A/N: Many, many apologies for the long wait. My computer broke so I lost what I had written for this chapter and also my plan and all my notes. I've kind of had to try and come up with something new from what I could remember I planned to do. Plus, I admit it, I've been lazy. In consolation this chapter is the longest yet. I'm a bit nervous about whether this chapter follows on well and about it in general but I hope you enjoy.

The Veela Conspiracy

Chapter Six: Introducing Gilderoy Lockhart

Professor Gilderoy Lockhart sat in his comfortable, yet somehow extremely stylish and expensive armchair, with uncomfortable sense of insecurity niggling beneath his carefully coiffed golden curls.

Here he was, fully restored to his magnificent former self and no longer dribbling porridge in his hair, and did anybody care? No they did not. They were too busy worshipping the Potter boy. Even his former editor was too busy trying to persuade Potter to write his memoirs to care very much that her previously very successful protégée was now out of hospital, accompanied by a nine hundred and seventy six paged scathing attack on the long health care available to magically mentally handicapped witches and wizards entitled 'PORRIDGE IN MY HAIR: the truth about magical health care!'

He had even gone through the indignity of supplying before and after photos but the editor's secretary had sent him away without even seeing her. Well at least he'd managed to get a date with the buxom redhead. Former Hufflepuff if he had it right; they always had appreciated him as he deserved. He sipped his Cosmopolitan in satisfaction until the cooing lovebirds in the golden cage in the corner of his room brought him back to his grievances. He shook his head in a flurry of indignant curls.

Here he was, fully restored to the prestigious position of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with the right to have absolute respect, attention and adoration from his pupils, and they spent most of the time either sleeping, or flipping bits of paper. And, if the Potter boy happened to be in the room, eyes invariably wandered in his direction. That was the cherry that topped the fairy cake. In a bad way! Gilderoy hated cherries. To have a little chit of a boy with bad hair steal the attention, when a demigod in lavender robes was standing in front them was just taking disrespect too far.

All this Gilderoy had been able to bear with a fortitude that deserved it own medal and possibly even a commendation from the Ministry, but recent events had changed things. At least, even when the foolish pupils had been staring at the Boy-With-Bad-Hair, he had known that he was far superior in polish, attractiveness, beauty and all things appearance related. But ever since Malfoy had picked out the boy as his mate, Potter's appearance had been daily enhanced. One day his lips would be redder and poutier, the next day luminous skin put Gilderoy's alabaster brow to shame, just yesterday he had watched with indignation as students left and right had followed Potter's figure with bated breath as he crossed the Great Hall. This could not continue.

Pulling out his little portable mirror (the most important accessory any sensible wizard who thought anything of themselves always carried) out of his pocket, he anxiously checked if the curl at the front was lying at an angle of precisely forty-five degrees to the one behind his ear. He sighed in relief as he saw that it was, but bounced on his cushions as his cuckoo clock pronounced it was three o'clock and therefore time for the torture that was known as DADA with Potter (and the other ones).

He hastily went to put his mirror back into his robes, but stopped abruptly when he saw something alarming in its reflection. Was that a wrinkle? He examined the place carefully, angling his head awkwardly to catch the light. Then he laughed at his silliness, of course, it was probably just the mirror that had a wrinkle. He bustled out of the room with a shimmer of purple silk and a scent of lilacs.

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'Beware young witches and wizards of the Infractus Curse!'

The lavender robes fluttered and flittered around him with all the drama of a butterfly as he burst into the room; and Gilderoy noticed with satisfaction the collective gaze of awe from the class as he perched stylishly upon one corner of his desk. The professor quickly checked his appearance in window to his right and preened. Oh my, his hair was looking fine today!

Gilderoy continued, rather too loud. 'However do not fear this most dreaded and dangerous spell. I will tell you exactly how I managed to save myself from it and certain death in the rainforests of Brazil. But first the register!'

He completely failed to notice that once the initial shock of his appearance had faded, everyone had gone back to their previous activities. Hermione was leading a small study group with Ravenclaws clustered round in a circle.

'Well yes actually, the Infractus curse will only cause minimum damage to small bones. Though...' added Hermione with a twinkle that could have rivalled Dumbledore on a happy day, '...there would probably be complications if the victim had a Glamourie charm on at the time.' The Ravenclaws tittered. Ron just rolled his eyes. He had given up trying to understand Hermione's sense of humour; which required a detailed knowledge of just about everything.

Looking on Gilderoy thought they were gossiping about him. He also noticed the amorous couple towards the back of the room but assumed they were inspired by his presence. Ego full to bursting, he pulled out the register and began calling out names. It was going to be a good lesson.

Several minutes later Professor Lockhart was entirely disillusioned. Having to call each pupils name at least twice before they noticed was not exactly his idea of respect and appreciation. The Ravenclaw boy with the girl grinding on top of him had been called about seven times before finally Longbottom, who was sitting behind them reading a book, nudged him firmly in the backside with his foot. The grinding had stopped for about two seconds before beginning again.

Of course Potter had to be the exception and answer his name as soon as it was spat out, with liquid eyes gazing innocently. Gilderoy Lockhart's eyes sparkled back competitively. He was about to pass onto the next name, when he looked back suspiciously at Potter. It was true. The hair that had formerly resembled an untidy bird's nest now was delightfully rumpled. Charming locks of gleaming ebony hair now framed Potters face to perfection. Gilderoy scowled. Something had to be done before Malfoy completed this transformation and Potter became officially more gorgeous than him. His eyes screwed up in thought (without any of those annoying lines that plagued Professor McGonagall). The register lay carelessly abandoned besides him.

After an hour of exhausting thought and an extensive manicure, Gilderoy had come up with a scheme that he was sure was so cunning that it would be sure to defeat the...the Slytheriness of Malfoy, especially as Malfoy had been a bit off ever since this unfortunate situation began. He brushed aside any thoughts of the revenge that Malfoy would choose to inflict on him. The damage that Dumbledore had preached could be inflicted on the submissive mate was probably exaggerated. Gilderoy clucked his tongue on his teeth in exasperation. It was just more of the melodrama that seemed to surround Potter. And, he mused, examining his fingernails absently, Malfoy would probably be grateful to him eventually. When he was teaching them in their second year, they hated each other.

Noticing that the class was just about finished he gathered his manicure kit together. He looked around the classroom with a sense of peace soothing his troubled soul. And he was able to look upon Potter's delicate features with indifference. Soon, soon they would be gone. He dismissed the class, and was able to give Potter who was heading for the door his warmest smile. The smile disappeared as he overheard the Granger girl say to her red-headed boyfriend as they left the room, 'I don't know what I was thinking in second year. I mean, Lockhart's so old. He's got wrinkles.'

The red-head replied, 'I don't know who he thinks he's fooling with the wig either.' Gilderoy tugged his (very real) hair angrily. Never, never had he been so insulted. The plan must definitely go ahead.

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As Defence against the Dark Arts was the last lesson of the day, the Gryffindors headed off to their common room, most of them laughing at a joke Seamus had made, and linked arm in arm. Except Harry. Ron and Hermione were off to one side, whispering in each-others ears, as they had been doing all week. There were also some girls giving a friend hair advice at the back. But around Harry, as there had been for what felt like weeks, a large circle of nothingness loomed. It was as though he was in a bubble. And Harry didn't like it.

He could put up with Parvati going out with Neville (which was purely temporary). He endured the extremely strange fashion craze of wearing gloves that had been going around recently. He'd put up with the steadily increasing insanity of Hufflepuff females (though it seemed to be extending to the Hufflepuff boys who had been looking at him strangely of late). All in all Harry considered himself to be an extremely patient bloke. Hell, he had even put up with the Dursleys! But he would not stand with being treated like a leper any longer. Once they got back to the common room, he was going to have a little chat with his fellow Gryffindors. Harry felt a cackle rising in his throat, and an evil, almost seductive expression crept across his face. Seamus, who had turned around for a second, almost swooned.

Harry made sure he was the last to enter the common room, so that that when he entered he slammed the door with a crash. He could hear the Fat Lady complaining volubly but ignored it. She could be charmed later. He stood in an intimidating attitude, ready to intimidate the hell out of anyone that refused to answer his questions.

'Right! I want to know exactly what's going on.'

The other Gryffindors had turned around quickly with the sudden noise, ready with Gryffindor spirit to destroy the evil that had invaded their domain. Thus some were disappointed when all they saw was a petite wizard in the process of being claimed by a veela. Some turned back to their conversations immediately. Some had a feeling of annoyance that they had to give him up to a Slytherin, and not just any Slytherin but the blond Slytherin. No-one was particularly intimidated. After all Harry looked about as threatening as a fluffy cushion.

Harry, however, refused to be dismissed.

'Well?' he asked with the tone of voice Seamus like to call Harry trying to play dominant in the bedroom, shortly before he is swept up in Seamus' arms.

'Erm, what do you mean Harry?' said Ron in an overly innocent voice, eyes wide in gormless idiocy. Hermione looked at him in exasperation. She thought she'd whipped that expression out of him.

'What do I mean? What do you mean what do I mean? I think it's quite obvious what I mean.' Harry's voice got louder with each successive sentence.

The Gryffindors looked at Harry blankly, and then they looked at each other blankly, and then they looked at Harry blankly again. Most of them hoped that if they didn't say anything, maybe Harry would forget about it and go away. They only had a couple more days to get through. And it wasn't as though they liked not touching Harry. Most of them usually took advantage of their shared house to touch him as much as possible. Luckily Harry was very physically affectionate. The seconds ticked by.

'Why won't anybody touch me?' Harry screeched.

'Now Harry, that isn't true,' said Seamus reassuringly, 'I hugged you just last week, remember?'

'This week, THIS WEEK.' Harry screeched again, stamping his foot on the ground in a way which had most of the Gryffindors wanting to hug him. (Except Seamus who wanted to take him over his knee and well...you get the idea)

The Gryffindors stood there en masse, unsure what to do. Harry's face suddenly crumpled, pretty tears decorating his eyelashes.

'Do you...not like me anymore?' He whispered pathetically, visibly drooping. This was too much for Seamus. He rushed up and...patted his pretty friend on his pretty head with a gloved hand. (Leather)

'There, there.' He said rather lamely. 'Of course we still like you.'

'Yeah mate,' said Ron reassuringly, 'who would I have to prank Snape with, if you weren't my friend?'

'That's all very well but why won't you touch me? And that doesn't count,' hissed Harry slapping Seamus' hand aside. Then he continued with rather a scornful tone. 'And I don't know why you're all wearing gloves all of a sudden. You look silly.' Neville looked at him, rather outraged as he held a bonsai tree in his gloved hands. Harry, usually terrified by one of Neville glances, was not put off. 'Silly! I'm the only normal one. Well...me and Malfoy.'

'HAH!' exclaimed Ron. 'Malfoy's touched you this week. HAH!' Hermione slapped him round the head. He looked at her. She looked at him significantly. He squeaked in realisation. 'Whoops.' They looked back to Harry, practically seeing the wheels turning in his head. They winced. Malfoy was going to kill them. Worse, Sirius was going to kill them.

Harry's head was spinning. Events were linking in his brain. Dra...Malfoy wasn't wearing gloves. Parkinson had said Draco was ill. Malfoy had hugged Harry to an inch of his life, breathing all over him. There could be only one explanation.

'Now Harry,' Hermione said soothingly, 'it's ok. Everything will be ok.'

'I can't believe it,' whispered Harry shaking his head.

'We'll help you through it,' said Ron comfortingly.

'Why didn't you tell me I have a disease?' said Harry brokenly. Hermione's face became bemused.

'Well I wouldn't exactly call it a disease,' said Ron obliviously, 'More a condition really...' Hermione elbowed him harshly. Her boyfriend glared at her. Really! She was insatiable. There was a time and a place for these things.

'I mean that's what happened isn't it. I caught that infection thing that Malfoy had. And now you all won't touch me in case you catch it.' Hermione nodded slowly, seeing a way out of this situation.

'What is it? It affects people's behaviour, right?'

Hermione nodded, 'Oh yes. But they're not sure what it is. That's why Snape has been so grumpy lately; he's losing sleep trying to find a cure. Malfoy spends his free time researching it in the library. You should join him. I mean Dumbledore's been downplaying its seriousness. That's why Parkinson said it'll go away in a week or so. But we really don't know.'

Harry didn't question how Hermione knew all this as he was preoccupied by another thought. 'But I haven't been displaying any strange behaviour.'

'Um...' For once in her life Hermione was stuck.

'Of course...' Harry said in relief. He thought of all the times lately that he had been affected by inappropriate thoughts about boys. And Malfoy had been touching him strangely when Parkinson said he had the illness. This explained everything. 'That must be it.'

'What must be it?' said Ron suspiciously.

'Nothing!' said Harry quickly blushing.

'Harry...' said Hermione warningly, and then she was struck by inspiration, 'If you don't tell us we might not be able to find a cure.'

Harry looked at the Gryffindors grouped curiously around and listening closely. He suddenly wished he hadn't captured the attention of the entire common room. 'You remember the conversation we had with Padfoot and Moony,' the brunette said looking significantly at the other two parts of the Gryffindor trio, trying to be cryptic.

'Oh yeah,' said Ron, with the gormless expression on his face again, '...about you being gay. I remember Harry.' Hermione wondered why she bothered. Then looking at Ron's muscled arms, remembered.

Harry's blushes wouldn't have been out of place if a virgin wore them in a whorehouse. Seamus wished he could touch Harry. Neville thought it was about time someone brought the subject up.

'Ron,' Harry whined, elongating the word unrealistically until it lost all meaning. He'd heard Hermione saying Ron's name like that once and had quite liked the sound. He continued shyly, 'Yeah, I mean that. That's the weird behaviour I've been showing.'

'Crap.' Ron said. Crap, Malfoy and Sirius were really going to kill them.

'Erm Harry,' Hermione said carefully, 'Being gay isn't a disease.' She continued when an expression of obstinacy crossed her friend's face. 'You do know that right?'

'Harry?'