Veela Magic

Chapter 5: The Blue Sparks Spill

O vase of acid,

It is love you are full of. You know who you hate.

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

Draco woke up. Glancing around in annoyance, he realised that he was still in the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey hadn't got around to healing his and Potter's wounds for a few hours, and then she'd decided that they should stay where they were for the night.

Potter hadn't said anything to Draco since he'd arrived in the infirmary. He'd walked in, stared at Draco's rapidly swelling left eye, and then pointedly taken the bed furthest away from him. Rather than continue the fight - for Madam Pomfrey hadn't arrived for a while - Potter had seemed bent on ignoring Draco's existence.

Draco was slightly put out by this, but responded in kind by refusing to even glance at Potter more than one or twice during the day. When Madam Pomfrey had finally arrived - honestly, wasn't the woman supposed to be on duty? - Draco had made sure that she fussed over his injuries first. If Potter was going to refuse to talk, then he should have to deal with people forgetting he was there.

Of course, now it was morning... Potter was still quiet, but maybe he was just asleep. Draco sat up to look. Yes, his eyes were closed - he looked quite peaceful, really. And now that Madam Pomfrey had healed all his cuts and bruises, you couldn't tell that he had been fighting at all. His skin looked as pale and smooth as ever.

Harry opened his eyes, and looked back at Draco with raised eyebrows.

Dammit. He wasn't asleep after all.

"Um... Morning."

Why did I say that? I was supposed to be ignoring him!

"Fuck off, Malfoy," said Harry steadily. He turned around in bed and refused to look at Draco again.

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Cho was sitting against a tree beside the Quidditch pitch.

High above her, the Gryffindor Quidditch team were circling and diving. The Quaffle and Bludgers were busily moving among the players, although the Snitch was nowhere in sight. Cho could hear Angelina Johnson yell cries of encouragement, and occasionally curses, at her team.

Harry Potter was hovering anxiously just above the rest of his teammates, apparently waiting for the Snitch to show itself. Cho wondered how long it would take for him to notice her.

He should notice me. He killed for me, didn't he?

I'm his weakness. Maybe I'm the only one who can stop him.

Cho shivered, and drew her cloak more tightly about her. She wished Fleur were here to help her. Everything seemed simpler when Fleur explained it. Last night, they had stayed up late together while Fleur explained everything. How a small group, many decades ago, had dedicated themselves to the ideal of a separate and idyllic wizarding world, and had worked tirelessly to promote the idea in political circles. How their leader, whoever he happened to be at the time, was named after this ideal ('vol-de-mort,' Fleur had said, nodding her head vigorously, it means 'flight from death'; it is a metaphor, you see, for the survival of the wizarding world, the necessary steps we must take). How the so-called "Death Eaters" who were sometimes active, like those who had disrupted the Quidditch World Cup, had hijacked the original idea and were nothing more than violent mobs. (All they want to do is destroy! They are the outcasts of our society, and vent their anger on those who are helpless. They are to be despised, and are nothing to do with our task - in fact, their actions work against us every time!) How the 'victory of the side of light' fourteen years ago had in fact marked the end of a dark period when a surge of "Death Eater" violence had led wizards and witches to act against the blameless separatists, and had driven them underground. (When people get scared, Cho, they do desperate things - try not to blame them too much - remember, it is for their good you are working, and they will thank you some day). How the baby Harry Potter's role in that event was largely invented (though he is powerful, Cho, spells were performed upon him that day, there's no doubt about that - and his lineage, too, his parents were extremely powerful - and never forget that he is as fanatical an opponent as you are ever likely to meet. You saw, last summer, what he is capable of...) How the separatists had conceived, last year, of a daring plan to bring their cause into the public eye and to mark their return to mainstream politics (Oh, it was foolish - they were naïve, so naïve...) How they had transported Harry Potter to meet with them, in the hopes of convincing him that their cause was valid. How he had refused to listen to them, and had grown violent (it is possible, Fleur had said, shaking her head sadly, that they grew agitated and threatened him... they had hoped for so much, you see...) and demanded to be returned.

How Harry had killed Cedric, the innocent bystander, and fought his way to the Portkey, promising to blame the separatists for Cedric's death.

A yell of triumph interrupted Cho's thoughts, and she looked up just in time to see Harry catch the Snitch. His broom shot up to catch it, and he continued to rise for a few metres, the Snitch held proudly in his outstretched hand. Cho heard one of the Weasley twins shout "Fifth Snitch this practice, Harry! Nice one!" and then the captain: "Well done, Harry! Let's wrap it up for today, team. Good practice!"

Harry floated down last, as if reluctant to leave the air. A metre or two above the ground, he saw Cho staring at him from her tree. He nearly lost control of his broom, and dropped quickly to the surface, his eyes trained on Cho all the while.

This is it.

Cho dusted off her robes, conscious of every movement her hands made. She rose slowly, and began to walk towards Harry. She pasted a nervous-seeming smile onto her face, and saw Harry blush in confusion.

"Harry?" Her voice was soft, hesitant. "Could we talk? There's some things I'd like to say to you."

Harry looked at her warily, but Cho could see the glimmer of hope in his eye. Wishful thinking. Isn't it useful?

"Cho... of course." The words rushed out. "We can talk about anything you'd like - do you want to go somewhere more private?" He looked awkward, realising what he'd just said. "I mean... I mean we can talk anywhere you like."

"Here would be fine, Harry. Why don't you sit down?" She patted the grass beside her.

Harry sat down. Cho watched his right hand; it splayed out, fingers stretched as if yearning to touch her leg that lay inches from his hand. Noticing her gaze, Harry quickly snatched the hand back, and clasped both of his hands behind his back.

Cho smiled inwardly. No touch, Harry. But you're behaving just as I need you to. Well done.

Now for the hook.

"Harry..." She took a deep breath. "I need to apologise to you."

He turned to look at her, his lips parted in surprise. "You do? Oh, no - Cho, there's nothing you have to apologise for."

"Yes there is. Harry, I've behaved terribly badly to you since term began, and last term too. Ever since..." Cho willed the tear to come, and it came with surprising ease, a clear droplet that captured Harry's mournful gaze instantly. "Ever since Cedric died, and I was left all alone..." She watched the hope dawning in his eyes, before he remembered to check it.

You selfish bastard. This is just the second stage of your plan, isn't it? Kill the deadweight. Get the girl.

Cho felt light, watching him, light and powerful. She let the anger transmute into a honey-sweet voice as she continued, but somehow she didn't feel as if she herself were speaking. She was just creating words, and watching from a distance as she let them spill into a waiting receptacle.

"I didn't have anything to hold onto, Harry. I couldn't talk to my parents about this, and I don't have many friends - I couldn't bear to go out all summer, I just stayed at home and got more and more confused, more and more angry - everything had been turned upside down, Harry, do you understand? And - oh, Harry, it was just so easy to have somebody, anybody, to blame..." She was whispering now, this was the artistry. "I'm so sorry, Harry. Your summer can't have been much better than mine - we should have been helping each other to get through this. I should never have treated you the way I did."

Watching from some impersonal place, she saw as he placed a clumsy hand on her own, lying still and delicate in the in the green shade of the leaves. She heard him say "Cho, I would love to spend time with you, and to help you in any way I can" with that hateful joy in his voice.

She watched the two of them walk hand in hand back to the school, and then she said goodbye to him and began to scrub the hand he had held clean with her robes.

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

Harry bounded up the stairs leading to Gryffindor Tower. It was still morning, Ron would probably be in the common room, and Hermione... would she be there, or in the library? Well, he'd go and tell Ron first, and Hermione too if she was there, and if she wasn't, he and Ron could go to the library together and find her!

He reached the entrance to the common room slightly out of breath. The Fat Lady looked down at him and clucked. "My, my, you are sweaty, aren't you? All that Quidditch practice, I'll be bound. Password?"

"Bull's eyes!" Harry panted, smiling.

The Fat Lady swung to one side with a loud creak to let Harry in. Harry heard her muttering something about oil as the portrait closed behind him.

"Dean, do you know where Ron is?" Dean was lying back on one of the couches with his sketch pad. Nobody else seemed to be around.

"Ron? He went out for a walk with Fleur earlier on - still hasn't come back." Dean winked at Harry. "You know, the kind of walk that gets sidetracked to the nearest broom closet..."

"What, already?" Harry said, startled. One minute Fleur wouldn't give Ron the time of day, and the next she was his fully-fledged girlfriend? And since when didn't Ron tell Harry about all the goings-on in his life? Harry saw Dean watching him quizzically and added "Never mind. Em, how about Hermione, then?" hurriedly.

"Hermione's in the library, I'm pretty sure."

"Thanks, Dean," said Harry, and headed outside again.

"Why can't you just be satisfied with where you are?" the Fat Lady grumbled. "Day in, day out, and is there ever a rest for my hinges? No, there isn't!" she half-yelled at Harry as he accelerated down the corridor.

He found Hermione in the Ancient History section of the library, reading a book about the Hogwarts Founders. "I thought you didn't do History of Magic any more?" he asked as he sat down beside her.

"Oh, I don't - this is just a bit of light reading. I've finished most of my homework now," replied Hermione, pushing her hair behind her ears. "Shouldn't you be at Quidditch practice? Or is it over already?"

"Yes, it finished about half an hour ago. Hermione, the most wonderful thing happened!"

"Draco Malfoy broke down and cried when he saw you catch the Snitch after a split second of play?" Hermione suggested with a wicked grin.

Harry laughed. "No, seriously. After practice finished, Cho came up to talk to me."

"Cho Chang?" Hermione looked surprised. "Well, yes, her, of course... and it went well?"

"It went wonderfully. She explained everything. She said that she was sorry, if she'd ever... you know, blanked me out, or treated me badly... of course, I told her not to worry about that in the slightest. Hermione..." Harry said earnestly, "I really think there's a chance for Cho and me to get closer. I think she needs a friend right now, and - well, who knows?" Harry was unable to suppress a grin.

Hermione smiled back at him, but she seemed a little worried. "Harry, that's great. It really is. But are you sure you've thought everything through?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Grief is a complicated thing, and sometimes it takes a lifetime to deal with it properly. Cho's a very distraught girl at the moment. I see her in Arithmancy class sometimes, just staring at the wall, not listening to Professor Vector and looking like her heart's about to break.

"Maybe it's already broken. Are you really sure you want to deal with that?"

Harry blinked. "Are you telling me that I shouldn't be Cho's friend just because it might be difficult? Hermione, that's not like you. Surely Cho needs a friend more than ever right now?"

Hermione turned around sharply to face Harry. "That's not what I meant at all!" Madam Pince glanced over at them disapprovingly, and Hermione lowered her voice. "Harry, I just meant that it's not going to be easy if you want to be Cho's friend. Have you considered that Cho herself might not know exactly what she needs? I hate to say it straight out, but... up until now she hasn't given you the time of day, and she could easily change her mind again. I know you mean well, but you could end up making things worse."

Harry stared at his friend. How can I make her understand? "Look - I've always liked Cho, and... since last summer I find it hard to stop thinking about her. She needs a friend, and I want to be that friend! I wanted so much to help her, but she wouldn't have anything to do with me. She's changed her mind now. I think she knows that I can understand what she's going through. We can help each other!"

Hermione reached over suddenly and gave Harry a swift, tight hug. He looked at her blankly. "Hermione?"

She smiled at him. "Harry, if you're really determined, and you're sure about this - well, I wish you the best of luck. Just be careful not to hurt her or yourself."

"I won't," Harry promised. He got up to go. "Hermione - thanks an awful lot."

"Any time," she responded cheerfully. "Just make sure you don't get distracted when you have to play Quidditch against her next weekend - Ron would kill you!"

Harry grinned. Quidditch, he thought as he walked away. Flying with Cho. It'll be fun.

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

Hermione watched Harry go. She tried to return to her book, but her mind kept drifting from the Founders' search for a location for their new school. After a while, she closed the book, leaned against the soft chair and considered what Harry had just told her.

Right. So Cho likes Harry all of a sudden, and Harry's happy as a sandboy. Probably planning the wedding as we speak.

That was the thing about Harry, Hermione reflected. If somebody appealed to his protective instincts, he'd do his best to help them even if he killed himself trying. Hermione remembered that frightening night in the Shrieking Shack back in third year, when Harry had not only spared the life of the man he suspected to have killed his parents, but also that of the man who was revealed to be the true murderer. Hermione couldn't guarantee that she could ever be that noble, if it had been her parents who'd been killed. That nobility was a very basic part of Harry's personality, and she couldn't imagine him without it.

It was one of the things Hermione loved the most about him. But now... it could be getting him into trouble.

Harry had been starry-eyed over Cho Chang for all of fourth year. Practically the whole school knew. Hermione remembered overhearing Draco Malfoy making jokes about it to his Slytherin cronies, but she'd gritted her teeth and decided that intervening would only make things worse. Especially with the rumours flying around in the Daily Prophet about herself and Harry - it would have set the rumour mill working overtime.

Hermione had barely known Cho, but she'd seemed like a nice, level-headed kind of girl. This year, however, it was clear that the tragedy of Cedric's death had badly affected her. She cried often, turned up late to Arithmancy class and avoided Harry like the plague. This sudden offer of friendship - which Harry certainly seemed to be interpreting as a friendship leading to something more - was distinctly odd. Hermione was sure that whatever developed between Harry and Cho wouldn't be a very healthy relationship, and would probably be short-lived.

Hermione's musings were interrupted when Ron walked into the library and flung himself into the chair beside her.

"Hermione, you really need to get out of here once in a while!" he groaned. "You were stuck in here practically all of yesterday. Don't tell me you still have work to do!"

"I don't," Hermione said, smiling. "I finished all my work yesterday, and that's why I'm relaxing in here now with a good book."

Ron glanced at the heavy hard-backed book in front of her with an expression of disgust. "Right. Relaxing with a textbook."

"Ron, have you been talking to Harry today?" Hermione figured Ron might have more of an idea about what was going on with Cho than she did.

"Harry? No, I haven't seen him since he was carted off to the infirmary yesterday," Ron said, leaning back in his chair.

"The infirmary? What on earth happened?"

"Harry had a fight with Draco Malfoy." Ron grinned viciously. "I hear Malfoy had plenty of cuts and bruises by the time Snape broke them up."

"Harry got into a fight with Malfoy and nobody told me?" Hermione couldn't believe Harry hadn't mentioned it. She couldn't believe he had gotten into a fight like that in the first place! He was usually quite restrained around Malfoy, no matter what kind of terrible things Malfoy said. In fact, she herself had been the only one of them to ever physically attack Malfoy, and she had felt bad about that afterwards.

"I suppose the Ferret pushed him too far this time," Ron said carelessly. "Anyway, I only heard this morning. I was out with Fleur, and she told me."

"You were out with Fleur?" Hermione was intrigued. This was a new development.

Ron grinned bashfully. "I've been out with Fleur a lot lately," he confessed. "I just wish I could see her more. Hermione..." he leaned forward, "she's wonderful."

Well, this is getting familiar, Hermione thought sourly. Why were both of her best friends suddenly getting the girls of their dreams?

"So how did this happen, exactly?" she asked carefully.

"She told me that she wished we could be better friends, and how strange it was for her living in England... She thinks I'm interesting," Ron said eagerly. "We talk for hours sometimes. She tells me about France, and all about herself, and I tell her about me and my life. She's so lovely - I wish I'd got to spend time with her last year, too. But I'm not about to let her go in a hurry, I can tell you that!"

"Certainly very different from last year," Hermione commented. "Remember the Yule Ball fiasco?"

Ron looked injured. "She's changed, Hermione. She was just shy before. I really don't see what your problem is. I'm really happy with her!"

Ron got up. "Look, the library's a bit stuffy for me. See you at dinner, okay?"

"Sure," Hermione said.

Ron left the library without a backward glance. Hermione's head was spinning. Maybe her friends were just very lucky, and she certainly didn't begrudge them any happiness, but it was such a strange coincidence! What were the chances?

A familiar voice interrupted Hermione's thoughts. She stood up silently, and pressed her face to a gap in the bookshelves.

She could see the Head Boy, Steven Summers, who was listening to somebody standing outside Hermione's line of vision. His mouth was slightly parted and he looked enraptured.

"...in France, mon cher, one never sees men as handsome as you..."

It was Fleur.

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

Fleur took the tower steps two at a time. She hadn't meant to be so late, but flattering that Hufflepuff boy in the library had delayed her. And truth be told, she'd spent far too long wandering the grounds before that, even after it had begun to rain, looking for Cho. Cho was supposed to have met with Harry this morning - was she all right?

Maybe I should have stayed with her. Or delayed it. Or... something.

Fleur shook herself mentally. She couldn't have stayed with Cho; they'd discussed that. Cho couldn't channel the magic with him, and despite his obsession with her, he might have grown suspicious if Fleur had been around. Harry had to believe that everything was normal and natural, and that everything Cho said to him was sincere.

And yes, yes Fleur could have delayed it, she didn't have to push Cho into the deep end so soon... but her Master could get suspicious and doubt Cho's usefulness, or her loyalty.

Master... Cho's loyalty...

He... he couldn't read minds, could he? That was just - a rumour, a rumour that credulous Death Eaters told. Fledgling rebels in awe of his never-blinking visage and his palpable power. No, he couldn't. But he was very good at detecting subterfuge.

And Fleur hadn't exactly told Cho the whole truth about what kind of forces she was joining.

It was true, of course, that the ultimate aim of the Death Eaters was to sunder the two worlds of magic and non-magic, and not to kill Muggles. But those Death Eaters who had attacked Muggles, those active fourteen years ago and some who were active now... well, they were Death Eaters, that was the point. They weren't a completely separate movement; they were part of the movement itself, albeit on the fringes. And Voldemort tolerated them. Fleur suspected that their actions actually served a purpose to him - they made the Death Eaters seem a force to be reckoned with, and gave the wizarding world an excuse to separate the worlds by claiming to protect the Muggles.

Lord Voldemort was devious, and clever, and he frightened Fleur. He would probably frighten Cho even more.

Oh no! That's another thing I wasn't exactly honest about...

Fleur had been afraid to tell Cho the truth about their Master. So on the spur of the moment, she had made up a story about 'each' leader of the movement being named Voldemort, rather than saying: "Yes, Cho. It's the name that was whispered to you in fear as a baby. It's You-Know-Who. That's the man you're pledging your life to."

Still, it had been the only way, hadn't it? It hurt Fleur terribly to keep things from Cho, especially things as important as these - but she couldn't allow herself to alienate Cho. If she moved too fast and frightened the girl away, Voldemort would kill her. No, worse - Fleur would have to kill Cho herself.

Fleur grimaced. She was nearing the tower room now, and she had to concentrate. Everything went fine. I'm ready. She repeated the words soundlessly, trying to calm herself.

She went in "Ignis."

Fleur stood stock-still as Voldemort appeared in the fire. She felt his snakelike eyes flickering over her, and willed herself not to flinch.

"You have no blood on your hands, Mademoiselle, and do not appear overly agitated. The recruitment of the Chang girl was a success, I take it?"

He was probing; looking for a weakness. Perhaps he had already found it.

Fleur moistened her dry lips. "Everything went fine. I'm ready."

"Eager to perform your duties? Such vigilance is praiseworthy... but then again, perhaps you tire of my company? You wish... to escape?"

His voice had sharpened. Fleur cringed.

"I want to perform my duties to the best of my abilities, Master."

"And of course, you enjoy the power of the Veela, and want to taste it again. Intoxicating, isn't it?" He spoke almost with approval, and Fleur dared a small nod. "It is not wise, Mademoiselle, for my subordinates to become too fond of power. But you should have the opportunity to explore this new magic to its full potential.

"Remember: this may be your weapon, but you are mine. And I use my weapons as and when I please, Mademoiselle."

Fleur bowed her head. "You may use me as you wish."

Voldemort's pale lips curved upwards in a reptilian smile. "I need no reminders of that. Now, Mademoiselle, come closer to the fire. Closer."

Fleur moved forward, trembling. The flames gave off a pungent smoke that filled her eyes and nose, and the heat flushed her face.

"We have never attempted the transfer of the energies at such a distance before. The procedure has to be altered slightly... Put your hands into the fire."

"What?" Fleur pulled back.

"Mademoiselle!" He was angry now, and Fleur trembled, but could not bring herself to follow his instructions. "Do as I say! Your hands will not be withered - I will see to that. Place your hands directly into the image of my head that you see before you. Now."

Fleur shuddered. Then she bent forward and thrust her hands into Voldemort's red eyes.

She gasped. The fire was all around her, curling over her skin and hurting it terribly, and yet she could see that her hands remained physically unscathed. Her Master's head was suspended inside her fingers like some ghastly hand-puppet - but she herself was more his puppet in this moment than ever before. He was in her skin, roaming through her capillaries until he possessed her entire body. Only her mind remained inviolate, and even there he hovered around the edges, picking up her outward emotions as if she had screamed them at him.

Then the mouth between her wrists began to intone the incantation, and she felt her body resound with the words and her hands stretch out to receive the power.

She felt the borrowed magic of a score or more of Veela course through her nervous system and explode into her brain. She threw her head back and felt the glorious burn rush through her and transform her.

Voldemort laughed harshly, and with a jerk of his head threw Fleur out of the fire.

For a moment, Fleur staggered. Then she rose elegantly to her full height, standing tall, magnificent and deadly. She stared proudly into the fire.

Voldemort seemed amused. "Admire yourself later, little vessel. You have work to do while this infusion lasts. Now go."

His image in the fire winked out. Fleur turned slowly and headed down the tower steps. The steps were slippery and shadowy, but Veela did not trip. Fleur knew that she could have closed her eyes and still navigated the staircase perfectly. She chose not to.

She emerged from the base of the tower. His office was nearby - only a short stretch of corridor away. Still, Fleur did not want to be perceived in her current enhanced state.

She broke into a swift run. She ran gracefully, her breath even and her face retaining its porcelain perfection.

Fleur stopped, and knocked on the door. He opened it within seconds.

"Professor Lupin? May I come in?"