Veela Magic

Chapter 6: Poison Tree

And I watered it with tears

Night and morning with my fears

And I sunned it with smiles

And with soft deceitful wiles.

"And though most of you young gentlemen might wish you could, ahem, tangle with a succubus one day, I assure you it is no laughing matter for the victims of these demonic creatures." Professor Cinyras laughed nervously.

Fleur looked around at her Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts class. It was a mixture of students from sixth and seventh year who had chosen Defence Against the Dark Arts as one of their choices in their final years, and a few fifth years who had shown exceptional proficiency in the class. Most of the boys did indeed seem enraptured by the Professor's description of a succubus.

Fleur smiled. Succubi? Succubi have nothing on the Veela. They may give themselves the appearance of beauty and charm for one night to entrap their victim, but the Veela? We're the real thing.

Steven Summers raised his hand. "Yes, Summers?" asked Cinyras.

"Professor, I've read that the true love of a woman helps to shield a man against a succubus," Steven said, shooting a bashful look at Fleur. "Is that true?"

Fleur sighed. Steven had almost been too easy a conquest. He hadn't even needed her kiss before happily spilling all that he knew about the defence of Hogwarts - which, unfortunately, wasn't much. Perhaps her Master was right, and it was only Harry Potter and his little coterie who were given any information by Dumbledore.

"Well, Summers," Cinyras answered after a long pause, "a determination to resist is always of great help, and of course if a man felt that he was bound to another woman, that would certainly strengthen his resistance."

Steven beamed at Fleur.

"But while mental resilience is admirable," Cinyras continued, "it is no substitute for the proper protective spells, which you are all to have memorised by the next class."

Steven looked deflated. His grand romantic gesture had just been punctured.

Good thing the Weasley boy wasn't smart enough to get into the Advanced class, Fleur thought. If he saw the way Steven looked at me, I dare say there'd be some rather nasty accidents the next time we had to practise curses on one another.

Obeying her Master's instructions, Fleur had been careful not to question Ron Weasley too closely as yet. Voldemort knew all too well how adept Harry Potter was at rooting out his spies in Hogwarts, and for the moment, it was imperative that Fleur appear an ordinary girlfriend to Ron. It had taken all the skill that she could muster without channelling the magic of the other Veela to convince Ron that she was his loyal girlfriend, and to work on her other conquests as well.

Cho didn't even have any Veela blood to begin with, but the control she had gained over the Potter boy already was admirable. Fleur hoped that their Master would be proud of her. Fleur was proud of her.

"And now," Cinyras was saying, "Who can tell me the signs that somebody has been enchanted by a succubus?"

Bloodshot eyes, a distracted demeanour, and a strong feeling of disgust in the morning, Fleur thought drily.

And the signs that somebody has been enchanted by a Veela?

A tendency to... debase oneself.

He would struggle, maybe, at first. He would feel that something was wrong. And then you would unveil your beauty to him and he would sink weakly to the floor and beg for you.

One Veela could make a man lie. But the power of twenty could make a man tell the truth, no matter how loyal or wily he might be.

She had stood over Lupin and demanded of him the details of the defences, the names of spies.

He had spluttered, some part of him fighting the impulse to answer. Perhaps a charm had been laid over him to protect that information. He had been a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher once, after all.

But his body had been racked with a longing that had become inexpressible pain, and finally he had stretched himself out on the ground, looking up at her in defeat and lust and licking her ankle and gulping out his secrets.

Snape. It was Snape.

"Miss Delacour?" Cinyras was looking at her quizzically, in a way that suggested her reverie might cost Ravenclaw points.

Fleur smiled sweetly. "Oh, Professor, I was just considering..."

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

Harry left the Defence Against the Dark Arts class in a rush. It was Friday morning, and today he was supposed to go to Dumbledore's office to perform the Fidelius Charm. Harry wondered briefly why the charm hadn't been done sooner - Dumbledore had originally said that they would perform it a few days after their first meeting, but that had been some weeks ago.

"Why in such a hurry to get out of class, Potter?"

Draco Malfoy's jeering voice interrupted Harry's thoughts. He stepped closer to Harry. "Running to find that Ravenclaw girl of yours, are you? I could tell you weren't paying any attention to Cinyras at all in the class. Just sitting there with your head on one side, lost in your sordid little fantasies about her."

"Leave Cho out of this, Malfoy." Harry's voice was surprisingly steady. "You're just jealous you don't have anybody like Cho in your life. No girl's ever loved you, and they never will."

Malfoy stepped back, his eyebrows raised. "Quite a pity you didn't see Pansy and Blaise challenging each other to a duel over who got to be my partner at the Yule Ball, Potter. You'd find Slytherin romance rather... intriguing.

"But instead you're landed with that sobbing goody-goody of a bookworm... and you think I'm jealous? Wake up, Potter."

"Cho's not like that!" Harry said furiously.

Malfoy carried on as if he hadn't heard. "It's not as if she's particularly good-looking, even. Boring dark hair and eyes, sort of a yellowish face... I'd say you could do better, except that you probably couldn't. Of course, you did take the Patil girl to the Yule Ball, but..."

Malfoy was watching him in an appraising way that Harry found hard to bear. He lost his temper. "Why do you care, Malfoy?"

Malfoy stopped his diatribe, and stared at Harry, his lips trembling with rage. Harry locked his eyes with Malfoy, daring him to drop his gaze first.

A hand clapped down on Harry's shoulder. Harry jerked his head back abruptly to see who it was.

Professor Cinyras was looking at Malfoy and himself with a slightly bemused expression. "Ah, Potter. Time for that sherbet lemon, eh?"

Malfoy was slinking away now that a teacher had appeared.

Harry blinked. "Sir?"

Cinyras smiled, his boyish face lit up with excitement. "None of that, Potter. Off to the office, now. We've got work to do."

As soon as they rounded the bend of the corridor Cinyras whispered "You've got to do better than that next time, Potter. Be a bit more discreet, eh?" into Harry's ear.

He's enjoying this, Harry realised. He thinks it's an adventure.

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

Professor Dumbledore smiled as Harry and Cinyras entered his office. "Ah, Harry. Ethan."

Professor Cinyras looked slightly uncomfortable at hearing Dumbledore use his first name in front of a student, Harry thought. He rallied quickly, though.

"Yes, Headmaster - we are ready," Cinyras announced sonorously.

"I certainly hope so," said Dumbledore. He turned to Harry. "And you, Harry?"

"Sir," Harry blurted out, "what's actually involved in this Charm?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry for a long moment. "You are worried because of what happened fourteen years ago."

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"It will not happen again," said Dumbledore heavily. The aged Headmaster had lost all trace of a smile now. "The great failing of the original Fidelius Charm was to place too much responsibility on one man. Sirius Black doubted his ability to keep the Charm safe, and so, panicking, he passed it on, afraid of its power. And the choice for the next Secret-Keeper - he betrayed us all.

"It will not happen again."

There was a moment of silence, during which Harry stared fiercely at the edge of Dumbledore's desk. He could feel angry tears pricking his eyelids.

"Quite right, Professor," said Cinyras, nodding furiously. "A brilliant modification, if I may say so."

Dumbledore gazed at him. "Ethan - do you know why I chose you for this task?"

Cinyras lost his composure for a moment, and looked away. Eventually he said in a low voice, "No, Professor. I don't know why you chose me. I only hope I can be worthy of the trust you have placed in me."

"I chose you because I know you will not second-guess yourself. I chose you because I knew Remus and Severus could not trust in themselves to do the task. I chose you because you were an exemplary Hufflepuff, combining true and unquestioning loyalty with the skill and determination to succeed. I chose you because you are our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and this is your responsibility. Now, will you take one-third of the defences of Hogwarts into your keeping, representing your fellow teachers in this?"

There was a new strength in Cinyras' voice when he answered "I will."

Dumbledore turned to Harry again. "Now, Harry, for the rest of your question. Each of the Secret-Keepers - one representing each level of authority in the school - is responsible for one layer of the defences of Hogwarts. Should one of us die, his responsibility will devolve to the other two.

"Should one of us surrender his Secret - " Dumbledore continued more sharply, "Hogwarts will be visible to our enemies. Should a second surrender his, Hogwarts will lose all its defences except the valour of those inside it."

"Should all of us surrender, Hogwarts will be lost - and with it, most likely, the war."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and watched them sternly.

"Professor..." Harry said, "what's happening in the war now? Hermione gets the Daily Prophet, but it doesn't tell us what's really going on, exactly."

Dumbledore sighed. "We hear reports of Voldemort's armies moving, Harry. We hear reports of new recruitments. We hear many contradictory things, and almost nothing reliable. What we do know is that there has been a marked increase in anti-Muggle violence, and that well-organised groups, rather than individuals, appear to be responsible.

"Do you know why your friend Miss Delacour returned to Hogwarts this year?" Dumbledore asked abruptly.

Harry was caught off guard by this question. "Ron said she wanted to improve her English...?" he trailed off.

"No, Harry. The truth of the matter is that Miss Delacour's sister was the victim of a group of Muggles who wanted to use the wizarding world for their own ends. Le Monde Magique published an account of the story, and a wave of anti-Muggle violence spread throughout Marseilles. Fleur Delacour is at the centre of a vortex of hatred, and she has lost her sister. More than most, she has suffered in this war."

Harry was silent. He remembered Gabrielle Delacour, the first time he had seen her. Her small face had been white, and she had looked very lost. Harry had carried her unconscious body to the faraway surface, away from the strange land of the mer-people... She had been so helpless.

And now she was dead.

Does Ron know?

"Who knows about this, Professor?" Harry asked. He had a lump in his throat.

Dumbledore looked at him with understanding. "Very few people, Harry - although I would be surprised if your Quidditch opponent Cho Chang is not one of them."

"Cho?" Harry repeated stupidly. He could feel himself blushing.

"Both girls have lost someone dear to them in this war, Harry. They have much in common. Originally, I thought it best for Miss Chang to have her own room this year, but when I learned that Miss Delacour was coming to Hogwarts after the tragedy, I decided that the two could benefit from each other's companionship. As I expected, they appear to be developing a close bond."

I couldn't save Cedric. I thought I saved Gabrielle, but I couldn't do that either.

Harry lifted his head. "Let's do the spell, Professor," he said fiercely. "I'm ready."

Cinyras nodded. "So am I."

Dumbledore withdrew his wand from his robes, and extended it towards them. "Take out your wands."

Harry took out his wand, glancing for a moment towards the corner where Fawkes lay sleeping. Fawkes' feather had saved Harry's life last year. This year, he hoped it could do the same for others.

He, Cinyras and Dumbledore touched the tips of their wands together, creating a bluish glow where the tips met.

Dumbledore broke the connection, raising his wand sharply into the air.

"Audacissime discipulorum," he intoned, levelling his wand towards Harry, "custos secretarum fis. Hoc locum cela." He touched the wand to Harry's chest.

Dumbledore moved the wand to Cinyras, who was standing stock-still with his wand upraised.

"Fidelissime magistrorum," Dumbledore chanted, extending his wand towards Cinyras, "custos secretarum fis. Hoc locum cela." He touched the wand to Cinyras's throat.

Cinyras gasped. Harry knew what he was feeling - a sensation of creation. A sensation of something taking form within you, coalescing from your substance and yet, somehow, not a part of you...

A Key. A Key to bear, and to keep submerged deep within oneself.

"...solus sub mandato suo, onus accipio," Dumbledore was saying. "Custos secretarum fio, et hoc locum celabo."

Harry could feel the path to removing the Key, to releasing the odd weight. He tried to force himself not to think about that, to pretend that the Key was immovable and irretrievable.

Dumbledore was watching him with a guarded amusement.

"Do not be afraid to learn the way to unburden yourself of your Keys, for that is also part of the responsibility. You are Secret-Keepers - you keep the secret by choice; you are not its unwilling container. You must have full control over it."

"Is... that all, Professor?" said Cinyras, with something of an effort.

"Yes, the Charm is finished. You may go," said Dumbledore. Watching the slow movements of the new Secret-Keepers, he added, "Unless you'd rather a cup of tea before you left?"

Harry smiled. "No thank you, Professor."

He felt the Key settle as he walked into the corridor. It seemed to be accustoming itself to his body - it now felt less like an invasive weight and more like simply another one of his body's systems, like his blood in constant flow and his nerves in constant tension.

"Harry!"

It was Hermione, dashing around a corner with a full book-bag. She looked excited to see him.

"Harry, where have you been?"

Harry smiled. "Oh, just wandering around a bit. Which class do we have next?"

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

The next class turned out to be Charms, which was Harry's last before lunch. He saw Cho going into the sixth-year History of Magic class before Charms started, but he couldn't catch her eye before class started. Harry wished, not for the first time, that he was in more of the Advanced classes - he hardly ever got to see Cho during the school day.

Charms dragged on slowly, but eventually Harry could rush to the Great Hall, hoping to find Cho there before they had to go sit at their different tables. He hadn't spoken to her all morning!

Harry found Cho sitting on the edge of the Ravenclaw table. She was swinging her legs back and forth, and a house-elf was trying to get her to have a cup of tea, and telling her that really, young witches should be sitting on chairs.

Harry hurried over to her. "Cho? Is everything all right?"

She lifted a tearstained face to him, hauntingly beautiful with desperation in her eyes.

"Why the hell would you care?"

Harry was astonished. "Cho, how could you say that? You know I care. I care so much about you." He reached out to her pleadingly. "Cho...?"

"I don't want you to touch me!" she wailed, and burst into shuddering sobs.

Harry stood there helplessly, not knowing what to do, and feeling a terrible weight of guilt.

It's my fault, I know it is. I pushed her too much.

"Cho... Cho..." He was trying to be soothing, and knew he was failing miserably. "Cho, please, I want to fix it, I'm not really sure what I've done, but I'll try to make it up to you, I really will... please, please don't cry."

Her head shot up. "Why do you care? You don't really care about me! You're just trying to use me! I've seen the way you look at me, when you think I'm not watching... you say you're my friend, but that's not what you want to be."

Harry sat down heavily.

It's true. And Cedric just died. And I'm trying to... oh God.

He didn't know what to say.

"I've never tried to hide it... that I..." What was he supposed to say? Love? Fancy? Dream of? "...would like to go out with you. But only when you're ready, and I know maybe you never will be, and that - that's okay."

Harry moved closer to Cho, and tried to touch her hand. She snatched it away angrily.

"How do I know that you mean that? How do I know you're not just saying whatever you think will smooth things over and make me do what you want? It's not going to work, Harry! I have to trust you!"

He had no idea what to say.

"I don't know what to say. How can I make you trust me? What can I say that will make it right?"

"It's not something you have to say." Cho shook her head for emphasis, the ends of her long hair whipping Harry's arm. "It's something you have to do."

"Cho, whatever it is you need, I'll do it..." Harry felt lost.

"All I want is for you to trust me."

"That's all?" Harry said with relief. "I mean... of course I trust you, completely. I already do."

She smiled - a lovely, white-toothed smile that made her face glow with vitality and sweetness.

"Kiss me, Harry."

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

Draco Malfoy watched from the corner of the Great Hall as Chang put on a crying fit and Potter wrung his hands like the pathetic lump he was. Potter hadn't even noticed that Draco was in the Hall. All right, so Draco had been trying to listen unobtrusively, and it had worked perfectly well, but still... He wasn't used to not being noticed. Malfoys were supposed to draw the envious eyes of all. This Malfoy, especially.

"Everything all right, Draco?" Blaise asked, looking worried that Draco was scowling so much.

"Bugger off," Draco muttered. Blaise looked hurt.

Draco didn't eat much, although what food he did eat he stabbed at viciously with his fork. Across the Hall, Potter seemed to be eating just fine. Probably thought he was going to get lucky that night and wanted to store up the energy, or something.

Not that Potter had a hope in hell of that. Chang was the archetypal prick-tease. Anybody could see that. So why the hell couldn't Potter?

Well, everybody knew Potter was blind as a bat, but really, weren't the glasses supposed to fix that? Bloody Muggle medicine. Maybe it was really the Granger girl Potter had the hots for, but he couldn't tell the difference between the girls because he couldn't see properly. Yes, that would be amusing. Not to mention that it would really upset Chang.

Chang was sitting near the far end of the Ravenclaw table, shooting Potter demure little glances every few minutes. The glances made Potter blush and look happy and surprised and confused all at the same time. They just made Draco gnash his teeth.

"Draco, dear," said Pansy, patting his arm in a way that was probably meant to be comforting. "What on earth is wrong? You look all hot and bothered."

"Don't Ravenclaws really piss you off?" Draco asked, gesturing impatiently at the Ravenclaw table.

Pansy looked surprised. "Well... I quite like some of them. They're more fun than the other houses, usually."

"They're so bloody self-righteous. Worse than the Gryffindors, because at least the Gryffindors don't realise the way they behave. I mean... look at Granger. She's smarter than most of them, but at least she doesn't put on too many airs about it. You can tell she likes her subjects, at least."

Pansy raised her eyebrows. "Funny to hear you praising a Mudblood, Draco."

"I'm not!" Draco protested. "I'm just saying that the Ravenclaws like doing well so that they can put one over everybody else. That's a lot worse than Granger's mission to spend the rest of her life in the library.

"Their Quidditch team's a bloody joke, too. I'm sure they probably like to tell themselves that they're above all that sort of thing. Sports are so un-cerebral, after all. I mean, think about Chang."

Pansy watched Draco silently. After a pause she said "Well? What about Chang?"

"What I said!" Draco growled. "What do you think about Chang?"

"I never liked her, but at least she's fairly quiet."

"Ha! Not lately. Every time it looks like somebody might be ignoring her, it's time for another round of Oh No, My Hufflepuff Soulmate Is Dead, Won't Somebody Please Kiss My Tears Away?"

"What are you talking about?" Pansy said. She looked genuinely confused.

"Potter!" Draco exploded. He lowered his voice after Blaise looked curiously in their direction. "Do you mean to tell me you haven't noticed? She's all over him! Well, not exactly... she's playing hard to get, and turning the waterworks on whenever Potter might get distracted by the nearest object that's more interesting than her - not that that would be difficult to find - and it's working."

Pansy shrugged. "Sounds like they deserve each other. Can you pass the salt?"

Draco didn't pass it. "It's sickening! I don't know why we have to watch this sort of thing. Did you see that slobbering they did on each other's faces? Priggish Ravenclaws in heat are not my cup of tea."

"Draco, dear, nobody else even seems to have noticed," Pansy sighed. "I really don't know why you're letting this sort of thing get to you."

Draco didn't know either.

Lunch seemed to take an interminably long time, and no matter how much Draco tried to distract himself by talking to his fellow Slytherins, his eyes kept straying to the other tables. The looks those two kept giving one another - it was nauseating. He couldn't stop himself from watching; it was like when he ripped the scabs viciously off his knees as a child, before his mother could run over to him horrified and perform a quick healing charm. He could no more keep his eyes to the Slytherin table than he could let his grazes heal naturally.

Once he caught Potter's eye, when Chang was looking at her plate. Draco made sure that Potter knew that Draco could see all his tender flirting, and then Potter blushed redder and longer than he had yet that lunchtime, and Draco took a vicious pleasure in the sight.

Eventually, the lunch was over. Draco had Potions now - as did Potter, he remembered with a sense of triumph. Chang wouldn't be there. She'd have to sit through a class with people her own age who would see her for the desperate flirt she really was.

The students were beginning to rise from the tables and organise their books for their next classes. Draco deliberately walked right over to the Gryffindor table, attracting the attention of many as he did.

"Potter..." Draco sneered, "I know your memory's probably been addled by all that staring at the Ravenclaw table, but we have Potions now."

Chang was bloody furious, he could tell. Or at least, he hoped. Those eyes didn't give away a thing - it was distinctly unnerving, but Draco thought it was a code he could decipher, if needed.

She was walking away now. Probably off to Advanced Flirtation Charms for the Romantically Handicapped, Draco decided sourly.

"I don't need you to tell me my timetable, Malfoy." Potter's voice was proud as always, but he was distracted. His eyes were still following that damned Ravenclaw.

Draco moved swiftly in front of Potter, blocking his view of most of the Hall. Potter pushed back a lock of his unruly black hair, blinking at the sudden sight of Draco.

Draco smiled inwardly. Shaken out of that dirty daydream now, aren't you?

Sadly, the little interlude was broken by Weasley.

"Go away, Malfoy! Some of us have Potions class to go to, and we don't need you blocking the way!"

"I'm going to Potions too," Draco said smoothly. "Or had you forgotten which class you were in, Weasley?"

Weasley turned red - not at all a flattering colour with his hair, Draco noticed absently - and Granger stepped in.

"I don't care who's going to Potions and who's not, but we're all going to be late if we don't hurry up!" She stamped her foot impatiently. "Ron? Harry? Are you coming? Oh, never mind Malfoy!"

The four of them made an odd assemblage walking the dungeon corridors, Draco thought. Granger striding purposefully ahead, the two Gryffindor boys hanging behind somewhat, troubled by his presence - and Draco stalking softly behind them, taking pleasure in their discomfiture.

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

"For today's work on Healing Potions, you will all be working in pairs."

Professor Snape added dryly, "I thought it might be interesting to pair one Gryffindor with one Slytherin, and have them injure and heal one another in class, but sadly Professor Dumbledore has vetoed that idea."

Draco could see Blaise Zabini's head drop in disappointment at Snape's last comment. Draco smiled. Always the aggressive one, aren't you, Blaise?

"However, I have decided to keep the original pairings in any case," Snape said. His gaze flickered over the group of surprised students. "It should be an amusing exercise to see how the Slytherins deal with the extra handicaps, and how Gryffindors deal with having to take a back seat to their more skilled colleagues."

"What the hell does Snape think he's saying!" Draco heard Weasley mutter in outrage. "We're every bit as good as those slimy gits!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for insulting Slytherin, Weasley," Snape said lazily. "And a further ten for questioning my orders."

Weasley's face turned puce, but he kept quiet. His own fault for not remembering Snape's excellent hearing, Draco thought smugly.

"You all have your ingredients, I trust?" Snape asked menacingly. When the class all nodded, he said, "Then I shall allocate the pairs. Each Gryffindor selected, move to the seat beside your Slytherin partner."

This could definitely get interesting. And surely Snape wasn't going to pass up the chance to put the two bitterest enemies in his class to work together on a Healing Potion?

"Harry Potter..." Snape stared darkly at Harry's inquisitive face. "You will work with Blaise Zabini."

Draco blinked. Oh.

"Parvati Patil - with Gregory Goyle."

"Neville Longbottom - Vincent Crabbe."

"Lavender Brown - Millicent Bulstrode."

"Hermione Granger," Snape smiled thinly, "You will be working with Draco Malfoy. Do try to restrain your know-it-all tendencies for once, since Malfoy is far superior to you in Potions ability."

Granger looked distinctly put out by this assessment as she thumped her ingredients down on Draco's desk. Draco didn't bother to conceal his smirk.

"If you actually believe that you deserve all the praise Snape heaps on the Slytherins, you're even stupider than I thought you were," Granger said in that high, precise voice of hers, scowling.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Really? I do believe I beat you in last year's Potions exams."

"That's because I spent most of that term trying to help Harry to stay alive in the third task!" Granger said indignantly.

Snape didn't even raise his head. "Five points for disturbing your classmates at work, Miss Granger, and for not attending to your own."

It really was too easy to bait Granger, Draco decided. In fact, all one really had to do was sit near her and look arrogant.

But it was more fun to talk back, of course.

"Oh, I remember, of course," Draco said. Granger looked slightly mollified. "In fact, you were giving Potter quite a wide variety of... help last year, weren't you? When you weren't, ahem, rendering your services to the Durmstrang champion."

Draco knew the stories hadn't been true, of course - he'd recognised Rita Skeeter's lurid fiction for what it was immediately. And anybody could see there was nothing going on between Potter and Granger. Still, this was definitely a sore point with the girl.

Granger spluttered. "How could you possibly be thinking that!"

"We're not all illiterates in Slytherin, you know," Draco drawled. "Not like you Gryffindor barbarians. We try to keep abreast of the news."

"Well, it wasn't true!" Granger declared. "I love Harry as a friend, and he was only interested in Cho then!"

Hook, line and sinker.

Draco put on a dubious face. "Chang? I'm not sure I can believe that, Granger. You mean to say that sallow-faced Ravenclaw could keep a man's interest for so long? Perhaps it was only a mask for Potter's undying passion for you."

"That's ridiculous! Anybody can see that Harry's head over heels in love with Cho. It's..." She paused.

Draco pounced. "It's what?"

"Well, it's a bit fast, is all." Granger started arranging the roots on the chopping board. "Harry's just a very open person. If he feels strongly about something, he doesn't hide it. It's a good thing, really."

"You don't seem at all sure, Granger."

Granger looked up. "What? Malfoy, are you trying to get information from me so you can hurt Harry? How dare you!"

Draco put on an injured expression. "Me, try to hurt your darling 'Harry'? Maybe I'm trying to save him from a fate worse than death."

The death your father ordered, remember? The one you're not sure you'll be able to carry out?

Suddenly Draco didn't feel like joking anymore.

Granger must have noticed the change in his expression, because she said slowly, "Wait a minute... you're actually serious about this. Are you interested in Cho?" She raised her voice. "Are you trying to steal Harry's girlfriend?"

"No!" Draco protested. "She really pisses me off."

Granger looked taken aback. "She does?"

"She's a typical Ravenclaw. Attempts to make up for her complete lack of distinctive qualities by trying to look intellectual. Did you hear she only got a C in last week's Arithmancy test?"

"Really?" Granger leaned forward eagerly. "Professor Vector mustn't have been happy with that."

"She had a 'serious talk' with Chang after class," Draco said, smirking.

A wand slapped down on the table, and Draco and Granger looked up at Professor Snape's stern face.

"I had thought that pairing my best Potions student with somebody who, for a Gryffindor, is mildly talented, would produce an exemplary Healing Potion. But now I find that even though Longbottom has mixed his ingredients, you have yet to finish preparing yours." Snape's voice grew dangerous. "Perhaps you are trying to develop telepathic Healing powers in lieu of preparing the actual Potion? Because I do not approve of such innovation in my class."

"I'm sorry, Professor!" Granger said hastily. "We'll get to work right away."

"Make sure you do not affect Mr. Malfoy's work with your incessant chatter," Snape warned darkly, and then moved on to harass Weasley.

"Right," Draco said. "You chop the roots, and I'll measure out the other ingredients. We should be ready to add them to the cauldron at the same time."

Granger looked surprised, then nodded and started to chop the roots quickly and carefully.

Sensible girl, Draco decided. Pity she's got all those Gryffindor qualities as well.