Congenital Magnetism

Severus Snape had been focusing his energies on the one task that had become crucial to restoring tranquility to Hogwarts School. He had given meticulous attention to every detail of the potion he’d been developing for the past week and a half, the potion that was tailor-made to counteract Harry’s unique Veela powers. Anyone who consumed the potion would hopefully be immune to Harry’s powers of Veela attraction, and the finished product was at last ready to test out. Snape’s only real option was to use Ron Weasley as the guinea pig since, according to Harry, Ron was the only male student other than Draco who knew about Harry’s Veela family background.

Snape sat at his desk, waiting for Ron and Hermione to keep the appointment they’d made to meet in his office, and he reflected on the chances of a successful outcome. Ron had readily agreed to visit Harry in the hospital wing to test out the potion, telling Snape he had the willpower to withstand what he called “all that Veela nonsense.” Hermione insisted on coming along, remembering Ron’s previous lapse into erotic behavior when they were visiting Harry in the hospital wing one week before, just after Trelawney had cast the spell that put Harry to sleep for a week. Snape had to admit that having another competent person present could only be a plus, just in case the potion didn’t work and Ron’s behavior… degenerated. Snape shuddered, trying not to think about that possibility.

When Hermione and Ron arrived at Snape’s office that Friday evening, they first found it necessary to apologize for being late.

“We’re so sorry, Professor Snape,” Ron began. “I know we said we’d be here at six fifteen—”

“—and you’ve managed to arrive a full fifteen minutes late, I notice.”

“It was Seamus Finnigan, Professor,” Hermione said. “He knew we were going to visit Harry, and he wanted to come with us so desperately. It was everything we could do to keep him from following us here to your office.”

“I’m so glad he didn’t,” Snape said.

“Seamus hasn’t seen Harry for almost two weeks now,” Ron said. “We told him Harry is doing fine now that Professor Trelawney’s spell has worn off, but he wants to see Harry for himself.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “I hope he doesn’t do anything crazy like surprise us all and show up at the hospital wing looking for Harry.”

“That would complete my day,” Snape said, as unsettling visions of Seamus attempting to seduce Harry danced through his already over-burdened mind. Snape let his head rest against his hands with his fingers pressing against his temples. After a slow, labored breath, he reached around to the set of shelves behind his desk and retrieved the phial containing the finished potion, then offered it to Ron. “Let’s carry on, shall we? This is the potion you need to consume, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron downed the potion, grimaced and offered a single remark: “It tastes horrible.”

“An excellent indication of its potency,” Snape replied. “I see you’ve brought your wand, Miss Granger.”

“Yes, Professor. Ron and I thought it would be better if I were the only one who brought my wand… er, under the circumstances.”

“That does make a certain amount of sense,” Snape said, watching Ron’s face turn pink. “I don’t think it will be necessary for me to bring my own wand. I trust, Miss Granger, that you will be able to keep matters in hand should Mr. Weasley require assistance. As I understand, you were able to keep Mr. Weasley under control on the Hogwarts Express by means of… wrapping him in spaghetti?”

Ron raised his hand in protest. “That won’t be necessary. Even if your potion doesn’t work, I’ll be fine.” Hermione cast a worried look in Ron’s direction as the three of them left Snape’s office.

 

* * *

 

The soft, golden light of the setting sun was still streaming in through the high arching windows of the hospital wing when Snape, Ron and Hermione arrived. Madam Pomfrey received them in the small antechamber near the entrance.

“I would never have believed Mr. Potter could recover this quickly,” she told them. “I was certain he would need at least another day or two in bed to recover from the energy drain that You-Know-Who inflicted on him. But I will say that Mr. Malfoy has been very dutiful in visiting Mr. Potter over the past day, and that seems to have had a beneficial effect. Mr. Potter isn’t even in bed anymore. He’s catching up on some of the reading from the classes he’s missed. Come with me. I’ll bring you to his area.”

Pomfrey led the three visitors through the hospital wing, a vast section of the castle with stone walls and floors, and high vaulted ceilings. The chambers followed each other in a straight line and were separated by arched doorways, although each set of great wooden double doors was opened wide. Pomfrey guided Harry’s visitors through two long hospital chambers with beds on either side. Farther on, they entered a third and final chamber; this last chamber had no obvious exit at the far end, although Pomfrey knew of hidden emergency exits.

Pomfrey and the others stopped just past the doorway, near the bed Harry had been using. They spotted Harry, who was ensconced in a large, comfy chair at the farthest end of the chamber. At first, Snape, Pomfrey and Ron kept a large distance away from Harry, remaining near the doorway and not crossing the room to join him. Hermione went forward first, striding across the room to meet him.

“Harry,” she said, “I suppose Madam Pomfrey’s told you that Professor Snape has finished the potion he was working on for, er…” her tone was bright and optimistic, “… for the special talents you’ve recently developed.”

“Yeah, of course. Erm, that’s great.”

Ron now dashed across the room and jumped in front of Harry, a little too quickly for everyone’s liking. Snape and Pomfrey remained on the other side of room, and their eyes darted back and forth between Ron and each other. Hermione stood stock still, hardly daring to breathe. Ron had a frozen smile cemented in place, his jaw muscles twitched, his eyes were wide-open and there was a crazy, haunted look about him. He stuck his hand straight out to shake hands with Harry.

“How’s it going, Harry.” Ron’s tone was a little too hearty—it seemed forced. As soon as he started to shake hands with Harry, his head jerked to the side, then straightened up, and then jerked to the side again. “I’m the first one who’s taken Professor Snape’s potion, so I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how everything…”

Ron hadn’t let go of Harry’s hand and started pulling him in closer and closer, and finally wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist. Ron’s entire body went rigid and then began to vibrate violently, causing Harry to vibrate along with him. Ron’s body seized up in one quick spasm, becoming still again. Then Ron abandoned all pretense and began squeezing Harry’s bum with both hands while he nuzzled Harry’s neck.

“Merlin’s pants,” Snape muttered.

Pomfrey drew Snape close and spoke low enough so that Ron and Harry couldn’t hear. “Severus, I don’t have my wand. It’s in a drawer at the front desk. And what are all those glittery little things milling about in the air in Mr. Potter's vicinity?”

“The clouds of glitter around Mr. Potter are a phenomena only female observers can see,” Snape whispered. “Granger brought her wand. However, I didn’t bring my own, and… I rather regret it now.”

Ron threw his arm around Harry’s shoulder and said, “Let’s talk outside the hospital wing. You don’t need to be cooped up in here anymore.” Ron tried to lead Harry back across the large hospital chamber toward the doorway, but Harry yanked his arm away, holding his ground.

Hermione’s mouth opened, and remained open for a moment before she said anything. “Ron, I don’t think that’s the best idea,” she said.

Ron had a shrewd look on his face and said, “Hermione, you’re right”—his voice was suspiciously calm—“Harry should stay here with you.”

Hermione glared at Ron before stomping in front of Harry and grabbing hold of his arm with both hands, but as Hermione passed him, Ron deftly removed Hermione’s wand from her pocket. He pointed the wand toward the large iron chandelier that hung halfway between the high ceiling and the floor, and performed a charm that lengthened the heavy metal chain that secured it to the ceiling.

“No! Mr. Weasley!” Madam Pomfrey’s desperate cry reverberated against the stone walls.

The chandelier, its chain increasing in length, lowered to where it was even with Ron’s waist. He pocketed Hermione’s wand, seized a mattress from a nearby bed and threw it across the center area of the chandelier, fitting it snuggly into place.

Pomfrey’s voice rang out again. “Mr. Weasley, stop!”

Harry’s attention was captured by the traveling chandelier, and Ron caught him off guard, pushed him onto the mattress and tackled him, trying to pin him against the mattress. Harry was struggling with Ron and just about to gain the upper hand, but before Harry was able to break free, Ron pointed the wand at the chandelier chain and performed the reverse charm. The great metal chain magically shortened, and everything—chandelier, mattress, Harry and Ron—was lifted back to the original height, high above everyone’s head and closer to the ceiling rafters. The chandelier seemed to serve as a makeshift tree house, inaccessible to those below, which was exactly Ron’s intention.

“You’re activating…” Pomfrey’s face had drained of all color and she took a gasp of air, “… you’re activating the hospital wing’s ceiling suspension chain!”

The next sound to capture everyone’s attention was metal grinding against metal. An entire section of the stone wall at the far end of the chamber, near the comfy armchair, disconnected itself from the rest of the wall and lowered down until it was parallel with the floor, like the gangplank of a ship. Pomfrey rolled her eyes, as though expecting this, and the various other stunned observers now saw that the stone gangplank supported a gigantic chain spool. The heavy-duty chain was indeed attached to the chandelier. Monstrous metal gears, on either side of the chain spool, cranked around in an impressive display, releasing more of the chain and causing the chandelier to first lower a few feet and then rise up until it was near the ceiling again.

The conveyor system now appeared. A strip of the ceiling plaster running the entire length of the chamber disappeared to reveal a metal track, and the chandelier was propelled forward a couple yards. The whole process repeated itself, and the chandelier holding the mattress, Ron and Harry went down a few feet, then up near the ceiling, and then forward a couple more yards along the ceiling track.

All of this took Ron by surprise—understandably—and on the second descent, Ron dropped Hermione’s wand. She seized the opportunity, snatched the wand off the floor and waited for the jolly chandelier to descend a third time. First, Hermione used her wand to release more of the chain and bring the chandelier much closer to the floor. Down came the chandelier, Hermione pointed her wand and—

The spell she was ready to cast was meant to immobilize Ron. But the descent toward the floor was bumpy and lurching, and as the chandelier neared the ground, Harry and Ron fell off the mattress and tumbled onto the floor—just as Hermione’s spell flew through the air.

“Accio Pâtisserie!”

Instead of hitting Ron, the spell hit the mattress, all activity of chains and gears halted, and the chandelier remained at its present height, a few feet off the ground. Harry and Ron were getting up off the floor and dusting themselves off when they stopped to admire what everyone else was staring at: the chandelier gently swinging just above the floor had, in its center section, a mattress encased in a single enormous French croissant.

Pomfrey took command of the situation at once. “Mr. Weasley, remain where you are. Miss Granger, I think you can lower your wand. This chandelier is clearly no longer of use as a vehicle. Severus, I trust you can hold Mr. Weasley at bay until I fetch my wand from the front desk.”

Ron cringed as Snape riveted him with a glare of frightening intensity. “I assure you,” Snape said, “that will be no problem.”

Pomfrey cast the unlocking spell on the doors wandlessly.

“Effringo!”

The doors swung open and Pomfrey’s mouth dropped. There stood Draco Malfoy, as calm and collected as though he were strolling through the park.

“There was no one at the front desk,” he said by way of explanation, “and since I’ve been visiting Potter off and on over the last day or so, I thought it would be easier if I found my own way through the hospital wing.”

Draco ambled into the room and his eyes locked with Harry’s. Draco needed some kind of physical contact with Harry, needed it so much. He wanted to hold Harry, kiss him, anything, but he looked around and saw the curiosity on everyone’s face. Draco just smiled softly at Harry, nodded and said, “Potter.”

Harry, too, had noticed the perplexed looks he and Draco were getting, and sighed in relief when Draco called him by his surname. Harry was starting to feel like he was sharing a secret with Draco, a secret they were keeping from the rest of the world. He smiled back at Draco and nodded.

“Malfoy.”

“Madam Pomfrey,” Draco said as he looked around the room and up at the ceiling, “I’d never realized the hospital wing was equipped with this sort of hardware.”

“Mr. Weasley attempted to use the chandelier to keep himself and Mr. Potter beyond anyone’s reach.” Pomfrey’s voice still betrayed her agitation, but she managed to continue explaining. “He didn’t realize the hospital wing has a ceiling suspension chain for hanging pieces of heavy equipment from the ceiling. Mr. Weasley was…” she reddened, trying to maintain control, “… making sexual advances on Mr. Potter.”

“I’m standing a foot away from Harry,” Ron said, raising his voice, “and I’m doing no such thing.”

Everyone turned to look at Ron and realized he was telling the truth.

Harry was scowling. “I have an idea, but I have to make sure first.” Harry wound his arms around Ron’s neck and waist. “You’re sure you don’t want to get romantic?”

Ron squirmed, trying to get free of Harry. “I’m quite sure, thanks. And Harry”—Ron started laughing—“I know you’re trying to prove a point, mate, but you can unwrap yourself from me anytime now.” Ron was determined to put some air space between the two of them, and Harry relented.

“I don’t understand,” Pomfrey said. “Only minutes ago you were groping Mr. Potter in the most lewd, obscene fashion, but now…”

Hermione joined in. “Now you’re back to your usual self,” she said, trying to put the clues together and solve the riddle that confronted her. “So what’s different now that wasn’t the case a few minutes ago?”

Pomfrey put her hand on Snape’s arm. “I’m sorry to say so, Severus, but it wasn’t your potion. And you know how I’ve always said you’re one of the most brilliant members on our faculty. But in this case…”

Snape gave Pomfrey a small, grateful smile. “No need to be diplomatic, Poppy. My potion was a failure of epic proportions. I was certain Mr. Weasley would shortly begin to molest Mr. Potter on that mattress,” Snape said, pointing to the mattress that was now encased in a massive French croissant, with only the corners and sides of the mattress poking through.

Draco sauntered over to the chandelier with its unusual cargo. “Well now, what have we here? Why, Granger”—a blush was already scalding Hermione’s cheeks—“this looks to all the world like an enormous mattress-stuffed croissant.” Draco tore off a morsel of the croissant and popped it in his mouth. “Very tasty indeed. Light and flaky and buttery, with just the right touch of sugar. Of course, I wasn’t present when this mattress underwent its transformation, but why do I suspect your hand in this, Granger? Can you tell me?”

Hermione’s face was becoming progressively redder.

“And by the way, Granger, that’s a very attractive blush. I think it suits you.”

“Hey, watch it, Malfoy,” said Ron, who was clearly not amused.

“No worries, Weasley. I’m not making moves on your girlfriend. Just an innocent compliment.”

“All right, Malfoy.” Hermione was quietly fuming. “It was a culinary spell. I was aiming at Ron because he was on the mattress with Harry, and I had to… stop him somehow.”

“Weasley.” Draco’s voice was ever so cheerful. “You devil. I really have to rid myself of my tedious old preconceptions about you being entirely straight.”

“I am straight!”

“And may I inquire,” Pomfrey asked, “what exactly is a culinary spell?”

“Granger has come up with quite a few of these,” Draco offered. “Let’s see, there were those three spells on the Hogwarts Express; one wrapped Weasley in spaghetti and one bound Greg’s hands and feet together with caramel candy. And let’s not forget the grand finale. One of the other students nicked Granger’s spell book and found a spell that encased Pansy in a giant container of tapioca pudding. And now it seems Granger has added something new to her repertoire: this charming bakery creation. I think she’s developing a new branch of magic altogether. It’s a kind of hybrid craft—a cross between magical spells and Muggle cooking.”

Snape shook his head and said to no one in particular, “I don’t know what this world is coming to.”

“Hey,” Harry said, unable to resist, “is pâtisserie the French word for pastry?”

Pomfrey cut in impatiently. “That will do, Mr. Potter.”

“But I still don’t understand,” Hermione said. Once she latched onto a problem, she was tenacious and refused to give up until she arrived at a solution. “Ron isn’t affected by Harry’s Veela attraction anymore. If it’s not Professor Snape’s potion, then what is it that’s affecting things now that wasn’t when we arrived?”

Harry looked over at Hermione and wondered why she couldn’t grasp the obvious, in spite of her intelligence. “Malfoy’s here,” Harry said in a small voice.

“That’s right,” Hermione said, “Malfoy’s here now and he wasn’t when we first arrived, but I don’t see what difference that would—”

“And the same thing happened one week ago,” Harry added, “just before Professor Trelawney cast the spell that put me to sleep for a week.”

“What same thing happened?” Snape asked.

“We ran into Dean Thomas and Michael Corner,” Harry said, “but they weren’t affected by the Veela thing at all. And so, I thought the only explanation was because Malfoy was with me.”

Draco continued to explain where Harry left off. “It was late Thursday afternoon, several hours before Professor Trelawney cast her spell on Harry, and Potter and I were walking back to the castle. We were walking through one of the fields to the east of the castle, and we were talking to each other as we were walking, not really paying attention to what was ahead of us. Before we realized it, Dean Thomas and Michael Corner were almost in front of us. I thought maybe Thomas and Corner would try to waylay Harry. We might have gotten them to eat a pumpkin pasty with cinnamon, but we hadn’t remembered to bring any with us.”

Madam Pomfrey wasn’t certain she had heard correctly. “A pumpkin pasty with cinnamon, did you say? What earthly good would that have done?”

“Ultimately, no good at all,” Snape said. “Some misguided researchers had sought to counteract the effects of Veela attraction by asking their experimental subjects to consume cinnamon—”

“A cooking spice?!” Pomfrey could not quite believe her ears. “What a preposterous notion.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Snape said. “The researchers discovered that cinnamon gave their subjects temporary immunity to Veela attraction for a period of about 12 hours on the first two occasions on which they consumed it. However, it had no effect at all after the second occasion on which the subject consumed it.”

“Ron,” Hermione said, “that’s why you acted the way you did when we visited Harry here in the hospital wing a week ago. You ate three pumpkin pasties with cinnamon before we got here, but it didn’t do any good at all. That must be because you had already used cinnamon twice: the tapioca pudding you ate before you got off the Hogwarts Express and the pumpkin pasty you ate just before you met Harry in the Room of Requirement.”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley,” Pomfrey said, “you visited Mr. Potter a week ago today. That was the first occasion on which you were… groping Mr. Potter.” She scowled at Ron. “And on top of it all, you were groping him while he was being kept asleep by Professor Trelawney’s spell. Shameless.” Ron’s face was almost as red as his hair.

“But please continue, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said. “How did Mr. Thomas and Mr. Corner react when they saw Mr. Potter?”

“They didn’t act unusual in the least. They were standing right next to Potter, but didn’t show the slightest inclination to get into his pants.”

Snape coughed loudly. “Thank you for that summary, Mr. Malfoy, but could you explain why this effect hasn’t made itself known before, for example, when you and Mr. Potter were collaborating on your project in the Potions classroom, or for that matter, on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of term?”

Draco shrugged and arched his left eyebrow in that manner Harry always found so seductive and distracting.

Harry answered instead. “Draco and I were getting on better with each other for the first time. It was different than before, on the Hogwarts Express or in the Potions classroom. It was the first time when we were having fun being together. We were just enjoying… er… the pleasure of each other’s company. I think that was when Draco’s presence started having a different effect on my Veela powers.”

Hermione was now confronted with the unthinkable: Harry was calling Draco by his given name. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out at first. Her eyes were wide with shock as she absorbed this alarming new information. Finally, her voice came back to her.

“Draco?! Oh, so it’s Draco now, is it, Harry?” The pitch of Hermione’s voice rose higher. “The two of you are on a first-name basis?”

“Malfoy,” Harry blurted out. “I mean Malfoy.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he considered Harry for a moment. Snape finally spoke, making his suspicions clear in a velvet tone. “The two of you had finally reached a friendly accord? Or perhaps more than friendly?”

As always, Harry found it impossible to lie. “Maybe a little more than friendly.”

A pall of silence hung over the room, and it seemed no one had the nerve to speak. After a long interval, Snape broke the silence.

“Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco smiled enigmatically, and then shrugged.

Ron had reached his breaking point. “That’s ridiculous!” he shouted. “Harry, you’re saying that Malfoy counteracts the Veela thing whenever he’s around you? What, he’s supposed to be your lucky ferret now?”

“Put a lid on it,” Draco shot back, “and don’t be such an interfering weasel. I don’t think it would be that surprising if my presence were doing some good.”

“Ron, Malfoy,” Hermione said, losing her patience, “you two arguing all the time doesn’t help matters. Would you try to compromise just a little?”

“Ask him!” Draco and Ron shouted in unison, creating a stereo effect.

Harry shook his head, looking back and forth between Ron and Draco, and quietly voiced his concern. “I wonder if the two of you were separated at birth?”

The comment rubbed Ron the wrong way. “That’s not the least bit funny, Harry!”

“Hey, Harry, there you are!” Seamus Finnigan’s voice drew everyone’s attention at once as the Irish boy strode into the room and stopped in front of Harry.

“Mr. Finnigan,” Pomfrey objected, “you do not have permission to simply wander through the hospital wing at will.”

“But there was no one at the front desk. And everyone’s been hiding Harry from me even though I’ve asking about him for a week now.”

Hermione was kneading her fingers. “Professor Snape, I knew Seamus would follow us here. Ron and I asked him not to, but he just wouldn’t give up.”

“And sure enough,” Snape intoned, “the icing on the cake has arrived. My day is now complete.”

“Wait,” Hermione said looking at Seamus. “Stand right next to Harry.”

“I am standing next to him,” Seamus replied.

“Closer,” Hermione said.

Seamus moved closer until his shoulder was touching Harry’s.

“Close enough?” Seamus asked. “So what is this supposed to prove?”

“That you’re not trying to get Harry into bed,” Hermione said.

“I promise you, Hermione,” Seamus said, “I’m not trying to shag Harry.”

“Professor Snape,” Hermione said, “I was trying to figure out if your potion really did work successfully on Ron, and it was just a delayed effect. But that’s impossible. Even if the potion had a delayed effect, that wouldn’t explain why…”

Snape continued Hermione’s train of thought. “Yes, Miss Granger, I see your logic. It wouldn’t explain why Mr. Finnigan seems to be immune because he hasn’t consumed my potion. And as far as Mr. Finnigan consuming anything containing cinnamon—”

Harry jumped in. “We got Seamus to eat a pumpkin pasty with cinnamon last week in the Potions classroom, right after Blaise. It worked on both of them the first time. When we tried it on Blaise the next day, it didn’t work.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Potter,” Snape said. “How can I forget the memorable occasion on which Mr. Zabini tried to have his way with you on top of a storage cabinet? But I can see what conclusion you’re coming to. Mr. Finnigan has already consumed something containing cinnamon twice before being exposed to your presence: Miss Granger’s tapioca pudding on the Hogwarts Express and the pumpkin pasty in the Potions classroom. If he had inadvertently consumed something with cinnamon today, it would have no effect in any case. So the only possible agent that is giving Mr. Finnigan immunity today would be—”

“Malfoy?!” Hermione said the name as though it were a word from a foreign language.

Ron looked at Draco, scrutinizing the details of Draco’s face and body for the first time in his life. “I don’t get it. What would you have to do with counteracting Harry’s Veela powers?”

Hermione’s eyes seemed focused either on nothing at all or something far in the distance. “I suppose we have to accept the possibility that Malfoy is neutralizing the Veela attraction Harry projects, at least when he’s near Harry.”

“That may well be the case,” Snape said, “but there still remains the problem of Mr. Potter’s Veela powers when Mr. Malfoy is not present. Mr. Weasley has given us a convincing demonstration this evening of how dire the situation can become.”

“Then I suggest,” Draco said, “that Potter and I continue with our Potions project. With randy blokes like Weasley running about, we’re racing against the clock, aren’t we? Who knows when Weasley will be in the wrong place at the wrong time? He’ll find himself alone with Potter, and I’ll be nowhere in sight. And God forbid that the Daily Prophet were to get hold of the story. Oh, who is that winsome creature who writes articles for the Daily Prophet? Rita Skeeter? You can imagine the headline, can’t you? ‘Sex-Crazed Weasel Runs Amok—Commits Ravishment on Fellow Hogwarts Student.’”

“He’s right, Professor Snape,” Harry said, deciding that he should break in before Draco pushed everyone’s nerves past the breaking point. “I know we’re close to a breakthrough in our project.”

Snape’s tone was deadpan. “I tremble to say this, Mr. Potter, but your collaborative project with Mr. Malfoy is our only option at this point.”

“You know,” Harry said, “I was thinking of sending a letter to Fleur Delacour in France. She knows more about this stuff than just about anyone.”

“I think it would be best,” Pomfrey said, “if everyone left and gave Mr. Potter a rest. He is supposed to be recuperating from the unfortunate week of energy drain that You-Know-Who was inflicting on him.”

Harry objected. “Madam Pomfrey, I feel fine. I’m sure I feel well enough to leave now.”

“Mr. Potter, I must insist that you stay in the hospital wing one more night. Tomorrow morning, if you feel as well as you do now, you’ll be free to leave.”

“Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione said, “if I might visit with Harry briefly after everyone leaves.”

Pomfrey looked at Snape. “No harm in that, I should think,” she said.

“At least she’s not a boy,” Snape remarked.

“And I’ll be visiting Potter later in the evening,” Draco added. “Potter and I have to strategize. Our Potions project has to prevent all these blokes from tearing Potter’s clothes off and shagging him on the spot. No worries, though. Potter and I will whip out a plan that’s rock solid.” Ron groaned, but listened helplessly as Draco finished. “By tomorrow morning, we’ll have all the explicit details fleshed out.”

Hermione and Pomfrey both winced.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, “your choice of words seems almost intentionally cruel. Concerning whatever scheme you and Mr. Potter intend to inflict on an unsuspecting world, I can only adopt a fatalistic approach. Very well, I already have a meeting scheduled with the Headmaster in his office tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. You and Mr. Potter should plan to join us. I will inform the Headmaster that the two of you are threatening to perpetrate another Potions experiment. He may want to review the school’s disaster drill procedures.”

In view of the recent events in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey felt inclined to put in a good word for Draco. “I will say that Mr. Malfoy doesn’t create the sort of commotion the others do.” She glanced at Ron and Seamus. “Mr. Potter, I’ll clean all of this up”—she waved her hand at the low-swinging chandelier, complete with a mattress encased in a huge croissant—“after Miss Granger is finished visiting with you.” Pomfrey then gathered together Snape, Ron, Seamus and Draco, and led them out of the chamber, leaving only Hermione and Harry behind.

As Draco passed, Harry pulled him aside and whispered, “Bring your wooden communication board with you. We should get in touch with the Eastern Shore Network, eh?”

Once everyone else had left, Harry flopped back down in the overstuffed armchair, and Hermione perched affectionately on the side of the chair.

“Harry,” she began, “I don’t pretend to understand this new effect Malfoy is producing—I mean, your Veela powers becoming dormant when he’s around you.”

“But Professor Dumbledore’s already written to Fleur,” Harry said, “asking her for information, and he told me what the long-range solution is. If I find a mate, and that person accepts me, then the Veela thing won’t affect other people anymore.” Harry looked down at his shoes and said in the quietest voice, “You never know. Draco might be my mate.” Harry lifted his head up, taking a chance on Hermione’s response. When he saw the renewed shock on Hermione’s face, he said, “Yeah, we call each other by our first names.” Harry eyes were pleading; he was trying so hard to make her understand. “Draco and I really are becoming friends.”

Hermione gave Harry the most sensible response she could think of. “Even though you might call each other by first names—even if you’re friends—you still have every reason to believe that Malfoy is straight. Look, he’s had a girlfriend for some time, for Merlin’s sake. That decorous redhead girl from Ravenclaw—” Hermione cast her eyes upwards and threw up her hands. “Oh, I don’t even remember what her name is.”

“She’s not his girlfriend anymore. All right, he told me they went to bed with each other once, but the only reason they were together as long as they were was because their families know each other, and they were pushing Draco and her together. Their families were hoping for some kind of family alliance.” Harry looked straight at Hermione, and there was a flash of determination in his eyes. “I don’t think it’s that unusual for families to push boys into getting a girlfriend, whether they want one or not.”

Hermione’s look softened. “I suppose you have a point. People do put a lot of pressure on boys to find a girlfriend, and maybe that’s part of the reason Malfoy was together with that girl. Maybe he’s not as straight as I think.” She covered Harry’s hand with both of her own hands. “But I care about you, and I don’t want to see you hurt. I don’t want you to set your heart on something that isn’t real. Especially someone like… oh, for the love of everything sacred, Draco Malfoy?!”

Harry laughed and put his arms around Hermione. “He’s wonderful with me. You’d be shocked. When I woke up from Trelawney’s spell, I felt so sore and weak that I couldn’t even stand up. And Draco took care of me like I was part of him. You and Ron have always been the best friends I could have, but Draco shows me the sort of affection that…” Harry’s cheeks went pink, “… you know. I think he’s starting to like me the way I like him.”

“Oh, Harry, I can see you’re a lost cause.” Hermione slid off the arm of the chair and stood up now. “I’ll let you get some rest. And besides, I can barely concentrate enough to hold a conversation with you because of all that glitter material flying around you all the time.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Just promise me you’ll try to use a little common sense when you’re dealing with Malfoy.”

Harry listened to the retreating sound of Hermione’s footsteps against the stone floors as she left the hospital wing, and he decided to write his letter to Fleur. He included all the information he thought might be of use: the fiascos with cinnamon and Snape’s potion, and even more importantly, how Draco’s presence had recently counteracted the Veela effect on other people. After Harry finished off his letter, he made his way up to the front desk of the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey arranged for a school owl to deliver the letter to Beauxbatons Academy in France.

The only thing left to do that evening was meet with Draco, who had promised to visit later. Harry was thankful that he’d remembered to ask Draco to bring the wooden communication board with him. After all, the spirits at the Eastern Shore Network had told them to get in touch after they’d collected all the plant specimens from the bog. But that was over a week ago. Who would have known that the whole project would get derailed by Trelawney and her spell-gone-wrong?

Harry walked back toward the chamber of the hospital wing where he’d been staying the past week, reclaimed the armchair and picked up reading where he’d left off, intending to study for classes until Draco showed up to visit. Harry soon found it difficult to keep his eyes open; he needed sleep more than he’d realized, if only a little nap. Harry put down the textbook and walked across the chamber to his bed, lay down, but didn’t bother taking off his clothes or getting under the covers. It was just a little nap, wasn’t it… ?

Harry is back in the middle of his ungodly recurring dream, but now everything is mixed up, and an assortment of images and sounds comes in random order. First, Harry hears the sound of a train passing, loud enough to be a foot away. Then Harry sees Voldemort in a huge ballroom while the jukebox is playing hard-driving big band music from the World War II era. Voldemort struts around the ballroom, holding a rubber cartoon-character chicken and swinging it around in circles. He sees Harry, sneers at him and launches into a stream of invective, continuing to swing the rubber chicken around in circles during his tirade.

“Potter, you imbecilic twit, you are nothing of any interest unless verbal abuse is heaped upon you. Therefore, it is in your own best interest that you submit to my insults. When are you going to throw that tiresome goody-two-shoes Gryffindor routine out the window? All that priggish house-rivalry nonsense—Gryffindor versus Slytherin, blah, blah, blah—what a joke. What in the bloody hell do you think Veela are supposed to do? Pose for holy pictures? As your atonement for being such a sanctimonious git, you will concentrate your efforts on delving into your soul and discovering the lurid debauchery that surely lies within. A good start would be to repeat the sacred mantra of the Veela Nation: Chicka Boom Chicka Boom.”

Without warning, the jukebox switches to polka music, and a disembodied hand covered in a white glove and holding a wand rises up out of the jukebox and hurls a spell at Voldemort.

“Imperio!”

Voldemort screams in torment. “Aaaaah! I frigging hate polka music!” But the Dark Lord starts to sing along with the music anyway.

Then Harry finds himself on the train platform before the Hogwarts Express leaves, watching a small boy whose face is hidden under the hood of his robe, and Harry knows that this has to be his eleven-year-old self standing next to his suitcase. But why is he always crying like that? Just Voldemort messing with his mind again.

Now he sees his eleven-year-old self in the train carriage with Hermione, and he remembers more of the conversation than he did in his previous dreams.

Hermione is saying, “So there were some questions on the Herbology test that you think you got wrong?”

“Yeah, I think I got the question about Gillyweed wrong,” Harry answers.

“Did you get the question about hellebore right?”

“I know I got that right because we had to collect a specimen of hellebore on our own. I had to make a few field trips alone, but I finally found a good location where hellebore grows wild, even mutated varieties. The place is way out in the forest and hard to find, but I wrote down the directions for how to get there in my Herbology workbook…”

“Mr. Potter.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was drawing Harry out of sleep. “You have a visitor.”

Harry woke up from his nap, shaking off his dream, and saw Madam Pomfrey and Draco standing on either side of his bed.

“I guess I needed a little nap,” Harry said, sitting up.

“More likely,” Pomfrey replied, “you need a good night’s sleep. Mr. Malfoy, try to make your visit a short one. I’ll be at the front desk.”

As soon as Pomfrey was gone, Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Did you bring the communication device?”

Draco reached into his backpack and pulled out the wooden board he and Harry had been using to communicate with the spirits at the Eastern Shore Network.

“Let’s get started,” Draco said, sitting on the bed next to Harry, and he laid a piece of parchment on the board.

 

This is Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter contacting the Eastern Shore Network. Just over a week ago, we collected the plant and flower specimens for the Potions project you’re assisting us with. You told us you would give us further instructions at this point for incorporating the plant and flower specimens into the potion we’re developing. We would have contacted you sooner, but Potter was detained for about a week.

 

ESN Reply>> You two gentlemen do get sidetracked, don’t you? So what were you up to for a week? ★

 

Harry and Draco passed messages back and forth with the Eastern Shore spirits, explaining that Trelawney’s spell-gone-wrong kept Harry asleep for a week, and Snape’s potion, which everyone had such high hopes for, was a total flop. Then came a message directed at Harry, along with an unexpected gift.

 

ESN Reply>> Harry, we’re not surprised your professor’s potion didn’t work, brilliant though he may be. The long-term solution to your out-of-control Veela powers will be something you are much more personally involved in creating. Just to demonstrate the extent to which we can help you, the spirits in our association pooled our efforts and obtained a gift for you, a token of our esteem. ★

 

A square paper object materialized out of thin air, slowly floating down through the air to land on Harry’s bed. It was as if an invisible spirit located near the high-vaulted ceiling of the hospital chamber had dropped the object, but it only became visible halfway through its slow descent from the ceiling to the bed. Harry could only stare at the square piece of paper at first, a Muggle portrait photograph of four people. As he picked up the portrait photo, Harry recognized two of the people as Aunt Petunia and his mother, and they appeared to be in their teens. The other two people were clearly Harry’s maternal grandparents. Harry found it hard to speak, let alone understand what branch of magic could retrieve an object from an unknown location and materialize it on the spot.

“My mother,” Harry whispered, “and Aunt Petunia… when they were teenagers. And the two older people are my grandparents.” Harry looked at Draco. “I’ve never heard of any kind of magic that can do something like this. The Eastern Shore spirits must have found this photo somewhere at my uncle’s house. Aunt Petunia always keeps her personal things in locked cabinets. How were they able to find it?”

Draco eyed the photograph in Harry’s hand, scowling. “These spirits have more sophisticated powers than I imagined.”

Harry had to find out about this strange new type of magic. He started writing on the parchment.

 

This is Harry. It’s almost unbelievable that you can retrieve an object that was locked up in one of my aunt’s cabinets.

 

The reply from Eastern Shore was intriguing.

 

ESN Reply>> Harry, we intend to send you another gift—something of real value to you—but we might send it to you when you and Mr. Malfoy are doing research in the boglands or forests, and we need an exact location when we deliver your gift. Can you give us the name of some other person who can accept packages for you or act as an emergency contact when you and Mr. Malfoy are not at Hogwarts? ★

 

Harry took the quill and started writing before Draco could say a word.

 

Would you send any packages to Ron Weasley? And you can use either Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger as emergency contacts. They both stay in the student dormitories in Gryffindor Tower.

 

Draco sighed in resignation, expecting this. He was getting accustomed to the idea of dealing with Ron and Hermione, however unpalatable the idea might be.

The response from the Eastern Shore spirits was accommodating, if nothing else.

 

ESN Reply>> No problem at all, Harry. We’ll list Mr. Ron Weasley as your alternate recipient for accepting packages, and we’ll be happy to explain to Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger any privileges they have as your emergency contacts, should they ask us. And now, can the two of you tell us what types of plant and flower samples you’ve gathered together? ★

 

More messages went back and forth and the Eastern Shore spirits endorsed Harry and Draco’s selection of specimens.

 

ESN Reply>> An excellent assortment and very conducive to the success of your project. Only one vital ingredient is missing: the variety of hellebore whose flowers are red in color. Most hellebore plants in Britain have green flowers, but you will occasionally find a mutated variety with red flowers, and this is the variety you will need to complete your potion. You will probably want to look for this plant in a forest area rather than a bog. Contact us again when you have this last ingredient. Until then, best regards. ★

 

All writing disappeared from the parchment, and Draco put the wooden board in his backpack, seeing that there was no further information they were going to get from Eastern Shore tonight. Then Draco picked up the Muggle photograph of Harry’s maternal relations and said, “I can see it in all three of them.”

“See what?”

“Your mother, your aunt and your grandmother. I can see that seductive beauty that I think comes from their Veela inheritance. Not as much in your aunt because I think she was intent on repressing it.”

“Aunt Petunia always tried to be different than my mother because she thinks magic is weird and disgusting. Then last year, she had some sort of sudden insight, and she realized that the attraction my mother held for so many men had nothing to do with magic. She told me all of this when I went back to Little Whinging at the beginning of summer vac. She finally understood that my mother’s magnetism was hereditary, and that it was something they had both inherited.”

Draco held the photograph up and examined it again. “She might have been repressing it when she was a teenager, but when I visited your aunt’s house a week ago, her Veela magnetism was in full gear. She could well have passed for an international fashion model. But I see the Veela traits most of all in your grandmother. Capucine Lefevre Evans? Dumbledore said that was her name, didn’t he?” Draco studied the photo more closely. “Your grandmother was full-blooded Veela. I’m sure she had men dropping like flies.” He put the photo back down on the bed and slid next to where Harry was sitting. Draco brought his hand up to caress Harry’s cheek. “I see it in you too, Harry.” Draco stroked Harry’s lips with the knuckle of his index finger. “… so bloody gorgeous. It’s unearthly.”

Harry shifted and looked away. “But it doesn’t have any effect on you… like it does on the others.”

Draco wrapped one arm around Harry’s neck. He took Harry’s chin in his hand and turned Harry’s head until their eyes met.

“The difference,” Draco said, “is that I didn’t see this big change everyone else did after you came back to Hogwarts this year. You’re just as beautiful to me now as you were the first moment I ever saw you, in Madam Malkin’s robe shop.”

“No… Really?”

“Yes, Harry. Really.” Draco couldn’t stop himself. With his arm still around Harry’s neck, Draco’s body disconnected from his brain once again, and he edged closer until he felt Harry’s lips against his own, lips that felt softer than Draco had ever imagined they would. Harry reached up and held onto Draco’s shoulders as they kissed. Harry’s desire was unmistakable now, and Draco’s arms encircled Harry in response. An eternity passed in a few moments while Draco kissed Harry with all the tenderness he’d bottled up for so many years.

The two finally broke away. Draco suddenly felt awkward and had the notion he’d gone too far, so he arranged his escape. He got up from where he’d been sitting and walked to the end of the bed. “I don’t think Pomfrey’s going to allow me much more visiting time. Right then. We’ll meet each other at Dumbledore’s tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, like Snape told us. I’m sure we can get permission to spend one more day out in the field. No classes to worry about on a weekend.”

“Draco, wait.” Harry was still reeling from their brief kiss, but there was something he had to let Draco know. “The last plant we have to get is hellebore, the kind with red flowers. I remember that from first year. Actually, I was dreaming about it while I was napping, just before you got here. It was the end of first year and I was on the Hogwarts Express before it pulled out of Hogsmeade Station.”

Draco raked his hand through his hair, leaving it wild and unkempt looking. “I hardly think something from first year would be of any use here.”

“No, Draco, listen. I had to gather hellebore for Herbology class, even some mutated varieties, and I went to one of the forest areas around here alone, but I don’t remember where it was. I wrote down the directions for how to get there in my Herbology workbook, the one I lost. I never worried about finding that workbook again, but now it might have information that could help us. Maybe I could look in some of the storage cabinets Professor Sprout uses. She might use one of the cabinets as a lost-and-found. I might have left my workbook in the classroom, or maybe in one of the greenhouses…”

“Harry”—Draco’s voice was raspy now—“just forget about it. I don’t think there’s any chance you’ll find your workbook after almost five years.”

Clearly, Draco hated the whole idea, so Harry gave up. “OK, Draco,” Harry said, his voice quieter. “I’ll see you in the morning at Dumbledore’s office. But… is it all right if I hang onto the communication board tonight? Just in case I have any last minute questions for the Eastern Shore spirits?”

Draco gave in and walked over to the edge of the bed, where Harry was sitting. “No harm in that, I guess,” Draco said as he ran his fingers through Harry’s hair. He pulled the wooden board out of his backpack and handed it to Harry with a smile creeping across his lips. “Get some sleep, angel eyes.”

As Draco walked through the hospital wing toward the front desk, he tried to ignore the uncomfortable prospect of dealing with spirits who had the power to retrieve long lost objects out of thin air.

Finally alone, Harry mulled over the question he had for the Eastern Shore Network. He had to admit that he was unlikely to find his Herbology workbook in one of Professor Sprout’s storage cabinets, but a more promising idea had struck him before Draco left—Professor McGonagall’s Time-Turner. Would it work when someone was dreaming? It was worth a shot. If he could go back in time an hour or so in his dream, he could find out why he was always crying when he was standing on the railway platform; if he could go back in time in his dream to earlier in the morning, he might even find out where he left his Herbology workbook.

Harry wondered why was Draco so negative about trying to find the workbook, but he knew that if the Time-Turner worked and he found the plant information they needed for their project, Draco would change his mind and he’d be impressed with Harry’s resourcefulness. Harry got Draco’s wooden communication board out, took the quill and began writing on a new piece of parchment.

 

This is Harry and I have one last question for the Eastern Shore Network. Can time travel devices work when someone is dreaming? There’s this dream I keep having, and if I could go back in time a few hours, I might be able to get some useful information for my Potions project with Draco Malfoy.

 

ESN Reply>> Greetings, Harry. We were hoping you had access to a time travel device because it might be necessary later on, when you’ve assembled all your potion ingredients. To answer your question, yes, time travel devices work just as well when you’re dreaming as they do when you’re awake. Do you have access to such a device? ★

 

Yes. I can borrow a device from one of my professors that she calls a Time-Turner. It looks like an hourglass you wear around your neck as a pendant. You turn the hourglass the number of hours that you want to go back in time.

 

ESN Reply>> Ingenious. When you’re connected to our network, we can modify devices like that to use time units other than hours, but we’ll discuss that after you’ve gotten your last potion ingredient. If you’ll indulge our curiosity, what information do you think you can find in your dream that will be so useful? ★

 

I lost my Herbology workbook at the end of my first year at Hogwarts, and I know I took down some notes about where to find hellebore. When Draco and I talked to you earlier, you told us that was the last ingredient we had to get.

 

ESN Reply>> We do have certain techniques for locating long-lost objects, as we demonstrated earlier this evening. We’ll get back to you on that. In any case, let us know how your own efforts fare. Never hesitate to get in touch if you need our help, Harry. ★

 

As the last of the writing disappeared, Harry decided on a plan. He was sure he could persuade Pomfrey to let him leave early in the morning. He had his Invisibility Cloak waiting for him back in his room on the sixth floor of the castle, and Professor McGonagall certainly wouldn’t miss her Time-Turner if he borrowed it for a few days. Harry tossed off his clothes, climbed into bed and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.