Congenital Magnetism

Harry and Draco had taken refuge in the sixth-floor room that Dumbledore had set aside for Harry as temporary sleeping quarters, but they could still hear occasional pounding against the door from the gigantic water lilies that had been chasing Harry. Draco was already holding the communication device he’d created for Divination class, the wooden board with the small bas-relief stone sculpture attached to the top. He’d written a desperate plea for help and watched as the ink faded and disappeared, hoping the spirits from the Eastern Shore Network would answer. To his vast relief, a message spread across the parchment:

 

ESN Reply>> Sounds like an unusual predicament, but a few of the spirits in our association are familiar with Herbology, and they can recommend a solution that requires a spell for pruning plants; any basic spell will do. To maximize the effect of the spell, you have to incorporate the name and address of a florist that you’re familiar with, as well as the name of a recipient for your floral gift, preferably the person who is providing you with the most assistance at the moment. ★

 

Draco drew a blank. “Potter, what’s a florist?”

“A florist is a Muggle business that sells flowers. When Muggles need flowers for some formal event, like a wedding or an anniversary party, they pay a florist to make an arrangement of flowers for them.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that. Malfoy Manor is surrounded by woodland and meadow. There are plenty of flowers if you ever need them, and the house-elves can create whatever kind of arrangement you want.”

“That’s because your family is rich, Malfoy. I grew up in a suburban house where we only have a small front yard and backyard. I remember the address of a Muggle florist in Little Whinging. And I think we’d better address the floral gift to Professor Snape. Something tells me we might be in trouble again.”

The giant water lilies renewed their banging on the door of Harry’s room. Draco wrote a quick reply to the Eastern Shore Network:

 

We have the address of a florist. What do we do now?

 

ESN Reply>> Recite whatever plant-pruning spell you’re familiar with, then add the address for the florist, followed by a few words to your recipient—something like “Best wishes to so-and-so.” ★

 

Harry retrieved his Herbology notes from his desk drawer, and the room was filled with the hopeful voices of Harry and Draco. First came some Latin incantations, then “Sow Thistle Florist, 241 Underpass Road, Little Whinging, Surrey,” followed by a brief message, and finally, “Best wishes to you, Professor Snape. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.”

The banging on the door ceased, followed by a long silence. Harry and Draco crept toward the door. They hesitated, unsure of the success of their spell, and then Harry opened the door in one rash movement to reveal…

On the floor just outside the door sat a small ceramic bowl filled with water. Dainty little bulrushes lined the perimeter of the bowl, and a single water lily in full bloom floated in the center. Stuck in the middle of the little bulrushes was a greeting card with best wishes for Professor Snape, who was now charging down the corridor toward Harry’s room, black robes billowing behind him. The scowling countenance of Severus Snape had arrived in front of the open door. Harry and Draco looked at each other, trying to think of some plausible explanation for the present disorder.

“I am here,” Snape said, “at the request of a large number of students and faculty members who have been recently terrorized by enormous water lilies flying through the school. Mr. Potter”—Snape’s visage darkened—“could you be responsible for this?”

Before he could think the better of it, Draco threw his arm around Harry’s shoulder and drew him closer. “It was Professor Trelawney’s idea. It wasn’t Potter’s fault at all.”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I’m aware of Professor Trelawney’s ill-advised attempt to lessen the effects of Mr. Potter’s Veela magnetism. Not long ago, she was found, in a confused state, on the grounds in front of the castle seated in an ornate wooden chair. She was ranting about Mr. Potter being inappropriately sexy and causing the immanent collapse of polite society. The seventh-year students who found Professor Trelawney coaxed her back into the castle, although she continued to ramble on about the magic of willowy bog plants influencing the color of Mr. Potter’s eyes and the contours of his body. Professor Trelawney is now in the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey is attending her.”

“Professor,” Harry ventured, “we were able to get the giant water lilies under control.” Harry picked the ceramic bowl up off the floor and handed it to Snape. “We used a pruning spell from Herbology class.”

Snape held up his floral gift. “I presume this is all that remains of the monster water lilies?”

Harry and Draco nodded.

Snape read the message on the greeting card aloud. “Scientific inquiry can be fun. Best wishes to you, Professor Snape. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.”

Snape regarded the two boys, the twin sources of yet another major disruption. Snape’s eyes narrowed and his eyebrows knitted together into a single line.

“How very thoughtful of you both. Fortunately for us all, Professor Trelawney will be unable to test out any more of her theories for the time being, which affords me some sense of relief. But then I think of the recent fiascos that the two of you have given birth to. Mr. Potter, I believe your effort came first, the experiment using a bogus technique meant for reducing the calorie content of desserts, which resulted in the appearance of enormous jungle vines crashing through most of the classrooms in the dungeons. That disaster was followed by your cinnamon remedy, Mr. Malfoy. Your flawed insight led you to use a cooking spice, of all things, as a long-term remedy for Veela attraction. And as to any measure of success, the two of you have only succeeded in whitening several more hairs on my head.”

Snape let loose a long, steady sigh. “Mr. Potter, as I’ve told you, the personalized potion I’m creating to counteract your unique Veela powers requires an object that has been in your possession for many years. Can you assure me you will do at least one thing correctly and travel to your uncle’s house this weekend to retrieve the personal belonging you promised to provide me with? If I remember correctly, you said the object was a childhood toy.”

“It’s a toy train engine. I’ll have it for you by Sunday, Professor.”

“Then for the next three school days, the two of you may continue your project in the separate Potions classroom where you’ve been working. I suspect it’s madness for me to say this, but I will leave the two of you to your own devices. I know from unfortunate experience what folly it is to expect you two to rely on conventional methods. I’m imploring you to at least use some modicum of common sense and refrain from either causing massive property damage or endangering life and limb.”

“Don’t worry,” Draco said with a smile.

Snape clutched the ceramic bowl containing his floral gift as he turned to head back down the corridor. “Mr. Malfoy, you’ve convinced me that ‘don’t worry’ are the two most suspicious words in the English language.”

Harry and Draco poked their heads out the door to reassure themselves and watched Snape’s black robes disappear down the corridor.

“Potter, they were right again,” Draco said as soon as Snape had left.

“Who was right?”

“The people from the Eastern Shore Network.”

“They’re not people, they’re spirits.”

“All right then, spirits. Do you realize what a goldmine of information we have access to?” Draco had the wooden communication board in his hands again. “We’ve got to ask them some more questions. If we can put together an effective potion on our own, Professor Snape will give us the recognition we deserve. You want recognition for your growing skills in Potions class, don’t you, Potter?”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt if I got better marks in Potions than I’m getting now.”

Draco already had a piece of parchment on the wooden board and started scribbling away:

 

This is Draco Malfoy sending a message to the Eastern Shore Network. Thanks so much for the advice about getting the swamp vegetation under control. Your instructions worked perfectly, but Potter and I have some questions about what we were working on yesterday afternoon, developing a potion to counteract erotic attraction.

 

ESN Reply>> Greetings, Mr. Malfoy. When you inquired yesterday about creating a counteragent, you told us Mr. Potter’s sexual magnetism only affects the male students, correct? ★

 

That’s right, even the ones who only like girls. Your suggestion about using cinnamon didn’t work out that well. Everyone develops a tolerance to cinnamon after the second exposure. By the third exposure, cinnamon has no effect at all. And our Divination professor’s idea about using swamp plants was a spectacular fail. Potter’s Veela attraction is creating chaos around here.

 

ESN Reply>> If you’ll recall from our first communication, we advised you that the effects of cinnamon were only very temporary. We’re not surprised that it loses its usefulness after the second attempt. By the way, what does the word Veela mean? ★

 

Draco realized he hadn’t yet used the word Veela in any of his messages to Eastern Shore.

 

It’s our word for a magical creature with unusual powers of romantic attraction.

 

ESN Reply>> As we told you yesterday, the word in our ancient language is Qadesh, which is the title we give to a wizard who affects men in the way you describe. The word means “sacred” because people like Harry can access information from the spirit world, most often through dreams. That’s why we call Harry by his given name. Very well then, we’ll use your word, Veela, to describe Harry. Now, controlling Harry’s Veela attraction permanently might be more complex than just using a bit of cinnamon. Harry, if you’re present, may we ask why you’ve chosen Mr. Malfoy to assist you? ★

 

Harry hesitated before taking the quill from Draco, not knowing how these spirits would respond to an honest answer.

 

Hi. This is Harry. It wasn’t my choice to work with Malfoy.

 

Harry noticed the smallest hint of a scowl cross Draco’s face and realized that his remark hadn’t come out the way he’d intended, so he scribbled a few more lines.

 

What I meant was that I wasn’t expecting to work with Malfoy, but I’m glad I am now. He’s brilliant at Potions.

 

Harry could have sworn he saw one corner of Draco’s mouth curve up, and he continued writing.

 

I couldn’t work with any of the female students because they complain about tiny colored pieces of sparkling glitter that they see all around me, and they say it destroys their powers of concentration after a few minutes. Our school Headmaster suggested I work with Malfoy because he’s the only male student who’s not experiencing anything.

 

ESN Reply>> What do you mean by “anything.” ★

 

Harry’s face flushed pink.

 

I mean that Malfoy’s the only boy who’s not experiencing any uncontrollable romantic attraction toward me.

 

After a brief pause, the Eastern Shore Network put another question to Harry:

 

ESN Reply>> Have any unusual events involving you and Mr. Malfoy occurred recently, events you may have had difficulty explaining? ★

 

Harry and Draco related the events of the previous Sunday on the Hogwarts Express as best they could—the silk-like threads they felt pulling from each other’s direction, the increased speed of their heartbeat. Finally, they told the Eastern Shore spirits the one thing they hadn’t even admitted to Dumbledore, or to each other: every person and every object around them had frozen in place like immobile statues for several minutes even though Harry and Draco could move and look at each other. No reply from the Eastern Shore Network appeared on the parchment for the longest time.

“Have they gone on tea break?” Draco asked.

“I don’t think they can drink tea… not if they don’t have bodies.”

Draco grinned and shook his head. “I keep thinking of them as people.” But then he noticed writing appear on the parchment.

 

ESN Reply>> Sorry for the delay. Some of us here have a notion as to what might be going on. We think that your Divination professor’s idea about using bog plants has more merit than we thought. Since there are apparently wetlands close to your school, we suggest that the two of you take an overnight trip and collect small plant and flower samples from the bog areas. Be sure to collect samples both during the day and at night, as there are some elusive plant species that are better seen at night.

Mr. Malfoy, we’ll give you a spell for turning a lily pad into an airborne vehicle that searches for plant life that is sacred to Veela. The spell will only take effect on a purple lily pad, which are uncommon. For your convenience, the spell is mostly in Latin, but there are a few words in Proto-Semitic. You’ll have to drive this lily-pad vehicle yourself, Mr. Malfoy, since the mechanisms which control the vehicle don’t respond to Veela or part-Veela. When you are back from your excursion, contact us again and we’ll give you instructions for incorporating your plant and flower specimens into the potion you’re developing. Good luck to you both. And Mr. Malfoy, please stop using the term “swamp.” It’s too derogatory. The bogs—or some call them wetlands—are regions of great beauty. We’re sure you’ll grow very attached to these places. They have their own special magic. ★

 

The message disappeared to be replaced by the text for a spell, much of it in Latin, that was familiar to Harry and Draco. Then Harry pointed to a few words that were wildly unfamiliar.

“Do you think that’s Proto-Semitic?”

Draco stared at the strange words. “They must be. The words look like they might be Arabic or Hebrew, but the spirits told us yesterday that they lived a few thousand years before the Roman Empire.”

As Draco spoke, Harry watched… and lost himself in the depths of those iron-colored eyes. He memorized Draco’s every feature so that he could keep the information safely stowed away in his mind, and he let his eyes prowl over iron muscles. With difficulty, Harry tore his gaze away and looked down at the floor because he was seized by the same urge to seduce Draco that had been dogging him since their meeting on the Hogwarts Express a few days before. If he didn’t look Draco in the eye, maybe Draco wouldn’t notice that Harry wanted nothing more than to tear Draco’s clothes off and find out what those iron muscles really felt like.

Harry wouldn’t look up. “So, do you still think my eyes look like the mud in a swamp?”

“I never said that, Potter.”

“Don’t you remember, in Dumbledore’s office? You said the gurgling mud and algae in the swamps bring out the color of my eyes.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Draco’s said, his voice quieter. “Anyway, the Eastern Shore spirits told me to stop calling it a swamp. When I was a child, one of my favorite places near Malfoy Manor was a lowland bog, a kind of wet heath.”

Harry lifted his gaze and looked up at Draco.

“The land and the plants in Wiltshire bogs are different than here in Scotland,” Draco continued, “but everything is so beautiful and so…” his voice hitched, but he held Harry’s gaze. “Everything is so green. I suppose it’s a Slytherin habit, but I’ve always loved that color.” Draco looked away, thinking that if he didn’t look Harry in the eye, maybe Harry wouldn’t notice that Draco wanted nothing more than to shelter Harry in his arms and stare into those eyes until he had counted every different shade of green.

Shocked by his own unexpected train of thought, Draco rolled up the parchment with the spell the Eastern Shore spirits had written for him and headed out the door.

“See you tomorrow morning, Potter.”

 

* * *

 

The warm morning sun found Harry and Draco miles from Hogwarts Castle. They had presented Dumbledore with their plan for collecting plant and flower specimens, although they continued to conceal their communications with the Eastern Shore Network from the Headmaster and the rest of the Hogwarts faculty; only Ron and Hermione were privy to their secret. Dumbledore had given them permission to spend two days and one night in the countryside surrounding Hogwarts and allowed them to take their brooms and wands. Draco was especially keen on having his wand with him; he was curious to find out what type of flying vehicle he could create using the spell the Eastern Shore spirits had given him.

Harry and Draco glided through the air on their brooms in a lazy pattern as they flew over the top of a hill covered with wildflowers. The other side of the hill revealed what they were searching for: the hill sloped down toward a low meadow bordering on an area of land that was saturated with moisture. Shallow pools of water dotted the land that stretched out beyond the meadow. Clusters of rushes and reeds rose up, painted with diverse shades of green and brushed with streaks of gold, and lay scattered between the shimmering patches of water.

The boys signaled each other to land on the slope of the hill, and they brought their brooms down on a patch of ground where the tall wildflowers had been flattened, perhaps by animals. Without saying anything to each other, they stood on the hillside in the warm September breeze looking out across the expanse of bog. Draco took off his backpack, threw it down, then sat down on the soft bed of grass and flowers.

“Take a break, Potter. We’ve plenty of time to collect specimens. After we rest here a while, we can have lunch and then we can head off.” Draco rummaged through his backpack. “I think we packed everything. We’ve each got some phials in case some of the specimens are too wet to just throw in the backpacks. Good thing you knew a shrinking charm for the food. And you used a shrinking charm for two of those… what are those Muggle things called?”

Harry sat down beside Draco. “Sleeping bags. Muggles use them all the time when they sleep out of doors to keep themselves warm.”

“We could just cast a warming charm for that.”

“I’m not sure if a warming charm would last the whole night. Anyway, sleeping bags are still more comfortable than lying on the ground.”

“Point taken,” Draco admitted. He stretched himself out on the soft bed of wildflowers, gazing absently at the sky. “It might get chilly tonight. It’s already the first week of September. There’s not much summer weather left.”

Harry looked out from the hillside across the flat, grassy meadow and the green expanse of bog beyond. “The land is so beautiful now. I wish it would stay this way and the winter snows never came.”

“Like Arcadia?”

Harry’s head popped up. “Like what?”

“Arcadia, in Greece. That’s the highland area in the center of the Peloponnese.”

Harry’s eyes were open wide, great pools of green. “Is that the big round peninsula at the bottom of Greece?”

Draco was trying to fathom how Harry could manage to be so charming with such little effort.

“Yes, Potter. When I was a child, my father used to read me stories about ancient Greece, and Arcadia was this idyllic region. The area is mostly woods and meadow, and the weather is always mild.”

“Your father didn’t mind reading Muggle literature to you?”

“He always wanted to expose me to classic literature, and he certainly didn’t ignore great literature just because it was Muggle.” Draco sat up and reached his arms around his legs, pulling them in closer, and rested his chin on his knees. “I miss my father. God knows he’s probably safer in Azkaban, what with Voldemort trying to kill him.” Draco squeezed his eyes shut. “Maybe even being in Azkaban won’t save my father. Voldemort is trying to figure out how to poison him in prison, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Harry’s cheeks went pink. He had no business viewing Narcissa’s stored memory in Dumbledore’s office. Draco had forgiven Harry for his attack of curiosity, but now Harry knew the humiliating truth that not even Draco’s closest friends in Slytherin house knew: Voldemort was trying to convince Narcissa to visit Lucius in prison and bring him poisoned treacle fudge. Narcissa would deceive Voldemort as best she could by creating the appearance that she was cooperating with Voldemort, but she would only be able to string him along for so long before Voldemort realized Narcissa was playing double agent.

Harry had never known Lucius as anything other than an evil scumbag, and it shattered some of his long-held preconceptions when he heard Draco describe him as a loving father who read stories to his little boy. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Draco.

“I didn’t realize…” Harry’s voice was hushed. “Yeah, I guess you must miss him. I can understand that. What I really miss is never having known my father. But you must have all sorts of memories of you and your father.”

“I remember him holding me on his lap when I was four years old, and he had a big picture book of classical mythology spread out in front of me. The book was open to a picture of wooded hills and meadows, and the land was so green… so beautiful. And my father told me that the name of the place was Arcadia. Right after my father showed me the picture, I went to my mother and told her about the picture of Arcadia. I told her I thought it looked like heaven, so heaven must be green. Then I asked her why some people said that heaven was blue. She started laughing and told me that some Muggles were just confused because they thought heaven was in the sky, and that’s why they thought heaven was blue.” Draco saw Harry look up with those big damned eyes of his. “My mother told me I was right. Heaven wasn’t in the sky. It was a place like Arcadia with solid ground, and the land in heaven was green.” Draco forced himself to break eye contact with Harry. “But Potter, surely your uncle and aunt read stories to you when you were a child. I’m sure they doted on the Golden Boy day and night.”

“Er… no, Malfoy. Whatever it is they do, they sure as hell do not dote on me.”

“Your just embarrassed to tell the truth. The savior of the wizarding world? They must think you’re the sun and moon and sky all in one package.”

Harry gave up trying to disabuse Draco of his notions about Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. “Yeah, whatever. All I know is that they’re Muggles, and they want nothing to do with magic. But maybe that’s just as well. It forced me to form my own opinions and stick to them.”

“Stubbornness is your undoing, Potter. You find it so difficult to change your opinions, even when you’re confronted with evidence to the contrary.”

“So, Malfoy, you think you were better off with parents who insisted that you share their opinions?”

“It’s a mixed blessing. My parents love me, but they have always managed to burden me with their expectations. It can be stifling to be forced to inherit your parents’ views about the world and prevented from forming your own opinions.”

“Their views about Voldemort, for instance?”

“Exactly. Now that my father is in prison and Voldemort has turned against my family, I’m freer to think for myself. But before, all the decisions were up to my parents. I had no choice but to do what I could to fulfill my parents’ expectations. It was a source of pride for me, and why shouldn’t it be?”

“Pride is your undoing, Malfoy. Sometimes you have to set aside your pride if you want to strike out on your own.”

“I seem to remember once—when I was eleven years old, I think—when I made an attempt to strike out on my own.”

Harry heard a loud roar, like the sound of a train passing, but it had to be thunder, perhaps heralding a coming storm. Harry thought it strange, though, because he couldn’t spot a single cloud.

“I guess it can even thunder on a sunny day.”

“What are you on about now?” Draco asked, trying to decipher the odd remark.

“That loud, rumbling thunder just now. It was as loud as the Hogwarts Express passing by.”

“Potter, the only sound I’ve heard until now is the sound of you and me talking. Some of the things you say are inexplicable to the point where you sound like you’re nutters.”

This information caught Harry off guard, and for the moment, he was baffled, but he decided to let the matter drop.

“Let’s have lunch,” Harry said.

After they finished eating, Harry and Draco decided to split up, thinking it would better strategy. Draco told Harry that if he came across a purple lily pad, he would test out the spell from the Eastern Shore Network and see if the lily pad turned into a vehicle he could operate. Morning turned into afternoon as Harry roamed across the north end of the bog and Draco scoured the south end. Draco was gathering a respectable number of plant and flower specimens, but almost all of the lily pads he saw were green, with an occasional yellow one. Then, wading though a shallow pool, he spotted the tiniest bit of purple, hidden by the white blossoms that floated on the surface of the water. At first, Draco thought it was an insect, but looking closer, it proved to be a very small lily pad. Due to either wetland chemistry or genetic mutation, the lily pad was indeed purple. Draco took out his wand and the parchment with the spell, and proceeded to recite the incantation.

The purple lily pad instantly expanded in size until its surface was large enough for a small group of people to stand on. Then a solid block of gleaming metal rose from the surface of the lily pad’s right half. Next to this rose a metal column with what appeared to be a steering device on top, and then two seats shot up from the floor. Draco hesitated, then put one foot onto the surface of the lily pad. When nothing catastrophic happened, he grabbed part of the metal block and hoisted himself on board.

Draco saw at once that the shiny metal block—actually, a great case of mechanisms with a panel of buttons, switches, dials, gauges and instruments on top—was firmly fastened to the lily pad, whose surface now had a texture more like flexible metal than anything plant-like. Draco eased himself into the seat in front of the metal column and took hold of the steering mechanism. A message flashed on the glass screen that ran across the top of the instrument panel:

 

Steering unit has acknowledged a human driver. No passengers detected.

 

Two signs lit up, which read “Airborne Function” and “Search for Veela-Related Plant Life,” and Draco now noticed that a pair of “on” and “off” buttons were positioned underneath each of these lighted signs. Encouraged by this positive development, Draco pressed the “on” button to search for Veela-related plant life. The only noticeable effect was another message on the glass screen:

 

Deficient conditions. Performance will be poor.

 

Not to be discouraged, Draco pressed the “on” button for the airborne function since the giant lily pad was still on the water surface of the shallow pool. A new message appeared onscreen:

 

Attempting airborne travel. Deficient conditions. Performance will be poor.

 

The lily-pad vehicle lifted off the surface of the water and many feet into the air in a single swift movement. The vehicle moved through the air in fitful motions. The lily pad lurched forward, then stopped in mid-air while a horrible sputtering noise issued from the back of the vehicle. With Draco hanging onto the steering column for dear life, the lily pad dove from high above the ground straight into the muddiest, most algae-covered area of the bog. The vehicle skimmed the bog surface, covering Draco with successive coats of mud and algae. Draco’s unfortunate lily-pad vehicle repeated this cycle of inept operation many times as it made its blundering way toward the north end of the bog, where, to Draco’s great relief, he spotted Harry.

“Miserable piece of junk,” Draco muttered as he hit the “off” button for airborne operation. Rather than landing on a watery surface, the lily pad at least had the decency to land at the edge of the meadow, close to where an astonished Harry was staring at Draco’s landing operation.

Draco presented a spectacle worthy of being stared at. He was covered from head to foot with mud, algae and pond slime. For good measure, long strands of aquatic weeds had twisted themselves around his legs, arms and neck. Draco jumped out of the vehicle onto the ground, using impressively colorful language as he ripped off the lengths of bog weeds. Harry opened his mouth—

Draco raised his index finger. “Don’t. Say. Anything.”

It took every bit of self-control at Harry’s command to stifle an outburst of giggles. He reached for his wand and pointed it at Draco.

“Scourgify!”

Cleansed of every trace of vegetation and aquatic waste, Draco calmed down.

“Thank you, Potter.”

“The vehicle doesn’t operate as advertised?”

“Shoddy, third-rate piece of garbage.” Draco walked over to the side of the giant lily pad and kicked it soundly.

Harry couldn’t hide a smile. “My Uncle Vernon always kicks the tire of his car like that when the car malfunctions. Aunt Petunia tells him it won’t do any good, but he always kicks the tire anyway.”

Draco whipped his head around to glare at Harry.

“Sorry,” Harry said quickly, “I guess that’s besides the point. What do you think went wrong?”

“For one thing, some of the messages that appeared on the instrument panel were not very encouraging. There was a message about detecting a human driver and no passengers. All well and good. But then when I activated the airborne function or the function to search for Veela-related plant life, the message on the panel was ‘deficient conditions, performance will be poor.’”

“Do you think the Eastern Shore spirits were wrong about a Veela or part-Veela not being able to drive the thing?”

Draco waved his hand toward the lily pad. “Have a go at it.”

“I’m throwing our backpacks onto the floor of this thing,” Harry said, “so we have something to put the plant specimens in. I have a gut feeling this is going to work.”

After throwing the backpacks onboard, Harry jumped onto the surface of the vehicle, took the seat in front of the metal column and grabbed hold of the steering mechanism.

“So,” Draco said, “do you see the signs light up for ‘airborne function’ and ‘search for Veela-related plant life?’ That was the first thing that happened to me.”

“No, I don’t even get that far,” Harry said. “The message at the very top says ‘Veela cannot operate this vehicle. All functions disabled.’” Harry jumped back on the ground.

“All functions disabled? Let me have a look.” Draco jumped back onto the vehicle, sat in the driver’s seat and seized the steering mechanism. “Same thing happens as before. It acknowledges a human driver, but it detects no passengers, and I have these signs lighting up for airborne function and Veela-related plant life. I sure as hell am not going to push those buttons and go through that again.”

“Maybe it’ll work better if I’m a passenger,” Harry offered.

Draco scowled. “I don’t see how that would help, but come on, jump in. Anything’s possible.”

As soon as Harry was on the lily pad, a new message appeared on the glass screen. Draco, still in the driver’s seat, motioned Harry to come over and they read the information together:

 

Steering unit has acknowledged a human driver. First condition satisfied.

Veela passenger detected on board. Second condition satisfied.

All conditions have been satisfied, and performance will be optimal.

 

Harry got into the passenger seat next to Draco. Within seconds, shining metal extensions with multi-colored lights protruded from the circular periphery of the lily pad and began to rotate with ever-increasing speed until the flat, circular ring on the periphery was a whirring, flashing display of spinning metal and multi-colored lights. Two other lighted signs emerged from the surface of the vehicle, one in front and one in back, and these signs flashed their message on and off continuously:

 

VEELA ON BOARD

 

Harry had a sly smile on his face. “Go ahead, Malfoy. Try the airborne function.”

Draco hit the “on” button. A sheet of transparent, glass-like material rose up from the outside circumference of the floor and created a dome that enclosed everything above the floor, forming a room with a crystal dome instead of walls. New signs and controls lit up on the instrument panel. One was for opening and closing the dome. Another sign read: “autopilot (requires human driver on board).”

The vehicle flew into the sky with the ease of the most advanced professional Quidditch broom. The flying machine responded to Draco’s every touch with preternatural performance. Draco was becoming drunk with power. He could make the vehicle fly above the clouds, skim the surface of land or water, fly in spinning circles, anything.

“Hey, Potter, this thing is under my complete control. It’s like the machine can almost read my mind. I love this. What a feeling of raw power.” Draco punched his fist into the air. “I feel like the lord and master of the sky!”

Harry grabbed a handful of fabric from the top of Draco’s shirt. With one violent motion, he yanked Draco close until the two of them were nose to nose. Harry had Draco’s complete attention.

“Listen,” Harry said, smiling, “it’s working perfectly because I’m on board.” Harry’s breath was ghosting against Draco’s lips. “Maybe this machine won’t let me drive, but I think I have to be on board or you’re out of luck. No Veela, no joyride.”

A smile spread across Draco’s lips. “I think you’re right, Potter. Flying this thing as a one-man operation just doesn’t do the trick. You’re indispensible.”

Harry released Draco’s shirt. “Go ahead and try the function for Veela-related plant life. Let’s see what happens.”

Draco pressed the “on” button. As the vehicle hovered in mid-air, a huge fluorescent red and yellow mushroom shot up from the ground until it was at the same height as Harry and Draco’s vehicle. The crystal dome of the vehicle opened as miniature versions of the fluorescent mushroom dropped into the vehicle from the underside of the mushroom cap. The dome closed and the lily pad flew off to other areas of the wetland.

“Malfoy, fly low over the bog and open the dome all the way. I want to see if I can get some flower specimens by reaching over the edge of the vehicle.”

Draco had the lily pad flying at slow speed with the dome removed, just above the bog. Harry knelt down on the floor and started to lean over the edge.

“No, wait,” Draco said, “you might fall over the edge.”

“All right, what do you suggest?”

“Teamwork, Potter. This requires teamwork.”

Draco switched the controls to autopilot and knelt down on the floor behind Harry, putting one knee on either side of him. He circled one arm tight around Harry’s waist, used the other hand to hold onto the bottom of the steering column, then pulled Harry in close.

“There. You can stretch your arm out as far as you like. No chance of you falling overboard now, is there?”

“At this point, Malfoy, you’ve made it physically impossible for me to fall overboard.”

“You see, Potter? You can always rely on my good sense.”

Seemingly drawn to Harry, flowers with fantastically mutated colors and shapes appeared on the surface of the bog as he reached his hand out to skim the surface of the water, and Harry gathered one specimen after another and tossed them toward the two backpacks. By the time the sun was setting, Harry and Draco had collected a variety of plant and flower specimens of such bizarre form and color as to be found nowhere else on earth. They returned the vehicle to the landing spot where they had left their brooms. When they stepped out of the vehicle, it began shrinking, and within a minute it had returned to its original form: a tiny purple lily pad.

“Do you think this machine is good for only one use?” Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I think we’ve collected enough. If we follow the instructions the Eastern Shore spirits gave us, all we’re missing are some specimens of plants and flowers that you find more easily at night.”

After nightfall, the two boys finished up their collection efforts by taking turns using their wands to cast a Lumos charm for light. By midnight, they were both exhausted and set up their sleeping bags on the same hillside where they had rested that morning. Soon after casting a warming charm, Draco was sleeping like the dead. But Harry, as tired as he was, slept only lightly. He should have become used to it after the last several years, the absurd dream Voldemort was always dragging him into, and Harry’s dream began with a familiar scene.

Voldemort stands in the middle of the ballroom, acting like the same self-important jackass he’s always been, reading his curse at Harry. Yeah, yeah. Harry knows it by heart. “You’re a self-righteous little prig. You’re too uptight to see anything but social convention and your own preconceptions.” Blah, blah, blah.

Harry is in the train station now, looking at his eleven-year-old self crying next to the suitcase, although his face is still hidden under the hood. But the real events didn’t happen that way. Hermione reminded him that he’d forgotten his suitcase, and he ran back to the station platform to get it, but he wasn’t crying at all.

Now the dream takes a different turn. Harry’s in the train carriage with Hermione, and the dream proceeds as an accurate vision of past events—the same conversation Harry remembers having with Hermione on the train at the end of first year.

“It was that last Herbology test,” Harry says to Hermione. “That’s the one that was so hard. I couldn’t remember half of those plants. I think I got the answer for Gillyweed wrong.”

“Get the textbook out, Harry,” Hermione says. Harry hauls the Herbology textbook out of his suitcase and is skimming through the chapter on aquatic plants.

“Oh, and get out the Herbology workbook. Did you do any of the exercises?”

“A few,” Harry says, searching through his suitcase. The workbook isn’t there. Harry is looking through everything now, emptying the suitcase completely.

“I lost it, ’Mione. I must have left my Herbology workbook at Hogwarts.” Harry scowls. “That’s crazy. I can’t believe I left it back there.”

The dream was becoming so unsettling that Harry was shouting in his sleep: “My workbook… I lost it… I need my workbook!”

Draco was snoozing peacefully in his sleeping bag when Harry’s frantic voice drew him out of sleep.

“’Mione, I know I packed it… I couldn’t have lost it… I want it back!”

Draco shook Harry to wake him, but he tried to bring him out of sleep gently… because Harry was crying, the tears flowing freely onto the sleeping bag.

“Potter, you’re having a bad dream,” Draco said, trying to sound reassuring.

“Draco.” Harry was talking—and still crying—but not yet awake. “I need my workbook.”

“Potter, wake up.”

Harry opened his eyes. “Malfoy.” Harry looked around, scanning the surroundings. “I was dreaming, wasn’t I?”

“Definitely. And you were crying when you woke up.”

Harry let out a long sigh. “It’s that same dream Voldemort keeps sending me.”

“The one you told me about in June, at the end of term?”

“Yeah. Voldemort is still in the ballroom, blathering about the curse he’s casting on me. But this time, I dreamt about something that really happened. When I got back onto the Hogwarts Express, I was trying to find my Herbology workbook. I asked Hermione about a test in Herbology, and she told me to get out my workbook. But I couldn’t find it because I lost it. It’s funny, but I never did remember where I left it. Not that it was any big deal. I mean, I only finished a couple of the exercises. It wouldn’t have done me much good anyway.”

Draco shifted and looked away, refusing to meet Harry’s eyes as he spoke. “I’m sure it’s not important. You should just forget about it and try to get some sleep.”

“It’s strange that I was crying while I was dreaming about it, though. I wasn’t that upset when I lost the workbook, you know, at the end of first year. It was just a stupid workbook. Malfoy?”

Draco forced himself to make eye contact, grudgingly turning his head to face Harry.

“Do you think I’ll ever figure out the dream? I mean, why Voldemort is sending it.”

“Probably not.” Draco’s hands were on either side of Harry’s face, and Draco wondered why his body had such a mind of its own. He was becoming increasingly concerned about the disconnect between his brain and his body in situations like this.

Draco’s voice was scratchy. “Dreams usually don’t work that way. You’ll just stop having that dream. Now get some sleep.”

 

* * *

 

After breakfast, Draco noticed how sleepy Harry still looked, and he knew it was because Harry had spent most of the night tortured by dreams. Draco was setting himself to the task of organizing the plant and flower specimens they had collected, but when he saw Harry’s eyelids drooping, he gathered the collection of specimens into his backpack.

Draco tugged at Harry’s sleeve, pointing to the solitary tree on the hillside. “Let’s move underneath the tree where it’s shady. I can organize the plants and flowers over there, and if you want, you can take a nap. Bring your sleeping bag.”

Harry settled himself under the tree and rolled his sleeping bag into a makeshift pillow. With the sheltering branches stretching over him, Harry fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Draco finished organizing and labeling the plant and flower specimens soon enough. He looked over at the boy sleeping under the tree, studied the perfection of face and figure, and he had no problem understanding why Harry had recently acquired such a legion of admirers.

Draco fished a new item out of his backpack: the book of classic English verse that Greg Goyle had brought with him this year. Draco had asked if he could borrow it, in case he found himself with empty time during this expedition, and Draco skimmed the pages looking for the poem he’d read earlier. When he found the page he wanted, he settled down next to the fast-asleep boy. Draco couldn’t help running his fingers through Harry’s silky black hair. No harm in that, was there? He kept the fingers of one hand tangled in the loose waves of dark hair while he used the other hand to hold up the book of verse.

With Harry sleeping contentedly beside him, Draco looked out from the hillside, and a feeling of mastery came over him, mastery of everything he surveyed, mastery of the world. He smiled, wondering whether Harry would find his attitude annoying. Draco surveyed the landscape of meadow and bogland below as one particular verse ran through his mind:

 

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land!

 

When Harry woke, the sun was at its zenith in the sky. He looked around, and next to Draco were only two very full backpacks and their brooms.

“You sorted through everything while I was asleep. It’s all packed up?”

Draco nodded. “Time to get back to the castle.”

“Too bad we can’t stay longer. You’re probably used to the swampland by now, aren’t you?” Harry couldn’t help grinning. “All that gurgling mud and slime and algae.”

“I’ve always been used to it. I told you there are lowland bogs near Malfoy Manor. Pansy and I used to play near them when we children.”

“You’ve known her since you were children?”

“Sure. Greg and Vince too. Even the Ravenclaw girl you asked me about before.”

“The pretty redhead?” Harry looked at the ground. “Your girlfriend?”

“Potter.” Draco’s exasperated tone forced Harry’s head to snap up. “I told you back in Potions class that our families know each other, but she’s not my girlfriend.” Draco’s eyes rolled upwards. “I can see that only a full confession will satisfy your curiosity. All right, we had one brief fling, and I think it was more a result of our families shamelessly pushing us in each other’s direction. They had some idiotic notion about family alliances that would be beneficial in the future. But things never went beyond one furtive roll in the hay.”

“The two of you didn’t get along that great?”

“She was obsessed with social standing and respectability. I wanted passion. Too bad she didn’t have a dash of Veela ancestry in her family background. I seem to remember your very pointed remark yesterday after my messy attempt to operate that lily-pad vehicle by myself. ‘No Veela, no joyride.’”

Harry chanced a sidelong glance at Draco. “I said that?”

“That’s exactly what you said, Potter.”

“So did you find passion with other girls?”

Draco drew a deep, labored breath. “That one ill-fated affair is the full extent of my romantic experience. But then you haven’t succeeded brilliantly yourself. I recall your liaison with that big oaf, Urquhart. So what if he’s going to captain the Slytherin Quidditch team this year? I doubt he’s cracked open many books since he started at Hogwarts. He probably gets by with remedial tutoring. What on God’s earth drew you to an illiterate lout like Urquhart?”

“Er… an ill-advised sense of adventure? Misplaced hero worship?” Harry had run out of plausible excuses. “Sheer stupidity?”

They were both laughing now. Any tension that had lingered between the two of them dissolved in the warm sunlight, and they were soon flying back to Hogwarts Castle. They decided to land some distance away from the castle—they were keen to avoid attracting attention—and instead landed in a nearby field and walked the rest of the way. The spires of the castle loomed ahead of them as they waded through the bluebells that were still in bloom. Clusters of long, thin stems and wave after wave of violet-blue parted for them as they approached the castle, absorbed in the pleasure of each other’s company and heedless of whether they might meet anyone on the way.

“So you have woods and fields and bogs close to Malfoy Manor,” Harry said. “When I was growing up, I tried to imagine what countryside like that would be like, but I never saw anything except suburban houses. Anything else near Malfoy Manor, like maybe a ruined fortress?”

“No fortresses”—Draco slid an arm around Harry’s shoulder as they walked—“but there’s a cave hidden away in a patch of woods. I’m the only one who knows about it. I never told anyone about it, not Pansy, not Greg, not even my parents. I wanted to keep it as my secret place. I’ll take you there, Potter. You’ll love it. I know you will.”

Harry could only stumble along, mesmerized by the physical contact with Draco. Neither one of them was even aware that they had reached the path leading up to the castle, and they certainly weren’t aware of Dean Thomas and Michael Corner walking toward them until Harry and Draco almost collided with them.

Draco performed some quick calculations. These two would start making moves on Harry any second now. Forget about using cinnamon. Harry and Draco had forgotten to bring any cinnamon along with them. Then Draco noticed that Dean and Michael didn’t have their brooms with them. Draco was preparing to make an emergency escape with Harry by taking off on their brooms… and then he noticed that Dean and Michael were chatting away calmly with Harry, not even trying to get close to him. What in blazes was going on?

“Er… Thomas, Corner”—Draco chose his words with care—“Potter and I are on our way to deliver a report to Professor Snape—a report for a Potions project. I’d love to stay here and chat, and I’m sure Potter would as well, but we’re pressed for time and…”

“Don’t let us keep you,” Dean said. “Carry on.”

“You don’t object,” Draco ventured, “if Potter and I have to get back to the castle just now?”

“Of course not,” Michael replied. “Why should we object?”

“Hey, Dean”—Harry was already pulling Draco by the arm—“I’ll see you in Gryffindor soon. But I have to finish my Potions project with Malfoy first.”

“Good luck then,” Dean said, heading away from the castle with Michael. “See you.”

“Potter, what in the hell is going on? I think we can use cinnamon on those two once more before it loses its effectiveness. But we didn’t even have a chance to get them to eat something with cinnamon. We didn’t have any counteragent at all. And they didn’t even try to make a move on you. Neither one of them grabbed you or even tried to kiss you.”

“I don’t know what’s going on. Please believe me, Malfoy. If I knew, I would tell you.”

“All right, we’ll figure it out later. Let’s get back.”

Once they got back to Hogwarts Castle, Harry and Draco agreed to leave the plant and flower specimens in Harry’s room on the sixth floor and then continue on their Potions project in the morning.

Draco lingered at Harry’s door before leaving. “We’ve got everything set up to develop an ace potion. I’ll bet it’ll impress the hell out of Professor Snape. And just to make him happy, you’ll have no trouble finding that toy you had when you were four years old, will you?”

“I’ve kept it hidden in the same place for years. It’s in a broom cupboard under the stairs. I hid it underneath the floorboard that’s directly under the light fixture. That’s the only floorboard you can remove, and I’m the only one who knows.”

“Potter, I had no idea you had such an affinity for secret hiding places. It sounds almost Slytherin.” Draco started down the corridor, but then turned around. “If you want to get an early start, meet me at the same place in the library before breakfast, the tables in the northwest corner.”

After Draco had headed down to the Slytherin common room in the dungeons, Harry heard a series of soft knocks on his door. Harry opened his door to reveal a vision of mysticism in action: Sybill Trelawney dressed in her finest attire, simply dripping with bangles and sequins.

Harry managed to get two words out. “Professor Trelawney.” After he recovered from his shock, he continued. “I thought you were still in the hospital wing.”

“I’m feeling much better now. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Potter. Please forgive the unproductive results of my spell involving the swamp spirits. I have perfected what I believe to be a sure-fire spell. I’m confident it will produce successful results.”

Harry had the strongest feeling that Professor Trelawney was an inept charlatan, but how could he refuse her? She was a respected member of the Hogwarts faculty. He had no choice but to invite her into his room and let her have at it.

“Professor, please come in.”

Sybill Trelawney proceeded to explain the spell she had prepared: Abeyance of Conscious Attraction.

“You see, Mr. Potter, Abeyance of Conscious Attraction will suspend your powers of erotic attraction for a period of seven days. That is to say, it will make those powers dormant for seven days. If the spell is successful, I will collaborate with other members of the faculty to develop a more permanent spell. Now, Mr. Potter, just relax as I cast the spell.”

Sybill Trelawney had her wand trained on a nervous Harry Potter while she recited the incantation. It was fortunate for Harry that he was seated in a comfortable stuffed chair because when Professor Trelawney finished her incantation, Harry promptly fell asleep.

At first, Trelawney thought she had encountered only a minor glitch.

“Mr. Potter, are you awake? Mr. Potter?”

After some time, Trelawney realized the gravity of the situation and sought assistance.

Trelawney returned to Harry’s room later that evening carrying the full documentation for her spell. Following immediately behind her was Severus Snape, his eyebrows a single scowling black line, and his right hand he clenched some research documentation so tightly that his knuckles were white as paper. Snape examined Harry briefly.

“Mr. Potter has fallen into a deep sleep. Sybill, let me see the background research and documentation for this spell.”

“My command of Latin is not all that it should be, Severus,” Trelawney said, handing the bound parchment to Snape.

Snape flipped through the pages with ever-increasing irritation. “You thought this was a spell to suspend powers of sexual attraction for seven days?”

“I did my best with the translation.”

“Abeyance of Conscious Attraction? This is a spell for abeyance of consciousness. It puts the victim into a deep sleep for seven days.” Snape put his hands to his temples, as if wishing for abeyance of a splitting headache. “Sybill, I realize your efforts are well-intentioned, but there is no denying that disaster most often follows in your wake.”