Valentine's in Five

DAY THREE

Step 7: Tackle the problems at hand

Gryffindor seventh year boys' dormitory, 9:34 AM

It was the sickly sweet smell that woke Harry. He opened his eyes and blinked, then groaned and rolled over until his nose was buried in his pillow. But if it hadn't been the smell, it would have just been an irate Dean two seconds later.

"For the love of God, Ron, you'd better get that... thing out of here before I toss it out the window!"

"Shut up, Dean. It doesn't smell bad."

Harry struggled to find the part in his curtains, and squinted against the bright light of morning. "No, it smells overwhelming, Ron. What... Is it..."

Ron's freckled face was relaxed into a grin, despite a fuming, pacing Dean. "It's fine. Just like the book says. I even think it smells better."

Dean turned with a flourish, wheeling back his leg for a kick, and Ron threw himself bodily in front of the cauldron, a look of horror on his face. "Dean--"

But their roommate was smirking now. "I'm going down to breakfast, Weasley," he said in a much-too-calm voice. "And then I am heading over to Flitwick's for extra Charms practice. And then I will be going into Hogsmeade. Should I return to this room at the end of the day and find that my robes and sheets and trunk and shoes smell like the potpourri from hell, I am going to throw not only the cauldron, but you out the window as well."

Ron laughed sarcastically at Dean's back as he exited the room. He threw a shoe at his roommate. It bounced harmlessly off the closing door. Ron turned back to Harry, already grinning again.

Harry took a breath and practically gagged on the flowery smell. "So. It's working then."

"Like a charm." Ron stirred the mixture steadily with a long handled spoon. It was now a deep rouge with threads of pink running through it. Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Not to be an arse, Ron, but I don't think Hermione is going to like being smelled by witches and wizards all across Scotland. And probably France."

Ron tossed the book at him and Harry had to throw his arms up to keep it from smacking his chest. He flipped to the correct page and read, but Ron recited from memory: "'Your mixture will smell pungently of each particular floral ingredient for a duration of one hour per ingredient. Do not attempt to compensate for pervading odors by adding more ingredients. The smells will localize and combine exactly three hours and twenty-two minutes after you have added the bamboo root.' Which I just put in."

"Ah," Harry muttered. He read on, and his eyes widened. "Ron--"

"Not to worry. I've got it in my trunk."

Harry started. "You have a fairy trapped in your trunk?"

Ron screwed up his face and stared at Harry. "Merlin, no. I've got Hermione's comb in my trunk. Took me forever to filch it from her bag. That girl is absolutely impossible to distract." Ron gave a happy sigh and settled the lid over the cauldron. He brushed his hands off, shaking his head condescendingly at Harry. "I'd never trap a fairy in with my clothing. No, the fairy's up there."

Harry looked up and saw a tiny little figure with glowing wings sitting on the edge of Seamus' wardrobe, kicking her legs delightedly and tittering. Sparkling dust poofed and fluttered from her body with each movement. Behind her sat what looked like a... Harry's eyes widened.

"Ron--"

"Had to give her candy, Harry. She threatened to leave. But she likes lemon. Pity she doesn't know it's one of Fred and George's. But she doesn't eat it, she just... stares at it lovingly. Completely barmy, if you ask me."

Harry shook his head. Maybe he was still asleep and this would all be somewhat normal if he just crawled back into bed and woke up again.

"Well, but you're awake. Finally." Ron stood and smacked Harry's leg. "Thought you were going to sleep forever. I'm bloody hungry, mate."

Harry stared at his friend. "Since when are you an early riser?"

Ron stared right back. "Since I'm hungry. Bloody hell, come on."

With much prodding and threatening to shove him out of the dorm in his pyjamas, Ron finally got Harry to get out of bed. He dressed quickly, still worried about Ron's threat, and headed down to the Great Hall, rubbing the haze from his face and eyes. He felt like he'd been spelled by some sprite to sleep forever. His whole body was deliciously tired, and he'd been dreaming of the reason. White-blond hair, warm fingertips and soft lips. They'd certainly stayed out late; it was a miracle neither of them had been caught sneaking back into their dorms. Harry wasn't even sure if Draco had been so lucky, but he suspected his boyfriend had managed to slip in undetected by anyone who would care. Harry had been planning on sleeping until at least ten to make up for it.

But Ron was hungry. Of course.

The Great Hall was surprisingly empty; most of the other students had gotten a jumpstart on Hogsmeade again after a tiring week of classes. Harry sat down in front of an empty plate at Gryffindor table, rubbing his eyes and picking up some toast. Ron had downed an entire serving of sausage and eggs before Harry had even finished buttering his first slice. He looked around, chewing.

"Where's Hermione?"

"Library, with all her Muggle Studies books. I believe her exact words were, 'Now that you're having real practice, I can study and not feel like I'm being avoided, can't I?'"

Ron was glaring. Harry rolled his eyes and took a sip of pumpkin juice. "Don't blame me. Ginny was in Hogsmeade yesterday and Hermione saw her."

Ron's grumbling was audible. He stabbed at his potatoes with his fork. "Lock that girl in the broom shed next time."

"Hmm."

"Where were you so late last night? Heard you come in."

Harry nearly dropped his goblet. "Um. Flying. I went flying."

"Who went flying?" Ron's tone was flattening out. Harry reached for an orange to occupy his hands.

"We went flying," he corrected, not looking at his friend. Ron's silence was weighted, and Harry hastened to fill it in. "Draco wasn't busy, so we went out for some Quidditch."

He looked up at last and found Ron watching him, face carefully blank. His friend inhaled through his nose, slowly. "So. How's that going, anyway?"

Harry resisted the urge to sigh. Draco was still a very sore spot with Ron, ever since the massive row just after the Yule Ball. If he closed his eyes, Harry could still remember the anger on his friend's freckled face, the pulse of energy into the room as he stood between him and Draco. But since then, Ron had opted more often for uneasy silence than anything else when Draco's name arose, allowing Hermione to ask the questions. Harry was thankful beyond words for his friend's discretion, but all the same, he could feel the tension as if it were a palpable object resting in his hand.

"It's fine. We're... fine."

Ron leaned on one elbow and took a huge bite of toast. His eyes were on his food. "I never see him around," he said shortly.

Harry winced. "I don't either."

That had been the wrong thing to say; Harry knew it as soon as the words left his lips. Ron's eyes shot to his and his face began to color.

"He's been busy," Harry added quickly. "Snape's project and everything with Arithmancy... This week's just been busy, that's all."

He could practically hear the words Ron was holding back. His friend's blue eyes had darkened; it was becoming a visible struggle. Harry sought for a distraction. "Have... have you got everything for the potion, then?"

For a moment, Ron looked so reluctant that Harry was afraid his change of topic would go ignored. But then some of the red faded out of Ron's face and he let out a breath. He began eating his potatoes once more. Harry again thanked whoever was in charge for his friend's recent development of tact.

"I put in all the different flower pollen before you got up. All I'm waiting for is the combination process, and then I'll dip Hermione's hair in and add the fairy dust."

Harry couldn't help but grin. The potion really was a stroke of genius, both the creator's for developing it, and Ron's for thinking it up as a gift. It was a perfume, designed to react to the wearer's mood. It contained at least five different flower scents of the brewer's choice, and depending on what Hermione was feeling when she put it on, it would smell like one of the five. Hermione's hair wouldn't go into the potion, technically; it would just be dangled into the mixture for several minutes to temper the solution to her specific characteristics. And then the fairy dust would be added to make her skin sparkle. The perfume would work on no one but her when it was finished.

Harry was very curious to see it, and smell it, in action. He grinned at Ron. "She'll love it."

His answering smile was shaky. "Merlin, I hope so. Sometimes I wonder if she's really the type to wear perfume. There are still some things I haven't asked her."

Harry's stomach squeezed momentarily. He put down his pumpkin juice. "Ron... Are you two going to do... anything special on Tuesday?"

"You mean besides me presenting her with the culmination of my self-enslavement?" Ron was grinning.

Harry forced a laugh and nodded. Ron shoveled more potatoes into his mouth and swallowed. "I was thinking of sneaking her down to Hogsmeade for dinner. There's a nice bistro... Don't know if she'll go for it, but if all else fails I can promise her new Arithmancy books in return for breaking the rules. Always works like a charm."

Harry waited, and Ron's smile turned puzzled. "Er... that's all. Why, did she have something else she wanted to do?"

Harry shook his head, a bit too quickly. "No, that sounds... that sounds good. She'll like that."

"Harry, did she say anything to you? Was there something specific she was--"

"No." Harry gave up. It was impossible; you couldn't just ask a question like that, not to your best friend, as if you were accusing him of something. Not about his sex life, especially when you had no idea what the term 'sex life' entailed, yourself. Ron's confusion looked genuine, and until Harry could figure out some other approach, he would just have to assume it meant that Ron wasn't planning anything along the lines of sex.

He finished his eggs in two bites and stood up before Ron could organize his next question. "Come on. I want everyone out there in time for practice, and I know a few people who will be trying to avoid it today."

Ron followed him out, grabbing two apples and a honey biscuit as they passed Ravenclaw. "I'll get Peakes and McDonald. They'll be snogging in the Astronomy Tower, or I'm not a seventh year."

* * *

Step 8: Exercise is good for the soul

Quidditch pitch, 1:31 PM

Harry rubbed his hand across his face as the Quaffle sailed past the hoops yet again, missing them by at least a body length. He struggled to put a cap on the irritation bubbling up inside him. "Alright, stop, stop! Just... stop, everyone, take a break. Frobisher! Peakes, watch the Bludgers, you idiots, you're going to knock each others' heads off!"

He could see Ron balancing with one hand against the right outer hoop; the grimace splashed across the redhead's face looked very much like the one Harry wanted to be wearing. He rubbed his eyes again and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Priya? Priya!" Harry waved the willowy Chaser down. Priya Nagra abandoned her halfhearted pursuit of the Quaffle and circled slowly through the air toward him. Her dark hair was coming out of its braid and she was breathing hard. "Priya, you missed the hoop by seven feet!"

"I'm sorry, Harry." She shook her head. Her knuckles tightened around her broomstick and she wiped her forehead. "Let me try it again, please? My boyfriend and I are fighting... I'm not at my best."

Ginny swung in and hung in the air above Harry, smirking playfully. She spoke in a sing-song voice, "Yes, let her try it again, Harry. She and her boyfriend are fighting, she's not at her best."

Priya cast Ginny a pleading look. "Oh, shut up, Ginny."

"Priya, you and your boyfriend are always having a row," Ginny countered. "Can't wait for you two to get married, maybe then we can play some Quidditch, yeah?"

Priya's face went stormy. Harry glared at Ginny and then looked at his fourth year Chaser. He patted her broom handle lightly and spoke in a low voice. "Bad weekend for it, though."

Her brown eyes locked on his and she smiled weakly. Ginny let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Can I please get on with my life now?"

Priya began to circle away, performing the quick twists and turns for which Harry had put her on the team. "What's it to you, Weasley?" She smirked loftily. "Jealous I'll be getting a Valentine?"

Ginny snorted. "As if I even wanted one. I don't base my life around the attention of boys, unlike some people."

Priya stuck her tongue out, but Ginny wasn't looking at her. She was staring past Harry with a look of queasy consternation on her face. "However," she said, "I do know someone who will be getting a lot of said attention..."

Ron followed his sister's gaze, then looked skyward and groaned. Harry twisted around to see what they were staring at. What looked like a small flock of red birds was fluttering and swooping through the air toward him. Harry had a split second of abject horror as he realised what they were.

"Oh, Merlin."

A swarm of little red paper hearts suddenly surrounded his head. Harry dodged one particularly close flyer and batted at the flock until it swept around in front of him and hovered there. Ron swung in close, eyes wide. "Two days early, Harry. You're moving up in the world."

"Shut up," Harry grumbled. A bright pink heart fluttering limply at the front of the swarm was currently trilling to him in a high, reedy voice to open me, Harry, me first!

"Harry, is that what I think it is?" Ginny ventured, pointing at a much larger Valentine flapping madly through the middle of the pack. Harry took one look and thought very seriously of zooming away over the Forbidden Forest and never coming back to Hogwarts again. A chorus of giggles sounded below. Harry caught sight of Romilda Vane and her gaggle of fifth years in the stands next to the other observers.

"Yes, Ginny, that's a bloody Howler." His stomach was starting to hurt.

The thing was beginning to smoke and spark. Harry snatched it out of the air and tore the seal with shaking fingers. Immediately the shrill screech of an unrecognizable voice caromed across the field. "HARRY POTTER, YOU ARE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, WON'T YOU PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BE MY ONE AND ONLY VALENTINE, I'LL CARRY YOUR BOOKS FOR YOU ALL DAY ON TUESDAY AND I'LL EVEN MAKE YOU COOKIES, I'VE LOVED YOU FROM THE DAY I CAME TO HOGWARTS, I KNOW I'M YOUNG, BUT YOU AND I WERE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER, I CAN FEEL IT, WON'T YOU PLEASE BE MY--"

A bang erupted to his left, followed by a shower of sparks. The Howler exploded in a blast of smoke and ash. Ron pocketed his wand, glaring at the now burning swarm of Valentines. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Cheers, Ron." Harry batted at the other Valentines, but only succeeded in being mobbed by the swarm of them. Victoria Frobisher flew up and tossed him her bat to even things out. Harry swung and clubbed, and finally succeeded in knocking the flock to a safer distance. Still, they hovered, as if waiting for the right time to zoom in again and pelt him with sweet nothings. There were no more Howlers apparent, but Harry did catch a glimpse of some bulky envelopes struggling to stay afloat.

"Looks like your fan club is alive and well," Ginny stated good-naturedly. Harry couldn't help it; it was like watching a Quidditch accident. His eyes dropped to the Hufflepuff stands, where all the giggling was emanating from, and he felt his face begin to heat up.

Megan, the fourth year Ravenclaw who had practically fallen over her own feet at the Yule Ball trying to get away from him, was in the stands. For a split second, Harry wondered if she had charmed one of the flapping, squeaking hearts. But it just wasn't her style. She liked to watch from afar, content to simply soak him in with her eyes. Watching his Quidditch practices had become routine for her, and he'd managed to forget she was there for the last few weeks, despite Ron's smirking protests that "Ravenclaw will find out all your top-secret moves, Harry!"

But Romilda Vane was much, much worse than Megan could ever be. Harry peered at the stands through the ripple of red paper, saw Megan eyeing the other girl with a disgusted quirk of her eyebrow, and felt himself blush. He could still feel the cool wood under his jeans, and taste Draco's mouth, feel his tongue coaxing him deeper. The thought that they'd made out, right where Romilda Vane was now strutting about and leering up at him... Harry looked away hurriedly.

A flash of gold near the ground caught his eye, and Harry's stomach dropped even further. Draco's familiar figure was walking across the lawn toward the school doors. Harry wondered how much he'd seen, and knew that if he'd seen it, he'd most likely heard it all too. He'd been watching the practice and Harry hadn't even noticed. And now he was leaving. Romilda Vane giggled again, high-pitched, and Harry gritted his teeth, wondering why the world was so bloody unfair.

"Carry on," he shouted, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice. "Frobisher, Peakes, practice your Dopplebeater. The rest of you, I want the Woollongong Shimmy perfect in the next half hour or we stay out here till sundown!"

* * *

Step 9: Expect the unexpected

Gryffindor changing rooms, 5:49 PM

"Harry. There's an antsy third year out here with something for you."

Harry groaned and looked at the shower-damp head sticking through the open door. "Is it any shade of pastel? Because if it is, I'm not here."

Ron grinned. "Definitely not a Valentine, unless some teacher is pulling you. You'd better get out here, he's more fidgety than a house elf."

Harry threw his practice clothing into his bag and tugged a clean jumper over his head, then walked to the door, more curious than he wanted to admit. Outside, there was indeed a third year boy, bouncing back and forth from foot to foot. When he saw Harry, his face broke into a wide smile and he hurried forward. "Harry Potter? Harry Potter, this is for you."

Harry leaned his broom against the building and took the slightly crumpled parchment from the boy's outstretched hand. He opened it, eyeing his messenger as he did. The boy was small for his age, with mousey brown hair and a long, thin nose. His eyes looked almost too big for his face. Not quite sure what to do, Harry smiled uneasily and looked at the note instead.

Mr Potter,

Please come to my office as soon as possible. There is something we must discuss.

M. McGonagall

Harry flipped the parchment over, but there was nothing else. Nervousness tightened his stomach. "Did she say what she wanted?"

The boy shook his head emphatically, eyes shining as if it just made his day to converse with the great Harry Potter. "No, no, she didn't say anything. Just to give that to you, so I did. As soon as I could. I knew exactly where you'd be, you know."

Harry nodded. "Well... um..."

"Christian, I'm Christian."

"Um, thank you. Christian."

The boy nodded so happily Harry thought his head would bob right off his shoulders. He backed up, still smiling dazedly, and then turned and scampered for the castle doors, robes flying out behind him. Harry watched him go, feeling a dull pang in his gut. For a moment, in the waning twilight, the boy reminded him of Dennis Creevey.

Harry picked up his broom and headed for the castle. It had been strange, to be suddenly bereft of the two shadows that had followed him around beginning his second year. If their departure had been for any other reason than the reality, Harry would have allowed himself relief. Instead, all he could feel was helplessness. And remorse. The Creeveys had been the victims of an attack on Muggle-Wizard families during the ending stages of the war. Voldemort's last hurrah. Harry's lip twisted bitterly. Colin had lost an eye, and much of his mind for several months. And Dennis...

Harry yanked at the edge of his jumper as he walked. He'd struggled with this already, when it had happened. Like everything else about that damned war, there was nothing he could do now to change what had occurred. But it liked to sneak up on him some days.

Early returnees from Hogsmeade were already filing into the Great Hall for dinner when he got into the castle. Harry headed right past, despite the growling of his stomach, and mounted the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. He'd put his Quidditch gear away, and then go find out what his head of house wanted.

By the time he'd stowed everything, the vague nature of the note was beginning to play on his mind. What did McGonagall want? She never called him to her office. Had he forgotten something important? Maybe she wanted to talk to him about the upcoming match against Hufflepuff. Harry shook his head, exiting the common room and heading for her office. Unlikely. She was never all that vocal about her desire to win the House Cup. What did come out on the subject was usually an accident, and inspired by vehement 'discussions' with Snape. Harry stopped walking and read the note again. His stomach began to churn.

Had he failed a test? True, he hadn't really studied for the last one, but it had either been that or spend the evening with Draco, and Harry's decision had not been difficult. Besides, he'd felt uncommonly comfortable with the material that time, and the actual test-taking had been easy. Or so he'd thought. Maybe he'd really messed everything up quite badly, and now she was going to chew him out for lack of dedication to his studies.

By the time Harry reached the professor's office, his head was swimming with possibilities, all of them bad and getting worse by the second. What had he done? What hadn't he done? Was she taking away his team captaincy? Had he really performed that badly on the exam? Did she know about Draco and wish to comment on his propensity for distraction? Perhaps Snape had complained about his botched Potions class and she was going to berate him herself.

Harry knocked on the door. A sparse "come in" was all he got. He opened the door to find his professor seated behind her desk, a quill poised over what looked very disturbingly like their last exam.

"Potter." Professor McGonagall straightened and waved him in. "Sit down."

Harry took a seat across from her and perched on the edge, trying to keep himself still. His head of house laid her quill down deliberately and fixed him with a shrewd look. "I've been meaning to speak to you about the results of your latest exam."

Harry swallowed. "I... Yes, Professor?"

She selected the topmost paper - covered in red marks - and held it out to him. Harry took it hesitantly, afraid to look at it. "I wish I could say that your results surprised me, Potter, but in fact, they have not surprised me for some time."

She waited, eyebrows high on her forehead, and clasped her hands together over the pile of exams. "Frankly, your latest results only confirm what I have long suspected, and have convinced me to approach you concerning a certain matter."

"Professor--" Harry started, but could go no further. He glanced down at his test, and the scribbles of red swam across his vision. He focused in on the note closest the bottom of the parchment, and just as he was comprehending what he was reading, Professor McGonagall spoke.

"Highest marks in the class, Potter. For three straight exams. Even Ms Granger did not score so high."

Harry's head shot up to stare at her, then back down at his test. The red writing was not the admonishments he'd expected; rather, it was note after note after note: Intriguing approach, Potter... A shortcut only few are aware of... Excellent application of magical theory...He raised his eyes and found his professor smiling tightly at him.

"You have always shown a great deal of promise in this subject, Potter," she said in a warmer tone. "But it is your success in your other subjects, as well as your recent performance under... extreme duress, that impresses me most."

She was talking about the war, in that careful way of hers. Harry flushed at the praise. He was finding it hard to meet her eyes.

"I would like you to consider an opportunity in the next few months. It is a rigorous series of written and physical tests designed to determine your aptitude for training as an Auror."

Harry stared at her. "What?"

She frowned slightly at his response. "Yes, Potter, an Auror." McGonagall pursed her lips. "This application will allow you to attend Auror training after the conclusion of your seventh year, and may possibly lead to a professional position in later years, depending on your progression. I will assist you in preparing for the three exams, as well as honing the other skills you will need to become a successful Auror. It is a difficult set of exams, and the training will not be easy, but it will be incredibly rewarding. If that is something you are interested in, then I strenuously suggest you consider this opportunity."

Harry sat back, trying to reorient himself. "I..." He met her gaze, heard her words in their entirety, finally, and felt a flood of warmth in his chest. "Professor, I wasn't expecting... I mean, I thought you were going to..."

A tiny smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. It was infectious, and Harry felt his own lips curve upward. He took a deep breath. "I'm interested."

"Good." Professor McGonagall sat back, her expression relaxing into the closest thing to delight Harry had ever seen on her face. "I'm very glad to hear you say that, Potter. I will acquire the necessary information and paperwork for you this coming week, and then we can begin the process."

"Is it... difficult?" For a moment, Harry felt stupid. She had just said it would be, hadn't she? McGonagall eyed him for a few seconds.

"It will not be easy, Potter. I... believe you already know of Mr Malfoy's application?" There was a knowing, playful spark in her eye that made Harry want to crawl under the table. He nodded, cheeks flaming.

"I've asked him about it."

She nodded curtly. "Yours will be similar, except that you will be going directly into training, should you be accepted. The process is the same level of difficulty, but the tests differ greatly." She stood and held out her hand. Harry placed his written test into it and stood as well. McGonagall inclined her head.

"Don't worry, Harry," she said in a softer voice. "I intend to assist you in any way I am allowed, but this will already be easier for you than most, considering your background."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said sincerely.

She gestured toward the door. "You may go now, Potter. I will speak with you again when the paperwork arrives."

Harry left her office dazed, and winded. It certainly hadn't been what he'd expected. Truth was, he was rather frightened of being an Auror. He hadn't been planning on it, not with his uncomfortable proximity to Moody over the last few months of the war. But now, seeing it stretched out in front of him, tantalizingly obscure and mysterious, and - could he fault himself for this at all? - without the hanging threat of Voldemort over the entire idea... his excitement was overriding everything else, and growing.

~tbc~