One of them said, in a tinselly little voice, 'He isn't as ugly as most of them, is he?'
'His hair is just like ours,' said another.
'I'm awfully hungry,' said yet another, a statement that caused Draco to jump back a foot.
'There is one way to tell for sure,' said the head veela, and stepping towards an astonished Draco, she seized him and kissed him firmly on the lips.
It was more like being caught in a hurricane or some kind of freak meteorological occurrence than any kiss he'd experienced or imagined before. He seemed to hear a raging wind tearing through his head, felt himself spinning, was blinded by whirling streaks of silver. In the back of his mind, he heard Ron saying: what're they going to do, kiss us to death? Chalk one up for Weasley, he thought, and wondered if he might be going to black out.
The veela released him, and the sickening whirling-howling tempest stopped abruptly.
She smiled. 'He is one of us,' she announced, and the other veela, giving shrieks of delight, fell on him like a consortium of mad aunts
— pulling at his hair, stroking the lapels of his leather jacket, pinching at any exposed skin they could reach, and 'Ow! Who bit me?' yelled Draco indignantly, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle away from their grasping hands. There must not be many part-veela men, he thought, slapping a hand that was reaching for his belt buckle.
Wish somebody'd TOLD me that before. 'Hey! Stop that!' His voice, steady for two full years now, chose that moment to rocket up several octaves. 'Hands off!' he squeaked warningly. 'Ow — okay, that really isn't necessary… Leave my hair alone! Calm down for God's sake, there's plenty of Draco Malfoy to go around, you know — '
He broke off as the veela released him and stepped back, suddenly silent. The head veela stared at him in surprise. 'You're Draco Malfoy?' she said.
Draco was floored. Of course, he'd always dreamed that there would come a day when he would be so famous that the mere mention of his name would silence a room full of people. He just hadn't realized it had already happened.
'You should have said so,' said the head veela, sounding indignant.
'I — should have — what?' Draco spluttered inelegantly, but the veela, looking haughty, had already begun stalking away.
Draco stared after them, his mouth open in shock. I have absolutely no idea what just happened, he thought to himself. No idea whatsoever. One day I'll find out what that was all about.
But not right now.
He began edging away towards the tower walls, half expecting that one of the veela would dash over to try to stop him. But not one of them did. They seemed to have forgotten he was even there.
He continued to edge until he could no longer see them. The he paused, straightened up, and glanced around.
And felt his heart thump in surprise.
He recognized where he was. The gray, tired-looking tower with its burnt, black walls — the dead trees — this was what he had seen in his mind when he had used the Epicyclical charm. He must be very close to where Hermione was. He began to walk more quickly, excited, skirting the wall, turning a corner, and as the familiar- looking half-burned tower came into view he suddenly heard Harry's voice in his head, Malfoy, you will come back?
Draco began to walk more slowly. Had Harry meant come back in one piece? Or had he meant come back when you've gotten rid of the veela so that we can go on together? He knew, of course. He knew exactly what Harry had meant. Harry wouldn't want to be left out of any part of this, would resent being abandoned to stand outside the walls while Draco went to look for Hermione. Something he had no real right or business doing.
I should go back, he thought. I should go back and get Ron and Harry. Harry's face swam in front of his eyes suddenly, wan and anxious it he had been the last few days.
Ouch!
He had walked into the wall of the castle. He stepped back, rubbing his elbow where he'd banged it against the stone, and looked up. He was standing directly under a tumbledown wall, the north side of which was blackened as if it had been burned in a fire. He felt a thrill of recognition.
I'm here.
Halfway up the wall, he could see a square barred window. He could feel the Charm around his neck, pulsing hot and cold against his skin. She was here; she was close by. If he closed his eyes, he could see her face. He could see himself rescuing her, see her looking up at him, telling him he was amazing, brave.
Forget it, he told himself sharply. She chose Harry. She's not going to be pleased about being rescued, either, especially not by me —
she's far too independent, she's not going to throw her arms around me and tell me I've been brave. She'll probably just kick me in the ankle.
You'll come back, right? said Harry's voice in his head.
Who cares what he meant? said another, sharper voice. Harry always gets to be the hero. Wins every game. Gets the girl. It'll always be that way; it'll never change. He won the last round; this won't make any real difference to him. But this is your chance to show you're better. Better or just as good.
He raised his hand without thinking, pointed at the barred window.
'Accio!'
There was a ripping, tearing sound, and the bars wrenched themselves free of the stone that held them and flew at him with such force that he jumped aside, letting them thunk loudly into the grass. He looked around wildly, but the gardens were as empty as before.
