Chapter 5: The Art of Seduction, a Veela's Guide

Marguerite strode along the corridor, running her fingers through her long chocolate brown hair, teasing it just a little. Normally, she would pull it back into Beauxbaton's signature bun, but today she thought the free waves would suit the image she was going for. Her makeup was usually minimal, though today she applied even less than normal. She did a brief final check in her mirror, then tapped gently against the coils of a stray curl, pressing it into place.

Marguerite Valentine's mother had taught her that, while Hunting, there were three things you needed to consider. The first was your prey's level of renown, and the second was the Galleons in his bank account.

And in that regard, there was only one person in all of Hogwarts that she ought to aim for.

A pair of Gryffindor boys passed her in the hallway. One of them immediately turned his gaze to her, eyes wide, full of fear and longing, as if afraid of what her beauty might do to him. The other boy shot her a nasty glare.

Of course, there was always the third thing to consider, and on that point, she was undecided. However, it would all be clear as soon as she made her move. She'd been watching him carefully since arriving at the school, and if her calculations were correct, she would have him eating out of her palm by, oh, say half past noon.

Some would call her evil, a maneater of sorts. Well, they didn't understand the cultural importance of the fine art of seduction. One could spend years at the craft, and still be a beginner. She was a Veela, and like it or not, this was her way of life.

Marguerite found the door she was looking for, and she stood outside, squaring her shoulders. Once more, she practiced the perfect smile for the occasion: awkward, nervous, with just a little blushing. She rarely needed to do this much prep work. It was nice to have a challenge every once in a while.

She raised her fist and knocked three quick, yet gentle raps. About three seconds later, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, answered, "The door's open."

Marguerite pushed open the door, glancing around at all the things in the room, before her eyes finally settled on Harry Potter. He was sitting at the desk, four books open beside him, with a quill writing furiously on a yellow notepad.

"Oh, excuse me," she said. "I'm so sorry if I'm disturbing your work. I can come back later?"

She let the question hang in the air, while Harry motioned for the quill to stop writing.

"Err…it's fine." He slowly stood up from the desk. "What do you want?"

She smiled, and said, "Well, I heard that there was a scientist group here, and that you had a very large library. And, well, I got curious. I've loved reading since I was little, but I've never read a science book before. Do you mind showing me a few that might be easy to start with?"

Harry cleared his throat, and then motioned with his hand. "Of course, anyone who loves reading is welcome here. Come this way."

Marguerite followed just a step behind him, making sure not to crowd into his space. Meanwhile, she took a moment to collect information about her prey.

Movement is quick and a bit jerky—very skinny, high metabolism, possible neuroses or sleep disorders. He reached the back of the room, his eyes scanning the bookshelf. The room is undecorated, though well used, and combined with his extreme focus and lack of concern for surroundings…oh, his sensing side is low, alright. Which could either make him impervious to touch, or weak to it.

Also, he can spot manipulation from a mile away. At least…he thinks he can.

Scanning the bookshelf, Harry pulled off an unassuming paperback volume, handing it to her.

In her mind, she was wrinkling her nose at how Muggle this book seemed. No moving pictures, not even a hard leather cover. They could have at leastembellished it with a little gold leaf. But that reaction wouldn't do.

She accepted the book with grace, and then leafed through it, scanning the table of contents.

"Who's Stephen Hawking?" she asked. "I've never heard of him."

"He's a very famous Muggle scientist," said Harry, who had turned his attention back to the bookshelf. "His book is a good start, and you can learn a lot from him. Here's another book by Richard Feynman that's on the lighter side. And since you're just getting started, you have to look at Charles Darwin's book On Evolution." He dropped another book in her hands. "But, hang on, I need to give you some books on some more evolved psychology, and uggh, let's just ignore Freud."

Marguerite stared at the growing, heavy pile in her arms. Lack of observance of surroundings x2. Also, lack of empathy.

She let out a chuckle. "Wow, you have so many science books. Did you read them all?"

"Most of them," said Harry. "Unless it was a copy, or something annoying, like Thomas Edison's biography."

"Do you think this is enough to start with?" she asked, with curious uncertainty. "It'll probably take me a while to read these."

He dropped about 10 more books onto the table. "If you read all 15, you'll have a good foundation in the sciences. There's something for physics, chemistry, philosophy, social science, rational thinking, and the scientific method."

"Wow, science contains so many disciplines," she said, tapping her chin. "It's like how we have charms, potions, transfiguration, divination, and each is a little different. But in the end, it's all magic."

Harry nodded, his chin jerking up and down. "I suppose you could say that. Though science has its place in all realms of the world, including magic."

"Oh, it does," she said, setting down her pile of books. "Wizards are well versed in Aristotle, and we're just getting into Newton. We're 800 years behind, I'm afraid, but these books will help with that."

She let her finger trail against the books, glancing at the covers as she watched Harry from the corner of her eye. She still couldn't quite be sure about number 3, but he hadn't kicked her out yet, or said any nasty, biting remarks. That was a good sign.

From her research into the academic journals (and, of course, the AoS), she knew that intellectuals tended to be 25% more likely than Quidditch seekers to fall madly in love on the first attempt, but a good 15% of those required exceptional methods to achieve this goal. It was time to kick it up a notch.

She cracked open the first book, as if to read it. She paused for about 20 seconds, scanning the page for a big word. "It's interesting," she said. "But, I'm sorry, English isn't my native language. What does this word mean?"

She came to stand closer to Harry, leaning just barely against his shoulder.

"Zeitgeist is a German word that means, 'Spirit of the times.'"

"Ahh," said Marguerite, edging a bit closer, "And this word?"

Harry glanced at it, then turned away. "Agape. That's Latin for a specific type of love that asks for nothing in return."

"Ahh, I have heard of this," said Marguerite, her voice hinting at warmth. "There are many kinds of love, like for family and friends, and then there's Eros…" She gave those words just a touch of suggestion, then turned back to the book. Well, that didn't work. Rethink, come on, what are you missing? She spied a Rubik's cube on the table, and suddenly all the clues came together.

Be a fun, challenging puzzle he has to solve.

But how? Well…there was one thing she'd read in section H3 of the AoS she could try...

Marguerite flipped a page. "I think these books will teach me a lot of interesting things, but…" She laughed self-consciously. "I can't believe I was so nervous to visit you!"

"Nervous?" He studied her. "Why?"

"Well, I heard things about you Harry…that you're smart, and your science is esoteric, but…" She risked a coy smile. "This was easy."

He paused, unmoving for several seconds, and then he coughed, turning away. "Well, there's more where that came from, if you want a challenge."

Gotcha. She smiled. "Yes, I do appreciate those. Maybe if I study all these books, I'll even be smart enough to join your science group."

"So, umm…about that," said Harry. "How will you have the time? Aren't you supposed to be preparing for the Triwizard Tournament?"

She shrugged, allowing a flirtatious smile, letting her glamour go into full effect. "I feel like learning science can only help my chances, if you don't mind teaching your school's rival."

She risked another coy glance into his eyes and was shocked to see a stony glare. He didn't just look suspicious, he looked…like an angry dark wizard. It was so cutting and cold that she almost shivered.

"Ahh…I'm sorry if I said something to offend you," she said, in her most innocent voice, laced with fear. Usually, this drove men to their knees trying to comfort her.

"You didn't," Harry said, and then turned back to gather the books. "The next meeting is on Friday at 3:00. Have you a pouch or something to carry these books?"

Irritation coursed through Marguerite's veins. So, this was it then? All that prep work, all that studying and effort, and he was just going to send her off without even one declaration of eternal love? She ought to just go fully into her angry Veela side and let him have it.

But she did have one more trick. It might be cheating, but she didn't care. She was going to get a reaction from him, no matter what.

"I must give you something in return," she said, pulling a small bottle from her blue silk sachet, and pouring the contents into a tiny silver cup. "My school is known for many things, including restorative draughts. Have you heard of the Ambrosia of Beauxbatons?"

"I've heard rumours," he said, accepting the proffered drink like it was made of fiendfyre.

Marguerite laughed. "Don't be nervous, it won't hurt you. The Ambrosia is known for its healing qualities, as well as giving a boost of energy and wisdom. I noticed you were working here alone, so please, accept this gift to refresh your strength." She poured her own glass and raised it. "To a new adventure in science."

She downed her cup, and watched Harry lift his own to his lips. He drained it and returned it to her.

"Why...thank you, I do feel better," he said, raising a palm to his chest. "In fact, I feel…something wonderful. What exactly did you…?"

She smiled slowly, adopting the stance of a queen surveying a submissive peon.

He rushed past her, and crashed into the books on the table. "Oh, science, my one true love! How can I sing your praises! Look, Marguerite, isn't it just beautiful?"

"Umm…what?"

"Ahh, would you just look at these words!" He flipped the pages with manic energy. "So honest, and yet so poignantly beautiful! Oh naked truth, how can you be so lovely and fragrant!" He pressed his nose to the book, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.

Marguerite's face screwed up in disgust and confusion. Okay, so…her potion shouldn't have worked on an inanimate object. More to the point, it shouldn't have worked on something which couldn't give him the potion in the first place. She could chalk it up to potion malfunction, but her Amorentia was of premiere Parisian quality. That left only one option.

Marguerite's hand rested on the table, steadying herself against the magnitude of her failure, and her little finger just barely touching the Stephen Hawking book. Harry scrambled over to her and said, "Marguerite, I do say, your ardent interest in this particular science book is doing unmentionable things to me. I…dare I ask…shall we engage in a ménage à trois?" He came closer, whispering desperately. "It'll be just you, me and the old men of science."

Marguerite screeched, balled up her fists, and punched Harry Potter.

Romilda Vane couldn't help feeling a bit proud for knowing Marguerite would be rejected, even though, in retrospect, it wasn't that hard to figure out. It was Harry Potter, after all.

"He's crazy!" Marguerite lamented, banging her forehead against the Gryffindor common room table.

"I told you," said Ginny Weasley, hands on her hips. "At least when you offered to learn about science, he didn't port key you off to the North Pole and force you to do transfiguration experiments. Only to drag you to the jungle for the same thing, where it was dark and there were noises." Ginny shivered.

Romilda was watching the two of them, shaking her head. "And I told you both that you should be aiming higher. The only one who should be trying to romance a 5th year is a 2nd year. At our age, it's 7th year or nothing."

"Or how about, just someone who doesn't publicly proclaim every year that Quidditch is stupid?" suggested Ginny. "It's like he has nothing better to do than look down on everyone else. But we're not the ones causing chaos!"

"Exactly," said Romilda. "Don't worry, Marguerite. There are plenty of men out there who are more agreeable and have deeper wallets than the Virgin of Hogwarts."

"Virgins normally like me," muttered Marguerite. "How did I get him so wrong? I was sweet, intelligent, I pretended I liked science…" She banged her fist on the table. "And how did he detect my potion? It is much higher quality than that Zonkos drivel."

Dean Thomas entered the common room, towelling off his hair from a shower. His eyes slid over to observe them, a small frown of disapproval forming.

"Don't expect reason from General Chaos," said Romilda. "His logic system is some made-up thing that only he understands."

"Basically," said Ginny. "He's a complete loon."

Glancing over, Romilda saw Dean's face resolving into Righteous Disapproval. 3…2…1…

Dean sighed. "Why do you girls always have to be so hard on him? He's weird sometimes, but his heart's in the right place. And Ginny, you knew Harry was recruiting volunteers for his transcontinental experiments. You shouldn't complain, since he did give you a twelve page full disclosure agreement."

"I was 12! I didn't know what was going on!"

Dean shrugged. "Well, from now on, just don't work with him. All I know is, he didn't mean to hurt you."

Ginny folded her arms. "Whatever."

Romilda was feeling a bit irritated for Ginny's sake. Just because Harry didn't mean to hurt Ginny, doesn't mean that he wasn't responsible. Of course, Romilda also knew that Ginny used to have a huge thing for Harry, which may or may not be the reason she still wanted to be angry.

"And as for whatever happened between you and Harry, Marguerite," said Dean, with a heavy sigh. "All I can say is, you would have been better off just joining Harry's research group. I know you like math, and you're smarter than you let on."

"That's…true," said Marguerite, heaving a sigh. "But it's impossible! If I join the group, no one would get any work done."

There was a moment of silence as everyone realized that, considering the gender make up of his group, this was probably true.

"Well, I'd still work with you," said Dean, pulling up a chair beside her, his towel draped around his neck.

"I don't know…" said Marguerite uncertainly.

"Come on," he said, with a smile. "Isn't there some magical item you'd like to make for yourself?"

"Ha! Easy question." Marguerite beamed, leaning close. "We make a Philosopher's Stone so we can transfigure all the money we want. Then, we use it to pay other people to do our research for us!"

When Marguerite left the room, Harry stood in silence, the invisible ambrosia dampening his robes. Then as he cleaned his robes, re-shelved the books and treated his black eye, he contemplated his brush with utter destruction, trying to figure out why he wasn't feeling as enraged as he'd expected.

Harry had heard about Marguerite's Veela abilities, but he'd dismissed them as being a non-issue. Based on his observations, her powers only affected those who regularly drooled over hot girls. Admittedly, that was most boys in his year. In Harry's case, most of the popular girls had as much ability to charm him as an ingrown toenail. Even if they were beautiful, they were too vapid to hold his interest for long.

And yet, in spite of all that, Marguerite had emotionally impaled him. She had seemed kind, intelligent and most damaging of all, curious. He couldn't defend against that; it was a rationalist's Kryptonite. So when she'd tried to get close, he'd had to slam the door against his instincts. No way he would rush headlong into something he hadn't obsessively analysed. Still, if Harry was honest with himself, he probably would have spent the afternoon scrutinizing every aspect of their meeting (in layman's terms, daydreaming), if she hadn't shattered the illusion by offering him tainted ambrosia.

Harry felt he should be angry, that he was entitled to storm off and complain about his brush with doom, but the emotions weren't quite lining up to his expectations.

What is this? muttered Gryffindor. We should be furious at this treatment.

Indeed, it was horrible, said his Inner Critic. But I've suspended the anger mechanisms because I think we're about to happen upon an important realization.

Harry pondered this, feeling increasingly uncomfortable the longer he came up empty.

I really hope you're not trying to imply that beautiful women are untrustworthy.

Ha. No. Think harder.

I am, but all I can think is that there is a special place in hell for people who manipulate people emotionally… Harry paused. Crap. I do that too, don't I?

Yes, sighed his Inner Critic. You do.

Harry wanted to ignore this revelation, but he was aware that people were often annoyed by the flaws in others that reflect their own worst traits. And he had to admit, being manipulated and feeling out of control was not fun. He could now understand why certain students had yelled at him during the fallout of his schemes. Oh sure, he could say he'd done it for their own good, or because it was necessary to fulfill a plan, and that would probably be correct. Still, it said something disconcerting about his character that he'd never considered their feelings as valid data, except now that his own tactics had been used against him.

The realization was sobering. All things considered, he probably deserved everything that happened to him, including the monstrous black eye that was blooming under his ice pack.

First things first, declared Hufflepuff. We should apologize to everyone we've hurt.

Are you kidding? said Ravenclaw. We're terrible at apologies. We'll make everything worse somehow, especially since most of them still aren't aware they were manipulated. Slytherin nodded along silently. There's got to be another way to fix this.

Well… said Gryffindor. Why don't we, oh I don't know, stop manipulating people?

Now, hold on, interrupted Slytherin. We can't just put a blanket ban on one of the fundamental aspects of plotting. Our mission involves a certain amount of delicate strategy, and sometimes those strategies require the aid of others. It's not like we manipulate situations in order to hurt people. But sometimes we need them to help us and not know they're doing it."

Rationalization, blah blah, said Gryffindor. By the way, do you know who else manipulates a lot? Dark Wizards.

You know what, let's do things the Gryffindor way, countered Slytherin. Every time we encounter a problem, we'll ride off on a rocket or punch someone in the jaw. Now, if we're all in agreement this is a terrible idea, why don't you all just relax and trust me to know what I'm doing?

Err…Gryffindor's got a point, said Ravenclaw. I'm not against plotting as a rule, but I'm noticing that we default into manipulation, even when we don't need to.

Correct, said Harry's System Administrator. There's a flaw in our system checking abilities. Fix it before I have a major meltdown.

Harry winced. The last time that happened, he was stuck in the library for hours, researching the likelihood of plant sentience.

Wait, I think I've got it, said Hufflepuff. What if we just make a promise to ask Hermione before we do anything that triggers our, "Maybe I'm acting like a Dark Lord" alarm?

Harry paused, considering the idea with trepidation.

Do we have to? asked Slytherin. It sounds like babysitting.

Yes, said Ravenclaw. And don't pretend like you didn't just imagine Hermione's reaction to our last escapade. We need oversight.

Fine, sighed Slytherin. We'll abide by her counsel for now, until our system checking abilities are back in order.

Right, said Ravenclaw. And until we're good at apologizing, how about we just agree to feel really sorry and try not to manipulate too much?

Good luck with that, muttered Gryffindor.

Extra scene: What Happened in Year 4, Really

Harry woke up to a strange feeling. It was going to be one of those days, he could already tell. He sat up, and examined the note hanging off his bed.

As a reward for completing the last quest, you unlocked the bonus round! You are stuck in a ROMANCE. Congratulations!

Harry groaned. He did not want to spend his Sunday morning on a dating game, he had work to do. Still, he had long since learned to stop fighting the insanity of this year. "Who are my romance options?"

The note morphed into a list, each name including a moving picture. Hermione, Luna, Neville, Blaise…eww.

Harry blinked in shock. "Professor Quirrell?"

"You can call me Tom," the moving picture said with a wink.

Harry gaped at this blatant sacrilege.

"Come now, boy, don't be bashful," said Professor Quirrell. "What happens in 4th year stays in 4th year. Now, if you'll just come down to the Dungeons, I'll show you the true Secret of Slytherin—"

Harry ripped the paper, burned it, and tossed it on the ground.

"Whelp, that does it. Today's a wash, I'm going back to bed."

Author's Notes (that kinda don't belong in this chapter, but the word count is short, so whatever):

Hermione's Powers and What Really Happened to Voldemort:

The ending to Methods of Rationality explains how Hermione gained her powers. It's not explicitly stated in this text how it happened, so I'll just spell it out for new readers. Major spoilers for the ending of HPMOR:

After Hermione was murdered by Voldemort's troll, Harry took her body and preserved it. Voldemort later used dark rituals to give her body super powers, made her immortal AND created a horcrux for her. The reason? He wanted her to stay alive to keep Harry from destroying the world. Harry then went on to kill 36 death eaters and imprison Voldemort in a transfigured ring. #justdarklordthings

Before Voldemort's defeat, Harry was forced to take a vow not to destroy the world, which included a provision that he discuss all of his potentially reckless plans with Hermione. This is somewhat alluded to in this chapter, though that part of the vow always made me squirm.

I'm not making any promises for if/how I'll change events for this story, but you should know how they occurred in the last one.

And in case you're confused about Quirrell's identity, he's Voldemort. The Dark Lord masqueraded as Professor Quirrell for an entire year, became Harry's mentor, and convinced Harry that he wasn't evil right until the point he drew a gun on him.