Draco opened the little tower's window to let in the brown delivery owl, quickly shutting it again before the driving rain got in. He untied the package from its leg, and the owl flew over to a chair by the small desk.

"You can't stay forever," Draco warned.

The owl lifted its wings slightly and shook the water from itself in a little shivery movement that left its feathers fluffed out and then settled back onto the chair, content with its place.

Draco shrugged and pulled off the twine and paper wrapped around the cardboard box, throwing the refuse in the small fireplace. He opened the box and took out a rather large bottle, turning it around to examine the label, nutrient potion, with dosage instructions below. Draco ignored that, pulling the cork out and taking a swallow, trying not to shudder at the taste.

There was another impatient tap on the window. Draco set the bottle down on the dusty table and went to the window, retrieving a second owl and package. This one carrying a revitalising potion. The second owl went and joined the first on the back of the chair, they ruffled their feathers and leaned into one another, beginning to groom one another.

Draco absently stroked their feathers as he walked past, "The shop owner won't be pleased with you staying here." He looked outside at the pelting rain, "Not that I blame you."

He sighed and went back to the little living area of his new room. He had been moved to a small tower in an unused corner of the castle as soon as classes started and the halls were empty. It was up a long narrow staircase that wound up the inside of a tower, to a wooden hatch that led to his rooms. The first floor had a couch and an armchair in front of the fireplace, with a small round table in the centre. At the back of the room, a simple wooden chair and desk sat between the two small windows.

The winding staircase continued on the wall up to the second floor, which had a bed, a wardrobe, and a small bathroom that had been enlarged to three times bigger than the small closet space it occupied. The only appealing thing about the room was a large pair of iron banded doors opposite his bed that opened onto a balcony overlooking the Forbidden Forest. Everything was currently grey from a thick layer of dust.

Draco could hear a house elf padding around above his head still cleaning. Once it was habitable, Draco intended to take dreamless sleep and just stay in bed as long as humanly possible.

He opened the second box and took a rather larger swallow of revitalising potion. He wasn't sure what he should do about being...what he was, but his body needed the extra energy and nutrients.

Draco set the bottle of the table and collapsed onto the couch, waving the dust away absent-mindedly. He could hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and he closed his eyes, feeling a gentle calmness wash over him.

"Hello, Potter," Draco said.

A few steps later Potter's black hair showed through the opening in the floor soon followed by the rest of him.

"How'd you know it was me?" Potter asked, looking a bit winded.

Draco looked back at the fire and lied, "I guessed. There are only two people who are allowed to see me."

"Oh, right," Potter said. He stood there for a few seconds more and then haltingly walked over to the table, "I have your notes."

Draco nodded, carefully not looking at him.

Potter set a strange notebook held together with a spiral of wire on the table and fished around in his bag, taking out two other books, "I got these as well. It's all I could find on veela, other than brief descriptions in magical creature books."

Draco didn't answer, clenching his teeth.

"Malfoy? Are you listening?" Potter asked.

"I'm ignoring you," Draco said flatly.

Potter hummed under his breath, "Not doing a very good job of it are you?"

Draco shot him a glare, which only made Potter smirk in triumph. He grabbed the books from Potter's hands and read the titles embossed on the spines, "These are fairy tales."

"I said it wasn't much. Pince says there are better books, but only the veela themselves have them."

Draco nodded, flipping to an illustration of a beautiful woman dressed only in vines and leaves standing in a field of poppies, beckoning the viewer with outstretched hands.

"I'm gonna stay for a while," Potter said, sitting down on the armchair, "I have some reading to do for charms and everywhere is crowded."

Draco stared at him, his chest feeling strangely tight, "Why?"

Potter paused from taking another book out of his bag, "It's too loud, and I can't concentrate?"

"No," Draco said, "Why do you want to stay here? We're not friends. We don't like each other."

Potter shrugged one shoulder, "I don't dislike you."

"You have every reason to dislike me, Potter," Draco said.

"Well, I don't."

"We hated each other seven years," Draco said, "We were on opposite sides of the war."

"And we grew up and realised that without all that blood purity bullshit we could actually get on just fine," Potter said.

"Are you a seer now?" Draco said sarcastically.

"I mean it might as well happen as not, right?" Potter said, leaning back into the dusty chair and opening his book, "I won't distract you or anything."

Draco looked back at his own book, "...What does it feel like?"

"What?" Potter asked.

Draco traced the description under the illustration- 'Wood Nymph in a Clearing of Flowers'. "Being around me. You feel something, don't you?" he asked, "That's why you want to stay here."

Potter hesitated, "...No. I just want to read."

Draco flipped the next page in the book with a muttered, "Liar."

Potter didn't rise to his bait and just kept reading. Draco read about a wood nymph whose beauty stole men away from their wives, and they forgot to eat and drink and died in loving her. She wept, curled in roots of her mother tree until she fell into a deep sleep born of sorrow and the good pure son of a woodcutter and took an axe to the nymph's tree while she slept, cutting it in half and killing her.

Draco didn't think about Potter and how much he wanted him there, how much he wanted him to stay. He didn't think about how this was what he had wanted since he was eleven, the pure undivided attention of Harry Potter-

-because of what he was becoming. Because of this magic changing him. He wasn't so foolish as to think it was because of who he was. It wasn't- and it never would be.

"It's getting late," Potter said, stretching as he stood up from his chair, "I'd better get going."

Draco closed the book of fairy tales and stared into the dying flames in the fireplace.

Potter picked up his book bag and slung it over his shoulder, heading for the stairs.

"Don't come back."

"What?" Potter stopped.

Draco clenched his jaw and took a steadying breath, "I said, don't come back."

"But, I'm supposed to get you anything-"

"I don't care," Draco said.

Potter frowned.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" Draco said coldly, "I don't need you to come here, and you don't need to come, so don't waste my time."

Potter looked around the tower with a scowl, "Because you're so busy. Get your head out of your ass, Malfoy."

Draco kept his gaze fixed on the fire, refusing to acknowledge him.

Potter shook his head, "Good to know you're still a prick. I thought maybe you had changed."

And Draco barely winced at all when Potter stormed down the stairs. He felt every step Potter took away from him until he was gone from Draco's grasping senses, even as they still yearned after him.

"I don't need him," Draco snapped in the silence.

He stood, pacing in front of the fire, trying to shake the feeling of unease filling him. The rain thudded relentlessly on the windows. The fire cracked loudly in its grate.

Draco twitched, grabbed a bottle from the table and hurling it into the fireplace. It smashed against the bricks in a shower of glass, and the fire sputtered, flaring purple. The delivery owls hooted, their feathers rising in alarm. Draco grabbed the other bottle and flung it after the first as hard as he could. Glass skittered out of the grate across the floor, the fire burned green and blue for a moment before it guttered and went out in a hiss of smoke and steam.

"I don't need him! I don't need anyone! I'm not going to-!" Draco's chest heaved, fury edged with sorrow he refused to recognise, "I won't. I won't be chained to someone. Ever again."

The tower darkened without the firelight to fill in its edges. The owls hooted mournfully behind him.

Draco went to the desk, writing a new potion order, wrapping it in ten galleons and giving it to one of the owls before throwing the window open. The owls nearly ran into one another in their haste to leave. He didn't bother closing the window. He went upstairs, ignoring the house elf's complaints and climbed into the bed, pulling the comforter over his head.

-

Harry dropped himself into the overstuffed crimson couch Ron and Hermione were sitting on in the mostly deserted common room.

"You're back," Hermione said, looking up from the book laid open in her lap.

"Brilliant as always," Harry said, only a touch sarcastically.

Ron grinned, "Didn't go well then? Figures with Malfoy involved."

Harry frowned at them, "...I didn't tell you about Malfoy, did I?"

"You did now," Ron said, his grin growing.

Harry rolled his eyes before going back to frowning at them, "Okay, but how? Because I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything."

"I noticed Malfoy's been sick a lot," Ron said.

"And McGonagall asked me to start making copies of all my notes. There are only a few students that have the same schedule as me, Malfoy being one," Hermione said.

"And you've been distracted as hell," Ron said, "and there are only a few people that can wind you up like that."

"We were curious so-" Hermione shrugged, "we connected the dots. Though it was just a hypothesis until you confirmed it."

Harry sighed.

"What are you doing anyway?" Ron asked.

"Does it have to do with Malfoy being bullied?" Hermione asked.

Ron snorted, "Serves him right if it does."

"Ron," Hermione said reproachfully.

Ron shrugged, "Well, it does! He was a horrible bully for ages. It would be proper karma for him to get a bit of it back."

Hermione grimaced, "I might agree with you personally, but it's the sort of thing that starts a dangerous cycle. It doesn't help anyone in the end."

"I suppose..." Ron said.

"The war is over," Harry said, feeling resentful, "We didn't go through all that for everything to end up the same in the end."

"Right. Right," Ron said quickly, "No it's- you're right- It's just Malfoy, with him it's more personal. He was always saying things about my family and you Mione, it's hard to let it go, is all."

Hermione nodded, "I feel the same way. But I still want to try to be the bigger person."

Harry nodded absently, feeling unaccountably guilty about lingering around Malfoy. He might be changing on the outside, but that didn't mean he was all that different inside. Although it wasn't exactly like before, Malfoy was a bit softer... like all his edges had been chipped off, so they weren't as sharp. Still pointy but not as-

"-ate. Mate?-"

Harry looked over, "Huh?"

"What's with Malfoy anyway?" Ron asked.

"Oh," Harry said, distantly, "He's...ill, I suppose. McGonagall asked me to help out because I knew about it."

"Ill? What sort? Dragon pox? Spattergroit? Has he gone Gorgon?" Ron asked.

Hermione scoffed, "It's not petroplasia saxumicans progressiva-"

"A what-what?" Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "He's not turning to stone or any of the others for that matter, he'd be in the hospital if he were."

"Since when do they send us to hospital?" Ron said.

Hermione hesitated, "You're right about that, actually."

"So it could be," Ron said.

Harry shook his head, "Best I don't say, I think. It's personal."

"Well, just be careful," Hermione said, "You don't want to catch anything."

"It's not that sort of sickness," Harry said.

"More importantly," Ron said, "Seamus heard that a werewolf was spotted near Hogsmeade."

"To be precise, it was a large wolf with a short tail," Hermione said.

"Which is precisely what werewolves look like," Ron said.

Hermione frowned at him, "It could be a wolf whose tail got caught in a trap."

"It could be if all the wolves weren't all killed off two hundred years ago. This isn't exactly the forests of Russian," Ron said.

Hermione sighed and took Ron's hand, "I just hope it was a mistake."

"Even if it was a werewolf it doesn't mean it's going to hurt anyone," Harry said, "Sometimes Remus went to the Forbidden Forest to transform to make sure he didn't hurt anyone. It might not be Greyback."

"Hopefully," Ron said, "We're safe in the school anyway, the castle's wrapped up tighter than mums leftovers after all the repairs and new spellwork."

"The thing that bothers me is it was recent, and the full moon was a week ago," Hermione said.

"Could be they saw it earlier and only told someone recently," Harry said.

"Or they're a liar," Ron said, "Trying to scare people."

"I hope they lied," Hermione said.

"Me too," Harry said.

-

Draco had taken dreamless sleep, but it had only worked for four hours before he had blinked awake, every muscle in his body tensed. He listened in silence, trying to figure out what had woken him up, what had him on high alert but there was nothing. After counting to one hundred, he grabbed his wand from the night table and cast homenum revelio.It showed nothing, he was utterly alone in the tower.

He stared at the canopy of his bed until the sun rose, the feeling of unease never faded. With nothing better to do, he went downstairs and tried to catch up on his classwork, reading through all of Granger's immaculate notes and practising the new spell work. A transfiguration paper was assigned as well that he needed books from the library for it, what books he didn't know, and couldn't look for. Not that it mattered since he would be transferring to Beauxbaton soon enough.

Draco ate all the food sent to him and took his newly delivered potions before letting himself trudge back to his bed and a waiting potion of dreamless sleep.

-

The potion only let him sleep three and a half hours, after which he startled awake with the certainty someone was in the room, and couldn't sleep again. He ate. Granger's clever notebook updated itself to reflect her own notes, so he studied until the sky grew dark and went back to bed.

-

Four hours.

He ate. He studied for a while. He went back to bed, lying curled up under the warm blankets and pretended he was somewhere else, somewhen else, back when things were simple. He only got up for meals and potions and returned to his blankets.

-

Three hours.

He ate. The words he was trying to read swam in front of his eyes. He dozed fitfully in front of the fire and woke with a thrumming headache and a sore neck. He went back to bed.

-

Three hours, thirty-four minutes.

He was so hungry he felt like he might throw up. Eating didn't ease the ache. He stared at the fire until the sky grew dark and went to bed.

-

Four hours and eight minutes.

Draco read about the sirens, seducing Odysseus with their songs that promised him all the knowledge in the world, and what he craved most of all, knowledge of his own past and future.

The sun rose and set again as Draco struggled through the myth. He lost hours to sentences he saw without reading, read without comprehending and stared at a picture of beautiful women waving to a distant boat, their stola dresses painted conspicuously sheer.

He curled up on the couch with the book clutched to his chest, waking with a start when it fell, hitting the floor with a thump.

He went to his bed and pretended if he closed his eyes long enough, sleep would eventually come.

-

Three hours, eleven minutes.

Draco stared into the fireplace, a few tiny flames licking up around the piles of ash and blacked remains of logs. He picked up Granger's muggle notebook and opened it to a blank page at the back, blinking at the faint blue lines. He thumbed a single sheet free and tore it out of the metal spiral and crumpled it into a ball, throwing it into the fireplace. It slowly uncurled from the crumple, an edge turned red and black growing into a small flame that quickly overtook the whole page.

It burned faster than parchment. Draco tore out another, crumpling it and throwing it after the first.

Draco blinked, his eyes feeling heavier. He pulled the next piece of paper out slowly, letting his eyes rest. He felt so warm. Comfortable. He slid down into the couch cushions drifting into an easy, deep, dreamless sleep.

-

Harry slid his hand along the wall as he walked up the spiral stairs. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he shivered as he got close enough to feel Malfoy's magic. The prickle spread down his spine and filled him from the inside with every step, his mind comfortably emptying of the things that had been nagging him all day, studying and papers, students and adults alike still haunted by the war, hatred and prejudice, possible werewolves, all gone.

He almost stopped when he saw the wooden hatch, wanting to just stay and bask in the comfortable blanket of warmth in his mind without having to actually deal with Malfoy. He did for a while, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Harry kept expecting to hear Malfoy call down with an acerbic greeting. When he didn't, Harry started to get worried, even though Malfoy was fine, probably... definitely. He was fine.

Harry pushed the hatch open and found the tower room quite warm even with the fire banked low. Harry saw Malfoy's hair, a few golden-white wisps pushed up over the edge of the couch armrest. He tiptoed the last few steps into the room, almost holding his breath as he moved close enough to see Malfoy.

He was asleep, slipped down into the cushions, breathing through his mouth in little huffs of air. And he wasn't fine. Harry hadn't thought the shadows under Malfoy's eyes could get any worse, but they were so dark they looked more like bruises with a fae shimmer on the thin skin, his cheeks were drawn and pale, pinked like a welt. It was strangely, upsettingly, beautiful

Harry reached out to wake Malfoy and hesitated, he wanted to let Malfoy sleep, but the teachers from Beauxbaton were here. They would be able to help him.

"Malfoy?" Harry shook his shoulder.

Malfoy grimaced.

"Malfoy, wake up," Harry said reluctantly

Malfoy cracked an eye open and then squeezed them closed, his eyelashes trembling like he was desperately trying not to cry, "I was asleep..." he said faintly, his voice cracking on the words.

"The Beauxbaton teachers are here. They're waiting for you," Harry explained, hoping it would help.

Malfoy swallowed hard as he pushed himself up, his hands shaking. Harry took Malfoy's arm as he stood, trying to help. Malfoy slapped his hand away as soon as he was steady, glaring viciously at Harry.

Harry ignored the look, it was like being attacked by a kitten; retaliating would just be cruel, and utterly unnecessary, it looked like a gust of wind could knock Malfoy over.

He pulled his invisibility cloak out of his pocket, it unfolded in a cascade of silvery material that Harry swung around Malfoy. He brushed his hands over Malfoy's thin shoulders, allowing himself to indulge in the briefest of touches as he did up the clasp. Because it was the last time. And he didn't want to think about what those sorts of thoughts might mean.

"We're supposed to go to the conference room, the one you met Fleur," Harry said, pulling the hood over Malfoy's head, "Stay close, alright?"

Harry waited for a few seconds, but when it was obvious no reply was coming, he started down the stairs, Malfoy's footsteps echoing softly behind him.

-

Potter took each step down the tower slowly and kept anxiously glancing behind him, even though he wouldn't be able to see anything. Draco tripped on the last tower step and had to grab the back of Potter's shirt to stay up. Potter didn't say anything, even as his expression grew more worried.

Draco kept hold of that knot of fabric, for balance, not because it gave him the tiniest bit of strength to keep walking when all he wanted was to curl into a ball on the stone floor and go back to sleep. He lost track of where they were headed, just following Potter's back, pulled along by his shirt like a child on a leash. He nearly ran into Potter when he stopped to open a door and hold it for Draco.

Draco shed the cloak as he entered, looking around the long empty room. It wasn't as ominous in the light of day, but Draco still felt a prickling creep of dread-

"Just throw it on the floor," Potter muttered sarcastically, grabbing his cloak and putting it away, "Not like it's a priceless magical heirloom or anything."

-prickling down his back, growing- Draco stumbled back to Potter grabbing his arm, pulling him back towards the door.

"Wha-! What?! Malfoy, what are you-?"

"Veela," Draco hissed between his teeth, panic in his voice, "Veela- I-I can't-"

Too weak.

The feeling was getting closer, and instead of taking the far door, it was approaching the door they had entered. Too close.

Adrenaline surged through Draco, and he bolted backwards, heading for the nearest window, grasping at the large leaded panels of thick glass. He hit one with his fist, hardly registering the jolt of pain that ran down his arm, began frantically searching his pockets for his wand-

"-foy! Malfoy!" Potter grabbed his arm and pulled him around.

"I can't. I can't." Draco panted, backing along the wall, trying to pull free.

Can't change.

The door handle began to turn, faint voices muffled through the wood.

"Can't what?" Potter demanded, scanning from one end of the room to the other over his shoulder, keeping hold of him.

"can't," Draco said, his voice lost all his strength as his back hit the wall and he pressed himself into the corner.

Can't fight.

Potter drew his wand, "Look, nothing is going to hurt you."

Draco shook his head frantically. Potter had loosened his grip, and Draco latched on his arm with both hands, holding as tightly as he could.

Can't run.

"Nothing is going to hurt you," Potter said firmly. He turned readying his wand, shielding Draco with his body as the door opened.

-

Harry's heart was thundering in his chest, expelliarmus on the tip of his tongue as he glanced around looking for better cover. It would take a moment for whoever it was to spot them, and they could use that time to run to the table thirty feet away and take cover there which would give them enough time to do something-

The door pushed opened, and Harry tensed, ready to run as-

A tall, beautiful woman stepped inside, her pale blue eyes already fixed on them with an intensity that made Harry shudder. He vaguely felt Malfoy grab the back of his jumper with both hands.

Harry raised his wand, as the woman's mouth curved into a cold, vicious smile-

"Is there something wrong?" McGonagall's voice sliced through the rising tension, "Draco Malfoy should be waiting inside."

Harry's arm dropped slightly.

"Zis is your veela?" the woman's voice lilted, laced with amusement. Her white hair was cut into a sharp asymmetrical bob. Her lips were painted a vivid plum, a droplet of colour on the monochromatic canvas of her pale robes and skin.

"Of course, Jeanne," a different woman's voice said behind Jeanne. "I can feel it as well as you can."

"If we could step inside-" McGonagall said, starting to sound impatient.

Jeanne let out a bark of laughter, "Zat won't be necessary."

"I've arranged all the appropriate paperwork with the Ministry," McGonagall said.

"We cannot take 'im," Jeanne said slowly, every word set in stone and yet somehow mildly gleeful.

"Beauxbaton specializes in the training of veela and their descendants," McGonagall said, "you can't just-,"

"We require at least a year before any fevers start to build bonds between ze students. If 'e were to come to Beauxbaton now, 'e would be torn limb from limb," Jeanne said.

"But-"

" 'e should take great care before ever deciding to travel to the continent, or 'e might never be seen again," Jeanne said, enunciating every consonant like a warning. "It is a shame, to 'ave come all zis way for nothing," she turned on her heel and left without another word.

McGonagall and the other woman were left on either side of the door frame for a brief second, before McGonagall frowned severely, and turned to follow Jeanne, "Excuse me, I will not-" her voice fading down the hallway.

"Goodness," the other woman said, stepping inside the room.

Where Jeanne had been tall and pale, she was short and her skin dark, though her hair was still as white as snow. Her robes were in Beauxbaton blue, embroidered with daisies along the hem. She was older than Jeanne, though with veela it was hard to say what her age actually was, anywhere from forty to seventy, maybe older. Her beauty had shifted from youthful to maturity, the lines around her eyes looking dignified and promising a person who smiled a lot, which she did as she looked at them, "You 'ave to forgive Jeanne, she 'as only taken over as 'ead of the flock recently, she is very protective of zem."

Harry dropped his wand to his side, but Malfoy still trembled against his back, so he was hesitant to put it away.

"My name is Margery," she pointed to herself, "Your names are?"

"Both?" Harry said.

Margery nodded.

"I'm Harry," Harry said, and pointed behind him, "This is Draco Malfoy."

"I see," Margery said thoughtfully. After a moments thought she said, "Draco, I would like to see you."

Harry took a step forward to give Malfoy room, but he stayed right behind Harry.

"Just once, s'il vous plaît," Margery insisted in a gentle voice.

Harry felt Malfoy shift his grip, holding onto Harry's shirt with only one hand and edging to the side just enough to be seen. Margery tsked and shook her head, which was all Malfoy needed to go back into hiding.

"It should not be so bad," Margery said, she looked at Harry disapprovingly, "'ave you not been caring of 'im?"

"Me?" Harry asked, pointing to himself in disbelief.

"Yes? Or someone else 'e trusts?" Margery said.

Harry stared at her. There was no way Malfoy trusted him, not when there was... someone, there had to be someone else.

"Were you not prepared for zis at all?" Margery said.

"I didn't know," Malfoy said, Harry felt Malfoy's forehead lean against his shoulder, his voice muffled by the awkward angle, "I thought my mother was fair... I thought my father would die of shame rather than be ...mixed."

"Hm," Margery said shortly, "I shall tell you what I can, before we 'ave to go." She pushed the door as far open as it would go, making sure it would stay open, then walked across the room, smoothing her robes down as she sat on the floor with a sigh.

"...Can I get you a chair?" Harry offered.

"No, zat is not ze point," Margery said, "Cast a cushioning charm, s'il vous plaît."

Harry did as she asked, softening the stone floor.

"Merci. Keep your wand out, it will 'elp," Margery said, resting her hands on her lap.

Harry looked over his shoulder, Malfoy was still holding onto him, looking pale, but was not shaking as badly.

"Are you listening? I will say zis only once." Margery cleared her throat, "Veela are very social, back when we were more beast zan man, we formed flocks with many females and one male. Ze females 'unted, the male defended 'is territory. It was... a bit like lions." Margery said.

"You don't look much like any lions I've seen," Harry said.

"Lions zat fly and like to eat people," Margery's smile showed a few too many teeth before it softened.

"Why is this happening to me?" Draco's asked weakly.

"Patience," Margery chided, and went on, "We do not trust easily. Friends and family are very important to us, especially when we fledge. We are very vulnerable, very weak. We get our allure but are too weak to protect ourselves from zose drawn to it."

Margery was silent for a moment and then asked thoughtfully, "Are...you in danger 'ere?"

"No," Malfoy said.

"He's been bullied," Harry said, "I would have stopped it sooner if I had known, but he didn't tell anyone."

"I hate you," Malfoy muttered.

Margery nodded to herself, "Zat will make it worse. Zis place is not a safe place for you."

Malfoy let out a weak humourless laugh.

Margery went on, "You need rest but cannot relax, you need sleep but are afraid, your body is trying to protect you and change at ze same time and it cannot. So it may very well kill you or damage you forever."

Harry stiffened, a thread of alarm snaking down his spine, "Kill him?"

"Perhaps," Margery said.

"So he needs someone he trusts, to do what?" Harry asked.

"Be by 'is side. Protect 'im. It is not difficult," Margery said.

Malfoy's hands twisted in the fabric of Harry's jumper, pulling it tight, "There's nothing else I can do?"

"No. You cannot change your nature. It is in your blood," Margery said.

Malfoy sagged against Harry, and he nearly lost his balance, bracing himself clumsily against the new weight.

"Why? Why is this happening to me? I-I can't be more than a quarter veela. My mother was maybe half. Why me and not her- w-why?" Malfoy asked.

Harry could feel the back of his shirt grow damp and realised with a start that Malfoy was crying.

"There is no such zing as a 'pure' veela," Margery said, her voice gentle.

"What? But that doesn't seem... right," Harry said.

"A pure veela was something closer to an' harpy than a person. We started mixing with humans a long time ago. The veela zat did not died out," Margery said. "People... zey tend to think of anyone with powers as veela."

"Because you're different," Harry said.

Margery nodded, " 'ave you heard of Mendel's punnet squares? Recessive and dominant genes?"

Harry vaguely remembered seeing a program on tv about them one summer when he'd been left in the house alone, he knew it related to dna pairs. He wondered if wizards knew about dna yet or if pea plant genes were as far as they had got so far. He glanced over his shoulder and Malfoy you managed a nod.

"He does," Harry told Margery.

"Well magic is tricky but we think zat veela abilities are recessive, most of the time. If zere are veela present in both families trees, it is more likely for ze powers to develop. Ze magic population is so small... sometimes it cannot be avoided."

Malfoy shuddered, and Harry found himself shivering in return.

"What sort of powers?" Harry asked to try and get Malfoy as much information as possible.

"Transformation; to fight, to flee, sometimes both," Margery said with a shrug.

"And the allure?" Harry said.

"For the women, yes, zey needed it for the 'unt," Margery said.

"But not for the men?" Harry asked.

Margery pursed her lips for a moment, "I do not know. You 'ave to understand...our early 'istory is made of stories passed down from mother to daughter, it is patchy, vague... what I know is veela do not 'ave a lot of boys, it is not useful. Veela are territorial, too many males mean many small territories and everyone starves, or zey fight and kill each other for bigger territories and bigger flocks. New males often killed all children of ze last male."

Harry stared at her.

"I said, it was like lions," Margery said, "and zat was before. Now we are so mixed with humans most boys zat are born to veela do not change. It has been over a 'undred years since a male veela changed and 'e 'ad a... primitive mindset, and 'ad to be dealt with."

"He was killed?" Harry said,

"It is not said so clearly in the books but, I think so," Margery said.

"Malfoy- Draco, isn't like that," Harry said, "He's not interested in- in a harem."

"You should take care regardless. I am afraid you will find most veela will attack to defend zemselves first and ask questions later," Margery said politely. She braced her hands on the floor and pushed herself to her feet, dusting off her robes, "Jeanne will want to be going soon."

"That's it? There's nothing else you can do?" Harry said.

"I am not what 'e needs, 'Arry," Margery said, "If 'e gets worse, take 'im to ze hospital. Zey can put 'im in a coma and keep 'im alive until it is done."

"A coma?" Harry repeated, "That's it?"

Margery reached into her robe pockets and drew out a tiny shrunken book with a red cover, the corners worn down to the grey board underneath, and handed it to Harry.

"Zat is a Beauxbaton book, It will return itself to ze library in three months so make sure you read it all before zen," Margery said and stepped towards the door.

"How-how long will I-?" Draco asked faintly.

Margery paused with her hand on the door, looking thoughtful as she tried to parse his question, "Ze change? It is different for everyone but ze last fever is... you will know it, and zere will be little discomfort after zat." She hesitated, looking out into the hallway and back at them, "I wish I could 'elp more but I-" she shook her head, "I wish you luck." Margery gave them a brief smile and left.

-

Draco sagged toward the floor as the veela left, his hold on Potter the only thing that kept him from collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Cut it out. I like this jumper, you know," Potter said, grabbing one of Draco's wrists and easing him to the floor where he sat much like the veela had. "I don't know if McGonagall is going to come back, so I guess I'll take you back to your room for now."

"Go away," Draco said.

"Sounds like a great plan. Loads of potential in that one," Potter said sarcastically.

He swirled his wand and Draco felt a familiar wave of magic settle over him, a lightening charm-

"You-" but before Draco could tell Potter off, he had already pulled Draco arm over his shoulder, lifted him up and hooked his other arm under Draco's knees. Potter let go of his wrist to loop it around Draco's waist as Draco clutched Potter's shoulder in a surge of panic. "Put- Put me down!"

"No. I don't think I will, little bird," Potter said, far too amused for his own good as he headed out the door.

Draco hit Potter's chest and found it as effective as hitting the window earlier and far more embarrassing. "Put me down. I'll walk," he said, trying to sound like he meant it.

"Even if you can, I don't think you should," Potter said, "Not until you've got some strength back."

Draco glared furiously at Potter's neck, refusing to dignify him with a response. He grabbed handfuls of Potter's jumper in both hands, trying to dig his fingers into the knit and stretch it out.

"I'll drop you," Potter said, shifting his hands abruptly and for a breath Draco felt a surge of vertigo.

"I'll take your ugly jumper with me," Draco said even as he loosened his grip.

"You'd be the one with a bruised arse," Potter said.

Draco frowned at Potter's collar bone, peeking out of the overstretched collar.

Potter carried him down the hallway back towards the tower.

"I'm not a little bird," Draco muttered.

"Sounded like you were one to me," Potter said. "Like a robin or-" he grinned, "a chickadee."

"A what? Making up words now because you're too stupid to-"

"It's a type of titmouse. You know, a tit," Potter said his grin growing, "A common little bird, noisy, territorial, fits you to a T."

"I am not a titmouse, and if I am you- you're a greater tit," Draco said.

"Whatever you say, chickadee," Potter said.

"You're a raven," Draco said, "or a crow-"

"Are you just picking out black birds?" Potter said. He paused at the base of the tower, huffed a sigh before he tightened his grip on Draco and started up the stairs.

"I was going to say blackbird," Draco said, he fought down a yawn, his head falling against Potter's shoulder, "they're black and common."

"Have any others?" Potter said.

"Jackdaw," Draco let his eyes close, "... an...a rook."

Potter snorted. Draco could feel Potter's heartbeat, heavy and reassuring, his voice a deep rumble caught in his chest and warm...

-

"What's a jackdaw, anyway?" Harry asked but got no response. He paused mid-step and looked down at Malfoy, fallen asleep on his shoulder, a lock of fine gold-white hair slipping across his forehead. Something in his chest squeezed tight, and Harry quickly looked away, focusing on going up that last few stairs.

With the hatch left open and fire burned out Malfoy's rooms were as cold at the air outside. Harry carried Malfoy up to the second floor, found the bedsheets already pushed back in a crumpled mess, and eased Malfoy down onto the mattress with a groan. He flexed his arms a few times, rubbing the aching muscles. Even scrawny and magically lighter than normal, Malfoy was still a pain.

Harry slid Malfoy's shoes off his feet and tossed them onto the floor before pulling the sheets and comforter over him. Malfoy didn't so much as twitch.

Harry looked around. There wasn't really much else in the room, bed, wardrobe, but no chairs and he wasn't going to climb into bed with Malfoy. That was- just, no.

He went back downstairs and threw a few logs on the fire, starting them with a charm and waiting a few minutes to make sure it caught. He closed the hatch to keep the heat in and shrunk the armchair down so he could carry it back up, resizing it beside the bed.

Harry dropped into the chair with a sigh, still trying to decide what to do. He wasn't going to let Malfoy be put into a coma, not if he could help it. He would just have to find someone else Malfoy trusted or- or he would have to-

"thought you left," Malfoy murmured.

Harry's breath caught in surprise, "Thought you were asleep."

"was," Malfoy said, curling a hand under his pillow, "starling."

Harry's heart squeezed tight in his chest. He leaned forward, "What?"

"changed my mind," Malfoy said, his voice getting softer as he drifted back to sleep, "you're a starling."

"Oh," Harry said. He sat back heavily, rubbing his face and nearly knocking his glasses off in the process. He had thought- he thought Malfoy said darling.