Dear Mr. Potter

Chapter Twenty-One

Harry burst into the Gryffindor common room out of breath but still did not hesitate to continue up the flight of stairs to the seventh year boys' dormitory. He flung open the door and then stopped at seeing all of its occupants still in bed. Harry looked at the clock and noticed it was only half past nine. Making his way silently to his best friend's bed he made sure to not wake the other boys. He really did not want to hear anymore derisive or nasty comments.

"Ron." Harry shook his friend's shoulder. Ron rolled over and mumbled. Harry shook his shoulder harder and after still no response brought his hand down hard on his friend's backside.

"Yeouch!" Ron jerked up and flipped over to sit on his abused rump. Harry laughed behind his hand.

"Shhhhh, you'll wake everyone up," Harry warned. Ron glared and rubbed at his eyes.

"Well, for some reason I'm up," he grumped. Then realization hit him. "Harry! You're here!"

"Yes. Now, quiet." Ron slapped his hands over his mouth and glanced at the other occupied beds. Other than the occasional snore all was quiet. Ron leaned over to speak quietly to Harry.

"You alright there, Harry? That bastard didn't hurt you did he?" Ron's eyes were heavy with worry.

"I'm good, Ron. Promise. But I need to talk to you and Hermione. Can you ring her?" Ron nodded and got up to rummage in his trunk. Pulling out a small cloth wrapped bundle, Ron unwrapped it and revealed a small copper bell. He shook it briefly, letting it peal for just a moment and then quickly wrapped it back up. Both boys quickly surveyed the other occupants, but again, no one stirred.

"Okay, give me a minute to get dressed and I'll meet you down in the common room. Knowing Hermione, she was already up and finishing this weekend's homework when she heard the bell." Ron rolled his eyes, grabbed some clothes out of the trunk and made for the bathroom. Harry pulled clothes out of his own truck and quickly dressed. He snuck down the stairs again and sure enough, not a moment later, Hermione appeared. When she saw who was waiting for her she flew down the last remaining steps.

"Harry! Are you all right? Should I get Madame Pomfrey?" she fussed.

"No, Hermione, I'm fine. Really. I only have a few minutes before I've got to meet Draco." He pulled over to a quiet corner and they both sat in opposite armchairs. "Have you read anything about Lustrum?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, just last night I finished a well written essay that was published in one of the books we got. What would you like to know?"

"Everything."

"Ok, well, it's pretty much how Malfoy described it. It's the mating season for the Indago. It varies on the actual day, but the consensus is that it always begins in the first week of October. This is to allow the offspring to be born in spring. Which is most likely a throwback to the Dagodine so that food was plentiful for their young."

"Hermione! You're sounding like a text book again." Ron came around and flopped down into the other empty chair. Harry quickly intervened when he saw Hermione round on Ron with death in her eyes.

"Ok, about the 'young' part. Tell me about that bit."

Hermione sent one glare at Ron but quickly refocused on the subject. "Right. Just like most, um, animals the mating season is the time in which the young are conceived."

"So does that mean that I could, uh, get knocked up at that time and only at that time?" Harry asked with a wince.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. That is the time in which your body becomes fertile. Although, this close to Lustrum, you may not have been exposed to enough pheromones to stimulate your body's fecundity." Getting confused faces, Hermione tried again. "In other words, your body, as of three days ago, was still considered sexually immature in Indago terms. Since Draco has," she scrunched her face in dismay, "initiated you in sexual matters, your body has now been given the key that will enable it to do what it's meant to. But since it just started receiving the correct chemicals to induce it to fruitfulness, it may not be at peak levels. Which means, in simple terms, Malfoy may end up just shooting blanks."