MEMORY VIAL 13: SPELLDUST AND PHEROMONES (YEAR 4)

After the Yule Ball was announced and Professor McGonagall told him to secure a partner for the opening dance, Harry found himself suffering in a way he had never done before. Girls were everywhere. Girls were oozing out of the classrooms in droves, giggling in a bizarre way that made him feel like he was no longer a member of the same species.

Draco, in comparison, looked confident, but, of course, he didn't need to find someone to ask to the ball like Harry did. Everyone knew he would be going with Pansy, who wasn't very good-looking by Harry's standards—and that was probably because she was always attached to Draco like a dark and forbidding accessory, a talisman intended to keep Harry at bay like an iron horseshoe warding fairies. But Draco belonging to Pansy did nothing to repel the second-year Slytherin girl who strode up to him over dinner in the Great Hall one evening, while Pansy was busy chatting with a posse of her friends a few seats down.

Harry swallowed a forkful of steak and kidney pie as he watched Draco turn at the feeling of his robes being tugged. Harry's mood darkened considerably when he saw the way Draco smiled at her and stroked a piece of her long dark hair out of her face. He seemed to be complimenting her, because she giggled and swished her robes left and right while her body twisted and turned in opposite directions.

Then she put on a pleading face that made Draco laugh and shake his head. Draco leaned towards her and whispered something privately in her ear. He pointed in front of him at Crabbe and then at himself, and the girl asked Draco a question with a defiant gleaming in her eyes, to which Draco nodded.

Harry glanced at Crabbe, who hadn't noticed he was being talked about.

Draco took the girl's hand and spun her once in a circle where she was standing. He spun her again in the opposite direction, and then yanked her backwards into a tight hug before she managed to complete the rotation, and he held onto her for what felt like ages.

Harry crumpled his napkin. Pansy was almost within earshot of them, but she hadn't noticed what was going on.

But what was going on?

Draco invited the girl to sit beside him, while motioning for Goyle to make room for her. He put an arm around her shoulders and accepted a quill and parchment as she pulled them from the inside of her robes. He wrote something down while she leaned close to him—too close for Harry's comfort. Draco looked inquiringly at her and smiled when she nodded at whatever he had written down.

Harry's stomach lurched at the possibility he was cheating on Pansy out in the open, although he couldn't be sure. Meanwhile, Ron and Seamus were talking about the girl Seamus had gotten for the ball, and Ron swatted Harry on the shoulder for his input, to which he merely nodded with an abruptly stated: "Sure—she's very nice-looking—right," before refocusing on the Slytherin table once more.

Draco folded the slip of parchment he'd been writing on and put it into his robes. The girl muttered what must have been a thank-you, then climbed off the bench before forcing Draco to twirl her one last time.

Her face glowed beet red as she ambled in a daze to where her second-year friends were gathered.

"Astoria!"

Harry was startled when Draco shouted and stood up. Astoria waited for him to catch up, and Pansy was watching this time as well, although she didn't appear to be upset. After a minute of them talking, there was enough of a lull in the ambient noise of the Great Hall that Harry picked up on Astoria shouting presumptuously, "Prettier than Pansy?"

Harry cast Pansy a curious glance, but she was absorbed in chatting with her friends again. Anyone's prettier than her, Harry thought sourly to himself. Even Eloise Midgen, but then he supposed that was mean of him to think of Eloise that way, even if he was just venting his anger toward Pansy for existing.

After hushing Astoria by placing a finger over his mouth, Draco leaned down to whisper his reply. Harry got the sinking feeling it was something along the lines of: "Prettier than anyone."

Astoria flung her arms around Draco's waist, then skipped the rest of the way to where her friends were sitting. Harry didn't know what to make of what had just happened, although his heart was hammering in his chest, and he no longer wanted any of his dinner. Only when Hermione tapped him on the arm did he realize that his face had somehow frozen into a grimace.

"Harry, what's the matter? You look like you're about to curse someone."

"She asked him," Harry said, not realizing what he was partially admitting to.

"Who?"

"Astoria. Daphne's sister, over there." He pointed her out. "She asked Malfoy to the ball just now, and I've got the impression he said yes."

"So?" Ron broke in. "Who the hell cares who he goes with?"

"He's with Pansy," Harry reminded them. "Isn't it… odd?"

Hermione pursed her lips, then shrugged her shoulders. "Did you hear her ask him?"

Harry thought for a moment. "No."

"Well then, did you hear him say anything like, 'Yes, I'll go to the ball with you'?"

"No, they're too far away to hear much of anything, but you couldn't interpret what I saw any other way," Harry said frantically.

Hermione squeezed his arm slightly and then whispered, "Harry…"

"I'm fine."

"No. You're not. Why does it matter what Malfoy does?"

"I just wish the burden wasn't on all the boys to ask the girls to the ball, is all I'm getting at. I mean… they should have to ask us, too."

"That's totally unrelated—and several girls have already asked you. And you just said that Astoria asked Malfoy—"

"She shouldn't have asked him," Harry said heatedly, rising from his seat. "Girls shouldn't be allowed to ask us," he went on, having instantly changed his mind, "but I don't care. He can do whatever he likes, even if that means cheating on his ugly girlfriend. I'm done eating."

"Harry—wait!"

"What the hell, mate?" Ron shouted after.

But Harry had left and was rushing across the Great Hall, down the length of the Slytherin table, which he almost never did. He slowed down the closer he got to where Astoria was sitting, and picked up on her bragging about Draco Malfoy to her friends.

"…and he told me how amber dress robes would complement the highlights in my hair. Oh! And he said I'll be the prettiest girl in the whole ball—and he's going to give me private dance lessons starting this Saturday because his mum's been teaching him since he was five—and I just can't wait! I can't believe it… I can't believe he wants to dance with me—I think I'm gonna die!"

Harry twirled his wand at the back of her head and muttered, "Lockus Larkio!"

The hex grabbed a handful of her hair as if with an invisible hand, eliciting a scream, and then she was yanked back out of her seat just as Harry was rushing off. Harry kept his head down as he hid his wand in the sleeve of his robes, but Hermione caught up with him by the time he was halfway up to Gryffindor Tower.

"Harry! Would you stop?"

He stalled at the upper landing of the staircase he'd been climbing. Turning around, he waited for Hermione to gain the landing as well. Annoyed, he furrowed his eyebrows at her and said, "Well, what?"

Hermione tried to catch her breath as she pulled her bushy hair out of her face, then smiled brightly at him. "Why don't you just ask him?" she said, making Harry frown at her, confused.

He cocked his head. "Wha… Who?"

"Malfoy, you idiot!" She stamped her heel.

Realizing he was about to throw up, Harry stalked woodenly away.

"Oh, no you don't." Hermione caught him by the wrist and whipped him back around.

"Hermione—someone could hear you!"

"So, it's true!"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Harry, I've known you've had a crush on him since the beginning of last year, but I wasn't sure about it until… well, until I saw how you were acting when you both got hexed."

"You're talking rubbish." Harry thought he'd hidden his feelings well enough last year, but Hermione seemed to think otherwise.

"Ron was too dense to notice it himself, and still is, I think. On the surface you looked like you hated being near him, but it was obviously forced. If anyone had taken the time to look closer, you were acting jealous of Pansy—jealous of Crabbe and Goyle—you sat very close to him during all your classes—and you kept stealing glances at him as if you were a puppy starving for his attention."

When Harry said nothing, Hermione continued, "And then that letter… did you ever figure it out?"

"Hermione, don't—"

"If you haven't figured it out by now, he's completely mad about you, so there'd be no risk in you asking him to the ball."

His temper was beginning to rise. Harry gave her a fixed look before replying with, "You're being an idiot. I don't have a crush on that slimeball. I have a crush on—" Cho, he almost said.

"No, Harry, you're the one being an idiot. I'm not making fun of you, I promise. And I swear I'm not judging you—"

"Hold on." Harry held his hand up as something occurred to him. "If you knew it was him last year on Valentine's Day, then why on earth were you so happy about it when you hate him more than I do?"

Hermione's face relaxed into a sympathetic smile. "Do you really want to hear the answer? Or are you just venting?"

Harry turned aimlessly around, wishing there was somewhere he could run off to, but he knew he couldn't leave the conversation where it was. "I'm serious. Why were you so happy and 'in love' with the idea of it being from him?"

Hermione's smile turned bashful. "Because it explained everything when I realized who your secret admirer was." When Harry gaped dumbly at her, she proceeded to elaborate. "Think about it. Boys sometimes bully the girls they like, and Malfoy has always bullied you. Not to mention how you two are always ogling each other in such a way that I honestly think one of you would be pregnant by now if eye-sex were a thing."

"Th…that isn't fair, Hermione…"

"The way you always look at each other is intense, and you both are always wrapped up in your own 'hostile' little world. Instead of ignoring his taunts, like you should, you take his bait, and vice versa. You entertain him, Harry, all the time, and so you're either a glutton for punishment, or you have a massive crush on him—so of course I would be happy if he liked you back.

"All this time, you could've been a leash for him, and you could've controlled him in a way that no one else can. He might have agreed to behave better for your sake. And even if all you ever did was kiss him once, he promised in that letter to leave you alone, remember? Which would've helped me and Ron out a lot, since we're always getting caught up in the crossfire…"

"The last thing I'm interested in doing is controlling him, Hermione. And it's not like anything would've ever come of it if I had kissed him. I bet he wouldn't have changed at all—and I'm even less convinced now that he's interested in me after what I just saw."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Listen. I know you can be dimmer than Ron sometimes when it comes to girls, but I thought you would at least be smarter if it came to another boy. Malfoy is madly in love with you, and I'm willing to bet all my grades on that being the case."

Harry wanted to smile when she asserted that, but was too afraid of being honest about the extent of his own feelings.

"He bullies you because he likes you. All those slurs he throws at you… all the attention he gives you. Remember what he wrote, about making you hate him? He's hiding in plain sight so that no one can accuse him of liking another boy, but he's got it bad when it comes to you."

"Rubbish." Harry tried to keep his face straight. "He likes me, maybe, but not nearly as much as I like him." After blurting that last part out, Harry clamped his mouth shut in amazement at his own stupidity. "I mean…"

"At this point, I think it's safe to assume you're mad about him too. You have to tell him."

"No." Harry remembered what Lupin had told him. "I… I need to go about it carefully… I want him to say what he feels first, and then I think… I might be able to respond to that."

"All right, but how're you going to do that?"

"I've been working out a way to get him alone."

"Good." Hermione smiled reassuringly. "If you'd like some ideas—"

"I mean," Harry took a breath, "I want to ask him to hang out with me at the ball more than anything."

"You…" Hermione lowered her chin, "if you and Malfoy end up at the ball together, I'll eat my books. Oh, Harry! You have my support… and Ron's too, even though he doesn't know it yet. Would you like me to tell him?"

Harry shook his head, feeling just as anxious now as when he was preparing for the first task of the tournament. "I think Ron'll have a harder time accepting any of this."

"I suppose you're right. But if Malfoy says yes to you, you better let Ron know before you show up with him on your arm, unless you want another row."

"Erm… I should've been more clear about what I meant. See, I already know Malfoy won't agree to go to the ball with me, since it'd be social suicide for us both if we did something like that—and I doubt Professor McGonagall would even allow it."

"Oh, who cares what that dried up old bird thinks?" Hermione whispered sassily under her breath.

"So I'm going to keep looking for a girl to partner with," Harry continued, while thinking nervously of Cho, "but I'll ask him to spend some time with me at some point during the ball."

"Whatever it takes to get him to act friendly for a night. Honestly, you've had a crush on him for how long?"

"I don't know," Harry murmured, although he remembered the day he first met Draco in Diagon Alley.

"Well, if you need any help, Harry, all you have to do is ask."

"The only help I really need is in keeping everything quiet."

"I won't say a word." She pantomimed zipping her mouth shut, but couldn't hide the excited flushing in her cheeks. "My lips are sealed."

"Thanks. And, erm… you could help me with one thing, actually," Harry said hesitantly. Something was slowly starting to niggle at his brain, and he knew it wouldn't be long before it resulted in a full-blown panic attack. "Er… I've got my formal robes all set, but if I'm able to land a date with him… I don't want him to say I stink."

"What? He obviously wouldn't do that."

"Those blasted badges," Harry reminded her. "They didn't bother me too much before, but now they're really starting to get to me."

"But he only made them because of Cedric—and because you're the girl he likes."

"I'm not a girl," Harry groused angrily.

"Oh, but you know what I mean. I could have a fragrance sent from home," Hermione suggested cheerily. "My dad has a huge collection thanks to Mum."

"Thanks, but… I'd appreciate it if you could figure out what he likes best. If he has a favorite scent, or something…"

Hermione's eyes sparkled. "Harry," she whispered slowly, "you're telling me you want to go on a date with a girl, but you're more worried about making a good impression on him?"

Harry smiled weakly at her. "I just don't want him to say the badges were true…"

"Don't be silly," Hermione said flatly. "He's going to die if he gets close to you—and not because you stink. Leave it to me. I'll find out what he likes, and then report to you when I've figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

They both jumped in alarm when Ron appeared halfway up the stairs.

"What's going on?" Ron glanced suspiciously between the two of them.

"Oh, nothing!" Hermione squeaked casually. "Just trying to figure out how to make Harry irresistible to the hot date he's sure to land for the Yule Ball."

"You got a girl, Harry?" said Ron, looking incredulous.

"No. Hermione's just being optimistic."

"Realistic, actually," Hermione said confidently. "She's going to say yes. And then she's going to kiss him before the clock strikes midnight—just like in those fairy tales I grew up with."

"Fairy tales?" Ron wrinkled his nose at her. "What fairy tales are you thinking of?"

Hermione's eyes glinted at Harry, because she knew he was familiar with the same Muggle stories as her. He gulped fearfully, unable to stop the burning in his face.

Harry continued to put up with the same unpalatable attitude from Draco every day as a matter of routine: flashings of "POTTER STINKS!" from across the room, slurs and shoves as they passed each other between classes, and dirty scowls from behind the pages of their books. But nothing the Slytherin boy did bothered Harry as much because he finally had a half-formed plan, and Hermione was intent on giving him the confidence boost he needed by discovering Draco's favorite scent, or at least supplying him with something from her dad if all else failed.

Harry decided on sending a charmed note with his request like Draco had done to him twice last year, which was an "appropriately romantic callback" according to Hermione, although he was also overwhelmed by the task of catching Cho alone long enough to ask her to be his partner.

The Yule Ball was fast approaching, and all his bandied glares with Draco only seemed to become more urgent, and more imploring on Draco's part, interestingly, unless his imagination was deceiving him. Harry had trouble drafting his note, since nothing he wrote felt good enough. He had tossed fifteen ink-scribbled parchments into the common room's fireplace by the time there was a week left before the end of term, but, fortunately, he managed to produce something short and subtle enough, that set the tone for what he was inviting Draco to join him for. He hoped Professor Lupin would have approved:

"At the ball, will you show me where your name's hidden in the stars?"

His quill had stumbled on those words during Charms class, and he didn't have the faintest idea where they had come from. There wasn't a single artistic bone in his body, so he decided not to expand on the note from there. It seemed like it was enough—but it really wasn't, however, and there was so much more that he could say, but knew he shouldn't—at least not yet.

He didn't send the note right away. Immediately after writing it, he got cold feet, although Hermione leaned over their shared desk to inspect what he had written. Her face lit up at the words she saw, and he simpered nervously, realizing just how cheesy it must sound: him trying to write something romantic when the other boy had liquid poetry running through his veins.

He added a time and place to the bottom of the note and decided not to sign it. Instead, he left a jagged scratch mark on the bottom corner, in case someone else managed to get a hold of it; he wanted to maintain some form of plausible deniability.

Harry folded the note into the shape of a butterfly while listening to Professor Flitwick lecture on improperly executed wand flourishes. When the butterfly had taken shape, he turned it over in his hands, then drew in a deep, steadying breath.

It took the rest of the week for him to work up the courage to send it over. The days passed in a blur of self-induced anxiety as he cast longing looks at Cho through the crowds of girls surrounding her like swarms of honeybees to their queen, but also Draco, who more or less resembled a hornet. A sickening knot began to twist inside his stomach, winding tighter every time he realized he'd let another day go by without securing either of them as dates.

"Does Malfoy have a partner yet, you think?" Hermione asked forcefully, as a hint for Harry, while they were traversing through the hallways on Friday morning. She cast him a reproachful look, and he merely shrugged in sudden trepidation.

Ron yawned. "I thought Harry was complaining about Astoria last week, but how the hell should I know? I don't want to keep up with that bloke when I've got my own problems. Although…," he raised his eyebrows slowly upon remembering something, "I did hear he was caught snogging one of the leggy Beauxbaton girls a few nights ago, so if he wasn't going with one of those Slytherin cows, he might be going with her."

"You can't be serious," Hermione said with foreboding, "one of the Beauxbaton girls?"

"That's how I heard it from Dean. But, mind, he overheard it from Miles Bletchley. Apparently, Malfoy snuck to the Beauxbatons' carriage after dinner, cavorted with her a bit, then got a detention for it when Madame Maxime and Hagrid ran into them. Should be doing his time with Snape once the holidays are over."

"But what about Pansy?" Hermione said indignantly, completely forgetting that she was facilitating Draco cheating on her with Harry.

Ron shrugged. "Don't reckon she believes he's guilty of anything. Saw her draped around his shoulders just the other night." He shuddered exaggeratedly. "Yeuck. Snakes mating in their natural habitat."

Harry's heart had dropped to the bottom of his shoes even while Ron had been reporting the details of Draco's exploits. Maybe Draco really was moving on and setting aside whatever feelings he might have had for him. Maybe Harry had waited too long, and last year was his only opportunity.

"Why so glum?" Hermione asked worriedly, shoving Harry once in the elbow. She was working her magic, reminding him that he needed to act today or not at all.

"I'm not glum," Harry said robotically. "I was just hoping I would've gotten a date by now."

"But you haven't even tried to ask anyone to the ball," she pointed out. "It's almost as if you're waiting for a certain someone to ask you."

"Are you, Harry?" Ron said reproachfully. "The girls aren't even supposed to ask—but they have done in your case, and you keep telling them no!"

Hermione didn't take her eyes off Harry. She could see the terror and discomfort in his face and decided not to press the issue further.

Suddenly, Harry froze in the middle of the corridor. Malfoy was idling up ahead with his Slytherin cronies, and Harry didn't even notice Cho smiling invitingly at him as she walked by without her usual group of friends.

"What's got him?" Ron asked Hermione, jerking his head back towards Harry.

"Uh—I think he remembered something he forgot in his dorm," she lied, thinking quickly on her feet. She walked back a couple of steps, placed a hand on Harry's back, then pushed him gently forward with an overzealous nod in Draco's direction.

It's now or never, Harry told himself. Am I a Gryffindor or not?

"So what? He could just use the Summoning Charm like he did against the Hungarian Horntail." But Hermione ignored this comment and continued to secretly rally Harry forward.

Harry clutched the origami note hidden in his robes. Closing his eyes for the count of five seconds as he walked in lockstep with Hermione, he mentally reminded himself of what she had been telling him all week:

If he agrees to leave his date for even a minute, it'll be worth it.

Harry looked sideways at Hermione, and she smiled by way of encouragement. Good luck, she mouthed, her smile getting wider.

All he needed to do now was blow on the butterfly's wings to activate the charm, and then his first major task for the ball will have been completed. The butterfly would be out of his hands, save for the ones that were wheeling in a frenzy in his stomach.

They passed Draco and his gang without incident. Harry blew the note over his shoulder, and then squeezed onto Hermione's arm as if she were the only thing anchoring him to the earth at that moment. Oblivious, Ron continued to walk normally, but Hermione twisted around to watch the butterfly trundle clumsily through the air. She grinned excitedly at Harry and tugged on his sleeve as it dodged around through someone's attempt to steal it.

Meanwhile, Draco's smile vanished when the winged note drifted down over his head. He plucked it out of the air in front of him while his friends continued to bemoan the unjust treatment of the teachers towards their House. He unfolded the note, then refolded it again before allowing himself to read it properly. He had noticed the jagged thunderbolt in the parchment's underflap and thought it would be better to wait until he was alone.

"What was that?" Pansy asked intrusively at his elbow. "Who's it from?"

"Nothing to worry about," Draco said as he put an arm around her. "Just a threatening note from Potter." He nodded to Miles, who was having a conniption about getting in trouble during Charms class for something a Ravenclaw did. "What do you expect? The teachers are all biased against us," Draco scowled with a shrug. "I'd suggest appealing to Dumbledore, but that bent old codger's got it out for us too."

Harry kept glancing over his shoulder, hopeful that Malfoy would catch his eye and give him a signal of agreement, but nothing happened—and then they turned around the corner, and that was that.

Harry never could have prepared himself for the extreme state of anxiety that would result from not knowing Draco's response until the night of the ball. The butterflies in his stomach morphed into vultures, and his circumstances were not improved upon discovering that Cedric had beaten him to Cho.

Thankfully, that evening, Hermione came through with some of the news he needed to hear. She sat beside him over dinner and discreetly slipped a tiny vial into his hand.

"You have a house-elf to thank in the kitchens," Hermione explained. "I remembered you said Dobby used to work for the Malfoys, so I asked him, and there isn't a thing about Draco he doesn't know. I had to tell him why I was asking, because he didn't want to put 'the young master' in a bad position—but don't worry, he actually seemed rather happy when I mentioned it was for you. He confirmed that this'll be what you want to wear when you meet with him."

"If I meet him," Harry corrected dully. "He hasn't looked at me all day, and it's starting to feel like he's avoiding me."

"Wear it," Hermione closed his hand over the vial, "and then let everything else fall into place. Stop worrying," she urged when he gave her a strangled sort of look.

"What's in here, anyway?"

"Spelldust and pheromones," she said casually, before giving him the real answer. "Camphor and sandalwood. His favorite. When you put it on, just let your worries melt away. I promise, Harry, you're going to look and smell wonderful. If he has any feelings for you at all, you'll be a dream for him."

As grateful as he was, her words could only calm him down so much. "I owe you one, Hermione. But, at this point, I almost think I prefer the spelldust and pheromones."

Or a love potion, if something like that wasn't morally questionable.