Harry Potter and the Society of Orpheus and Bacchus

Chapter 15: The Pretender (Part II)

Beneath the floating candles and amidst the golden dishes of pork roast, aubergine gratin and boysenberry brandy sauce, the excited post-match chatter filled the Great Hall. Easily half the discussion, however, was upstaged by talk of Eamon Mulroney´s disappearance and speculation about what he might have been doing in the Forest the night before. Ever since his return from the hospital wing, Mulroney had reportedly been rather tight-lipped about his whereabouts. Ron seemed fairly certain that it had something to do with a girl. "Almost always does with that one," he said archly, reaching for the gravy boat.

Harry´s eyes tracked to the Hufflepuff table where Eamon ate quietly, reciprocating a few admiring glances from the Hufflepuff girls with a tentative smile. The signs of his cuts and bruising had all but vanished and he looked perfectly healthy, if slightly paler than usual. Though the last bit may have had something to do with the fact that Millicent Bulstrode, flanked by Pansy Parkinson and Valentina Rupp, had just materialised at his elbow bearing a small tray of wriggling green Gummy Serpents. Mulroney politely accepted the Slytherin girls´ get well offering. Giggling, the little gaggle returned back to its table and Harry was amused to find Mulroney raise his sandy brows in a flirtatious, conspiratorial wink for someone at the Gryffindor table. Harry craned his neck over his plate... another girl maybe... someone on this side... som--Ginny?

He blinked incredulously, as Ginny Weasley, further down the Gryffindor table gave the Hufflepuff a bashful wave. Harry instantly regretted being quite so curious. He turned back to his plate, marvelling that such a small thing could annoy him this way.

Harry barely touched his food, forcing himself to conduct an analysis of the day´s events. Professor White sat at the staff table in animated conversation with Professor Flitwick, without so much as a hint of her fearful countenance from earlier in the afternoon. Harry couldn´t believe that she could be capable of hurting anyone, though he´d assumed that she had quite an impressive military background--what Deputy Head of the International Wizarding Intelligence Council wouldn´t? But could she have been lying about getting caught in Hagrid´s Erkling Trap? Did she know anything about what happened to Mulroney? Or had she turned pale at the scene because she was simply squeamish? That´s ridiculous. She´s the Dark Arts instructor; they´re not supposed to be squeamish... Harry frowned into his pumpkin juice and arched a dark brow. Well, on the other hand... there was Professor Quirrell...

"Harry, you´ve got to eat something," said Ron, sounding conspicuously like Mrs Weasley as he piled more mash onto Harry´s plate. It was extra buttery and boasted bits of parsley and spring onion, which Harry much preferred to his Aunt Petunia´s Ready-Mix Potato Powder, but he wasn´t hungry and told Ron so.

Ron was nonplussed. "But what´ll happen if they decide to hold a rematch on Monday?" he insisted. "You´ll need all the strength you can get if you have to go up against those 220s again."

"I don´t think we need to be so worried about that. Not after that anti-invisibility charm Hermione came up with today."

The boys cast glances at Hermione, sitting a few places away next to Parvati and Lavender. She hadn´t so much as tutted at them since her earlier outburst about something Mulroney had been whistling. In all honesty, Harry hadn´t the faintest idea why a simple tune might upset Hermione, yet she seemed somehow convinced that he and Ron were keeping secrets from her. He shrugged at Ron. There was almost no appeasing Hermione.

Almost.

"Oh, yeah," said Ron in a loud voice. "That was a stroke of real genius, that charm." A hint of a smirk tugged at Hermione´s lips. Ron winked at Harry. "But... I don´t think any of us´ll be able to remember it. Do you remember how it goes?"

"Sure I do. It was Apa--ow!" Harry reached under the table to rub where Ron´s shoe had collided with his shin. Ron widened his eyes at Harry and jerked his head pointedly in Hermione´s direction. "Ohhhh... right," said Harry, cottoning on. "It was, erm... Aparatio Testimento, wasn´t it?"

"No, no, no, I don´t think so," said Ron innocently, "I´m fairly sure it was... Paramecium Intelligentsia--"

A gurgled sputtering startled the table as Hermione chortled into her pumpkin juice. She dabbed her chin with a napkin. "It´s Aparecium Vestimenta!" she cried. "Honestly! The entire stadium only said it about three thousand times today." She rolled her eyes and giggled. "Paramecium Intelligentsia..."

As she turned away, Ron gave Harry a grateful wink.

Over the lively din of conversation, a rusty hinge squealed as the staff door at the rear of the hall swung open. Dumbledore hitched up his crimson robes (colourfully embroidered, Harry noted, with what resembled a London street map), stepped up to the Headmaster´s chair and glanced over his shoulder to address a figure following close behind who looked like--

"Hey!" whispered Dean excitedly. "It´s Professor Lupin!"

Dean´s pronouncement swept through the Hall in waves of astonished whispers.

Dumbledore´s eyes swept the Hall, which had fallen uncharacteristically silent. "I can see that our visitor this evening needs no introduction for most of you," he said with a twitch of his beard. "But for the sake of the first and second years, let me say that we have the distinct honour of having as our guest Professor Remus Lupin, former Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor at this school. Some of you may see Professor Lupin in our library from time to time this year as he conducts research for presentation to the Ministry of Magic."

Professor Snape glared at Lupin with such loathing that the Potions Master´s features looked like they might implode. For a few flustered moments, no one moved.

Then, an enthusiastic whoop! pierced the silence. Harry, craning his neck toward the far end of the Gryffindor table, goggled at the source.

Neville.

The boy earned several stunned looks from his fellow Gryffindors. But after an astonished silence, he began to clap. Shortly, Neville´s applause bubbled into a smattering, then welled up to a trickle that ran to a deafening flood as, at table after table, students jumped to their feet, clapping, stamping and cheering to rock the Hall with a standing ovation for their old Dark Arts instructor. Only parts of the Slytherin table remained staunchly rooted to their benches.

Harry´s face split into a wide grin at the sight of a surprised, but relieved-looking Remus Lupin, who blushed and stepped up to the high table. Dumbledore´s eyes all but disappeared behind his spectacles as he smiled, beckoning Lupin to take the empty chair between himself and the current Dark Arts instructor. As Lupin turned to greet the applauding Professor White, a large black muzzle wedged itself abruptly between them and two heavy paws gripped the table.

Sirius! Harry elbowed Ron excitedly as Dumbledore brought a teaspoon to his goblet for silence.

Before the murmuring amongst the students crescendoed further, the Headmaster continued. "I have a couple of additional announcements to make," he said gravely. "The first is most important." The old wizard paused and looked sternly into the sea of expectant faces. "I must reiterate that no student shall enter the Dark Forest without the supervision of a member of staff, or my express permission. Students in violation of this regulation... will likely suffer a more gruesome and terrible fate than any that we at the school would ever devise." The Headmaster looked pointedly above the rim of his spectacles at Eamon Mulroney, who nodded contritely. Dumbledore winked and turned back to the rest of the Hall, continuing in his warm, raspy voice.

"I am also happy to announce that Hogwarts will have the honour of hosting a centre for the international exchange of art and culture that has not been in existence in Great Britain for the past several centuries. It gives me great pleasure this evening to announce that Hogwarts has been approved to revive the British chapter of the Society of Orpheus and Bacchus."

"The what?" Ron muttered.

"Shh!" Hermione leaned forward. "Wait. I think I´ve read about this."

"The four founders of this school, the namesakes of each of your houses, were all members of the Society at one stage or another during their apprenticeships. For centuries, membership in the Society was universally considered to be the pinnacle of every student´s magical education. Any witch or wizard worth his or her salt would have been expected to be schooled in the cultural activities the Society offered--including theatre and dance--as well as the more competitive pursuits, such as advanced duelling and mock military combat. Membership in the inner circle, the Sentinels, is greatly selective, however, and it was traditionally these witches and wizards who were short-listed to represent their schools in the Triwizard Tournament. Over the years, the shared studies of art and the humanities--under the aegis of the Society--were responsible for much international cross-over in the magical arts employed in the present day, from politics to medicine to weaponry.

"As the history of the Society is long and varied, I shall leave the particulars to the Society´s moderators, who will be available to respond to any questions you may have. Further announcements will follow this week with details of who is eligible and how to join."

Hermione nudged Harry and nodded at Ron. Having edged slowly away from Lavender and Parvati, she had crossed the divide on the long bench.

"I think we should join," she said.

Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. "Well, Dumbledore did mention there´d be advanced duelling," he mused.

"Tuh." Ron wrinkled his nose sceptically and shrugged, turning back to his dessert. His mouth twisted wryly. "Maybe. But it´s not all that exciting, is it? I mean, why would anyone--anyone who isn´t you, Hermione--want to sign up for more lessons that we don´t even get grades for?"

**********

Remus Lupin reminded her of something, she decided. Bethany White studied him over the rim of her water goblet, struggling to remember what. His slender, calloused hand held back a threadbare sleeve as the other poured wine first into the Headmaster´s glass and then his own. With his greying forelocks errantly drooping over his eyes, she realised with some amusement that he reminded her of a cuddly toy Crup that she and Claire had played with as children. It had had gentle, warm brown eyes set in its shaggy canine face. And no matter how worn or bedraggled its appearance, the Crup never lost the kindness in its eyes, which was why, Bethany assumed, she had formed an attachment to it in the first place.

Remus blinked at the Headmaster as Dumbledore resumed his seat.

"I thought the Society of Orpheus and Bacchus was just a myth," he said.

"Oh, no," said Dumbledore, manoeuvring a bite of lemon tart into his beard ("Mmm. Magnificent!"). "Though the Society had, for some time, fallen into disrepute."

Remus frowned curiously. "Disrepute?"

"Oh, yes," said the Headmaster pleasantly, taking up his teacup and settling back to tell his tale, "once the Sentinels decided that their specialised knowledge could be wielded for their own benefit, for the domination of the wizarding communities in their native nation states. Thereafter, the Society´s activities were banned, but by then, the rule of magical law held little value in their eyes. In secret, the Sentinels forged alliances with dark creatures, who became their mercenaries--a brotherhood of plunderers, taking down city after wizarding city, forcing the local governments to do their bidding."

Remus shared a look with Bethany. She shifted in her seat.

"It was a time of great darkness, one so long ago that it is rarely remembered, much less spoken of--long before even my time. Those dark alliances, reportedly extinct, are nevertheless rumoured to exist to this very day--to all eyes dormant, but lying in wait." Dumbledore paused, wrinkling his brow. "The Ministry today considers those rumours to be merely scare mongering and not based in actual fact. Which is why they have approved the proposal to reinstate the Society´s activities--the legitimate ones, of course--"

The Headmaster stopped abruptly as a hulking shadow swept across the table.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, I think you ought to come to the owlery. Straightaway, if possible."

Bethany turned to see the tattered length of a hunting jacket, fastened together with a holster that jangled with an odd assortment of knives and tools. The caretaker turned his head, obliquely peering at her through a limp curtain of white and grey strands slanting across narrowed eyes. She met his stare evenly and Filch quickly turned away. Argus Filch had been avoiding her ever since their altercation over the dead owls in the Forest.

"What is it, Argus?" said Dumbledore, resting his napkin on the table.

Filch´s eyes cut over to Bethany. He grimaced and bent to whisper in the Headmaster´s ear. Bethany watched Dumbledore´s face, impassive beneath the long white beard. He gave nothing away, only nodded grimly.

"Very well." The Headmaster rose to follow Filch and smiled apologetically at Bethany and Remus. "If you will excuse me... Remus, when you return tomorrow, please stop by my office. I believe Madam Pince and I will have some more of the materials you requested."

A small wrinkle appeared between Lupin´s brows but vanished just as quickly. "Oh! Yes, of course," he said. "Thank you."

The Headmaster and Filch had just disappeared through the staff door and Bethany was about to ask what materials he needed when she was distracted by a nudge at her knee. At her feet, she found the great black dog following her movements with its pale blue stare. It had that shell-shocked, fascinated gaze of someone seeing an apparition.

"Tu veux un petit bout, alors?" she cooed, holding out a morsel of the lemon tart.

Though the dog´s head jerked in surprise, its ears perked up instantly. She grinned as it moved forward tentatively, first taking the pastry from her hand, then licking her fingers clean. She fed it the rest and the dog rewarded her by climbing onto her knees and licking her face. Bethany giggled.

"Pa--Snuffles!" Behind the mountain of fur, somewhere in her visual periphery, Lupin´s eyes widened in a mixture of amusement and dismay. "I do apologise," he said, wrenching the dog away ("Now, sit and behave yourself!"). "He really does seem rather taken with you." He gave the whimpering dog an arch look, poorly camouflaged as a searing glare.

"Really, it´s quite all right," said Bethany, laughing. "I love dogs..." She trailed off at the sight of a dark figure scowling from beyond the towers of after-dinner sweets materialising along the length of the table. Bethany would have liked to think that the intended recipient of that churlish stare was poor Snuffles, but she knew better. The Potions Master had made his suspicions clear enough earlier that evening by the wood. She shuddered to think of his expression on the lawn. And she realised grimly that at least one person had pegged her as responsible for the Mulroney boy´s attack.

He must have been the boy she had startled last night. It must have been the Hufflepuff she had seen darting away through the underbrush, just before meeting Tom.

Tom.

She swallowed hard. Oh, Merlin. Did he have anything to do with that poor boy´s attack? Did she? Bethany was no closer now to understanding how someone else´s blood had been splattered on her robes than she was when she lied to the Potter boy about the Erkling trap. She frowned, struggling to recall an image in her fractured memory that might help her piece together an answer.

The last thing she remembered was pleading with Tom--against her better judgement--to intercede on her behalf with Lord Voldemort...

"Another chance, Tom," she said. "Tell him that´s all I ask. It´s not easy winning over a stranger´s confidence, he should know that--particularly with someone as guarded as Snape. I need more time. And...and I need to do this... I want my sister back. He promised me the Restoration if I followed through with this. And I know I can. So, why cut me off? Why now?"

Tom stopped on the muddy path and eyed her dubiously. He sighed. Bending his head, he brought his cold lips to her ear. She fought to keep her head still, willing herself not to fidget. "I shouldn´t be telling you this," he drawled, casting an eye about the wood, "but the Dark Lord is uncertain about... your loyalties."

She hoped he couldn´t see her face blanche in the shadows, as she knew it must have done. Of course he´s uncertain about my loyalties, she thought bitterly. That makes two of us.

It was all she could do not to panic. Her sister´s life was on offer. After all these years of wondering... she would finally get Claire back. Who was she now to hesitate to do the Dark Lord´s bidding? Killing Snape would be easy. "A life for a life," Tom had said. Bethany wasn´t entirely sure that she trusted him, when it came down to it. Or the Dark Lord, for that matter. But it was the only way.

"I can do it."

In the dark, Tom bared his teeth in a grin that was just this side of victorious. It made her uneasy.

"I know you can, love. That´s why I promise to plead your case to... Lord Voldemort himself." His voice felt like a pat on the head. "No worries, I´ll sort it out."

Simultaneously irked and comforted by his patronising tone, she let her shoulders droop in relief.

"The Dark Lord also needs you to get as close to the Potions Master as possible. Ingratiate yourself with Snape, if necessary."

As her nose wrinkled in disdain, Tom´s cold laugh sliced through the whistling wind.

"Not a pleasant prospect, I know," he coaxed. "But we need you to gather the traitor´s information on his research on the Verivue Elixir... before he dies." A slow, diabolical smile curled at one end of his mouth.

The wood had grown darker, so that she could barely see Tom. But she could feel him slide behind her. "And there is... just one more thing..." he said.

And then...

And then, nothing.

Blackness.

The next thing she knew, she had woken alone, possibly hours later, lying in a clump of bushes and suffering a fresh ache in every limb as if she´d wrestled a Nundu. And lost. Only when she heard the heavy footfalls of something approaching in the underbrush did she summon the strength to run...

The tentative touch of fingers on her arm made her jump.

"Professor White? Bethany? Are you all right?"

Startled, she looked up to meet the inquisitive gaze of Remus Lupin. If she hadn´t been quite so taken aback, she might have been amused to find the dog regarding her with a similar expression.

"Yes... yes, I´m fine," she said, barely succeeding in maintaining an even tenor. "Why do you ask?"

Remus handed her a steaming tea cup. "Well, you didn´t even crack a smile at my joke about the dog, the stag, the rat and the firing squad. Either I´ve mucked up the punchline again or..." He grinned playfully. "Or... you must have been distracted by the irresistible charms of our roguish Potions Master yonder." Remus leaned forward, whispering confidentially out of the corner of his mouth. "It behoves me, however, to do my civic duty and warn you now: he´s an incorrigible rake, that one."

Bethany´s eyes drifted involuntarily to the glowering Professor Snape, who was no doubt both surprised and extremely vexed to see her laugh. Oh, dear. Remus´s cheeks pinked with pent-up laughter.

He turned innocently away to help himself to another petit four and his glance darted to her face.

"That´s a nasty bruise there, above your eye," he said, setting down the decanter. Bethany flinched and bit her lip, struggling to keep her face passive under such casual scrutiny.

"Occupational hazard," she replied glibly. (It was more or less true.) Lupin wasn´t a bad sort, nor was he a threat; that much was plain. But once she´d begun with that fib, it was difficult to stop. "It´s fine. It looked even more alarming earlier, I´m sure. But Madam Pomfrey does a splendid job in a pinch."

"I know," he said.

She followed his gaze to the grey-haired mediwitch in conversation with Minerva at the far end of the staff table. Raising his glass fondly, he grinned back as Madam Pomfrey did the same. A shadow of a smile hovered briefly across his fine features, a strange mixture of pride and sadness.

Bethany eyed Lupin curiously.

"So, tell me," she said, casting about for another chocolate petit four and less treacherous topics of conversation, "have you been teaching since leaving Hogwarts? The Dark Arts post, I mean?"

Lupin didn´t quite meet her eye. He paused, weighing his words. "I... travelled quite a bit... for research."

She picked up her goblet and peered at him expectantly. "Research?"

"Yes. Ancient wizard weaponry. Primarily enchanted blades of any kind. I´ve picked up and been given some interesting specimens from all over Europe, the Far East, Latin and South America, even some Atlantean--"

"Atlantean? Swords?" gasped Bethany, sitting up in her seat. "You mean they exist? My father used to tell us stories about the Atlantean Wars when we were children, but I´d always thought they were no more than classic bedtime tales."

"You know something of them, then?" said Remus, nodding. "Yes, the Atlantean and Avalonian collections, small as they are, do exist at the Ministry--though they like to keep access heavily restricted due to the potency of some of the protective enchantments. But the markings on the blades alone weave a tapestry to a rich, if little-known, cultural history."

"How did you come by them?"

A tender expression softened the angles of his face. "A friend."

He said no more, and Bethany, who kept secrets aplenty, knew not to press him on it.

Remus cleared his throat.

"I also recently returned from spending some time travelling with... an old friend through Cuba, Brazil and Argentina." There was a pause, and, after a moment, his lips twitched in amusement. "Did you know," he said brightly, "that wizard military training in Latin and South America incorporates traditional dances into the curriculum?"

Bethany arched an eyebrow. "You mean, like the rumba, the samba and the tango?"

Remus nodded with a twinkle in his eye. "Quite entertaining, we discovered--and useful, oddly enough, as far as training goes." An easy grin lit his features. "And yet... I can´t imagine a proposal like that being adopted by our Ministry."

She chuckled, tickled by an unbidden and utterly irreverent image of a portly Cornelius Fudge prancing forward in a tango.

"No, I suppose not," she said. "Though there would be sense in it. Plato said that dancing has combat value, and Socrates believed that those who honoured the gods most in dances were the best in battle. All combat has a rhythm." She eyed him appraisingly. "Do you fence?"

Lupin´s eyes widened. "Me? Oh, no." He chuckled, leaning against the backrest. "But I know someone--the friend I visited, actually--who had a childhood passion for fencing--"

A stream of loud barks from the bear-sized dog cut him off. It then proceeded to sink its teeth into the hem of Remus´s robes.

"What?" He glared exasperatedly at the dog, then turned back to Bethany. "When we were at Hogwarts, he even claimed it helped him on the Quidditch pitch as a Beat--"

But Lupin hadn´t had the chance to finish before the dog, barking madly, leapt up on his chest and nearly toppled him from the chair. Several heads craned over the tables to observe the commotion.

"Pad--Snuffles! What´s gotten into you?" he hissed. Remus threw the dog off by its flanks and raked a hand irritably through his sandy hair. He scowled at Snuffles, who prowled restlessly at his feet. "Terribly sorry about that." He brushed the creases from his robes. "He can be so uncivilised sometimes," he said, giving the dog a pointed look.

Bethany shrugged. "Well, he´s a... dog," she said matter-of-factly. "One that seems determined not to let you get a word in edgewise." She laughed.

Snuffles tugged at Remus´s robes.

He sighed resignedly. "Right, then. We´re going." He rose, throwing back one last glance at Bethany. "I´m sorry," he said, gesturing helplessly at the dog. "No doubt it´s time for his evening constitutional." He clapped a hand to his leg. "Come here, Snuffles. Walkies. That´s right, there´s a good boy. Now, let´s go..."

Bemused, Bethany drained the remains of her Bordeaux and watched as the pair walked and trotted from the Hall, barking and bickering like two old friends.

**********

Dawn light battled through dense cloud and the misty Gothic panes of Gryffindor Tower as a muffled yawn sounded in the otherwise deserted common room. In a secluded corner, twisted uncomfortably in a cushy armchair, Ginny Weasley slowly rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Waiting up to confront Eveline about her midnight strolls through the castle was getting to be a full time occupation, she thought wryly. And she´d missed her again. If someone didn´t have a word with that girl, thought Ginny, one of these days she´d get caught and enough points would be lost to cost the Gryffindors the House Cup--

Oh, give it a rest, dearie,whinged a sardonic little voice in her head. Who are we kidding? Does Ginny Weasley really give a Kelpie´s tail about winning the House Cup?

Ginny shrugged one achy shoulder and sat up against the cushions. All right, so she didn´t much care. But still... it annoyed her that Eveline had waltzed into Hogwarts fully expecting that the rules somehow would not apply to her. The girl came and went as she pleased at night, because "zat is ze way it was at Beauxbatons." And no one took any notice. The prefects were often too knackered in the evenings from O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. prep to care. No teacher ever chastised Eveline for being chronically late. No teacher ever scolded her for missing an essay deadline. (Well, all right, Snape had--but if Ron´s pet theory was right, the man probably slept hanging from the ceiling in the dungeons and propped up the bar at the Hogsmeade Blood Bank, so Ginny didn´t really see why he should count.) Why should Eveline get all this special treatment? Was everyone as blinded by that easy smile, the perfect hair and that sultry accent as... as Harry was?

A-ha! screeched the triumphant inner voice. Ding! Ding! Ding! Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.

She sighed. Harry.

Well, of course it was about Harry, she admitted irritably. The way he looked at Eveline in the dining hall, on the pitch, in the halls... you´d think she eclipsed the sun. (Eveline seemed to think she did.) While she, Ginny, remained a pesky cloud. A negligible clump of grey matter that fit snugly into Harry´s blind spot. Ginny frowned. The image of herself as a clammy glob of polluted precipitation wouldn´t likely do much for her self esteem. She glanced guiltily at the little purple book in her lap.

Merlin knows she´d followed Dame Francesca´s advice to the letter--and even submitted to the torture of Lavender Brown´s magical makeover ministrations--and as far as she could tell, it had only gotten her a couple of odd looks from Harry, that Draco Malfoy, and a few of her fellow fourth-years.

Circe, why on earth did she even bother? Her eyes slid, almost unwillingly, to where she had left off in Dame Francesca´s book the night before.

...If, at this point, the Wizard of Your Dreams has not noticed what a captivating flower he has under his nose, DO NOT BE DISCOURAGED or allow yourself to feel that all your self-renewal efforts have been for nought. Who knows? Even if the Wizard of Your Dreams hasn´t noticed the goddess before his eyes, who is to say that other wizards have not?

Hmmph. Ginny frowned thoughtfully. Well... she had been pleasantly surprised to find that sixth-year Hufflepuff winking at her at dinner the other night. But Mulroney might have suffered more than a few blows to the head in the Forest the night before. Maybe his judgement had been severely impaired. Maybe the wink was a nervous tic.

...Chin up! And remember: ROME WAS NOT BUILT IN A DAY! If you have been following the principles laid out in my Five Easy Steps to Makeover Magic, you are already well on your way to becoming the Dazzlingly Irresistible YouTM!

Nevertheless, as we have shown, men are--more often than not--sadly and lamentably slow to perceive certain things (see further examples in Appendix F-2). And although you may already be the DIYTM, the wizard in question may have simply failed to process this fact--no doubt due to some kind of regrettable sensory impediment. (See Appendix F-3: "Possible Spells, Hexes and Congenital Deficiencies Which Explain the Dim-wittedness of Some Men").

In this situation, very often the checkmate move requires a bluff, where the player acts as if she has already won and all else that follows is mere formality. The much-neglected wizarding genius, William Blake, once wrote these profound words which I would advise you now to commit to memory and adopt as your Makeover Mantra:

"What is it men in women do require? The lineaments of Gratified Desire.

What is it women in men do require? The lineaments of Gratified Desire."

Was it a riddle? Ginny goggled blankly at the page. Was that supposed to mean something in English?

It is these "lineaments" that we will be developing in this chapter. But, what are they? How much do they cost? And where do we find them? For those of you who may be starting to panic, fear not! The illusion of gratified desire is easier--and, if used properly, more rewarding--to come by than the Philosopher´s Stone!

Tapping the Inner GoddessTM starts with a form of self-actualisation. All that is required is to ACT AS IF all your desires have been gratified. It is a universal truth that whilst there is nothing more off-putting to a bachelor wizard than a needy witch, there is nothing so intriguing as a witch who has everything in the world that she needs and wants (and who, by implication, neither needs nor wants him).

No doubt you are saying to yourself, "But I don´t have what I want, which is precisely why I´ve bought this book in the first place." To which I can only reply that of course you don´t have it all, my dears. This little spell does not require you to have it all--merely to ACT AS IF you do. For there is no honey as sweet to a fly as the self-assured, sensual witch is to her wizard prey. Indifference can be a most powerful aphrodisiac. Darlings, trust me when I say, there is genius in Mr Blake´s deceptive simplicity.

Now, go try it out!

A deep crinkle crevassed down the centre of Ginny´s forehead as she gaped at the page. How was she supposed to go about acting as if Harry had already fallen for her? She supposed it meant assuming that he had already confessed to finding her absolutely irresistible--which in theory ought to make her secure about her own allure. (Part of the "Latent Power of Female SexualityTM", as Dame Francesca called it.) Allure? Ginny snorted to herself. Even if she was a great actress--which, if Ron´s testimony had any say on the matter, she wasn´t--she´d still have to draw upon previous experiences in which boys had found her attractive. What previous experiences? As far as Ginny knew, there weren´t any. There was Neville, of course, who had asked her to go to the Yule Ball last year. But she strongly suspected that that was because Hermione had already agreed to go with Viktor Krum and the only other girl who had ever bothered to say more than two words to him was Ginny. If she hadn´t gone with Neville, for all she knew he might have been equally content to take his toad Trevor.

Ginny tossed back the throw blanket with a frustrated sigh. She didn´t have time to waste mulling this over, anyway. She had a Manticore to feed, Herbology notes to memorize and a Potions essay on antidotes to finish before the afternoon. She had also been meaning to ask Ron why the new Muggle Studies instructor seemed really keen to know whether her "studious, hard-working brother Ron" was interested in assisting with some after-school evening projects. Ginny had almost asked Professor van der Witte if she might have gotten Ron mixed up with someone else. Seriously. Since when was Ron studious and hard-working?

Shaking her head, she heaved her body out of the chair, stretched to the satisfying crack crack crack of her back, and then slumped down the stairs to the dormitory in the hope that a quick shower might make Dame Francesca´s new "assignment" less perplexing.

No chance.

A few hours later at breakfast, when Harry asked her to pass the cornflakes, the dilemma of how to go about acting as if filled Ginny with such consternation that she barely managed a croaked reply and promptly fled the table.

Aarrggghh! This is too much, she thought, slumped at the bottom of the main stairs. Dame Francesca wasn´t insisting on a mini-makeover; she was asking for a miracle.

Later, as she stomped down the sunny slope towards Hagrid´s hut and the Manticore cavern, Ginny was still beating herself over the head. Figuratively, of course. During an early morning demonstration of Lavender´s own Curl-Stay Charm, Ginny had discovered a whole new meaning to the term "lunatic fringe." Now she couldn´t even nibble distractedly at a stray curl if she´d wanted, because the gnaw-proof property of the Charm lent her hair the faint aftertaste of castor oil.

As she approached the cavern opening, the hungry agitated howls of the Manticores grew louder and more foreboding. Ginny drew her robes about her nervously. She had assumed that with each feeding she might soon acclimate to their alarming roars and the unsettling gnashing of sharp teeth. But as she lowered her feet down the flimsy rope ladder, her stomach hitched at the savage shrieking of a Manticore as it tore apart its meal.

Ginny gingerly filled a bucket with an unappetizing, foul-smelling salad of Mandrake leaves and dragon droppings when she was startled by the scrape of a grate closing in the shadows at the far end of the cavern. Hurried footsteps, and then a quick rustle of robes, followed by the expectant hush of someone waiting. Watching.

"Hello?" Ginny´s voice echoed back to her in ghostly whispers. "Is someone there?" A strange prickling sensation tugged at her skin and she felt the little hairs on her arms stand on end. From behind, only a slim shaft of dim light penetrated from the opening in the ground above.

Fumbling in her robes, her trembling fingers found the butt of her wand and held it at the ready.

"Lumos," she whispered, and a small yellow glare at the tip of the wand projected a few feet ahead of her, in between the cages. The earth was strewn with bits of gruel and owl feathers. Her tentative footfalls crunched against the cavern´s gravelly floor as she paced cautiously forward.

The Manticores had slid into an unnerving silence. In the turbid shadows, she could only discern a few pairs of yellow-red eyes narrowing in the depths of the closest cages. Then, abruptly, the sound of billowing fabric drew her attention to the opposite end of the cave. A flash of long blonde hair vanished into a dark corner.

"Who´s there?" Her heart raced wildly, and then stopped as a low commanding growl thundered through the cavern.

Suddenly, the narrow path between the cages burst forth with flailing paws and stinging tails as the beasts thrashed menacingly against their bars, swiping their sharp claws through the air in the hope of snagging fresh meat.

Dropping the bucket and nearly losing her wand, she slipped and skidded in an awkward retreat toward what she hoped was the light from the entrance. Waving her wand between herself and the furiously groping claws, she edged backwards, her eyes darting blindly round the darkness. She reached behind her for the rungs of the rope ladder. The howling and rattling of the bars intensified. Her own breathing started to come in ragged, fearful gasps. She could barely see.

The ladder was behind her somewhere. Where? Ginny fixed her gaze on the jaundiced eyes glowing fiercely in the shadows. Her hand stretched frantically behind for the rungs. Where is it?!

She felt the brush of air and a scratch as a set of claws grazed her neck.

WHERE IS IT?!

The trapdoor to the surface swung shut with a thud, plunging the cavern into blackness.

Ginny screamed as a firm grip seized her wrist from behind.