Veela .|. H. J. POTTER

Prologue

It was just a dream.

Harry Potter wasn't actually walking through the small town of Little Whinging all those years later. Harry Potter wasn't actually wearing a dark suit - only fit for special occasions - and the withered rose spiked to his coat wasn't actually leaving a trail of leaves on the path he walked.

Nothing in the streets of where he grew up into his miserable life gave him any clue of why he was there - especially when he swore to never return there - but the answer echoed in his mind like an unanswered call.

She was dead.

But she wasn't dead, Harry knew that. He was there when she fell asleep. That didn't seem too long ago. He held her hand as she succumbed to the exhaustion she had felt the entire day. Others were there - Harry had told them to keep an eye on her as he was called to leave.

She was dead.

A chill climbed up Harry's spine as the heels of his shoes clicked on the stone floor. Just another row of the same blocky homes and he would be where he needed to be. 

The same voice - the unanswered call - told him where he needed to be. But Harry didn't understand. He didn't want to be here. Only a few good memories were made here.

With her. But she was dead.

She wasn't dead - Harry was sure of it. There was no stopping the subconscious panic that rose inside of him, though. 

Turning another corner, Harry let his feet lead the way to those two houses - right across the street from each other. Privet Drive four, and Privet Drive three. A window that was left open let the air carry the blue curtain into dancing waves. That was her room.

She was dead.

Gulping in overwhelming panic, Harry shook his head and turned the other way - to the house he was forced to call him home for far too many years. The sight he beheld took his breath away for a moment.

On the freshly mowed lawn with the newly installed sprinklers, stood a family of three. And right in front of the door, another family - also technically of three but the small boy, clad in clothes three times his size, counted them as a family of four. 

"Oh, it's very nice to finally officially meet you, Mr and Mrs Willowbloom," Petunia Dursley said with that teeth-showing smile she always plastered on when strangers had the opportunity of getting a good look at her house and family. "I'm sure your travels were far more exciting than this town. What was it you just came back from?"

"Belgium," The tall, blonde woman answered. Her self-knitted cardigan hung loosely around her pale blue dress, a signature style that a lot of people recognised her from.

Harry recognised her as Quinton Willowbloom, and right next to her was her husband, Zaugustus. She always told him that Quinton always called him Auggie - only using his first name when she was angry with him. And he only said Quinton when he was upset with her, otherwise using Quin.

"It was lovely to be there," Zaugustus Willowbloom added with his kind smile. 

Even though Harry was standing just a couple of feet away from them, none of them had turned to look in his direction. But Harry didn't care - he only had eyes for the two smallest children standing on opposite sides of the conversation. 

The little boy with hair as dark as chalkboard was hidden behind Mr and Mrs Dursley's legs, peeking past them to look at the little girl. His thumb was stuck in his mouth - a habit that took his years to get rid of - and the emerald eyes behind his glasses were big with curiosity.