Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela

Chapter 7 - Classes Begin

(O.W.L. Evaluation Day)

By: Schittlez

"No, no, no, no, no!"

Draco rested fifteen steps below the entrance to the Headmaster's office. He knew he was going to be late, but there was no way he could walk in there right now, in his current condition.

He wrung his hands together, which were extremely clammy. Frustratingly, he rubbed them over his robes only to raise them back up and run them over his forehead, covered in sweat, before raking them through his slightly disheveled hair. Draco's chest heaved a little as he propped his elbows up on his thighs, letting his hands hold his face.

What in Merlin's name could his subconscious have been thinking! Whatever it was, it was something that the conscious side of Draco failed to understand and was clearly upset about. Someone must have held nothing short of vindictive intentions when they predestined this pair.

'Now that hurts. I'm not that vindictive.'

'Not you again. Go away.'

'Aw… are we upset because we found out that I'm right?'

'What? We don't know you're right yet. There could have been… someone…'

'Someone what? Wandering the halls? Not likely. Just you and the man you wanted to pounce.'

'Don't make me ill. I am not attracted to Potter! I'm not even gay!'

'You know, if you lie to me, basically, you're lying to yourself.'

'How do you figure I'm gay?'

'As if you couldn't be! Who decorated their room because he thought no one else had his color sense? Who drew out the exact, detailed designs of his own wardrobe right down to the specific color and fabric, every year, because he felt no one's taste met up to his level of standards?'

'…So?'

'And all petty stereotypes aside, who's the one who shoves away every girls' advancement no matter how pretty they are?'

'That doesn't prove anything! I can't be with anyone else other than my mate and you know that.'

'Nice excuse… if you were shoving them away with determination instead of sheer disgust. You're still human you know. Well, half-human.

'I'm not gay.'

'Before you argue with yourself all night long, since you should have been in that office five minutes ago, think about this… if you really thought about it and set your veela instincts aside, list all the girls you find attractive and then list all the guys. Then, get back to me when you're done.'

Draco could already feel the impending epiphany, dwelling inside him, the very second he began coming up with an answer to that request.

'Merlin's beard, I am gay!'

'Told you.'

'Shut up!'

Draco sighed heavily as he pulled his face out of his hands and glared down at the spiral staircase. Even if his sexuality was solved as a definite, that still left one problem. Why him? Why did it have to be the very same person he literally grew to hate ever since he first met him? Draco knew this could not go well.

Sure, he had at least found the person his senses were steering him to, so he didn't have to worry about the thought of perishing on his next birthday; but he was sure if his bloodline provided such a punishment for something so simple, he knew the consequences would be far more dire for not being able to make a connection with his mate. However, what could be worse than death?

Draco mentally wished it didn't have to be Potter. Maybe if he insisted hard enough, his subconscious preference would change.

'Not likely.'

'Damn you.'

Besides, he didn't even have feelings for the wretched boy other than pure loathing, right? Draco wasn't so sure anymore, because when he looked into those piercing, green eyes tonight, truly, for the first time, his insides immediately turned into Quidditch players competing in the World Cup.

Draco reluctantly willed himself to finally stand up, but that did not stop him from continuing to let his thoughts stew. He wasn't even in full touch with reality after he opened the office door and greeted the professors standing before him.

"You're ten minutes late, Mr. Malfoy," Snape calmly scolded as Draco entered the Headmaster's office.

"My apologies, Professors," Draco replied as he shut the door behind him.

Harry awoke the next morning fairly early. The sun was just beginning to creep over the landscape when he looked out the window to his dormitory. He was pretty grateful that Hermione and Ron took it upon themselves to head to bed before he returned last night. And now, he might get a few more peaceful moments before they woke up and let him have it with every question on their mind.

He threw his housecoat on before making his way downstairs and discovering that someone was already occupying the sofa in front of the fireplace, which still had a few remaining embers left. It was at that moment that he had realized he left the tray Dobby delivered to him on the table, next to the sofa. How could he have been so careless? Sure, there were no contents left on it; but he was confident that the remaining pool of blood, resting on the silver platter, from last night's 'feast' was enough to arouse a fury of inquiries.

And who was the lucky witness that just so happened to be sitting next to the evidence? It was none other than Hermione Granger. Harry sighed as he rounded the piece of furniture and let himself have a seat next to her. However, when he looked over her to see if the tray was where he left it, it was nowhere to be seen. Dobby must have grabbed it during the night, Harry thought and he had to remind himself to thank the wonderful house-elf later.

He then perked up and addressed the sixth-year girl next to him, who was obviously enthralled by the book she was reading, because she still had yet to acknowledge his presence.

Harry slowly leaned to the side, still looking straight ahead and whispered, "Hi there."

Hermione's book, needless to say, was no longer in her lap.

"Ah! Oh… Harry," Hermione gasped. She quickly picked her book up off the floor, which knocked over a candle in the process. She settled herself quickly, and pulled out her wand to re-ignite the fallen candle Harry scooped up and put back on the table. She then finally seemed to catch her breath and glared at Harry for a second, who was nothing but smiles. "You startled me."

"That was the plan," he chuckled.

"Yes, well, it's not that funny," Hermione finally smiled and opened her book where she had left off. She didn't continue reading right away, though. Instead, she turned to look at her friend and said, "So, how was your meeting with Professor Dumbledore?"

"It was okay," Harry shrugged. "We just laid everything out on the table and discussed some things."

"Like what?" Hermione continued, flipping through the pages of her book as if she was more interested in that and just wanted to make idle chit-chat.

"We discussed that the Order… could keep using Sirius' house as headquarters because I inherited everything in his will."

"Oh, really? Harry, that's wonderful. Your godfather really did care for you."

Harry didn't feel like dwelling on that topic much longer. So, he quickly changed it. "Yeah, but that meant I inherited the wretched house-elf as well."

Hermione paused and then reached into her nearby bag to pull out a pamphlet. "You know, Harry," she began, "I think if you took this in a different and healthy direction, you could grow to at least tolerate Kreacher. He is a living creature and I have written information right here in this little leaflet I created about S.P.E.W. about how you can-"

"Hermione, that creature was responsible for my godfather's death. The only piece of family that I had left is now gone, right before I truly got to appreciate what it was like to have a father figure. Now, you know I don't mind house-elves—I care for Dobby very much; but forgive me if I feel it deservedly so for spiting the loathsome thing, okay?"

Hermione clearly received the message of resentment and realized she overstepped her boundaries. She set the booklet on the table and appeared to be intensely interested in the red and gold, embroidered throw rug. The bushy-haired girl then looked to the side, at Harry, and all caution was swept away as she began focusing on something else.

"Harry? What is underneath your lip? Is it swollen?"

Harry willed himself not to look too surprised, but his insides were screaming with alarm. 'I didn't take the potion yet!'

He brought his fingers up and grazed them over his top lip, which was indeed pushing out, due to his morphing teeth. He turned his head away and began to stand up before he opened his mouth to speak and replied, "Um, yeah. I bumped my lip on the nightstand when I fell out of bed this morning. It must be starting to bruise."

"Do you need me to take a look at it?"

"No, that's okay," Harry insisted as he swept away from her and proceeded to head to his dorm. "I'll be fine. I'd better go and get dressed before breakfast… I'll see you down there." And Harry left a very confused Hermione sitting all alone once again in the common room.

When Harry reached his room, he headed straight for his robes from last night and pulled out the flask Snape had given him. He instantly popped open the lid and let a sip of the potion slide down his throat. He brought his head back up and it took every ounce of strength he had not to gag; but the professor was true to his words.

Seconds later, the concoction began to work and Harry could feel his teeth retracting back to normal. How long did the effects last again? He remembered the potions master saying it lasted twenty-four hours. So, Harry had to make sure that he took it every morning before he got out of bed.

'That was definitely too close,' Harry sighed with relief.

He shook his head, realizing this was the first time he had ever mentally admitted looking forward to one of Snape's lessons. Anything to help prevent from letting his secret known to the whole world had his full attention. He just hoped these teachings went better than his last excursion with the professor.

As the other boys in the room began to stir in their beds, Harry gathered his things and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Thankfully, he could be the first one to get in there—although it didn't take long before he was showered, dressed and checking out his progress in the mirror.

It was strange how he almost didn't recognize himself; but out of all the things he wished could have changed, there was one thing that still remained the same. His hair, although much longer, reaching past his shoulders, was still thick and unruly. Harry sighed as he ran a hand through his hair and held it there.

Then, he got an idea. He went to his trunk and pulled out a book that held a red ribbon within its pages, as a bookmark. He then walked back up to the mirror. Grabbing a brush he recognized as Ron's, Harry began running it over his uncooperative hair. It was definitely proving to be an arduous task, as even more tangles seemed to manifest every time he brought the brush back up to his untidy mop.

Eventually, his hair seemed to let up a little as he was able to pull most of it back. Some strands refused to obey as they insistently decided to stay frayed on each side of his face. The rest of his hair was tied down by the ribbon he grabbed as he ran it around and around the ponytail until there was just enough slack to knot it.

Harry surveyed his work and was pleased enough, except he couldn't get a good look, considering everything was steadily getting more blurry by the day. Was his eyesight getting so bad that even his glasses no longer worked? But as soon as he took off the eyewear, his vision was crystal clear. There wasn't one object that he couldn't adequately see. Harry shrugged and decided to store his glasses in his pocket; but wouldn't people take notice? Maybe he should tell them he performed a vision spell or he got contacts—if they even knew what the things were.

Unfortunately, his assumption was correct. The moment he walked back into the room, all eyes were on him and they wouldn't leave. Ron was in mid-stretch and fell back on the bed. Dean and Seamus both dropped the attire they had gathered to wear for the day, and Neville stood frozen, looking baffled, leaving his toad, Trevor, who was resting in his hands, able to make a break for it.

Maybe he should have just left the glasses on.

"Harry?" Ron approached him, trying to get a closer look. "Is that you?"

"No, it's my twin," Harry rolled his eyes and made his way over to his space to put away his belongings.

"What happened to your glasses?" Ron squinted as if thinking that much was harder than he ever tried to before.

"I learned a vision spell over the summer and wanted to try it." Everyone was still too paralyzed to take their eyes off of Harry. "You know, people will get ideas if you keep gawking like that," Harry shot out, sitting on his bed.

"Sorry, mate, but you have to admit, your appearance… it's a little, um…"

"Creepy," Dean cut in, helping Ron out.

Harry took offense, but noticed Ron couldn't look Harry in the eye, so he must have agreed with the description.

"Oh, come on, I don't look that bad."

"I'm not sure Dean meant it in… an insulting context," Neville stammered a little, unsure if he should say anything. "But the difference between the way you looked when we left last year and the way you look now, well, the change is very apparent—even more so, now that the signature features of your hair and glasses are gone."

"Look, I just wanted a change you guys, you know, try something different. Everyone's entitled to that," Harry flared up defensively.

"Don't get us wrong, Harry," Ron sat on the bed next to him. "We didn't say you looked horrific or anything. It's just something to get used to. I think it's kinda cool."

"Yeah," Seamus laughed out, strolling up to playfully shove Harry's shoulder. "Jus' don' steal all the girls away or we're gonna 'ave to 'ave a go, alrigh'?" With that, he disappeared into the bathroom.

"Um, thanks guys," Harry smiled as he made his way to the door. "I'm going to head down to breakfast."

The remaining boys waved him off as he exited the dormitory. He really wasn't that hungry, considering his late night 'meal', but he had a cover to keep. Luckily, he could still eat normal foods. It was still necessary to sustain his regular body's energy and functions.

Lupin had informed him, during the summer, however, how important it was to sustain his blood with a continuous supply of even more blood. Harry's former professor explained that the cells in his blood died off easily from his vampirism because of the added amount of power, energy and stamina it had to uphold. So, a vampire needed a steady supply of blood cells to keep their blood alive and well. The plus side was that a vampire could almost live as long as they desired, provided that they always nourished themselves on a regular basis. Harry figured that was probably the reason why vampires held the image of aging very slowly and possessing immortality.

Harry just wondered how long he could keep this charade going without anyone finding out. He was determined to keep it running as long as possible.

Draco began to grow more irritable as he waited to enter the Great Hall. Breakfast was over a few hours ago and all the sixth-year students were gathered in groups, chatting away while they waited for their name to be called. He felt confident about his O.W.L. evaluation and wanted nothing more than to get it over with.

"Abbott, Hannah," Professor Sprout called through the slightly-ajar double doors. Draco watched the girl, whose name was summoned, approach the Herbology teacher and followed her inside—the big, oak doors closing behind her.

Draco sighed, hoping it wouldn't take much longer. He had too many things on his mind and far too many agendas to be concerned about rather than his future career. He had to focus on barely making it through the year; and it wasn't just the meeting with Professor Snape and Dumbledore that was twisting the gears and cogwheels in his brain all topsy-turvy. It was the event he encountered later that night… the unannounced 'meeting', while Draco was in his room, was what had him going mad...

...Last night, in Slytherin Dungeons...

The sky was black beyond measure. It was the deepest kind of dark that Draco had ever witnessed and it wasn't just the sky above him. Every bit of mass around him blended in to one gargantuan black hole of some sort, and he was standing in the middle of it as if suspended in mid-air. It was the kind of darkness that was so thick with uncertainty, it was intimidating. Draco wanted nothing more than to leave.

But then, small, glittering specks of light began littering the black all around him, pushing it away it seemed. Soon, he was left standing in an area dimly lit with colorful, mini stars that were etched in the black canvas that now appeared to be merely a background or the walls, ceiling and floor of a rounded-out room; but Draco still didn't like to idea of being alone. How much longer did he have to stand there?

Then, without warning, strong hands snaked under his arms from behind him and wrapped around his torso. The initial, startling reaction quickly ebbed away as the phantom extremities roamed over his chest and stomach, slowly rubbing and messaging. The feeling was warm and very comforting, melting away Draco's fears and insecurities; but who possessed the talented hands? His mind wanted him to turn around, but his body would not allow it.

Instead, it remained firmly planted, allowing the exploration to continue; and concerns of the person's mysterious identity were erased when one hand slipped under his shirt, the other still pressed on his chest over the fabric, and began conjuring up butterflies in the pit of Draco's stomach while it caressed his bare skin. The stranger's hand was soft and supple, with a few, slightly rough patches graced over some areas of its palm. It felt nothing short of intoxicating to Draco and only intensified when the culprit's fingers lightly traced every outline of the muscles etched into his skin.

He didn't want it to stop. He wanted it to keep going, willed it to go farther; but before he could part his lips to address the elusive stranger, another pair of hands began pressing down on his chest. The added weight was uncomfortable and suffocating; and the feeling intensified every time the hands pressed on him again. Draco glanced forward to try and figure out who was shoving him over and over, rudely interrupting his pleasurable encounter, but no one was standing before him and no extra pair of hands was visible, but the ones that had been caressing him were now slowly slipping away.

Draco wanted to grab them, keep them from disappearing behind him again; but he could not move and the pressure, from the constant pushing of the unwelcome appendages, was menacingly increasing. So much so, that he grew more faint and dizzy as it persisted. Slowly, the bright specks, scattered across the walls, were dissipating and he was thrown back into the original, eerie darkness from before. Then, he felt his body jerk and being pulled up—towards what, he didn't know.

Two slits of light were above him, growing steadily brighter by the second as his body levitated in that direction. He didn't know what would happen next. Suddenly, Draco felt his consciousness rapidly fading away and blinding light was the last thing he remembered before…

Draco Malfoy was in his bed. He could tell by the features in his dormitory that his vision picked out one-by-one as it became less and less blurry. What he had just been experiencing… it must have been a dream. Unfortunately, the jostling hands had not ceased. The person who owned those hands was someone he definitely did not want to see face-to-face when he first woke up. It was none other than the bulky Vincent Crabbe. Draco had half a mind a punch him, since his wand was too far to reach.

"Crabbe! What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Draco exclaimed. When the boy above him realized that he was awake, he finished pushing him; but Crabbe didn't respond to his threats. Also, the figure hunched over him at that moment didn't seem like the Crabbe that Draco knew. This one, instead of looking dazed and confused, resembled a menacing maniac.

His eyes were wide with intensity and looked like they were ready to pop out and explode. His mouth was tight with determination. Draco felt a little uneasy about this.

"Crabbe, you better have a damn well excuse for this-"

But Draco was silenced by the dark-haired boy's palm as it slapped over his mouth. The teen hovering over him spoke with malice and threatening tones.

"Read the instructions on this sheet and then read this note. Burn it when you're done and utter it to no one. I will know if you do. We'll be in touch."

Crabbe thrust his arm out, demanding instead of offering the contents of which he spoke of and stalked away, out the room, once Draco took a hold of them.

'What was that all about?'

Draco sat up in bed, still quite flabbergasted, and examined the two folded up sheets in front of him. They appeared normal enough. He opened the one Crabbe insisted him to read first and cocked an eyebrow as he looked over it. It was a set of instructions—a set of instructions on how to activate the second note. There was an incantation, from what Draco could tell, that had to be recited to the note, to force it to reveal its contents; and it would only do so if Draco's voice was the one that was speaking the words of the spell, according to the first note.

Draco scoffed and threw the first note aside. Who would go through that much trouble to prepare a message? Curiosity got the best of him, though, and so he unfolded the second parchment and help up the note. Then, recalling what he just read, he began to speak.

"This note is only for Draco Scorpius Malfoy to view, so all others best beware and be… fooled?" Draco rolled his eyes. "That's the most mental spell I've ever heard."

His attention, however, was drawn back to the note as words started bleeding over the parchment. They were the color of the most sickening red he ever saw and the handwriting was long, thin and scratchy; but Draco could barely make out the words.

'-If you're reading this, then young Crabbe is doing quite well. He will be assisting you and me throughout the year as our messenger, so I may communicate with you regarding the progress of our plan. I'll be sending further instructions to you on what I'd like you to do. In the meantime, I need you to take the first step towards our goal. Conjure up a sleeping-draught and perform this on the night of a full moon. Crabbe will be keeping on eye out in making sure you follow the plan.'

Draco was beyond gone, thinking about the past night, until Professor Snape called out a familiar name from the Great Hall doors.

"Goyle, Gregory."

Draco watched one of his associates clumsily carried his way over to their Head of House. Then, after the doors shut, he diverted his attention elsewhere. He was desperate for something to pass the time. His thoughts wandered back to the short letter he received last night from none other than the Dark Lord.

Draco had completely forgotten about the visit he was graced with over the summer and didn't even think the older wizard would have found a way to communicate with him, with all the increased security.

Somehow, though, even with added guards, monitored floo's, intercepted owls and heightened shield spells, the man still found a way to get in touch with him. Should he even be surprised? The Dark Lord had millions of talents that allowed him to do just about anything he wanted; and if there wasn't a way, that wizard would find one.

One thing was on Draco's mind. What did he need to produce a sleeping draught for? Sure, he understood the reason for brewing it during a full moon—for a more potent effect—but what was the purpose of it all? Furthermore, he knew any part of the plan was a step towards bringing down Dumbledore, but what could a simple, non-lethal potion do? And the Dark Lord wasn't only after the Headmaster; he was after Potter as well.

"Bloody Hell." His whisper carried through the air and died among a group of giggling girls, who couldn't keep their eyes off of someone.

Draco completely forgot about the plot against Harry Potter; and now he was being pitted against his own mate. Oh, if he had no proof that someone was out to get him before, he just got smacked in the head with it now. How could this have happened? Now what was he supposed to do? If Harry died, Draco would waste away. If Draco didn't cooperate with the Dark Lord, that wizard would have his head. Either way, he knew he wasn't going to get out of this unscathed.

"Potter, Harry."

Now the prat's name was swirling through Draco's mind so bad, he was hearing it aloud. Wait, he did just hear it called.

Professor McGonagall motioned toward the guy, who the group of girls Malfoy noticed earlier, had been squealing over. A black-haired teen began to make his way down from the beginning of the Grand Staircase and over to the teacher who beckoned him. Draco had to do a double-take to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

That was Potter? There was no way. Since when did he look like that? His unruly mop could now pass for a decent head of hair; and those eyes… When did he get rid of the glasses? No, that wasn't him; but McGonagall was looking straight at the boy. Draco had to admit that his robes did fit him pretty decently.

No, what was he thinking?

He watched as Potter had to pry a few girls away from him in order to get to the double doors; and Draco wanted nothing more than to mutilate those desperate heathens to a bloody pulp until no spell on earth could identify who the remains belonged to. Wait… why did he care?

'Me-ow! Jealous much?'

'I'm not jealous. I could care less.'

'…Uh-huh.'

All schizophrenic thoughts aside, he had to pull himself together.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Draco snapped his head in the direction his name had been called and made his way towards Professor Snape. That was when he realized he had to walk up right next to Potter in order to enter. So, in trying not to look awkward, he stopped just short of the door and waited so the other teenage boy could pass through first; and before Draco saw it coming, Potter was looking at him with those intense eyes. However, they were far from welcoming to say the least.

"Am I supposed to go ahead first so you can jinx me behind my back?"

Draco didn't know why that comment hurt, but it hurt—literally. He could feel something inside him twist and spasm soon after Potter spat his scathing remark. He could not believe that arrogant jerk. To believe that Draco Malfoy almost did something remotely kind for Harry Potter. Well, that would be no more.

'Don't do it. Don't do it-'

"No, I just smelled something rank coming by and I wanted to get out of the way for fear I might catch something."

'Ugh… he did it.'

By some unknown force, his body, internally, began twisting even more; but he didn't care. He was not backing down from that prick.

Potter ended up rolling his eyes forward and ignored Draco as he followed the Transfiguration teacher to the far right side of the enormous room.

Draco didn't care. He got the last word; but he had to admit, it still hurt.

... to be continued...