Veela Magic

Veela Magic

Chapter 3: Almost Human

And you want to travel with her

And you want to travel blind

And you know that you can trust her

For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Fleur was awoken by the sound of screaming. Gabrielle! she thought muzzily, and sat up straight in bed. The sound subsided, and she saw Cho, lying terrified in a pool of sunlight on the bed opposite.

Fleur ran over to Cho's bed and cupped the small girl's head in her hands.

"You are awake now, chérie. It's all right."

But Cho's head shook in dissent, and she relaxed sobbing onto Fleur's shoulder.

Fleur knelt there for a while, cradling Cho as she cried. When her sobs had died away, and she lay quietly on Fleur's shoulder, Fleur whispered, "What was it? A... dream?" It had seemed too sharp for a dream, somehow; Cho's cries had been too ragged, too violent. And her awakening had brought Cho little peace.

"It was Cedric," Cho murmured. "I saw him again - and he was dying. He kept dying, and it wouldn't stop, and I kept seeing it..." Her voice had sharpened; it was rushing forth from behind gritted teeth. Yet it was still quiet. Fleur marveled at the control this girl seemed to possess.

"And he was holding the wand; he held it every time. That bastard."

Fleur drew in breath and steeled herself, waiting for the inevitable name.

But it never came. "Harry Potter. He was holding the Triwizard Cup in one hand and his wand in the other and he looked at Cedric and his face twisted up and then he pointed the wand..." Cho drew back slightly from Fleur's shoulder and looked her in the face. Her eyes were bright with fervent tears. "I never believed it at first, not even after the first dreams. But then it was in the Prophet and all the other papers and the Ministry said that it wasn't the way Harry told it, that the Dark Lord couldn't have done it, and everybody knew about Harry's Dark Arts abilities... Fleur, do you believe that dreams have any truth in them?"

Fleur was staring at Cho wide-eyed, their faces no more than an inch or two apart. She hadn't expected this torrent of words at all, and she wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Sometimes. Yes, sometimes they do."

"I have a dream about the Yule Ball. I dream I'm dancing with Cedric, to that Weird Sisters song he always loved... and then, suddenly, I'm dancing with Harry. I'm not quite sure why I'm dancing with Harry, but it's a fast song and I move through the steps as best as I can, and the music gets louder and faster. And suddenly Harry swings me around and bends me back, and I can hear clapping, and from the funny angle I'm at I can see Cedric. He's leaning against a wall staring at me with a horrified look on his face, and then he slips down the wall and I can see the blood, the blood's everywhere. But then I'm moving through the dance again and Harry has his arms tight around my waist and it's hurting. And I yell out for Cedric, and Harry stops me." Cho's face went into a sudden spasm. "He... kisses me. And then I wake up. Most of the time," she added with a small shudder.

Carefully, Fleur asked, "And what do you think your dream means, Cho?"

Cho stared at her for a moment, her dark eyes a still fire. "You know what," she answered quietly.

"Yes."

"And do you believe me?" She seemed calmer now. The sun lit up her pale gold skin, giving her face a luminous intensity.

"Yes."

Cho's lips pulled back from her teeth, but it wasn't exactly a smile. "Why? Why don't you think he's perfect like everybody else does?"

"I... knew him, last year." It wasn't a true answer and Fleur knew it, but it would reassure Cho. It would help her to believe that she was right, and that she wasn't alone.

Impulsively, she added, "Cho, what do you think about the war?"

Cho looked at her in puzzlement. "There won't really be one, will there? The Ministry say the Dark Lord hasn't risen, that it's all nonsense."

Damn it. Fleur thought quickly. "Professor Dumbledore is more powerful than the Minister of Magic, and he disagrees." She waited for this to sink in, and went on, "Professor Dumbledore wants to fight on behalf of the Muggles. Those who... supported Voldemort want to protect the wizarding world by excluding the Muggles from it." It wasn't exactly a lie. She'd just used the wrong tense.

Cho pursed her lips thoughtfully. She seemed a little scared. "And Dumbledore would go to war because of this? But... what would happen to Hogwarts?"

"The centre of the war effort," Fleur replied, reaching out to wipe a dried tear from Cho's cheek. "The armoury, and the training ground."

"And... Harry Potter?" Cho spat the name.

Fleur laughed bitterly. "Directing the battles with Dumbledore, the pride and glory of the wizarding world."

"But..." Cho looked up at Fleur trustingly, and Fleur suddenly noticed how small Cho really was. Fleur was used to Veela women, preternaturally tall like herself. "It won't really happen, will it?"

Enough for now. "We can hope not."

Cho nodded thoughtfully, and stood up, walking to her closet.

"Cho?"

Cho paused. "Yes?"

"I..." No. I can't tell her about Gabrielle, not yet.

"We're late for breakfast."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harry sat down to breakfast at the Gryffindor table, and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept very well the night before. Hermione noticed, and passed him a hot scone and a glass of pumpkin juice. He replaced his glasses, and began to eat slowly.

"Eat up, Harry! You're starting Advanced Defence against the Dark Arts this year, you know," said Ron.

Harry nodded tiredly. "Don't remind me - it's not until tomorrow, anyway. I don't even know why I'm taking it. All the rest of the class will be sixth or seventh years."

"You're taking it because winning the Triwizard Tournament counts as top exam results in Defence Against the Dark Arts, that's why," pointed out Hermione. She saw Harry's eyes cloud over, and added hastily, "Anyway, you won't be the only fifth year there. I'm taking it too, remember?"

"Good luck!" Ron said, yawning. "Fred and George say the Advanced class isn't nearly as much fun. You have to do research."

"Oh, but research is fascinating," protested Hermione. "And we get access to the Restricted Section in the library!"

"More books?" Ron groaned. "Hermione, are we going to see you at all this year? I don't think it's safe to let you read any more books."

"Are you certain you don't want to join us, Ron?" asked Harry. "I'm sure Fleur Delacour will be taking the class," he added innocently. He'd seen Ron's eyes straying to the Ravenclaw table rather often this morning. Of course, he'd probably only noticed because he was doing exactly the same thing himself...

Ron's face turned very red, and Hermione tutted impatiently. "I hope you're not going to make a fool of yourself over that girl again. Remember what happened when you asked her to the Yule Ball?"

"She did kiss me that time last year," said Ron thoughtfully. "I'd really like to get to know her better, now that I've got the chance."

"Ron, she's two years older than you!" said Hermione. "Forget about her!"

Harry had to agree. "She kissed me too," he pointed out tactfully. "Anyway, she's always complaining about everything. Are you sure she's your type?"

"Oh - just forget about it," said Ron impatiently. He bent his head to his plate and began to eat industriously, but couldn't seem to resist lifting his eyes every few seconds to look at Fleur.

Fleur was sitting beside Cho, Harry noticed. The two girls were talking intently to one another and seemed oblivious to everybody else. Harry hadn't realised they knew each other that well - had Cedric introduced Fleur to Cho? He felt the familiar pain at the thought of Cedric - especially, he was ashamed to admit, at the thought of Cho with Cedric - and tried to look away from the Ravenclaw table. But after a few seconds of staring stupidly at the patterns of wood in the table, he found himself gazing at Cho again. He saw her smile at Fleur, and felt a twinge of jealousy. She'll never smile at me again. Never.

Suddenly, Cho seemed to become aware of Harry's scrutiny. She turned to look at him, and Harry held her gaze for a second, transfixed, before dropping his eyes. There was a look of such pitiless hardness in those dark eyes, an unflinching stare that seemed to say: "You will never understand the pain I have gone through. But I wish you could. I wish you could experience it all." Harry tore his eyes away from the two girls and found another pair of eyes meeting his. Draco Malfoy had been watching Harry's furtive glances from his seat at the Slytherin table.

Harry's face burned. Malfoy was the last person on earth he wanted to know about his shameful attraction to Cho - but hadn't Malfoy proved on the train that he understood it very well? He was staring at Harry now, one eyebrow raised in mocking amusement, as if he'd seen Cho's glare and the hatred it held. He couldn't have, of course - Cho had her back to the Slytherins - but Harry felt, with a sudden sinking feeling, that Malfoy knew exactly what had happened. He knew Harry's guilt better than any of his own friends did.

Unable to bear Malfoy's frank stare any longer, Harry pushed his chair back and said to Ron with all the calm he could muster, "Coming? Breakfast was really terrible this morning, and anyway I'm not really hungry - can we go?"

Ron looked at Harry quizzically, but stood up and walked to the door with him. The two Gryffindors were met at the doors of the Great Hall by Fleur, who moved towards Ron in a swirl of faint perfume and silver hair.

"Ron!" Fleur's fluty voice had lost none of its beauty over the summer, and its effect on Ron was immediately evident. He blushed, and his mouth gaped slightly. Harry could see Ron's hands twisting nervously behind his back.

"F...Fleur," Ron stammered finally. "It's so good you're back. I'm really glad to see you again."

Fleur smiled beatifically, and patted Ron's arm. "We will be better friends this year, yes?"

"Of course!" Ron exclaimed happily. He beamed at the slim French girl, his face still red.

Harry saw Cho approaching them. She was watching Fleur curiously, and Fleur moved away from Ron when she became aware of her. "We must go to class now," she said hastily to Ron, and moved to Cho's side. Harry tried not to look at Cho. He wished she would go away, quickly, without noticing him. And yet at the same time he wished that she would turn to him and talk to him easily, smiling like she had in fourth year - and he gritted his teeth, trying to think of something he could say to her in return.

He was saved by the appearance of Professor Cinyras.

"Harry Potter?"

"Yes, that's me," said Harry. It felt odd to have to introduce himself for a change.

"Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office."

"Oh," said Harry, vaguely startled. "I'll go right away, sir."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Sherbet?" offered Dumbledore.

"Er... thank you," said Harry, accepting the proffered sweet. "Professor... what did you want to see me for?"

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, suddenly looking serious. "It concerns the defence of Hogwarts. As you know, Harry, the Dark Lord has been gathering his forces - he may attack soon, perhaps before this year is out. We must be ready for his attack."

Harry nodded slowly. He'd known this was coming - he remembered the directives Dumbledore had given at the end of fourth year. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the war would begin in earnest.

Dumbledore continued, "The Ministry are making their own preparations against the eventual assault - Professor McGonagall, as the only registered Animagus in Britain, will be of great help to them." A shadow of anger passed over Dumbledore's face as he added, "I tried to convince Fudge that your godfather would be as useful to them as she would, and as loyal too. But he refused to believe me. And so we have no Deputy Head at Hogwarts this year..." Dumbledore shook his head. "But I digress."

"Are we working with the Ministry, Professor?" Harry asked.

"We are... co-operating," said Dumbledore, a certain distaste for the word evident in his voice. "They have entrusted the defence of Hogwarts to me. And of course, I have my own sources of information.

"But what concerns you, Harry, is the Fidelius Charm that will be protecting Hogwarts."

Harry blinked. He remembered learning about the Fidelius Charm very well... hiding under a table in the Three Broomsticks, listening with horror as he heard the story of his parents' betrayal. "A Fidelius Charm? Are you sure that's..." Harry trailed off.

Dumbledore looked at him with understanding. "You need not worry. It is a modified version of the Charm, one that I developed myself - it guards against its essential weakness. The Charm will be split between three Secret-Keepers, to ensure that Hogwarts cannot be easily betrayed. The headmaster, a teacher... and a student." He watched Harry expectantly.

Harry started. "Me?"

Dumbledore smiled. "As the only wizard to have twice defeated Voldemort in single combat, you are eminently qualified for the task. The bravery of the Gryffindors will serve you well, Harry - the function of the Secret-Keeper is not to take up arms, or kill - but simply to resist with a strong heart. Our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is a true Hufflepuff, and it may be that his natural loyalty will prove more useful in this than all the spells he can muster. Yes, Professor Cinyras will be our second Secret-Keeper," Dumbledore clarified as Harry looked up, surprised.

Harry's head was still reeling from the news. Hogwarts would be protected by just one Charm? All he had to do was to refuse to surrender to the Dark Side, and they would all be safe? It seemed too simple, somehow. His parents had sheltered behind that Charm, and after one second of betrayal they were defenceless in the face of two words and a stream of green light...

Harry squared his shoulders. All the more reason to guard the Charm, then.

"I'll do it, Professor," he said in a clear, confident voice.

Dumbledore's light-blue eyes twinkled. "Delighted to hear it, Harry. I'll call you and Professor Cinyras to my office again in a day or two, and we'll perform the Charm itself."

"How exactly does it work?" Harry asked. He had a sudden vision of himself carrying around a huge iron spellcase everywhere he went for the rest of the year.

"You will be given a Key, of sorts," Dumbledore replied. "It is not a physical Key, exactly... but it can be called into physical existence when the Secret-Keeper wishes to release the Charm."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry. He pushed his chair back, ready to leave.

"Just one more thing, Harry."

Harry stopped. "Yes?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers on the desk. He looked stern. "It is imperative that you tell nobody about the Fidelius Charm. Not Mr Weasley, not your godfather... nobody. I do not wish you to become a target of Voldemort's threats and blandishments.

"Is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore," replied Harry, abashed. He'd been about to go and blithely tell Ron and Hermione the whole story. "I promise."

Dumbledore nodded. "You may go, Harry. Do have a pleasant day."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Draco hurried along the corridors to his Advanced Arithmancy class. He'd come top of his class last year - better than Granger, he remembered with a smile - and Professor Vector had told him he'd be ready to join the Advanced class in fifth year. This year, he would study sophisticated magical functions and learn how to apply the Calculatus charm to recursive fractals. The secrets of reality could be plumbed with Arithmancy. It wasn't really surprising, mused Draco, that the Mudblood seemed to enjoy Arithmancy almost as much as he did - the world that Arithmancy opened up transcended the limits of "magical" and "non-magical". He remembered one class in particular last year. Granger, eyes alight, had quoted the words of a Muggle who'd been expert in a crude Muggle version of Arithmancy. "Mathematics contains not only truth but also supreme beauty - a beauty cold and austere like that of sculpture." Those words had lingered in Draco's mind, and he'd murmured them under his breath during his final exams. A beauty cold and austere like that of sculpture. Yes, that was Arithmancy. The purest of all his studies, and the one he most wanted to excel in.

Draco entered the classroom. Professor Vector shot him a reproving look - apparently he was late. Draco quickly took the nearest available seat, which was beside Cho Chang. He hadn't realised that his Quidditch rival did Arithmancy. Although, come to think of it, Arithmancy was much more popular among the Ravenclaws than in the other houses. Still... for a Ravenclaw, Chang had never seemed to Draco to be much of an intellectual. She was so bloody normal. She giggled with her friends, talked sweetly to all the students and played a good game of Quidditch, but never with the drive to win that characterised Draco's own sharp style. He'd beaten her easily back in third year. Afterwards, she'd shaken Draco's hand and congratulated him on a good game, without a trace of resentment in her voice. The girl just didn't have an ounce of passion in her. It was a mystery to Draco what Potter saw in her at all.

Draco began to carefully plot his graph describing the wavelength of a zeta wand pulse. After a while, he saw that Chang didn't seem to be concentrating on her graph at all. Her eyes were a bit red - she must have been crying over Diggory again. Really, how long was she planning on keeping up the grieving widow act? Well, Potter was definitely out of luck if Chang was still mournful over that Hufflepuff lump. Wonder what Chang thinks about his pathetic little crush?

"Potter seems to have a bit of a thing for you," Draco said without preamble.

"So?"

"So, you ever going to take him up on it? Put a smile on his sad little face? Have private Quidditch friendlies in the Astronomy Tower?"

Chang looked up and stared at Draco. "Would you?"

Draco blinked. "What?"

"If you were me," she went on. Draco noticed Chang's fingers clenching around her quill. "If he'd... done that to somebody you loved."

"Um... I really don't think that was Potter's fault, you know." Why did I say that?

"Tell that to Cedric," Chang replied, and bent her face down to her pulse graph. Draco watched her draw a shuddering curve along the co-ordinates of the foci of power.

"Bit of a wobble there," Draco pointed out helpfully. "The period's supposed to be the same for each cycle, you know."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Chang said quietly, and flicked her hair over to shield her graph from his view.

Draco shrugged. Fine then, he thought. Hiding your incompetence won't make it vanish. He returned to his own graph with increased vigour.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Fleur shivered in the night air. It had taken her some time to find the storage room in the Astronomy Tower, despite the careful instructions he'd given her before her arrival, and she was very much afraid she was late.

The fireplace stared at her. She swallowed.

"Ignis," she said, her dry throat making her voice crack as she pronounced the word. She wasn't sure if she'd said it properly, she'd been nervous... perhaps she should try again?

And then, green-tinged flames sprang up, his head emerging sharply from their centre like some hideous flower. Impelled by a fearful instinct, she dropped to the ground.

Fleur bowed her head. "Master," she said softly, her voice under more control now. She was grateful for the chance to avert her eyes.

She heard a whisper of breath from the fireplace. "Mademoiselle," the cold voice commanded. "Look at me."

White with fear, Fleur raised her head. Driven by the insistent summons from the flames, she stared into his scarlet eyes - and gasped, feeling his inhuman power, even from so great a distance, overwhelm her. She collapsed onto her knees as if struck.

Voldemort laughed. "You are trembling, Mademoiselle." She hated the leering formality of his name for her. "Could it be that you lack courage for your task?"

His words, though spoken lazily, were a definite threat. Fleur forced herself to appear calm. "It is cold, Master. And I have not slept."

He nodded, his eyes darting quickly into the shadowy crevices of her face. "How goes your reconnaissance?"

"I have been in Hogwarts for little over a day, Master. I have not had much time to acquaint myself with their defences. The Deputy Headmaster has left - to aid the Ministry, the Headmaster said."

"Minerva McGonagall? Yes, I had heard this. Anything else? You should have made inquiries."

"There is a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher - his name is Ethan Cinyras, he was a student here ten years ago. I will have a lesson with him tomorrow - I hope to learn more then."

"Ethan Cinyras." Voldemort's serpentine eyes narrowed slightly. "I have not heard the name before. It is unlikely that he is powerful. You will investigate him, and report to me."

"Yes. And there is a Transfiguration teacher I do not recognise, but Dumbledore said that he taught at Hogwarts two years ago. His name is Remus Lupin."

"Lupin? Ah yes. He is a werewolf, Mademoiselle. Hence his hasty departure at the end of that year."

Fleur started. "A werewolf?"

Voldemort laughed softly. "Surely you are not afraid of werewolves? He is not impervious to your appeal - not in his human form, at any rate. Lupin will prove just as susceptible as any other man, never fear."

"Master? I..."

"Yes?" Voldemort seemed amused as he watched Fleur struggle to form the right words.

"I... believe I have found a suitable ally. The roommate they have given me - I think she could be very helpful to us."

The flames billowed abruptly, and Voldemort's image grew larger. Fleur flinched. "You have revealed your task to this girl?"

"No, Master! Of course not!" Fleur yelped, covering her face to ward off the flames, which had suddenly become unbearably hot. "She told me that she believes Potter to have caused the death of Cedric Diggory - she was Diggory's lover - and Potter is infatuated with her, Master! I could convince her of the rightness of our cause - I am certain of it. And with the Veela magic to enhance her natural charms, we could have Harry Potter!"

The inferno subsided. Fleur dropped her hands, and saw Voldemort looking thoughtful.

"The name of this girl?"

"Cho Chang."

"Hmm. The Changs are a pureblood family, it is true. But they possess no Veela blood."

"Need that be an obstacle, Master? I could perform the same spell on her that you performed on me - she could be infused with the magic just as I was."

"You do not understand. I am reluctant to give the power of the Veela to a human - especially one whose loyalty I have every reason to doubt. If Potter is already enthralled by her natural charms, as you say - then why should I drain the energy of those Veela who have placed their abilities under my command, only to give it to her?"

Fleur licked her lips nervously. "With respect, Master -" she managed to say, "Harry Potter has already proven to you in the past that he is not easy to subdue. I do not think he would willingly betray Hogwarts, even if Cho were to" - she swallowed - "seduce him."

Voldemort smiled cruelly. "So you are on a first-name basis with Harry Potter's little weakness, then? How very... useful."

"Master?"

"Never mind. You will attempt to recruit this girl."

Fleur briefly dipped her head in acceptance. "Thank you, Master."

"I have not yet finished. If the recruitment is not a complete success, you are to kill her. Immediately."

"But Master..." Fleur trailed off, her agitation revealing itself despite her. "I have never killed anybody."

Voldemort smiled. "Not yet. But soon, Mademoiselle... soon you will learn the joys of killing. I believe you will fully appreciate the fine exultation of quenching a human life that throbs terrified in your power. It is a glorious, liberating experience."

"It is a means to an end, Master. Only that," Fleur said tonelessly.

Voldemort's eyes flashed. "Enjoy it or not," he snapped, "soon enough you will have to kill. And you will begin with this Chang girl, should she prove uncooperative. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master," Fleur replied quietly.

"If she remains loyal to the end, I will permit her to channel the Veela magic on the day our forces gather at Hogwarts. Until then, the magic is to be used sparingly - yes, even by you." Fleur raised her head questioningly. "I do not wish to overuse this valuable resource. Your natural talents, Mademoiselle, will suffice for the most part. In any case, the infusion is a lengthy business that needs to be repeated for each occasion. You may use it only when it is truly needed. As for Harry Potter's little friend, she may assist you, but not be a vessel herself."

"Yes, Master."

"You will teach her all your tricks of flirtation and enchantment, I trust?" Voldemort smiled - a smile that would have seemed almost benign, were it not for his slit nostrils and feral eyes.

"I will do my best to help her." Fleur looked down. "I promise," she added softly.

"Quite." Voldemort watched her steadily. "But remember, Mademoiselle - the Veela are not invulnerable. More of your ancestors have caught a poisoned arrow in that particular Achilles' heel than you are, perhaps, aware of."

Fleur stared at him. "Master?"

Voldemort shook his snake-like head impatiently. "Oh, an old Muggle story. An allegory, of course, like most Muggle stories - that race is forever weaving webs of untruth in an attempt to see their own pathetic lives more clearly - but this one is quite pertinent in your case. Achilles, the greatest warrior of his time and the son of Thetis, a sea-goddess, had been made invulnerable to injury when his mother dipped him in Styx, the infernal river of hate, as a baby. But she held him by his heel, and thus the heel was never immersed... and he was shot, in that heel, by a poisoned arrow. He died, of course.

"In short, Mademoiselle... do not expose that Veela heel of yours."