Congenital Magnetism

Harry held his first-year Herbology workbook in his lap, open to the letter Draco had written on the inside cover and flyleaf. A green and silver Slytherin bookmark draped itself over the edge of the workbook. He couldn’t bring himself to look back down at Draco’s letter for a while; the first few lines had already burned themselves into his memory:

 

 

Dear Harry,

You probably weren’t expecting to get a letter from Draco Malfoy. I surprised you, didn’t I? I guess I surprised myself too. At the beginning of term, I tried to be your friend. I offered you my hand, but you wouldn’t take it, and I still don’t know why.

 

 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. The sound of a train rushing by filled his ears, and Harry realized he’d heard that sound before when he’d been reminded of how he had rejected Draco at the beginning of first year. Harry gathered his nerve, then looked back down at the inside cover of the workbook and continued reading.

 

 

I wanted to be your friend from the very first time I saw you, in Madam Malkin’s robe shop. I don’t think I’d ever met anyone like you before. I saw you in that robe shop, and everything else in the world disappeared. You had wild, crazy hair and bright green eyes. I thought it made you look like a lion. Maybe not a full-grown lion, more like a lion cub. But it’s better not to try to compare you to anything. I just wanted to be with you, and you wouldn’t have anything to do with me. You didn’t seem to know a lot about wizarding, so I thought maybe if I could teach you about Quidditch, you’d be friends with me. But you wouldn’t even shake my hand.

I didn’t tell my father that I know you. I’ve heard my father mention your name before. He definitely knows who you are. Everyone does because you defeated the Dark Lord when you were so young. It’s not that Father sounded like he disliked you. He sounded as though he thought you were dangerous, so I decided it was better if I didn’t tell him your name. I just wrote to my father and told him that there was this boy at school, and I wanted so much to be his friend, but the boy just ignored me. Father told me not to be too disappointed about it right now because the future might be different. He said if two people are destined to be friends, fate would bring them together in spite of any obstacles.

 

 

Fleur. She had said something very much the same. Harry strained to remember her words:

“Harry, don’t give up. Maybe the two of you didn’t get on so well during your first years at Hogwarts, but your love might be all the stronger because of the obstacles you’ve overcome. A great love will bide its time until it finally has a chance to bloom.”

Harry looked back down, determined to read until the end.

 

 

I was angry with you all year, Harry. I was so angry that I wanted you to get in trouble for taking that stupid dragon of Hagrid’s up to the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night. But I stopped being angry with you the night of our detention in the forest. When I saw that hooded thing next to the dead unicorn, I knew I should stay with you no matter what. That creature meant you harm. I could feel it. But no matter how much I tried to convince myself to stay with you, I couldn’t. There was something about the creature under the hood that was so unspeakable that I couldn’t help running from it.

I wrote to my father and told him about our detention that night. I told him what happened to us in the Forbidden Forest. Father wrote back and told me what I did was shameful. He told me that if I cared about you and wanted to be your friend, I would have stayed by your side when you were in danger. I promised myself I would never make that mistake again. But there was one last thing my father said in his letter. He told me never give up. If there’s something that means a great deal to me, never, ever give up. So I’m putting this back in your suitcase for you to read because I’m not giving up.

Draco M.

 

 

Harry rose from his seat and rolled up his Herbology workbook. He left his temporary quarters on the sixth floor and walked through the corridors of Hogwarts Castle, making his way to the first floor. Mid-morning classes had let out, and students filled the corridors. Seamus Finnigan turned the corner of a corridor on the first floor and, when he saw Harry, headed directly toward him.

“Harry, where were you yesterday?” Seamus was already next to Harry, although he showed no inclination to touch Harry while he was talking. “We were all asking for you, and Dumbledore told us you were taking another day off away from the castle to get ingredients for that Potions project you and Malfoy are working on. When are you two going to finish that project?”

To Harry, it all felt like some kind of miracle. Until today, Draco’s presence was the only thing that kept Harry’s Veela powers from affecting the other male students, but Draco was far away in Hogsmeade, fetching the last ingredient for the potion recipe. And here stood Seamus, as cool and collected as Ron had been earlier, chatting away as though lecherous thoughts were the farthest thing from his mind. Harry looked around as he spoke with Seamus, and the extent of this new miracle made itself known. The students milling around in the hall were all behaving toward Harry just as they had before he’d come into his Veela inheritance on his sixteenth birthday. His old world at Hogwarts was back again.

Then Harry noticed a knowing smile on Seamus’s lips and a shrewd glint in his eyes, and it was clear that some shift in understanding had occurred. Something was different in Seamus’s demeanor after all. Was it a lack of innocence, or was it just that hypocrisy had vanished?

“Seamus, do you remember when the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Quidditch teams caught me alone with Kyle Urquhart in the locker room? At the end of term last year. You weren’t there, but the Ravenclaw and Slytherin players must have told you about it. Actually, I think they told the whole school about it.”

Seamus’s smile didn’t fade. “I can see what you’re getting at, Harry. People were quick to judge you. It would look pretty stupid if I did that”—Seamus started laughing now—“I mean, considering everything I did on the Hogwarts Express… oh, yeah… and earlier this morning.”

Full-color visions of the trip on the Hogwarts Express filled Harry’s mind. First, Seamus sneaking into Harry’s train compartment by disguising himself as the trolley witch. Next, Seamus tossing the gray wig and trolley-witch disguise aside and launching himself at Harry, using the element of surprise to snatch Harry’s wand away from him. The last vision was Seamus sidling up from behind and gluing his free hand to Harry’s bum, then squeezing hard.

“Yes, I remember,” Harry said. “A picture is forever.”

“Hear me out on this, Harry.” Seamus kept his distance from Harry while he spoke, and he looked around to make sure no one else was within earshot. “I’ve known about you being one quarter Veela since last Friday,” Seamus said, lowering his voice, “when you were still in the hospital wing. Remember when I walked in? Everyone was talking about how Malfoy was neutralizing the effects of your Veela powers. Snape and Ron explained the whole Veela thing to me after we left the hospital wing that night, but they swore me to secrecy, so I promise you, none of the other students know.” Seamus took a step closer, toe-to-toe with Harry. “You know, I’d never fancied boys before that train ride on the Hogwarts Express. I suppose what happened… your Veela thing… I don’t think your Veela powers would work on me if I wasn’t capable of fancying a boy at all. I mean, that type of love had to be a part of me in the first place, right?” Seamus had a glint in his eye that bespoke anarchy. “And now I know a bit more about the extent of my erotic capacities, thanks to you, Saint Potter.”

The title “Saint Potter” took on a distinctly off-color connotation for Harry. Had the sixth- and seventh-year boys made Harry the patron saint of something-or-another? Fleur’s silvery voice echoed through his mind: “Mon dieu, Harry! You’ve even got the straight ones chasing after you.”

And here stood Seamus, an erstwhile straight one, continuing his train of thought. “The Veela thing is gone, I can tell. But doesn’t Malfoy have to be around for that to happen? Like when he visited you in the hospital wing. I don’t see Malfoy anywhere about.” Seamus held his eyes on Harry, and then the truth dawned on him. “Your Veela powers don’t have the same effect anymore. The change is permanent, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, but if the change is permanent, it solves loads of problems.”

“We’re still on break between classes. Let’s test it out.” Seamus clamped his hand around Harry’s arm. He led Harry into a corner of the Middle Courtyard filled with Gryffindor students; Blaise and Pansy stood apart from the Gryffindors, but close enough to exchange insults if need be. Harry was surrounded at once by the crowd of Gryffindors. Most of his housemates were close enough to touch Harry, but no one came closer than what was usual for conversation.

“Harry.” Dean Thomas was tapping Harry on the shoulder. “When are you going to come back to Gryffindor Tower? Dumbledore keeps telling us that first you have to finish up your Potions project with Malfoy.”

“By the looks of things, I might be back in Gryffindor Tower soon. I think Draco and I are ready to wrap up the project.”

Lavender snaked through the crowd and moved directly in front of Harry to offer her assessment. “Harry, no stupid glitter anymore! Congratulations! I mean it’s been impossible to have a normal conversation with you ever since the beginning of term. Do you have any notion how irritating all those little colored pieces of glitter were, the ones that flew off you in every direction? It was like trying to speak to someone while they were throwing big handfuls of confetti in your face.”

“Confetti?” Pansy’s voice boomed from a short distance away. “No, Potter, it was much worse than that. At least little pieces of confetti have the decency to obey the law of gravity and fall to the ground. Your blasted glitter, or whatever the fuck you call it, is actually airborne and capable of flight for a short time. Each little speck of glitter is like a tiny neon-colored insect about the size of a grain of salt. Beastly stuff.”

Lavender continued Pansy’s argument. “And it was useless to wait a minute for the stupid little glitter pieces to land on the ground because Harry just kept producing more. You tried to have a civilized chat with him, and you were instantly assaulted by clouds of glitter.”

“So, Potter, tell us,” Pansy said, moving next to Harry, “do these sorts of spells or charms have an affinity for you in particular, or do they gravitate toward annoying people in general?”

Blaise moved up to where Pansy stood and put a hand on her shoulder. “We told you and all the other girls that the glitter was just a hallucination caused by the spell Potter was under. None of the boys ever saw these little pieces of glitter you were always talking about. You should have believed us.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Pansy rounded on Blaise. “Speaking of things that girls find mysterious, would you mind explaining why you spent most of the trip on the Hogwarts Express this year trying to get into Potter’s pants? You’ve always had a reputation for being exclusively straight. At least, until this year’s Potter fiasco.”

Blaise edged in closer to Harry… even closer… and they were nose-to-nose.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Blaise asked. “Whatever spell was affecting you has stopped working. Anyone can tell.”

Harry studied Blaise and finally convinced himself that no one except Seamus knew about Harry’s Veela family background yet.

“The spell is broken,” Blaise said to Pansy. “So what’s different now? Potter’s forced me to look at myself more honestly. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Pansy said. “Actually, I think honesty is rather attractive. It suits you, Blaise.”

Harry had never seen Pansy wear a genuine smile, and it was a shock now to see her smiling so broadly.

“I suppose it’s a community service,” Pansy said, turning her attention back to Harry. “Well done, Saint Potter, although now we’ll have to find you a religious sect that’s appropriate for your skills as a saint. Perhaps we can scare up some religious tradition from another part of the world—some Bacchanalian cult centering around immoderate forms of sexual yoga. I think that would be about your speed, Potter.”

Blaise put his arms around Pansy’s shoulders. “What Pansy means is that your contribution is unique.”

“Harry, why don’t you come back to Gryffindor Tower tonight?” Seamus asked.

“Soon, but not tonight. I just want to be alone for a while.”

Harry kept his Herbology workbook discreetly rolled up, took his leave of everyone and headed toward the field that lay to the east of the castle. The high grass was lovely and still green, but wouldn’t be for long. Winter would arrive all too soon, the bluebells would be gone, and the land would be stilled by snow.

 

* * *

 

Draco carried his package in a backpack as he flew back from Hogsmeade toward Hogwarts Castle. After he landed, he sped downstairs to the dungeons, toward the private Potions classroom he and Harry had been using. He went over the instructions the witch from Hogsmeade had given him:

“This is a roll of phyllo pastry dough, which is really many dozens of thin, rectangular sheets of dough stacked on top of one another. Don’t freeze it; just refrigerate it before using it. Use whatever cooling charm you’re comfortable with.”

In his haste, Draco hurried into the private Potions classroom without looking around. He didn’t notice that halfway down the corridor, there was a figure standing very still whose eyes were trained on the door of the Potions classroom. Draco didn’t waste time wondering about how peculiar the witch’s instructions were. He just picked a small, unused storage container and applied a cooling charm. With the phyllo dough safely refrigerated, Draco tried to dash out the door. Ron, who had been watching the door from the corridor, chose that moment to walk into the classroom, and his chest collided with Draco’s with a thud.

“I have to find Harry,” was the only thing Draco could think of saying, at first.

“And I was trying to find…” Ron swallowed hard, “… you.” Then Draco detected the worried, guilty look plastered all over Ron’s face. Yes, Ron did have some explaining to do.

“Well, what have we here?” Draco said, stepping in quite close to Ron and allowing himself to savor Ron’s discomfort. “You’ve gotten back from our little jaunt to London, and you don’t look the worse for the wear and tear of travel, I suppose. Am I expected to say that you clean up very nicely?”

Ron’s face turned pink, and he turned the palms of his hands up in a helpless gesture. “Look, Draco”—Ron stopped short and let loose with a guttural yell of anguish—“Malfoy… I mean Malfoy.”

“Ron, you can pull the plug on using surnames.”

Ron’s eyes snapped open as wide as they could when he heard Draco use his given name.

Draco started to snicker. “I mean, using surnames seems kind of weird… you know… under the circumstances.”

Ron’s face went yet a deeper shade of pink.

“What I really want to know,” Draco continued, “is what you remembered when you were in London.”

Ron did his best to produce a disarming smile. “At King’s Cross Station when we were boarding the Hogwarts Express?”

Draco tipped his head forward until it was quite close to Ron’s. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, smart-arse. I mean your memories from London when we went back in time four frigging hundred years. When Harry and I traveled to the past, we held the advantage over you and Granger. We were real time travelers, and we only had access to our memories from the present. You and Granger didn’t know anything about our lives now, and I’ll have to admit, it was a bit of fun for Harry and I to have an advantage like that over you and Granger for one day.” A stray lock of Draco’s hair brushed against Ron’s forehead. “But now that we’re back, the situation is reversed. You’re the one with the advantage, Ron. I’m sure you remember the rules for that guest account the Eastern Shore spirits let you use. You were actually reliving a previous existence for a day, so you get to keep all your memories from your life in the sixteenth century.”

“Only what I was thinking about during that one-day trip.”

“And… Ron… as I recall from our one-day visit, you were generally thinking about me and reminiscing about the previous summer when, apparently, we were fucking each other like there was no tomorrow. You know things from the sixteenth century that the other three of us don’t.”

“But Hermione was in the same situation as I was.”

“Yes, I forgot,” Draco said. “Granger gets to return with completely useless information about her Hogwarts years in the sixteenth century when she was collecting expensive shoes, clothes and jewelry—and learning how to stack champagne glasses on top of each other. On the other hand, the information about the two of us that you remember is of a more private nature. You and I were carrying on with each other in bed, it seems, all through fifth year and most especially, the summer before fifth year.”

Draco shrugged carelessly. “I don’t want it to seem like I have to know every last detail. I’m sure you want some time to organize your thoughts about this unlikely torrid affair between the two of us in the sixteenth century.” Draco did his best to appear calm and indifferent, even though he was dying to find out about the sexual logistics involved. “I’m just mildly curious”—Draco smiled pleasantly—“that’s all.”

“Our families were such good friends four hundred years ago,” Ron said, his eyes on the floor. “It was as if we grew up with each other. No one ever thought twice about how often or how long I stayed at Malfoy Manor.” Ron looked up, but still avoided Draco’s eyes. “I remember everything… everything from that year, and that summer I spent living with you at Malfoy Manor. I remember it all so well because I was thinking about it a lot during the one day we spent in the past.” Ron fixed his eyes on Draco and ventured a small, tentative smile. “It was fun”—Ron coughed, his face quite red—“and I’ll tell you anything you want to know… but not just yet, OK? It’s all really new information for me, and I need to let it percolate a little.” Now Draco could see the pleading look in Ron’s eyes. “Draco… I just don’t want to fight anymore.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore either. And besides, I have to find Harry.”

“Draco, before you see him, you should know that he got his Herbology workbook back. The one from first year that he thought he lost.”

This was the very last statement Draco was expecting to hear, and it gave him a moment’s pause. For the time being, Draco didn’t even waste time wondering how Ron knew about any of this. The more important question was how the workbook could be back in Harry’s possession.

“But how is that possible? My father took Harry’s workbook away from me. He either threw it away or stashed it in some hiding place at Malfoy Manor.”

“It was the association of goofy spirits,” Ron said, “the ones that sent us four hundred years into the past. The Eastern Shore nut jobs or whoever. They sent that workbook to Harry as a gift, but since he hadn’t returned to Hogwarts yet, they sent it care of me. I think Harry named me as an emergency contact.”

Ron took a deep breath. Now or never, he thought.

“I read your letter, Draco. I was wrong about you and Harry, but I was only worried about Harry getting hurt. And there’s something I told Harry when I first met him on the train at the beginning of first year, something I shouldn’t have told him because I’d only heard it from my parents. My father had always told me Slytherin house had a bad reputation, and that Draco’s father had been a Slytherin when he went to Hogwarts. My father told me I would do well to avoid Slytherins entirely. I know where the ill will came from. My father and your father were always at odds at the Ministry of Magic, and I think they’ve always disliked each other.” Now came the most wrenching confession. Ron steeled himself for the angry response he would likely get from Draco. “And I just gave Harry my father’s advice. Harry knew nothing about the magical world because he was raised by Muggles. I told him Slytherins were a bad lot, and he must have just taken my word for it.”

“So, Harry was not well disposed toward me from the beginning, I suppose,” Draco whispered, the pain showing in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Draco.”

“Not to worry. Harry and I figured things out in the end. I should be going. As I told you before, I have to find Harry.”

“Right. I’ve been trying to find Hermione myself ever since I got back to Hogwarts this morning.” Ron spread his hands with a defeated gesture. “All I need to do is tell her how much she means to me, but I don’t know if she’ll believe me.”

“When you were with me on our trip to the past, you couldn’t shut up about her. I was the unwilling listening post for nonstop Granger worship. You had me convinced at least. In any case, Ron, good luck with her.”

Draco and Ron left the Potions classroom, going their separate ways. Draco headed directly for Harry’s room, threw open the door and was greeted by the sight of Hermione Granger kneeling in front of a chest of drawers and holding Harry’s neatly folded Invisibility Cloak in her hands.

“Malfoy,” Hermione said with a start.

“Harry was supposed to be waiting here for me.” Draco folded his arms in front of his chest. He didn’t give Hermoine further information, but instead waited for her to speak.

“I borrowed Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, and I left a note telling him I would return it very soon.” Hermione realized at once how unscrupulous that sounded without some explanation of her purpose for using the Cloak. “I was trying to find out if Ron had returned to Hogwarts Castle, and I wanted to be… erm… discreet.”

Draco’s smile lit up the room. “Perfectly understandable, Granger. We saw each other last in that sixteenth-century mansion the Weasley family owned in London. We were in the library, I believe, and your boyfriend simply had to find out if my feelings were hurt because he’d taken up with you. Under normal circumstances, that would be the most improbable question anyone could expect from—”

“—from Weasley.”

Some native savvy prevented Draco from uttering Ron’s given name. Draco regarded the wand Hermione held in one hand and considered whether he was really exercising some native sense of self-preservation. He didn’t fancy being on the business end of one of Hermione’s culinary spells. Wrapped in spaghetti or caramel? Dipped in tapioca pudding? Encased in a French croissant? None of it seemed appealing.

“But in the sixteenth century,” Draco went on smoothly, “these weren’t normal circumstances. Weasley and I were an item during fifth year, as you found out just before you returned to Hogwarts. Believe me, Granger, I was as surprised as you were. I will say that Weasley’s continual conversation about how he thinks you are the sun, moon and stars bored me almost to the point death.”

“I heard everything Ron said when I was standing on the other side of the bookcase.” Hermione looked down, but her smile was confident. “I know Ron cares for me.” She opened one of the drawers in front of her and looked up and smiled brightly at Draco. “I’m not trying to get underfoot, Malfoy. I know you need to find Harry. I’m just putting his Invisibility Cloak back in the drawer I got it from.” With the Cloak safely stowed, Hermione rose from where she’d been kneeling and moved toward the door.

Draco moved in front of her, reaching into a deep pocket of his robe and pulling out a small parchment scroll. “Your potion recipe for taming bushy hair.”

Hermione paused a moment in thought. “You asked me to give you a copy of this when we were in sixteenth-century London”—she gave Draco a curious look—“and you kept it for me when you traveled back to the present time.” Hermione took the parchment scroll Draco was offering her. “That was sporting of you. Thanks.”

Once Hermione had left, Draco stretched out on the bed to wait for Harry. Draco looked over at the window and saw the blue midday sky. He closed his eyes, intending to rest for just a little bit.

The next sound Draco heard was the door opening. He opened his eyes and saw that the room had grown much darker. The sun had set, and only the last dying rays of reddish light were streaming in through the window.

Harry closed the door behind him and was already kneeling next to the bed. “Draco?”

Draco, still waking up, raised himself up on his elbow. “I got the last ingredient, the phyllo pastry dough, and I left it chilling in the Potions classroom.” He stifled a yawn, and a tiny smile formed at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry. I was a little tired, with all this running back and forth between here and Hogsmeade.”

Harry smiled back. “I know I was supposed to wait for you here. I didn’t because my Veela attraction doesn’t affect people anymore. I think it has something to do with you writing this.” Harry lifted the first-year Herbology workbook he held in his hand.

“I already know Ron gave you your workbook,” Draco said. “I met him on the way to your room. He told me the Eastern Shore spirits sent it to you, but you hadn’t come back from the sixteenth century yet. So they sent it to you care of Ron.”

“Draco… the most important thing… Ron isn’t affected in the least by my Veela powers, and neither is anyone else—not anymore.” Harry slid onto the bed while Draco sat up. “I remember the dream I had when we were on the bog, gathering plant samples.” Harry pressed the Herbology workbook close to his chest. “In my dream, I needed this workbook more than anything else.”

“I remember. You woke up crying.”

“You know I’ve been getting advice from Fleur Delacour. That’s why I asked you if you ever carved my name into a tree or wrote it on a wall. It didn’t even have to”—Harry couldn’t smother his grin—“have a heart drawn around it or anything. Fleur told me that if you’d written or carved my name on something before my sixteenth birthday, and I finally saw where you wrote my name, I would stop transmitting unwanted Veela attraction. She’d already told me that the same thing would happen if you had written me a letter before my sixteenth birthday, but the idea of you writing me a letter sounded so crazy that I didn’t even mention it.” Harry clutched his workbook tight. “Why didn’t you tell me what you wrote in here?”

“Harry, I was only twelve years old. When my father read my letter and found out who I’d written it to, he told me to consider you a potential enemy and nothing else.” Draco took Harry by both arms and raised Harry up until both of them were kneeling on the bed. “My father’s opinion meant everything to me. I gave up and did what he told me. Then at the end of term last year, you and Kyle Urquhart had that rendezvous in the Quidditch locker room. That’s when I changed my mind. Afterwards, I saw you at Hogwarts Lake, and I knew I had to talk to you, even if it meant going against my father.”

“I was sitting by Hogwarts Lake, Draco, and you walked right up to me. I knew just by looking at you that everyone had told you about the whole thing in the locker room with Urquhart. And you smiled. You were smiling as though you really liked me. The rest of the world had always kept us on opposite sides, but when you smiled at me like that—for the first time ever—nothing else in the world mattered. It was the first time I didn’t care what other people thought.” Harry looked down, not wanting to meet Draco’s eyes. He thought he knew the reason for Draco’s change of heart last June, but he had to be sure. “I figured you started being nice to me for the first time because you thought the idea of the other guys catching me with Urquhart was funny or something.”

“No, Harry.” Draco lifted his hand and brushed Harry’s cheek as he spoke. “I was panicking. I didn’t want to lose you to someone else. I never told you this, but I was so jealous of Urquhart I couldn’t see straight. I felt wretched because I wasn’t free to act on my own like Urquhart did. He was his own boss, and I felt like a coward by comparison. When my father landed in Azkaban Prison right after that, I knew I had to start making my own decisions.”

Draco held Harry’s face in both hands. “Angel eyes,” he said, as he did so often now. The color of Harry’s eyes would always follow Draco, from the rolling hills and wooded valleys of Wiltshire to the narrow glens and mountainsides near Hogwarts.

Harry leaned in until his mouth was caressing Draco’s ear. “You loved me from the start, in first year,” Harry said.

“I was a lost cause as soon as I met you. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before.” Draco took Harry’s hands now. “You were my first love.”

“But I didn’t love you back.”

“I didn’t give you any reason to love me back… and I wish I had. I was obsessed with resentment and wounded pride, and I acted like nothing but an evil git with you.” Draco moved his mouth next to Harry’s ear. “But now I’m giving you a reason to love me back.” Draco’s mouth glided across to Harry’s lips, and he gave Harry a slow, tender kiss. “We won’t ever be parted again.”

 

* * *

 

The following morning, Snape summoned Harry and Draco to their private Potions classroom in the dungeons. The various plant and flower ingredients were organized in storage cabinets, and the final ingredient, phyllo pastry dough, was refrigerating in the container Draco had charmed.

Snape held the parchment containing the potion recipe, and he was scowling as he read. “You are quite sure this is the potion recipe that your association of spirits led you to?”

“We’re certain, Professor,” Harry said. “When we arrived at Ron’s townhouse in sixteenth-century London, the spirits had already sent Ron a letter and signed Draco’s name to it. The letter contained the name of the potion and specific descriptions of the ingredients and techniques. Ron’s library in London even had a research assistant who verified that this is exactly the potion recipe we’re looking for.”

“I ask because this recipe is devoid of any of the usual magical techniques used in this type of potion. And two of the ingredients are items I’ve never heard anyone mention as potion ingredients: eggs… and some kind of curd cheese. And the final instructions are to heat the contents in an oven rather than over a flame.” Snape eyed the instructions with suspicion. “This looks more like someone’s idea of joke than a potion recipe. And I would appreciate knowing the name of the potion in English. The title line of this recipe is in Greek. S-p-a… and I can’t make out the rest of it.”

Snape drew a deep breath. “In any case, you’ve assembled enough ingredients for three or four batches of the potion. This actually works out well since I intend to familiarize myself with the recipe by making an initial batch by myself. If all goes well, and the potion produces the desired results, I will demonstrate the procedure for you, and the three of us will make a second batch together. I’ve arranged for you to meet with the Headmaster in his office at 11 o’clock this morning. That should allow me sufficient time to produce the first batch of the potion. I’ll join all of you in Professor Dumbledore’s office shortly after 11 o’clock. Until then, I prefer to work alone.”

 

* * *

 

Later that morning, Harry and Draco stood in front of the gargoyle in the Headmaster’s Tower. Snape had given them the new password for getting past the gargoyle.

“Go on,” Draco said, and Harry repeated the current password:

“Quiche lorraine.”

The gargoyle moved aside, and Harry and Draco ascended the spiral staircase to Dumbledore’s office. They saw the other two Gryffindors as soon as they walked into the room. Ron and Hermione were standing next to a sofa as Dumbledore now turned toward Harry and Draco and said, “Ron and Hermione arrived just before you. Harry and Draco”—Dumbledore spread his hands apart in a welcoming gesture—“please come in.” The Headmaster ushered them toward two chairs in front of his desk while Ron and Hermione sat down on the sofa.

Dumbledore took his own seat in the high-backed chair behind his desk. “Draco, I’m glad you remembered to bring along the wooden board you’ve been using to communicate with our spirit friends from the Eastern Shore Network. Tell us, how did you first come across the device?”

Draco laid the wooden board on the Headmaster’s desk. “Professor Trelawney gave each student in Divination class one of these boards. Then she told us to go to our dorm rooms and find a small object that was significant for us in some way and use a charm to attach it to the board. The object I attached is a small bas-relief sculpture of a Greek temple. It’s a good luck piece my mother had given me. I always take it with me to Hogwarts, but no one ever knew you could use it for magical communication. One of my 18th-century ancestors acquired the little sculpture at an ancient temple in Lebanon.”

“A magical artifact from the Middle East,” Dumbledore said, “which would explain how you wound up connecting to a spirit network on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean. In any case, we may very well need to ask these spirits a few questions concerning the potion recipe Professor Snape is completing at the moment. I hope the spirits can manage to keep their information straight if they have to advise Professor Snape. They seem to be as prone to occasional oversights as anyone else. It came to my attention that the Eastern Shore spirits had arranged to send you four weeks into the past, and instead, you wound up in the sixteenth century.” No one said a word, but Ron’s face took on a pink tinge that suited his blue eyes and red hair very well.

Dumbledore looked around at the four students. “I wanted to tell you why I’ve asked the four of you here together.” Now Dumbledore looked directly at Harry. “When I first obtained the evidence of your Veela family background, Harry, I told you that only the faculty had been informed, and they had promised not to repeat the information. I believe your three housemates from Gryffindor—Ron, Hermione and Seamus—are the only other students who know of your Veela heritage. It was your own choice to inform Ron and Hermione, was it not, Harry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Seamus, who is not present, found out about your Veela lineage by accident. As I understand, he showed up quite unexpectedly in the hospital wing last Friday in order to visit you. That was when the rest of us here discovered that your Veela powers were dormant whenever Draco was present.”

Dumbledore shifted his gaze toward the other three students. “Seamus has already agreed not to spread the news of Harry’s Veela background, and I’d like the three of you—Draco, Ron and Hermione—to do the same. I think it’s only fair to let Harry explain all of this to others at Hogwarts in a manner of his own choosing.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” Harry said, “but everything changed yesterday. We might not even need the potion at all. My Veela powers don’t affect anyone anymore, even when Draco is very far away. Yesterday, he was in Hogsmeade, tracking down the last ingredient for the potion recipe. First, Ron went to my room to visit me. Then I had a long chat with Seamus in the corridor. After that, I was in the Middle Courtyard talking with most of the students from Gryffindor. Blaise and Pansy were even there. And none of the guys were affected by Veela attraction in the slightest. The girls couldn’t even see the glitter stuff they were always talking about.”

“And Draco was in Hogsmeade during all of this?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded.

“He’s right,” Ron said. “Harry’s Veela powers don’t have the same effect as they did on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of term.” Ron lowered his voice toward the end of his sentence as his mind filled with cringeworthy visions of him and Harry in compromising positions on the Hogwarts Express. “Besides, when I got back to Gryffindor Tower yesterday evening, everyone told me exactly what Harry just told us. They said they were all talking to him in the courtyard, and everyone was behaving quite normally. It looks like the Veela problems are over.”

“An interesting turn of events,” Dumbledore said.

Those inside the Headmaster’s office then heard a loud thud against the door. It was certainly not a knock on the door, but rather, it sounded as though someone gave the door a good sound kick.

Dumbledore rose from his desk and went to the door, which opened to reveal Snape holding a large casserole dish using heavy cloth pot holders. Snape swept past Dumbledore and deposited the casserole dish on a glass-top table next to the wall. He threw the cloth pot holders down next to the casserole dish. Everyone now noticed that a large knife had been plunged into the middle of whatever substance filled the dish, and the mouth-watering aroma filled the office.

“I have mentored this wildly inappropriate project to the point of despair,” Snape began, “and what do I get for it? An outfit of lunatic spirits advising me on Potions.” Snape pointed to the casserole dish with a grand gesture. “Look at this mess!” Everyone stood to get a better view of the flaky, golden-brown crust that covered the substance in question. “Magical potions are supposed to be liquid, at the very least, not some gooey, baked mess that looks for all the world like a luncheon dish. This is worthless.”

Ron was in front of the casserole dish first. “This smells great, Professor Snape. Would you mind if we had a taste?”

“Albus,” Snape said in a weary voice, “would you pass out plates and forks? We certainly have enough ingredients left to make a few more batches if we have to repeat this ridiculous exercise.” Snape wheeled on Harry. “Meanwhile, Potter, would you prepare your communication board? I have a couple questions for your spirit friends.”

Hermione was already eating her portion. “Oh, Professor Snape, this is simply delish. It has just the right amount of that tangy cheese… I can’t remember the name. And I could swear I’ve eaten something exactly like this before. With my parents, I think, at a restaurant in London.”

“Damn it!” Draco shouted, as he grabbed a white napkin and held it against one of his fingers. As everyone had turned to look at him, Draco said, “Sorry. It was my own fault. I wasn’t watching and I cut my finger with the knife, but it’s just a tiny little cut.” After a few minutes, the bleeding stopped, and he threw the napkin on the glass-top table.

Once everyone had tried a piece of the mystery dish, Snape said, “All right, Potter, you may contact this Eastern Shore outfit and ask them what in blazes is going on.”

The entire group gathered close around Harry as he wrote down his first sentence.

 

 

I’d like to get in touch with the Eastern Shore Network. This is Harry.

 

ESN Reply>> Harry, how good to hear from you. Did you receive our package? We told you we’d send you a present that was of genuine use to you, and you seemed so desperate to find your Herbology workbook from your first year at Hogwarts. ★

 

That’s what I wanted to ask about. Draco wrote me a letter on the inside cover of the workbook when we were in first year, but I never got to read it. When I finally read the letter yesterday, the effects of my Veela powers on the other students stopped. A girl who is part Veela has been giving me advice. She told me that the bond between a Veela and their mate would form as soon as the Veela turned sixteen, but only if the mate let the Veela know about their feelings before the Veela’s sixteenth birthday. That never happened between Draco and me, but my Veela friend said that even if Draco had written a letter I had never seen, the same effect would take place as soon as I got to read the letter. Is that true?

 

ESN Reply>> Your Veela friend is exactly right, which is why we chose that workbook as your present. From the very first time you contacted us, we knew Mr. Malfoy was your mate, we knew everything that had happened to your Herbology workbook and we knew your Veela problems would be over when you found out about Mr. Malfoy’s letter. ★

 

 

Harry’s mouth fell open, but he forced himself to continue his inquiry.

 

 

How could you possibly know all of that?

 

ESN Reply>> Don’t you remember that we asked you for a blood sample, a drop of your blood on the parchment, the very first time you contacted us? Without a blood sample, we don’t have access to a great deal of personal information about wizards who communicate with us. All we can do is verify a wizard’s identity by sending their molecular aura description to the international database in Geneva, Switzerland. With a blood sample, however, our spirit association has access to all personal information and images connected with the wizard’s entire life. Since we had a blood sample, we could examine any moment in your life with images and sounds, much like the way non-magical people in your century use electronic devices to gather video and audio information, and we could replay the video from any camera angle. We reviewed the conversation you had with Miss Granger on the train at the end of your first year at Hogwarts, when you were trying to find your missing Herbology workbook. While you were preoccupied with Miss Granger, we were pointing our video camera out the window at Mr. Malfoy, who was on the train platform writing in your workbook. ★

 

 

Draco stood right next to Harry, holding both of his shoulders.

“They knew everything,” Harry said. “From the very beginning.” Harry scribbled down more in his haste to make sense of an absurd situation.

 

 

Then what about our Potions project? The name of the potion starts with the letters “S-p-a.”

 

ESN Reply>> Oh, that. Sorry to say, but that was just busy work we gave you. We had to keep you occupied with something while we were looking for a real solution to your problems. The name of the recipe is Spanakopita, which means “spinach pie” in English, and it has no magical qualities whatsoever. But our wizard informants tell us it makes a smashing luncheon dish, especially with some good bread and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. ★

 

 

Harry looked at Draco and his eyes went wide. “These spirits are mad. They sent us on a wild goose chase for nothing? For absolutely nothing?!” Harry’s face took on a more determined look as he continued to write.

 

 

You sent us to swamps, forests and sixteenth-century London, and all the while you could have just asked Draco to tell me what he wrote in his letter.

 

ESN Reply>> Yes, we could have, but we doubt it would have done much good. Harry, we’ve long since become accustomed to your habit of ignoring inconvenient obstacles. The obstacle in this case is your stubborn manner of clinging to preconceptions until evidence to the contrary is placed in front of your nose. Our favorite visual image is you throwing a glass beaker full of pond slime at Mr. Malfoy, missing him by inches. That was on the first day of your project with Mr. Malfoy. We came to the reasonable conclusion that you were not kindly disposed toward Mr. Malfoy at first. Yes, Mr. Malfoy could have told you about his letter to you in the very beginning, but you would have never believed him. You had to find out for yourself. ★

 

 

Draco gave Harry a little squeeze and said, “They’re right, you know.” Draco was smiling, and he let his nose brush against Harry’s cheek. “You can be more stubborn than anyone I know.”

Draco was looking into Harry’s eyes, but Harry was still looking at the parchment, and when he saw the writing, he began to smile. “There’s more writing now,” Harry said.

Draco looked down at the parchment to see what Harry was talking about.

 

 

ESN Reply>> In any case, if we had asked Mr. Malfoy to tell you about his letter at the very beginning of your project, he would have never done it. He would have been too proud. ★

 

 

The others were all gathered around Dumbledore’s desk, reading along with Harry and Draco, but Ron was the first to speak. “You know, Harry, they have a point. Remember when you told me about the debate you had with the Sorting Hat during second year?”

The notion struck Dumbledore as amusing. “You had a debate with the Sorting Hat, Harry?”

“I was in your office waiting for you to arrive—for a disciplinary matter, sir. I put on the Sorting Hat because I wondered why it suggested that I would do well in Slytherin House. That’s what it whispered in my ear at the beginning of first year. When I was in your office in second year, the Sorting Hat just kept trying to convince me that I should have been in Slytherin House.”

The last of the writing appeared on the parchment.

 

 

ESN Reply>> Harry, we truly believe that your collaboration with Mr. Malfoy, although time consuming, was the best course of action. As evidence of how effective your collaboration was, please take note that the enemy who was trying to harm you during your stay in the hospital wing almost died himself. Since we have your blood sample, we not only have access to your own thoughts, but also to the thoughts of anyone with a connection to your mind, which includes this enemy of yours, Voldemort. It was six days ago, last Thursday evening just before midnight. Your enemy had been inflicting mental torture on you for almost a week, while you were asleep. But after you finally woke up—when you were talking with Mr. Malfoy—your enemy was seized by an almost fatal attack on both his body and mind, although he is presently recovering. The force that was draining him of energy, almost to the point of death, seemed to be coming from you and Mr. Malfoy. In our thousands of years of operation, our spirit association has run across dark wizards, such as this Voldemort, who have attempted experiments to split the human soul into pieces. As we told you before, there is a solid consensus throughout our association that experiments in which two wizards merge their souls into one, such as your experiment with Mr. Malfoy, produce more powerful results. And, Harry, since your Veela problems seem to be solved, we will end our mentoring relationship with you and Mr. Malfoy by wishing you both the best of luck. Cheers. ★

 

 

All writing disappeared from the parchment, and Draco wrapped Harry in his arms and whispered in his ear, “Two bodies, two minds, one soul.”

Dumbledore pointed to the half-eaten casserole dish of Spanakopita. “Severus, since we won’t be needing that for any magical purposes…”

“I will bring it to the house-elves in the kitchen,” Snape said, “and see what use they can make of it.”

“Do you think you could give the recipe to the house-elves?” Ron asked. “Maybe they could use it for dinner every once in a while.”

After giving Ron an icy glare, Snape took the casserole dish and barreled out the door, his black robes billowing behind him.

Dumbledore picked up Draco’s wooden communication board. “Draco, I’m afraid I must ask you to donate this magical artifact to the Ministry of Magic. These spirits, despite their good intentions, can be unpredictable, and I would rest easier if I knew this device was in safe hands.”

“Of course, sir,” Draco said. “I have no objection at all.”

The Headmaster looked around at the four students in his office. “Do any of you have questions you’d like to ask?”

Just when it seemed that no one had any questions, Hermione timidly raised her hand. “Erm… my only question is about our little visit to sixteenth-century London. Ron and I actually know a good deal about our previous lives in the sixteenth century, although Harry and Malfoy don’t.”

“What a coincidence,” Draco said. “I brought up that very same point with”—he smiled and looked over at Ron—“with Weasley.”

Dumbledore noted the deep red blush that stole over Ron’s face.

“Well, it doesn’t matter all that much,” Hermione said, seeming to change her mind. She smiled and tossed her hand in the air. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“In that case,” Dumbledore said, “I’ll send you all off to your afternoon classes, and, Harry, feel free to move back into Gryffindor Tower anytime you care to.”

Harry couldn’t hide his delight. “Thanks very much, sir.”

As all four students were making their way out the door, Dumbledore stopped Hermione. “I’m just about to leave myself, Hermione, but could you stay behind in my office and do me the favor of organizing that pile of research concerning Veela?” He pointed to a side table that was heaped with books, parchment scrolls and drawings. “You’re such an accomplished student, and so organized too.”

“I’d be happy to, sir.”

Harry, Draco and Ron had already headed out the door. Dumbledore leaned in closer to Hermione and said, “I’ll be back in an hour to take Draco’s communication device to the Ministry of Magic.” He had an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. “Please feel free to have a debate with the Sorting Hat. After all, Harry did.”

After Dumbledore left, Hermione did what she promised and organized the table of research material about Veela, sorting everything by title, author and date. Had Dumbledore dropped a hint that he knew how curious she was? Hermione looked over at the Sorting Hat. The Headmaster knew perfectly well that Hermione had nothing at all to ask the Sorting Hat; she was quite content to have been sorted into Gryffindor, thank you very much. Then she saw Draco’s wooden communication board lying on Dumbledore’s desk. In an hour, the Headmaster would take the communication device to the Ministry of Magic, and she would never have another chance to use it. This was an opportunity that would only knock once. The siren call of raw curiosity drew her, and it was too much to resist. She sat in front of the desk and began writing on the piece of parchment that was still lying on the communication board.

 

 

This is Hermione Granger, and I’d like to contact the Eastern Shore Network.

 

 

The reply came back at once.

 

 

ESN Reply>> Miss Granger, so happy to hear from you again. How can we be of assistance? ★

 

I wanted to inquire about the year that Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy spent together, that is, during their lives in the sixteenth century. I believe Ron even spent the entire summer before fifth year at Malfoy Manor. Do you have any way of viewing their activities during that summer?

 

ESN Reply>> We wish we could accommodate you, Miss Granger, but as we explained before, we need a blood sample in order to have access to the personal information and images connected to a particular wizard, and we only have such a blood sample for Harry. ★

 

 

A blood sample. Where the devil was Hermione going to get a blood sample for Draco or Ron? A sly smile crossed her faced as she realized that Draco had cut himself with the serving knife when he was getting a piece of Spanakopita—and there on the glass-top table sat the napkin he’d used to stop the blood. Hermione wrote down her new reply.

 

 

I have a few drops of Malfoy’s blood on a napkin. Will that do?

 

ESN Reply>> That will do fine. Simply press the part of the napkin with the blood against the piece of parchment you’re writing on. ★

 

 

Hermione followed these instructions and was rewarded with a confirmation of success.

 

 

ESN Reply>> Perfect. Now if you’ll give us a few moments to configure our video/audio devices, we’ll be able to set up a dozen or so large viewing monitors. That way, we can simultaneously review any number of events during the summer in which Mr. Weasley stayed with Mr. Malfoy at Malfoy Manor. ★

 

 

After a few nerve-wracking minutes of non-activity, the reply from Eastern Shore appeared on the parchment.

 

 

ESN Reply>> We are now viewing a wide range of activities during that summer, both during the day and at night. What is the nature of your inquiry, Miss Granger? ★

 

I have a question only because Ron and Malfoy both have a rather dominant personality.

 

ESN Reply>> We’ve noticed the very same thing ourselves. What is your question? ★

 

How were they able to manage when they were in bed with each other? The situation seems problematic, if you follow my train of thought. Which of the two was more dominant?

 

ESN Reply>> Give us a moment while we replay some of the video/audio documentation. ★

 

 

After waiting several more excruciating minutes, Hermione read the reply from Eastern Shore.

 

 

ESN Reply>> We have the answer to your question about the sexual logistics involving Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy. Neither one was more dominant. They switched positions back and forth; first one was the dominant partner, then the other. It was a never-ending circle of life, like the serpent chasing its tail. The spirits in our association regard this pattern of carnal knowledge as a metaphor for infinity. ★

 

 

Hermione at least had the presence of mind for one last exchange with the Eastern Shore spirits.

 

 

Thank you, I think.

 

ESN Reply>> You’re quite welcome, Miss Granger. Good day and good luck. ★

 

 

Hermione left Dumbledore’s office that day with a renewed sense of confidence and optimism, although she was unsure whether she would ever understand the nature of men.

 

* * *

 

Hermione stood on a small hill a stone’s throw from Hogwarts Castle, which afforded her a perfect vantage point for watching the groups and pairs of students milling about on the school grounds. Almost three months had passed and Christmas was approaching. The hill she stood on and the field that lay between her and Hogwarts were covered in a blanket of snow. Hermione reviewed the events of the past September, when Harry’s inherited Veela powers were wreaking havoc on the school. She smiled when she remembered how Fleur Delacour often referred to Harry as “a little slice of chaos.”

Hermione spotted Harry and Draco walking across the courtyard together. She considered Draco’s tall, athletic form, his angular features and his take-charge attitude about absolutely everything, and she realized that she no longer found any of this as annoying as she had in the past. Perhaps because Hermione and Ron had become so devoted to each other, she had to admit noticing the occasional similarities between Ron and Draco. It was only natural to look at things in a new way, since Hermione and Ron had both learned more about themselves during their unexpected trip to the sixteenth century. Her hair was now beautifully tame, thanks to the potion Draco had kept as a souvenir and given to her. Although she was as studious as ever, Hermione came to realize there was nothing wrong with looking a little posh. And there was no doubt that Ron had discovered something new during his trip to the sixteenth century, namely, that there are many different ways to love.

Hermione looked back down toward the courtyard and fixed her gaze on Harry. She watched him move across the courtyard, and he was the same now as he had always been—lithe body, wavy ebony hair and a face that was almost too exquisitely beautiful to be real. As she watched the two of them, she understood what the spirits in the Eastern Shore Network had known from the beginning. Harry and Draco were destined for each other; their love was predetermined before time began. Finally satisfied that the world was as it should be, Hermione gave up her hilltop view and walked back down toward the castle.

Down in the courtyard, Harry and Draco were chatting with other students, and it was clear everyone had become accustomed to seeing them together. There was general agreement that no two people ever had a love more constant, and others were more willing to extend them sympathy because they thought of Harry and Draco as two who had gone through a long trouble before they finally found each other’s love.

Elsewhere on the school grounds, boys were strolling with their girlfriends as the winter snow fell softly, the very same boys who had been so sorely afflicted by Harry’s Veela powers a few months before. But every once in a while, it would happen that those same boys—Blaise, Terry, Ron, Seamus and all the rest—found their thoughts wandering back to the events of September. Maybe the moon was full or the stars were aligned in an unusual way. They saw Harry’s green eyes flashing and watched him walk across the courtyard… and move a certain way. Those same boys smiled as they watched Harry, and they remembered a brief season when a little slice of chaos descended on Hogwarts School.

 

Fin