Chapter One: Midnight Meetings

Madam Pomfrey was resting. Her office had a desk positioned beneath a glass window, through which she could observe her ward. Leaning back in her chair, with her feet pressed up atop her desk, she laid peacefully with her eyes closed. For the moment, she had no patients and no paperwork. In one hour, she'd leave through the back-door for her personal quarters to catch some sleep.

Her last patient had been Justin Finch-Fletchley, whom was suffering from a migraine. She'd given him a calming draught to cure his nerves, concluding that, as he'd be taking his OWLs next month, it was likely stress. Having taken it, he grew calmer and had chosen to leave with his friends and return to the Hufflepuff common room.

Minutes passed. Pomfrey was just on the deciding to make herself a pot of tea when she heard the well-known sound of her Infirmary's doors creaking open. She heaved herself up by her elbows and attempted to peer through the window, expecting to see one of the professors seeking her advice (it was getting past the student's curfew, after all), but when her eyes spotted Draco Malfoy - by himself - closing the doors behind him, she then hastily got to her feet. She picked her wand up from the desk, popped it into her pocket, and left her office.

"Mr. Malfoy, whatever is it?" she asked, walking past a number of the ward's beds. "Surely you can't be suffering from yet another headache."

"I've been getting spouts of dizziness, actually," Malfoy sneered, "and almost collapsed after Potions today. I was actually lucky Pansy was standing near me. She helped to sturdy me - do you know how humiliating that could have been if I'd fallen! I've been resting in my dorm ever since."

"All right, all right, Mr. Malfoy. I'll check you over," Pomfrey said, knowing Malfoy wouldn't settle for anything less than a long, proper inspection, even if it was late. She brought her hands up to tighten the knot that held her hair in a bunch. "Now, feel free to choose a bed or a seat. Though I can't imagine we'll find anything wrong with you this time."

Malfoy made for the nearest bed. He hopped onto it and laid down, placing his hands down beside him. Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and walked over to Malfoy, where then she closed the curtains around his bed.

"I'll be giving you a full wand-examination this time, so please don't move unless I specifically tell you to. Far too many students getting hurt these days. Let's hope you don't start making a habit of it, eh?"

There'd been nothing wrong with Malfoy in the previous checks on him. Yet she had only performed the typical checkups on the boy, examining his symptoms and not his vitals, which required more concentrated medical wand-work rather than simple knowledge and potions.

"The last time you visited, you said your appetite for food was wanting. And you were experiencing migraines." She rounded over his head, searching for signs of aliments. A sign of ill-health, from stomach viruses to curses, would have her wand flashing lights. Different lights for different ailments. "Are you getting other symptoms?"

Malfoy paused. "I can't eat some kinds of meat without feeling sick now. I thought it was just the house-elves' bad cooking at first, I still do. And my nails, they've grown a lot since I was last here."

Pomfrey carefully picked up his left hand and examined the nails. They had indeed grown to a length that would've been considered longer than most, and they looked sharp, resembling claws. She let go of his hand.

"I've tried cutting them," he continued, "but they grow back by the next day. It's irritating having long nails."

She nodded politely. "These dizzy spouts, then, you mentioned, when did they start?"

"Four days ago, at breakfast," he said, lying his hand down again. "I was chatting to Crabbe and Goyle as I usually do, and my eyesight started blurring. The Great Hall was spinning. I tried everything - blinking, rubbing my eyes - everything was still spinning, and I couldn't do anything to stop it! I swear, if my father knew that had happened to me, he'd have had me out of this school in seconds."

Pomfrey restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Malfoy tended to mention his father when he visited her. And yet, he outright refused to inform the man. In his last visit, she'd cautioned Malfoy to inform and allow his father to aid her with information, reasoning that medical knowledge into his family history might provide her with better insight into treating his ailment. Instead, Malfoy had said he wouldn't concern his father and spoke no more on the matter.

She calmly moved her wand down to his chest. As she leveled it over his heart, her wand shot out a light of blue, hitting his shirt. The fabric glowed faintly before returning to it's ordinarily white colouring.

"What was that?" Malfoy screeched. He was staring down at his shirt in horror.

"It would be very unlikely, but just to be certain," Pomfrey murmured. "Please, take off your shirt, Mr Malfoy."

Malfoy sat up and hastily unbuttoned his shirt, placing it neatly on the bedside table beside him. Leading her wand across his chest once more, she was startled to see another startling blue light shoot out of her wand, which settled on Malfoy's skin before vanishing. Sea-blue lights, typically, indicated a blood-related problem. Infections or a bad disorder. Malfoy didn't appear to have any infections, however. No sweating, no fever, no wounds. And he was far too young to have any serious disorders.

"Have you had any blood or heart related problems in your family before, Mr Malfoy? Any family history of heart attacks, low blood circulation, anything similar?" she asked, in the politest tone she could muster.

Malfoy pushed himself up by his elbows, making it obvious that her examination would now be – if not halted –finished. "No, my family hasn't had any problems like those," he said, and then began pulling his shirt back on.

Pomfrey sighed. She should've already known that Draco Malfoy, like many other pureblooded children she had treated in the past, would have reacted just as defensively to an accusation against his family.

"All right, Malfoy. I'll be in my office, going through some of my medical journals. But I want you to stay in this bed, behind these curtains - is that clear?" she said sternly. "Or I will inform your father, make no mistake of that. I've had too many students walk out already in the past, you know, far too many."

Malfoy's sneering softened, and he placed his hands in his lap. "Do you know what's wrong with me, then?" he asked in a gentler tone.

"That is what I'm going to find out."

Pomfrey closed his curtains before retreating to her office, where she then marched over to her bookshelves. She began examining the glossary pages of essays, journals, notes, and informative books, but it was only after she dismissed contemporary solutions, such as all medical conditions relating to anaemia, haemophilia and diabetes. Diabetes could no doubt bring about blurring of vision and dizziness, but it couldn't change the growing pace of Malfoy's nails or decrease his appetite for meat.

With progress lacking and time passing, Pomfrey began to think that Malfoy was leading her on yet another of his schemes to get out of class for a day. Just as he had done in his third year at Hogwarts.

Then she noticed an old book, 'The Standard Edition to Magical Misfortunes.' Its pages were yellow, ripped and loose, and beheld pen marks and smudges, and even out-dated information on spells. What it did usefully entail was a chapter on blood-related ailments in magical beings, wherein there were lists and explanations.

Pomfrey looked at every disease the chapter listed. One listing near the end got her attention.

Veelas and their Misfortunes.

It then proceeded to list in detail many of Malfoy's symptoms, provide a cautionary word on wizards and witches with inter-species family backgrounds, and, conclude with a number of footnotes that dictated how the information gathered had been provided by, not only the Ministry of Magic, but by other species' governments.

"The Misfortune of the Change for Wizards with Veela genes," she read quickly. "Much is still unknown about the development of wizards and witches with veela genes. Nevertheless, healers have reported that wizards begin a change during puberty; witches, even earlier. The process is hardly noticeable, but will become clearer, as she, or he (refer to mating studies conducted by Clark, 1967), grows older. They will likely experience severe headaches bouts of dizziness, signs of distress, etc, which are brought on by a lack of familiar contact during this period, and suffer from drowsiness, a lack of appetite, aching muscles, and even the blurring of sight, due to the transformation of the body (for more detailed information on the bodily changes, turn to page 41).

The attitude of the person will also change, as they become reliant during this difficult time. It is important that the creature in question remain close to family members and / or future mate. Researchers believe that, due to this vulnerability, the creature would attempt to seek its mate, particularly if having no family or close relations. The veela community have declined to commit, but it is reasoned that, due to this need for assistance, the veela's mate would logically be someone already familiar to them. There have been, nevertheless, some true cases of veelas, of whom have never confessed their animalistic background or grown close to another being, and have thus gone on to fall into a 'love-deprived depression' state of mind (Dr Stephan, Head of the Creature Department, 1934).

It is known that pure-blooded Veelas do not experience the Change. Half-blood Veelas – that is, Wizards with veela blood – are likely to experience such a progression due to the dormant nature of the Veela gene until, what humans term as, the development stage of 'puberty'. Those who deem another or themselves to be experiencing such a Change should seek immediate advise from a medical authority and follow-up with taking the relevant medications needed in order to ensure the Change stage is undergone as safely and calmly as possible)."

Pomfrey snapped the book shut. Questions leapt within her mind: Was the young Malfoy truly a half-blood? Or could his symptoms merely be something else? Could the Malfoy linage even be impure?

She spent the next few minutes contemplating what to do: should she inform Mr Malfoy, inform the boy's father, or inform Dumbledore of the boy's visitations? Neither of the first two options appealed to her. Malfoy was likely to dismiss her due to his pureblood belief in the Malfoy ancestry, and his father would be worse. There was a method to prove her theory, but she would need backup.

Coming to a final decision, Pomfrey knew that she would have to take this up with the Headmaster. Carrying the book, she proceeded to leave her office and walk on hastily to depart the Hospital Wing, knowing that it was more than likely that the young Malfoy boy had heard her leave.

When she reached Dumbledore's office above the gargoyle, she knocked on his door. Loudly.

"Enter."

She turned the door's knob. She had been into the Headmaster's office many times since her employment, but the room still appeared every bit as magnificent as her first visitation. Pomfrey had always thought that his phoenix was the most wondrous thing, and she couldn't help the smile that grazed her face from seeing the same fiery bird sitting on it's perch now. She turned her gaze onto the Headmaster, and realised that he was surprisingly lounging away behind his desk in his usual chair.

"I certainly did not expect to see you in my office tonight, Poppy - not on this fine Sunday evening," he said. Slowly, he sat up. "What brings you here?"

"Draco Malfoy has been visiting me - by himself, sir - for the past two weeks."

"I wasn't aware the young Malfoy was ill."

"He isn't, or not from what I've seen," Pomfrey said. "Young Malfoy has informed me that he's been experiencing dizziness, headaches, and a lack of appetite. He also mentioned his eyesight blurring whilst in the Great Hall, and his nails growing at a substantial rate. These symptoms don't usually combine, sir, not unless the body is fighting off a disease or going through a transformation."

Pomfrey placed her book atop his desk, opened it, and quickly skewered through its pages until she finally came to rest on the one she'd previously been reading. Dumbledore examined it with interest while she continued talking.

"I've been treating Malfoy this past month. I've given him with chocolates, calming draughts, sleeping potions to ensure he's fit for classes, perceiving it all to be simply stress from his up-coming OWL exams. But I'm afraid to say though, that after examining him thoroughly just moments ago and looking it up further in my books, I think he may – just may – be a half-veela, Headmaster."

Dumbledore looked up. "You're sure of this?"

"I'm not one hundred percent completely sure, Headmaster," she said. "But, as you might see here, if Malfoy does turn out to be a veela, it'd be a swell idea to have the information we need sooner rather then later." She placed her hands on his desk. "Headmaster, I know a friend who works in the Creature Department in the Ministry. He could easily acquire me the background data I need on the Malfoy family, if only I were given permission to ask him."

Dumbledore paused. "All right, but discreetly - if Professor Umbridge were to discover you in the Department then she would undoubtedly be suspicious, and we certainly cannot afford to have that happening. Not now. England is still remain slighted. I doubt Fudge would like the idea much of allowing veelas, even half-veelas, into Hogwarts; for unlike Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, our High Legal Council, the Wizengamot, hasn't yet had a desirable need to help such students gain some education."

Pomfrey chewed her lip. "What will happen to the young Malfoy then, if he's found to be only a half-wizard?"

"He'd be expelled. Instantly, I'd imagine. The Ministry doesn't permit us to teach students with creature blood in them; if young Draco were discovered, he'd be taken from here, either by his parents or the aurors, and would be home-schooled for his remaining years."

"But what if there were other students like him? Would they get the same treatment - expulsion?"

"The same would happen to those students as well, my dear Pomfrey," he said, shaking his head. "If you should get the chance, would you please also take a brief look at the other student's records as well. It would seem that people are becoming more open-minded in today's society - why, I even saw three undines drinking in the Leaky Cauldron just last week, you know! Ah, then again, the bartender Tom, he is a very welcoming man. A bit callous, unnerving, but I don't believe there is a single bad bone in the innkeeper. Just bad manners."

"I wouldn't know. I've only been inside there once as a child - too young to remember the place."

He smiled fondly. "Ah, you should go. It's never too late to experience new adventures."

Pomfrey rolled her eyes. "Yes. If that's all, Headmaster, I really should be going," she said, grabbing her book and turning to leave. "Mr. Malfoy is still in the Infirmary. He'll want a diagnosis and I've already kept him lying there for an hour now."

"Pomfrey," Dumbledore called, just as her hand curled around the doorknob.

She turned to face him. "Yes?"

"Don't tell the boy he's a creature, will you," he said. "It'll only cause more aggravation from Umbridge, more from his father. Young Draco, I believe, is very close to his family...information like this would only cause them hassle, I'm sure. And if I recall, veelas do require a stable family most of all during their Change."

"The boy needs to know sometime."

"In time – yes – but not now. Not with Umbridge in the school..." (Dumbledore leaned forward, his hands pressed together on top of his desk) "...and we are not sure that he is a creature, are we yet? I'm sure you'll agree, Madam Pomfrey, that there is no need to be informing poor Draco when we are not sure of ourselves. Simply, tell him he has the flu."

She scowled. "Our students are not stupid, Headmaster. He'll need help in his...well, his veela adolescence, and who will help the boy if he doesn't know?"

"My dear, you can help. The students here trust you with their health, and I'm sure Mr. Malfoy is no different."

"But I won't be able to fully help the boy unless he knows, Albus."

"We must all do what we can in these desperate times," Dumbledore said, lamely.

"Yes, Headmaster," she said, irritated, as she turned for the door again. "I'll also be sure to get that information from inside the Ministry to you as soon as possible."

Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Pomfrey. And do try to have a pleasant night's sleep, won't you?"

Pomfrey nodded politely and left his office. She travelled down the gargoyle and walked out into the courtyard. The sky had darkened and she highly believed it was past the student's curfew, but she was adamant to help the young Malfoy boy now.

He was awaiting her diagnosis. Pomfrey brought a hand up to stroke her greying, tied-up hair. Perhaps she should just tell him that he was suffering from flu as Dumbledore had suggested, which would account for why he'd been so dizzy lately and how his food intake had become so varied. It wouldn't excuse the increased growth in his nails, but hopefully the young Malfoy wouldn't pay much attention to that symptom.

Pomfrey walked back up the grand staircase, passing several ghosts, until she finally came to the corridor leading to her Hospital Wing. She stopped outside the Infirmary doors, took in a calming breath, before then pushing the doors open.

The only light in the Wing was that from a single lit candle on the bedside table beside the young Malfoy. He was lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Pomfrey felt her stomach tighten at the casual sight, overcome with an unpleasant feeling of quilt.

"Mr. Malfoy," she called to him.

Malfoy brought himself by his elbows to sit up again. "Where've you been?" he asked.

"I was in the library," Pomfrey said, quickly forming an excuse, "researching through medical journals so I could give you a more accurate diagnosis, which I was sure you would rather I do -" (she walked towards the bed) "- but it does appear, though, that you're suffering from nothing more then the common flu."

"But I haven't been coughing or sneezing, especially with all the chocolate you've been giving me!"

"You don't have to be sneezing to have the flu, Mr Malfoy," she said, attempting to keep the situation calm. "After all, you did say you were feeling drowsy, dizzy and had a lack of appetite – these are all symptoms telling me that you're body feels overworked."

"My body is fine," Malfoy said, climbing off the bed, "and I'm as relaxed as I can be, with exams a month away. No, I know there's something else - there must be."

He started making his way to the Infirmary doors. Pomfrey became desperate; she made a grab for his wrist in an attempt to stop him, but he shook her off.

"Mr. Malfoy, please –"

"No!" Malfoy shouted, still backing away. "No, I've been here four times. A case of the flu, you'd have noticed that before!"

"I gave you an accurate diagnosis, Mr Malfoy," Pomfrey lied, despising herself more with every word, "all you need to do is listen to me and you'll find yourself recovering."

"That's all I'm suffering from – the bloody flu?" he said mockingly.

"Yes, and I'd also recommend trying a new diet of foods if your stomach can't take - what was it you said – ah yes, some kinds of meat," she advised politely. "Perhaps you could eat meat in small amounts for the next month or so, ham and chicken. No large steaks, mince or pork."

Malfoy stared at her, as if he were contemplating the idea. Pomfrey hoped that Dumbledore had been correct about the students trusting her, because she really needed Malfoy to believe her, if only to stop him from discovering the truth and then informing his father, who would undoubtedly contact Umbridge at the first moment available. If that happened, the young Malfoy would be quickly expelled.

Malfoy sighed. "All right, I'll try getting more sleep and eating less meat…but, if I do happen find something else wrong with me, Madam Pomfrey, I will be coming back here," he said, clearly not satisfied, but nonetheless, at least willing to follow her advice for now.

"That's fine with me," Pomfrey said, only too glad to have him returning for check-ups. "Now, I would prefer for you to start sleeping without the need of a sleeping draught, Mr. Malfoy. They do become addictive."

"Yes, I already know that."

"Well, I hope then that you'll agree - and just for tonight - to spend the night in the Infirmary, under my watch."

"But I haven't got any of my things," he moaned.

"Go get them then," she said, waving him off, "and if Filch or anyone else gives you trouble on your way, tell them that I'm keeping you in overnight in the Infirmary. Go on, now – go!"

Malfoy nodded and raced off, the doors slamming shut behind him with an echoing bang!

Pomfrey brought a hand up to stroke the soft strands of hair that fallen away from her bun. She quietly wondered if Dumbledore paid her enough to deal with these sort of incidents.

/~~~\

The following day, Harry was teaching the DA again. Only a few members of the DA were showing progress in their patronuses, but he was proud of that. They were practicing advanced magic right under Umbridge's nose, that alone wanted respect. Neville's wand was still producing silver vapour. Seamus had yet to keep his Patronus going for more then a second. Everyone was learning at their own pace.

Hermione's patronus, a shining silver otter, swished elegantly around her. She'd been one of the first to conjure a non-corporal patronus.

"They are sort of nice, aren't they?" she said, admiring it.

Harry paused to reply, but forgot as the door to the Room of Requirement creaked open. Harry looked round to see the door closing, and the students standing near it staring at him. Harry felt a tug at his trousers. He looked down in alarm and saw Dobby peering up at him beneath eight thick wholly hats.

"Hey Dobby!" he said. "What are you – what's wrong?"

The house-elf was shaking. Members of the DA fell silent, their bright silver patronuses, once circling the room, were vanishing into vapour, leaving the room considerably darker.

"Harry Potter, sir…" Dobby squeaked, his voice trembling, "Harry Potter, sir…Dobby has come to warn you…but we house-elves have been warned not to tell…"

The house-elf ran head-first for the wall; Harry made a grab for him, but Dobby slipped past and bounced off the wall, saved only by the cushioning of his wholly hats. Hermione shrieked.

"What's happened, Dobby?" Harry locked his arms around the house-elf to prevent him from harming himself.

"Harry Potter…she…she…"

Dobby's fist escaped Harry's hold and he hit himself on the nose. Harry seized it again.

"Who is she, Dobby?"

The house-elf wordlessly mouthed her name.

"Umbridge?" Harry asked, mortified.

Dobby nodded, before he then banged his head on Harry's left kneecap. Harry tightened his grip, stopping him.

"What about her, Dobby? She hasn't found out about this – about us – about the DA, has she?"

The answer was found on the house-elf's stricken face. Faster then Harry could seize him, Dobby managed to kick Harry in the ankle. Harry groaned painfully and released the house-elf, who fell helplessly to the floor.

"Is she coming?"

Dobby banged his right foot against the floor. "Yes, Harry Potter, yes!"

Harry pushed himself to stand again. He turned and stared at his fellow DA members, all of whom were staring at either him or the thrashing house-elf.

"WHAT ARE YOU ALL WAITING FOR?" he shouted. "RUN!"

What happened then, a horde of students scrambled past him. A Ravenclaw knocked into his shoulder. Someone stepped on his foot. They were all rushing and shoving to get through the doors. He could hear them rushing down the corridors outside, and he hoped they were smart enough to try and hide in or near a location nearby. It was only ten to nine; curfew was not until nine, and it was better to say they had been in the library, which was nearer –

"Harry, come on!" Hermione shouted from within the centre of the scum of students fighting to get out.

He scooped up Dobby, who was still trying to seriously injure himself, and carried him towards the back of the bumbling queue.

"Dobby – this is an order – get back to the kitchen and, if she asks you whether you warned me, lie and say no," Harry said, when at last they exited the room. He slammed the doors shut and turned back. "And I forbid you to hurt yourself!"

"Thank you, Harry Potter, thank you!" Dobby said. The house-elf clicked his fingers and vanished in a puff of smoke.

Knowing that the house-elf was fine, Harry streaked off down the corridor to his right. He managed to catch a last glimpse of two DA students running ahead of him for the grand staircase, so he turned right instead. He didn't want to get caught with anyone else, and the boy's toilets were just a bit away. If he could reach it then he could pretend he'd been there –

A tight, invisible rope wrapped around his ankles before he could finish the thought. And he tripped.

"AAARGH!"

He skidded for more than six feet before finally coming to a halt. Someone was sniggering behind him. A man by the pitch of the voice, not a woman. He groaned painfully, and the laughter stopped.

Harry rolled onto his back. He spotted Malfoy in an archway, standing behind a rather ancient, half-broken statue of a dragon mounted atop a pedestal. It had been days since he'd last seen Malfoy; the git was rumoured to have been visiting the library throughout the weekend, when usually he would have been out terrorising students with his newfound prefect powers. In class, though, Malfoy was still the same: he'd always been a complete git.

"Trip jinx, Potter, favourite of mine." Malfoy stepped around the pedestal. "I'm disappointed I caught you, you know – you should be more careful, Scarhead. I could've been someone else."

"What – someone worse then you," Harry said. He tried standing, but a spark of pain ran up his right leg from his foot. The jinx, or possibly that student who'd stepped on his foot earlier, had injured him. He hopped over to the wall, panting. "Never could catch a snitch, eh, Malfoy. But you caught me."

"You're far more valuable than any snitch, Potter. Imagine if Montague caught you? Not a nice image there, eh?"

Harry shook his head; Malfoy was right. Montague, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, was the most brutish Chaser Harry had ever known at Hogwarts, often blocking or smashing into other players, using his size and large, hairy arms to his advantage. Harry didn't want that man anywhere near him.

Malfoy huffed, and lowered his wand. "Go, Potter, now. Before Umbridge comes."

"Why - why let me go? Gonna trip me again?"

"What are you – an idiot, Potter? No, I won't trip you. Just go!" Malfoy spluttered. He pointed down the corridor that led to the bathroom. "Go, now! Before I can –"

"It's him!" Professor Umbridge shouted from the corridor Harry had come from. Pansy Parkinson was following her, wand in hand. "I knew I heard his voice – excellent, Draco. Excellent. Oh, fifty points to Slytherin! I'll take him from here."

Umbridge seized Harry by the arm, then returned her attention to Malfoy.

"You hop along and see if you can round up any more of them, Draco. Tell the others to look in the library – anybody out of breath – check the bathrooms. Miss. Parkinson can do the girl's ones – off you both go –"

Malfoy frowned. For a moment, Harry thought he'd disobey. The Slytherin was eyeing Umbridge's grip on him. His lips parted as if to speak.

"Come on, Draco," Parkinson said.

Malfoy closed his mouth. He turned and started walking towards the floor's bathrooms. Parkinson caught up to him. She placed a hand on his back.

"Come, Potter," Umbridge said, grabbing his attention. "We're going to the Headmaster's office."

By midnight that night, Dumbledore had left the castle with his phoenix. McGonagall had escorted Harry back to the Gryffindor Tower, that was, after taking Marietta to the Hospital Wing for her cursed face. And Harry's heart weighed heavier; he feared the reason Dumbledore had left was because he had continued teaching the DA group.

Many Gryffindors in the DA had stayed up to await his return, Harry soon discovered, when he finally entered the common room. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George were only a few of those settled near the fireplace, sitting and talking in hushed voices. Quickly, he put the incident between Malfoy and himself to the furthest corners of his mind. He had more important things to focus on than the ferret.