuddling time with Hermione by having the girl go off on a researching rampage. The two of them had managed to get together near the end of sixth year, and they were still a pretty new couple. And that meant they needed as much snuggle time as possible, in Harry's opinion.

He also didn't feel like going to the Burrow because he'd been feeling a strange burning in his chest, not unlike the night he'd changed. This burning sensation wasn't very strong, but it was odd nonetheless and it bothered Harry. It also seemed to get worse the more people he was around. This had caused him to stay in his room all day, uncomfortable with being around the Dursleys.

Having learned how to apparate during the summer, he made sure he had his things tucked in his pocket and he disappeared from the Dursleys' with a Pop! He arrived in Diagon Alley, right in front of Madame Malkin's.

The first order of business was to get some new clothes, especially some robes that actually fit. He didn't particularly want to walk around with clothes that were too short. Luckily, he had some money left over from the year before and didn't have to stop at Gringott's yet.

Walking into the shop, he was glad that it appeared to be empty. And then he heard a cultured voice say, "Draco darling, don't move around so much. This will go faster if you just stay still."

There was no mistaking that the speaker was Narcissa Malfoy. And that meant Draco was here as well. Harry looked around, frowning, and finally noticed that they were in the third from the right fitting room.

"Ah, Mister Potter, how lovely to see you! My, you've grown quite a bit. Well, no worry, you'll be in some new robes in no time!" Madame Malkin exclaimed, coming out from behind the curtain that hid the fitting room from view.

At the silence from behind the curtain, Harry knew the other occupants of the store were aware of just who the new customer was. Drat.

"Um, yeah. . .I need a whole new warderobe," he told the witch, looking at a bolt of cloth that seemed to change colors before his very eyes. Odd.

She clucked her tongue, reaching out a hand to touch his clothes. They were hand-me-downs from Dudley and were too short and much too wide. "I'd say you do. Why don't you follow me into the second fitting room?"

Harry reddened at her appraisal of his outfit and followed her into the fitting room she'd indicated. She pulled out a roll of measuring tape and it immediately got to work measuring every part of him it could. How he hated magical measuring tape!

"My, my, you've grown a full six inches since you were last here!" she said a few minutes later, inspecting the measurements.

He already knew that, but stayed quiet. He hated shopping, and he knew from experience that it was best to humor the person fitting him or else you ended up with clothes that didn't exactly fit properly.

Madame Malkin bustled out of the fitting room, her mind already intent on closely inspecting the measurements she'd gotten from both boys. She disappeared into the back room where she kept her designs and works-in-progress.

Harry was left to sit on the stool that was in his curtained area, bored to death. She always took so long when he was here!

"It's just like you, Potter, to wait till the last minute to go shopping. How Gryffindor-ish," Malfoy's voice travelled through the curtains.

Great. Just great. Now he was going to be annoyed to death by Draco Malfoy. Being bored to death, which had seemed so unappealing only moments ago, looked especially nice right about now.

"And what is it you're doing? Just picking up a few, last-minute items? I saw the list of measurements Madame Malkin had. You're here to get a whole new warderobe, too," he called back through the curtain, irritation in his voice.

Malfoy didn't take any time in responding. "I'll have you know I had to wait till after my birthday to get new clothes. I grew six inches last night, I'll have you know."

Huh? That sounded suspiciously like exactly what had happened to him. "What do you mean you grew six inches last night? That's impossible!" he said, pretending that no such thing had happened to himself only a month before.

"It isn't, if you're related to the Black family."

That stunned Harry, because he certainly wasn't related to the Black family. Sirius had been his godfather, and that wasn't a blood relation. Without thinking, he burst out, "But I'm not related to the Black family!"

Suddenly, the curtain dividing their fitting rooms was jerked back and there was Malfoy, staring at him as if he had three heads. Not that Harry wasn't staring at Malfoy in the same exact way, of course. They stared at each other for several minutes, speechless.

It was Narcissa, standing gracefully beside her son, who broke the silence. "Unless you have some glamour spell on you, which my senses tell me you don't, you are indeed related to my family."

Draco jerked his head to look at his mother in astonishment. "You can't be serious! Him, related to our family? It's preposterous!"

Harry wasn't exactly agreeing with her either. "He's right! I'm in no way related to the Black family. I'm a Potter and an Evans."

Narcissa looked like she was about to say something to contradict that, but instead said, "Why don't you go see your Headmaster about this? I'm certain he'll be able to clear up a few things you should know."

She pulled the curtain back into the position it had been in, dividing the two fitting rooms, effectively cutting off anything Harry would've said in response. Confused, and not just a little bit worried at the hidden meaning seeming to underly Mrs. Malfoy's words, he stared at the curtain with a bewildered look on his face. What wasn't she saying? And what could Dumbledore tell him that was so important that he know?

The rest of the fitting went on without hitch and Harry left the shop with more than a few bags of clothes shrunken and hidden inside the pockets of the outfit he'd chosen to change into. It was a muggle outfit, consisting of charcoal grey trousers and a hunter green pullover. They clothes fit perfectly, for which he was immensely glad. Wearing Dudley's badly ill-fitting clothing had become a trifle weary after awhile.

He got the rest of the things he'd be needing for school without incident, and settled into a comfortable bed at the Leaky Cauldron that night. His mind was still unsettled over the encounter with the Malfoys (the ones not in prison) and he fell asleep with it still on his already troubled mind. Suffice to say, he didn't have a particularly restful night. And he instinctively knew this was only the beginning of a series of restless nights. . .

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