Part Two of Six

Part II

The explosion took everyone by surprise. As explosions often do.

It was epic; of Longbottomian proportions. There was the soft sound of ashwinder eggs being dropped into gently roiling potion bases, a little plop, plop that made Harry smile a bit before he dropped his own in, adding to the symphony.

And then Ron tried to pass in front of Harry to ask Hermione about the newt eyes that they'd had left over. Harry hadn't had enough room to move, and he'd tripped on his book bag and stumbled back into the desk behind him, knocking their cauldron back and forth until it tipped onto the floor at Harry's feet. It landed on something...later, Slughorn declared it was an improperly cleaned spill from the class before...and then there was only white.

White... blond.

Smoke was curling over the floor like dry ice and Harry couldn't see anything farther than a few inches in front of his face...which made the fact that he could see Malfoy very clearly all the more confusing.

"What..." Harry broke off into a fit of coughs, the smoke snaking into his lungs.

Then suddenly he could breathe again. And see. It was dark. Under Malfoy's cloak.

"Better?" Malfoy asked, his normally pale grey eyes dark.

Harry shifted, realising that Malfoy was fully and completely atop him, caging him in. "Er, I think we're safe..."

"We have no idea what could happen if you inhale those fumes or get it in your eyes. Best be safe until we get the all-clear."

Harry had the horrifying mental image of everyone else in the classroom being completely fine, the smoke clearing, leaving him on his back and Malfoy straddling him with his cloak over both their heads.

He freed a hand and lifted the edge of the cloak. Immediately, thick white smoke filled the space, leaving them both hacking.

"Thanks for..." Saving me?

"Well, I was the only one who noticed you being your usual clumsy self."

"And why is that?" Harry countered. He wanted answers to why Malfoy had been watching him so intently.

Malfoy was so still that Harry worried for a moment that the smoke had frozen him somehow. But then he said, "I was just walking by; don't make a big deal out of it."

"Like you were just walking by when you pushed me against the table and pinned me in front of everyone?"

Malfoy shifted at those words and there was another explosion.

Inside Harry's head this time.

"You're hard!" he whispered harshly, struggling anew. Malfoy was definitely aroused and Harry just couldn't have that happen around him.

In one swift move, Malfoy applied more weight so Harry couldn't budge, grabbed Harry's wrists and held them in one hand (and that wasn't fair), and brought his face so close that Harry could see the way his lashes were dark at the bottom and lightened as they got longer.

Nothing happened.

Harry waited and waited, but Malfoy didn't move, just held Harry there, writhing like a butterfly with a steel shaft pinning it, desperate for freedom and not understanding.

Then, inexplicably, Malfoy rested his cheek against Harry's. Malfoy was cool and smelled like smoke and cedar, and Harry breathed in deeply because there was nothing else to do.

"Harry."

It was whispered against his ear, or maybe not even whispered but just thought...though that didn't explain why Malfoy's lips had touched his ear, had moved his hair, had exhaled sweetly. There was a world of unspoken in his breath.

As it was a day of explosions, there was another. It consisted of Malfoy leaping to his feet, righting his cloak, and tearing from the room, ripping a hole in the smoke that closed in after him as if glad to see him go. Harry wasn't sure if he shared that sentiment.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, helping him to his feet. "We couldn't find you!"

When he stood, Harry realised he must have been beneath the desk. Why had Malfoy gone to such lengths? Was he trying to fuck with Harry's head? That seemed like a lot of effort and not quite the easiest way of going about it.

So if his intentions weren't malicious, what were they?

"I'm okay, just got dizzy and sat down. Where's Ron?"

"Some of the potion got on him, and he started smoking like crazy. He said it didn't hurt, but Slughorn took him to the infirmary and told us all to get out. You weren't in the hall so I came back. Can we go?"

"Oh!" Harry started. It dawned on him that the room was silent, devoid of panic. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

They left the room, and Harry realised how stagnant and offensive the air in the classroom was in comparison. He inhaled...but where was the cedar smell?

"Hermione, I need to talk to you." he said it quickly, rushing the words out because if he didn't say it now, he never would.

"Well, I guess we're free for the rest of this period. Want to go back to the common room?"

Harry shook his head. Too many people there would want to talk about the explosion...or Harry's sexuality...and neither were topics he was keen on at the moment. "Library?"

Hermione brightened up and led the way.

*

"So, what do you think?" Harry asked, biting his lip. He'd relayed all the strange things Malfoy had been doing over the past week.

"Well, to be totally honest, Harry, I'd say he has a crush on you. That or he still hates you and wants to complicate your life in any way possible. Both options seem equally viable at this point."

"That's what I thought." Harry groaned and cradled his head in his hands. "Why can't he just be normal and love or hate me from afar? Why does he have to do it to my face?"

"Who's doing what to your face?"

Harry cringed inwardly; he hated to admit it, but he felt awkward around Seamus these days, with him always making passes at Harry and trying to initiate discussions that made Harry realise how woefully unprepared he was for this whole gay thing...or maybe just sex in general.

"We were just talking about the explosion in Potions," Hermione said quickly. She gave Harry a commiserating look, but it didn't make him feel any better.

Seamus plopped down onto the seat beside Harry, and Harry took that as his cue to leave. "I have to go have a shower or something. I can smell the fumes on me still."

Harry turned and only just checked himself from running. He'd wondered what it might be like to experiment with someone like Seamus. Harry didn't know where he'd gotten so much experience from, but it made Harry uncomfortable. Wasn't there anyone who was just coming to understand themselves? Had everyone really figured this stuff out ages ago?

He felt alone.

"Oi, Harry!"

Merlin. "Yeah, Seamus?" He turned to face his approaching tormenter.

"Did you think about what I said this morning? About that book?"

"Yeah, I don't really need it, Seamus. I'm not with anyone and I'm not likely to be."

Seamus looked ready to interject, but Harry needed to be alone. There was a bathroom coming up, and he veered toward it. "Sorry, mate, gotta use the loo. Something about those fumes aren't agreeing with me, if you know what I mean."

Raising an eyebrow, Seamus just nodded and gestured him away.

Ducking into the bathroom, Harry leaned against the door and sighed. The book Seamus wanted Harry to read had intrigued him, but he couldn't bear the thought of actually asking for it. He'd just find a way to find one on his own, or better yet, Hermione would find some for him. He was sure she was researching on how to relate to and understand gay friends at that very moment. Seamus' book, however, was sure to have a more hands-on understanding of homosexuality.

"Well, isn't this familiar..."

Harry looked up to see Malfoy's face staring back at him in a mirror. Though it wasn't the same bathroom, the memory of that day plunged Harry into icy waters, his breathing catching as his mind flooded with images of Draco falling back, blood, so much of it, blame... all his.

With a shaky voice, Harry said, "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Malfoy chuckled and turned, leaning against the sink. Water had dripped onto his shirt from where he'd obviously splashed his face with it. "I suppose the fumes just aren't agreeing with me, either."

Rolling his eyes, Harry pushed off the door and approached Malfoy. There was a strange quickening in Malfoy, a tightening of his entire body as Harry got closer.

"So what's your problem? Why have you been acting so strange lately, following me and watching me?"

"But, Harry," Malfoy said in an imitation of a simper. "We've always watched each other. And it always seems to culminate in a bathroom. Care to scar me for life again, or just go straight to murder this time?"

Harry's ire flared, spitting and bitter. "At least I didn't cast an Unforgivable!"

"So that means you're forgiven?" Malfoy spat.

The silence stretched between them as the words hit Harry like a blow.

Draco took a step closer, and Harry refused to back down. "I don't remember you asking for forgiveness."

"That's because I didn't. And I won't. I was defending myself. And I didn't know what the spell even did... but you knew what yours meant."

"Does that make it better?" Malfoy's voice had risen in pitch, and it almost hurt Harry's ears to hear it. There was a strange flickering around Malfoy's body, like magic going awry. The mirror behind Malfoy filled with white, though nothing in the room was that brilliant, glowing shade. Still, Harry's feet remained firmly planted.

"No," Harry said, after a long moment. "I hurt you badly, and I meant to, but I didn't mean to do that. So... yeah, I am sorry."

The flickering magic stopped, and Malfoy's body seemed to shrink as his anger visibly left him. The white glare left the mirror and Harry questioned whether he'd imagined it.

"Harry, I..."

The use of Harry's name startled them both. Malfoy looked confused for a moment, as if someone else had spoken. He took another step forward, and even though the anger had passed and the apology spoken, Harry didn't step away. It seemed important that he... prove himself.

Shaking himself off, Malfoy started again. "Potter, there's something I suppose I have to tell you. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but things are getting a little awkward and I think once you know, it'll get better."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, shaking his head. He almost wanted to feel afraid, to get that same twisted anger and disgust that he usually did when Malfoy was around, but there was none of that.

Harry stubbornly bore out the ensuing silence, meeting Malfoy's silver stare and finally rolling his eyes and turning to leave.

Malfoy's hand reached out and grabbed Harry's upper arm. The fingers were cool, even through Harry's robes, and the tight grip strangely powerful.

"I'm a veela."

Harry wanted to laugh. "What?"

"Potter, I'm a fucking veela. A magical being. Hello?" He lifted up a strand of his white-blond hair as if that explained everything.

"Are you... are you a girl?" Harry slowly shook his head. He had no idea what Malfoy was trying to pull, but he didn't want to play that game.

"Are you a complete moron? Wait, no need to answer that. No, I'm not a girl." Malfoy looked amusingly insulted, but Harry was too astonished to find it funny. "There are male veela, you know. We just aren't as obvious about our true nature."

"Your true nature..." Harry repeated dumbly.

"It's because... I mean, you don't hear about the male veela because there aren't many, that's true. But there's fewer of us because veela... well, it's in every veela's nature to attract men."

Malfoy was looking at him pointedly, but Harry just wasn't following. Why would Malfoy want to attract men if he wasn't attracted to men?

Oh.

"So you're a gay veela, then?" Somehow, the idea that Malfoy was a veela was less shocking than the fact that he was gay. Malfoy looked like a veela. Harry was actually surprised no one had ever speculated on that before.

Malfoy didn't answer, just glared.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry went to the bathroom counter and hopped up, leaning back on his hands. He rather liked having information that no one else did, especially about Malfoy.

"I wish I didn't have to," Malfoy mumbled, pacing in front of Harry.

"So why do you?"

"There seems to be some sort of... connection between us. Or, at least, something that ties me to you. It's bloody annoying, really, but I don't know how to stop it."

Harry wasn't sure what he was talking about, but he could see that Malfoy was distressed. He hadn't experienced anything, certainly.

"What sort of connection?" Harry asked.

Whatever Malfoy said was buried under his breath. Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. This was his free time...he'd certainly suffered enough for it. Why was he wasting it here? Slipping off the counter, Harry walked past Malfoy, intending on heading up to Gryffindor Tower for a kip.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy snapped, grabbing Harry's arm.

"You're wasting my time. Either tell me straight what's going on, or I'm leaving."

Malfoy sneered, but dropped it only a second later. He sighed. "I feel pain when you do. I hurt when you hurt."

Harry's eyes widened. That was rich. Still, Malfoy's face looked as sincere as Harry suspected it was capable. Keeping his eyes on Malfoy, Harry pinched the back of his hand. Malfoy hissed and lunged forward, grabbing Harry by the neck and slamming him against a wall.

The grip wasn't tight enough to choke, but it still hurt, and Harry kicked out, trying to get Malfoy off him.

"You must be fucking lying, or you'd be in pain right now!" Harry cried, slumping as he realised Malfoy was just too strong. The knowledge burned him, but at least he was the better wizard. Still, being held against his will in a school loo was humiliating.

"This is interesting," Malfoy said. His fingers got even tighter, and Harry could no longer breathe easily.

"Fuck you," Harry rasped while he could. His hand found his wand and he whipped it out, snapping it against Malfoy's neck at the same time as he was freed from Malfoy's grip.

"Did that hurt you?" Malfoy asked, unconcerned about Harry's wand in his face.

"Yeah, it fucking hurt," Harry snapped, his voice scratchy. He swallowed hard, thinking about what hex to use.

"It didn't hurt me." Malfoy's voice was full of wonder, and he seemed all too pleased. All of a sudden, though, his face fell. "I didn't mean to... well, I did. But I only did it to test a theory. And you're fine."

"Great, so you were wrong about the connection. I'll be leaving now. And stop following me around!" Harry brushed past Malfoy again, determined to get out of the bathroom, into his bed, and pretend that Malfoy's hand on his throat hadn't sent something horrible coursing through him.

"I wasn't wrong!" Malfoy called, forcing Harry to stop at the door.

He turned, weariness in every move. "What?"

"When you pinched yourself, I felt it. I just don't feel it when I hurt you."

"Well, that's convenient," Harry muttered. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to leave, to forget all about these strange happenings, but Malfoy wasn't being his usual self, and he had shared something important: his magical being status. It couldn't hurt to hear him out. Unless he tried to choke him again, in which case, it very well could hurt.

"I know you probably don't believe me, and I don't blame you. I knew there was veela in my blood, but I never thought... We all thought it was dormant. And now something's happening and I can't... I can't very well write home and ask...I'm not allowed to speak with either of my parents for a year as a condition of my release. So I'm confused, too."

It was a huge concession. But it didn't make Harry feel any better. After all, Malfoy didn't have any answers, and all Harry had were questions.

"So what do you want from me?" Harry asked finally.

Malfoy took a few steps toward Harry, but didn't encroach on his personal space. "This connection... I sort of know what it is. I think I do, anyway. But I'm not sure, and I don't want to do anything drastic. It all comes down to the fact that you can't get hurt. I don't usually tell people this, but I don't have a very high threshold for pain."

"You don't say," Harry deadpanned, immediately recalling the Buckbeak incident.

"It's true. So whenever you get hurt...and that includes clumsy Gryffindors falling into you and potions explosions...I feel it. And I don't want to. So just... be fucking careful, all right?"

Nodding absently, Harry took in Malfoy's appearance for the first time. He was surprised to see him looking rather sickly. His pale skin had lost the sheen that made him look healthy, and even his posture spoke of mild defeat.

"What do you think the connection is?" he asked slowly. Crazy notions flooded his own mind, but he dismissed them. What could it mean? Did Harry have some veela blood and Malfoy was just recognising his own kind? That seemed unlikely, though it was rather a neat idea. He'd have liked to be able to seduce any man he wanted...

At that thought, the crazy notions were back, more force behind them than before. He tried to recall everything he'd learned about veelas, but there wasn't much. Even Fleur had been very private about her heritage beyond the obvious characteristics.

"I don't know," Malfoy said, too quickly.

It was obvious that he had some idea. Why he refused to say, Harry couldn't even begin to guess.

"Well, I'm sorry. It's not like I go around trying to get hurt, so I can't even say I'll be more careful. I hope it goes away, whatever it is."

As Harry turned to leave yet again, a thought occurred to him. "The mirrors were whited out before and it looked like you were... flickering or something."

Malfoy's eyes went huge, and, inexplicably, a smile split his face. Harry noticed that he looked much younger when he didn't have a lip drawn up in disgust.

"You saw them... What did they look like?"

"What did what..."

"My wings! I've never seen them. Sometimes I'd been sure they were there, but I couldn't feel them. What were they like?"

"White. Shimmery. Kind of glowy."

"Glowy?"

Harry shifted from foot to foot. "Yeah, like fairy lights or a concentrated lumos. They're really beautiful," he added before he could stop himself. "Pretty gay, though."

Malfoy snorted. "Only fitting, I suppose. You're one to talk, anyway."

Glaring, Harry opened the door and walked out. Cutting off his nose to spite his face, he gave a vicious twist to the skin on his arm, gratified when he head Malfoy shriek behind the closed door.

Harry went, as planned, to his dorm room to have a lay-down before lunch, but he found himself unable to fall asleep. At any other time, it would have been a dream... but images of immaculate white feathers filled his mind.

*

"What do you know about veela?" Harry demanded of Hermione. They'd returned from dinner and were now sitting before the fireplace in the common room. Ron was playing wizard's chess with Seamus, who, to Harry's relief, had stopped casting such pornographic glances toward him.

"Everything there is to know, of course," she replied, not looking up from her Transfiguration text.

"Really?" Harry exclaimed, surprised.

Hermione gave him a look that said, You should know better, and Harry grinned.

"Of course not. I know a little. I'll admit, I was... intrigued by Fleur's appeal back during the Triwizard Tournament. I did some reading then."

Harry knew that by intrigued, Hermione meant jealous. At least a little. She'd wanted Ron, after all, though she denied her feelings for him had begun at that point...Harry knew better. The two had been in love since they'd been in nappies...they just hadn't realised.

That kind of destined love... It must be so nice to share.

"Have you ever heard of a veela feeling someone else's pain? Through some sort of connection?"

Finally putting her homework down, Hermione tilted her head and looked at Harry. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. "It sounds a little familiar, but I can't think of where I read it. I thought you were doing your DADA creature research essay on unicorns?"

"It's not for school," Harry said, realising too late that he'd blown what would have been a perfect cover. "I mean, it is. Sort of. Er... like the effects of veela on unicorns. Yeah, fascinating stuff. Not a lot of information to be found, though."

Hermione looked so sceptical that Harry almost burst out with a confession, but something about the way Malfoy had told him everything, as if he couldn't help it, made Harry hold back. It was important that this stay private... for now.

Still, from the way Hermione was staring at him, he was sure her conclusions were building already.

"I'll have a look, see if I can find anything," she said, making a note in her dayplanner. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

Harry really, really wanted to ask about gay veela, but he figured that wouldn't be as simple to cover-up...not that his previous cover-up was impressive in any way.

Still, he did have a vested interest in all things homosexual, or so he could convince her...

Deciding to risk it, Harry said, "I was also thinking of researching veela who like other veela or... you know, non-veela... of the same sex. Gay veela," he clarified, though he suspected Hermione's confused look had less to do with her not understanding what he meant and more to do with how awkwardly he was posing the question.

Jotting something down beside her first note, Hermione nodded. "I'll do my best."

*

"Malfoy looks like the inside of an arse, doesn't he?" Ron said gleefully, staring beyond Harry at the Slytherin table.

Harry couldn't help it; he turned and looked. Malfoy did look like shite, he realised.

"What do you reckon's wrong with him?" Harry said quietly, mostly addressing Hermione, who also stole a gander.

She shrugged, a line between her brows denoting worry. Hermione had been quick to forgive those who'd wronged her during the time before the war, and it appeared that this attitude extended toward Malfoy, who Harry wasn't entirely convinced deserved the forgiveness. Though he did agree with her opinion that actions out of duress shouldn't be held against a person.

Sure, that might be true...so Harry could forgive Malfoy a lot, but there was too much that hadn't been a result of the war, too many incidents over the years. Between Harry and Draco Malfoy, there could be no forgiveness.

Only, that didn't exactly feel true anymore, and that was irritating. Especially with Malfoy looking so sick. He was paler than ever, bordering on translucent, the blue veins beneath the surface like a roadmap to what made him human. He looked as though he'd lost weight, too, his robes hanging off the rack of his body like they'd been purchased two years in advance. Even from across the hall, Harry could see Malfoy's hand tremble a little as he took a bite of his pudding. After a few aborted attempts to get the shaking under control, Malfoy threw his fork down in disgust and stood quickly.

Too quickly, apparently, for he swayed in place, his eyes closing as his hands fell flat against the tabletop, bracing his weight.

Harry watched as Pansy Parkinson placed a steadying hand on Malfoy's waist. There was concern in her face, but Malfoy shook her off and walked away. Though his step was a little slower than usual, Malfoy made it to the doors and beyond without any further incidences.

Both Hermione and Harry were frowning, but when Harry mentioned it, Hermione said it looked like Malfoy might be anaemic and otherwise didn't seem too concerned.

Harry wasn't concerned either, not really. He just wanted to know if Malfoy's sudden illness had something to do with their so-called connection. Was Harry sick, and that was why Malfoy was experiencing it? But then Harry should also be sick... unless Harry was sick with something that only affected veelas... Ugh, but Malfoy said he only felt Harry's pain, not that he actually experienced it. So if Harry was cut, Malfoy would be hurt, but he wouldn't bleed. Any illness, then, would only cause Malfoy discomfort, if it even worked that way.

There were far too many questions and not enough ways of finding out the answers. Even if Malfoy didn't care about the outcome of this strange situation, Harry did.

And Malfoy wouldn't have even bothered telling him if he didn't care. After all, it was just more ammunition for Harry to use against him, if he wanted. That was how Slytherins thought...always about how they could turn the situation around and make it about them.

So then... if telling Harry had put Malfoy in a more vulnerable position... why had he told him?

*

Nearly a week after the explosion in the Potions classroom, the uneasy timidity of the students began to wear off. People became more confident, less likely to notice small errors. Harry wished that hyperactive state of attention had lasted a little longer... He was still a little cauldron-shy.

Harry watched Malfoy from over the top of his bubbling potion. He was stirring clockwise every minute as Ron sliced and diced, so he could afford to drift away a little.

Malfoy was a veela. It was strange how many people in the wizarding world weren't entirely human. Such a concept didn't even exist in the Muggle world. There, if you weren't a human, there was no way you'd be able to go about your daily life. With Malfoy, it was a secret, but it didn't seem to be a life-or-death one. Other veela were not afraid of their magical being becoming public knowledge. Was it because male veela were gay? Was it the stigma attached? Was Malfoy not ready to come out?

As Malfoy went through the motions of brewing, his movements tentative and measured, Harry considered their bond. He had the insane urge to test it, right at that moment, and if Malfoy hadn't looked so fucking sick and depressed, Harry would have slapped his own face just to see the look on Malfoy's.

Hermione looked back and caught Harry's eyes. He knew he looked mildly guilty, and he tried to cover it up with a grin, but she just gave a little frown and turned back to her work. He saw her write something on a loose leaf of paper and fold it.

When it was time to begin putting the ingredients away, Hermione stopped Harry and slipped the note into his robes without even looking at him. Harry smiled in approval of her subterfuge, though Malfoy had seen it, as he was always watching Harry.

Giving Malfoy a nod, Harry put the supplies away and returned to his desk, taking out Hermione's note.

He should be mated by now.

As the words chased each other through his brain, Harry gasped, looking up at Malfoy, whose hands were braced on the table as if he needed the support just to stand.

Was it somehow Harry's fault? Was the connection between them stopping Malfoy from finding his mate? What if the veela in Malfoy was all fucked up and thought Harry was his mate?

Harry crumpled the note and shoved it back into his robes pocket. He had to talk to Malfoy, to figure all this out.

That was when Malfoy fainted.

Everything happened rather quickly and somehow slowly enough that Harry's heart seemed to have to beat harder to get blood to his brain.

Hermione tried to catch Malfoy, but he was taller and heavier and all she did was break his fall, which was, in itself, a very good thing, for he fell fast and hard. Her guidance stopped him from hitting his head on the table or floor.

Slughorn called for everyone to stop what they were doing and back away, to give Malfoy space. He asked a Hufflepuff to go get Madam Pomfrey, and the student rushed off with the importance of someone with a Job To Do.

Harry remained frozen. He had the suspicion that this was all his fault, though he couldn't quite figure out how. It just seemed too strange a coincidence: Malfoy telling him about his veela-ness and then fainting in class a week later? Was the fainting related to him being a veela? Would Harry have to tell someone in order to save Malfoy?

Would Malfoy hate him for that?

Did Harry care?

The answer to both was, strangely, yes. Harry approached Hermione...not Malfoy, who was pale and trembling, eyelids flickering, face made of smudged shadow...and knelt. He took Malfoy's hand without thinking. It was icy cold, but the fingers closed a little around Harry's, the pulse in Malfoy's slender wrist erratic but there.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked no one in particular.

When Harry spoke, Malfoy's eyes opened, gunmetal grey peeking between pale lashes, focusing on him. The hand in his tightened to the point of being uncomfortable, but Malfoy's gaze didn't waver.

Malfoy seemed to mouth something, but Harry couldn't make it out.

"Harry? Did you hear me?"

Harry looked up, met Hermione's eyes, and immediately went back to staring at Malfoy. "Sorry, no."

"He seemed really out of it all class," she said, speaking to Slughorn now. "I asked him what was wrong but he didn't even look at me."

"Back away, back away!" came Madam Pomfrey's strident tones as she bustled into the room and quickly cast a spell to levitate Malfoy. Harry's hand fell away. She checked his vitals with her wand before giving a brisk nod to Slughorn and guiding Malfoy's body to precede her out the door.

Harry moved, quite beyond his own accord, to follow, but Hermione stopped him. Slughorn directed them all back to their seats, but Harry took Malfoy's instead, determined to learn what she meant by her note.

"Do you think Malfoy being sick has something to do with him not having a mate?" Harry whispered urgently while Slughorn tried to coerce calmness back into the class.

Hermione looked pensive, but shook her head. "It's more than that. I think it's because Malfoy has found his mate."

Without knowing why, Harry shook his head at once. "No, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

Unable to articulate the feeling, Harry could only shrug. He just knew that Malfoy wasn't attached to someone...

...else.

"No," Harry growled, eyes wide. He stood suddenly and ran from the room, ignoring the surprised cry of Slughorn and Ron's concerned call.

His feet knew the way to the infirmary by rote, and Harry's mind raced as his body closed the distance. He would have thought he'd have caught up to Madam Pomfrey, but by the time he made it to the hospital wing, she was already settling Malfoy on a bed.

"Mr. Potter, you shouldn't be here!" she scolded, though it wasn't heartfelt. A line formed between her brows as she drew her wand again and again over Malfoy's still, supine form.

"I was there when it happened," Harry said by way of explanation. "Maybe I can help."

After a moment, she nodded. "Did anything happen before he fainted? Any sort of trigger you noticed?"

Thinking back, Harry could recall nothing and said so. Pomfrey looked disappointed but didn't stop casting spells. Malfoy looked strangely still, and Harry wanted to reassure himself that there was life in that body still.

"He'll be okay, won't he?"

"I have every reason to believe so. Mr. Malfoy's circumstances are... peculiar. But this isn't unheard of for someone in his position."

The cryptic words made Harry realise that Pomfrey, whether she'd just discovered it or had known all along, knew what Malfoy was.

"I know that he's a veela," Harry blurted. Malfoy's body twitched at Harry's voice, and Harry tried to be quieter. He had no idea how fragile Malfoy's state was, but he didn't want to exacerbate it.

Pomfrey looked at Harry sharply. "And how did you come across this information?"

"He told me."

Raising an eyebrow, Pomfrey waited for further explication, but Harry didn't offer it. He didn't want anyone to know about the connection between him and Malfoy, not even her.

"He is suffering because he hasn't claimed a mate," she said a few moments later. She tucked Malfoy in more securely, her movements brisk but still somehow maternal. It seemed like she was speaking more to herself than Harry.

"Is that... unusual? I mean, he's really young, right? Shouldn't he wait until he's finished school to... er, claim someone? That way he'll have more options." Realising he was babbling, Harry stopped himself. He wasn't sure why seeing Malfoy in that state affected him so much...all he knew was that he didn't like it.

"Veela don't live their lives according to our rules, Mr. Potter. His body knows when he is ready, and for some reason, he is fighting it. That can be very dangerous."

Harry stepped closer to the bed. He had the strangest urge to touch Malfoy, to hold his hand again or even get into the bed beside him, just to be there, be near. Why hadn't Malfoy claimed his mate if he knew who it was?

For a moment, Harry felt something akin to jealousy...but he decided it was simply because there was someone out there just for Malfoy, and Harry rather thought he deserved that more. To have someone who loved him no matter what? To belong to a partnership like that? That would be really special.

"So why don't we bring whoever it is in here so he can claim them and get better?" It all seemed pretty simple to Harry.

For the first time since Harry'd arrived, Pomfrey really looked at him. "Mr. Potter, I appreciate your concern and will pass it along to my patient once he awakens, but there is no need for you to be here if you can't think of any reason that this might have happened when it did."

"Right," Harry said, nodding and backing away from the bed. "Well, good luck and... you don't have to tell him I was here or anything."

Pomfrey didn't respond, so Harry turned on his heel and left. His pace was strident until the portrait to his common room came into view; it was then Harry realised he didn't really want to be in there at all. He wanted to be alone or to be alone with and talk to Malfoy. To tell him he was being ridiculous. That most people would be thrilled to learn that they would be connected to one other person for the rest of their lives. A built-in best friend, like Ron and Hermione.

Malfoy, Harry knew, would laugh at him for such romantic notions. Malfoy probably wanted to mate with whomever he wanted and not be tied down to just one. Or maybe his mate was a Muggleborn and that was why he hadn't claimed him...he didn't think he was good enough. Well, Harry had a few thoughts on that!

He decided he'd talk to Malfoy the next day. Give him some time to recover before Harry took him down a notch and taught him a thing or two about being grateful.