Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

Ron was still working on his essay at two in the morning the night before, polishing it. Everyone else had gone to bed. Harry was keeping Ron company so he wouldn’t fall asleep. He had tried looking over Ron’s shoulder casually once or twice, to get a taste of what he’d written, but to no avail. Ron looked up at him calmly.

“I’ve put a charm on the parchment so only I can see what’s really on it. So sod off, Harry. I mean in a yes-you’re-still-my-best-friend way, and thanks-for-staying-up-with-me way, but all the same--sod off.”

“How’s Moody going to read it then?” Harry wanted to know.

“I’ll just take the enchantment off. Or--who knows? Maybe that weird eye of his can see through enchantments as well as walls, desks, clothes--”

“Invisibility Cloaks...”

Ron grinned at him. “Lucky for you the real Moody likes his sleep. But--can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Why did it take you four nights to clean the trophies when I did it in one night when I was twelve?”

Harry’s mouth was about to say something, but he realized he had no idea what, and shut it again. Then he had a thought, a question he’d been wanting to ask, and he decided to take a chance.

“Ron, if you could pick any girl in this school to be your girlfriend, who would it be?”

Now Ron jerked his head up. “What are you playing at, Harry? You didn’t answer my question.”

“If you answer mine, I’ll answer yours.”

Ron grimaced. “Harry, I’m not going to dignify that with--”

“Ron, just--okay. You probably know that I only asked because--I think I already know the answer.”

Ron looked highly affronted, and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you think so?”

Harry shrugged. “Prove me wrong.”

Ron’s face darkened. “Harry, I--” but he faltered. Then he got up and paced around the room, ran his hands through his bright red hair, at times looking like he was going to try to tear out a clump of it in frustration.

“I don’t want things to change!” he finally choked out. “Why can’t things just stay the same? Why?”

“Because they can’t,” Harry said quietly. He looked at Ron, whose breathing had increased as though he’d just run a marathon. “Why can’t you just--just tell her?”

Ron lifted terrified eyes from the floor to Harry’s face. “Because I can’t. No. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because she’d have to either say yes or no. And if she said no, what then?”

“What if she said yes?”

Ron looked at him sympathetically. “Then something else would change.” Me, Harry thought. He’s thinking of me, of my being left out.

“And what if she said yes,” Ron went on, “but then it all went to hell? Then what?”

Harry shrugged again. “Then you would have tried.”

Ron shook his head vehemently. “It’s no good. No good! This is too soon. We’re so young! Why can’t we just--”

“--be twelve forever?” Harry finished. “It’s about three years too late for that.”

Ron looked at him miserably. “Why does it have to change?” he whispered.

Harry made a face at him. “You know, she won’t wait forever.”

Ron whipped his head around. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Harry looked him in the eye without quavering. “It means what it sounds like it means.”

Ron looked at him shrewdly. “Why did you start asking me all this?”

Harry’s gaze still did not leave his. “Call me stupid, or an optimist or something, but I thought that if I asked, I might actually get an answer. Shows what I know.”

Ron still glared at him, as though he were trying to read Harry’s mind. Then he went back to the table and gathered up his parchment, quills and ink and his anthology. He looked Harry in the eye again before beginning to climb the stairs to their dorm.

“This conversation never happened,” he said, almost menacingly. Then he went swiftly up the stairs.

Harry stared after him, unbelieving. How could he be so stubborn? Harry wondered. The three of them had been inseparable since Halloween of their first year, when they’d saved Hermione from the mountain troll. But--two boys and a girl, they were getting older--something was bound to change.

Harry had hoped he could bring Ron around, get him to tell Hermione. Then Harry could bow out and stop feeling so guilty. But Ron had refused to grow up, to admit they were all growing up. Why did he have to be so difficult?

In the meantime--he was glad he’d told Ron that she wouldn’t wait forever. Ron had been warned. Harry could continue with a clear conscience (almost). He had given Ron the perfect opening, and he’d refused it.

But something nagged Harry in the back of his mind, and then he realized what it was: Snape had told Sirius that his dad had been unable to tell his mum how he felt about her, but then he got over that and told her, and she’d left Snape for his dad. Was that going to happen to him? Harry wondered. If Ron finally said something, would she just go? He shook himself sternly, trying to stop that train of thought. Stop it. Stop it.

And then he realized--they’d been having a conversation all about Hermione, but--

Neither one of them had once said her name.

“Weasley!” came Moody’s growl. Ron looked up. He’d been rereading his essay for the tenth time that day. He stood shakily and made his way to the front of the class. He sounded oddly detached as he spoke the words only he could see on the parchment:

“Ariel and Caliban are two sides of the same coin: Prospero. Ariel is the personification of Prospero’s nobler side, striving for knowledge, eschewing physical comforts and political ambition. Caliban is his baser side, expressing the same rage, jealousy and desire for revenge over Prospero’s usurping his rights on the island as Prospero expresses to Miranda when describing Antonio’s usurping the dukedom of Milan.

“Prospero wants Caliban to be grateful for his having educated him and civilized him, but it is clearly as successful as if he had tried to teach his own penis to read. Perhaps this was the point to Prospero’s bookishness in Milan.”

Parvati suppressed a giggle and Hermione was deep red. Lavender was staring at Ron with her mouth open, her lips moist, her eyes glazed. Ron read on, oblivious.

“His condemnation of Caliban’s trying to rape Miranda smacks more of jealousy than fatherly protection, and in fact, the anger is probably aimed more at himself than Caliban, in an attempt to keep his own errant desires under control.

“In the end, Prospero shows every sign of returning to the purely intellectual life that led him to lose touch with other humans to begin with. Ariel is released from service because Prospero will now play that role himself. Caliban is also released, but it seems to be because, even after twelve years, Prospero has never come to terms with this part of himself, and probably never will.”

The class clapped tentatively. The girls all looked dazed. Parvati was fanning herself with a piece of folded parchment, sweat glistening on her upper lip. Hermione was quite scarlet, and her breathing didn’t seem quite normal. Lavender simply looked hypnotized.

Moody stamped his wooden leg on the floor. Right, thought Harry. Repression, big time. Ron really knew what he was talking about--he was the walking, talking personification of repression. It was his hobby.

And yet--the effect that his frankly-worded essay had had on the girls was remarkable. They all looked as unrepressed as Harry had ever seen them. He strongly suspected that if no one else had been present, they would have all ripped Ron’s clothes off and attacked him.

Moody’s response to Ron’s essay was cryptic. “Excellent!” he said in a bark. “Gives us all plenty of food for thought.” That’s for sure, thought Harry. That’s for sure.

They all returned to the common room after class. Ron’s essay went right out of Harry’s head as a ripple of excitement traveled through the students gathered there. Harry couldn’t make out what was going on, the talk was an unintelligible babble. Finally, he noticed that slips of parchment were being passed through the crowd. They must have been magically duplicated, for they all said the same thing:

“A party, eh?” George said, putting his arms around Angelina’s waist. “Unsupervised?” he whispered in her ear, but not very softly. Angelina looked him in the eye.

“Then I take it you want to go?” she said, a mischievous tone in her voice.

“Try and stop me,” George said, grinning. Angelina put her arms around his neck.

“Not on your life.” She kissed his ear and it looked like that was just going to be the beginning.

Fred threw a cushion at them. “Get a room!”

Angelina threw back her head and laughed throatily. “We plan to!”

Harry felt himself coloring. Oh. It was going to be that sort of party. He looked sideways at Hermione. She wasn’t looking in his direction. He turned the other way toward Ron, who was holding one of the parchments, staring at it and looking as though he were trying to swallow a Bludger.

All anyone could talk about the rest of the afternoon was the party. Harry and Ron were playing chess while Hermione watched. They were all trying very hard to ignore the party talk. Then suddenly, Harry opened his eyes very wide; he could take Ron’s queen! He looked at the board again. Ron had clearly moved the queen to take the bishop he’d had protecting his king. And if he took the queen with his bishop, would he then be vulnerable? Harry checked; Ron’s knight was nearby, but it would take--he counted carefully--six L-shaped moves for it to take his king. It was only two diagonal squares away, but luckily, it couldn’t be moved diagonally. Whereas, if Harry took Ron’s queen--he would have Ron’s king in his sights.

Harry smiled, moving the bishop forward and taking the queen. She left the board kicking and screaming. He looked up into Ron’s eyes.

“Check.”

Ron stared at the board; his king was protected by a bishop on the black square next to the king. He couldn’t touch Harry’s bishop with it. There was also a knight directly in front of the king, which Ron now directed to move one square away from the king and two over, so it was in the path now between Harry’s bishop and Ron’s king.

“Just cannon fodder, that’s all I am, completely expendable...” the knight muttered as he moved to his new position. Harry immediately took him with his bishop and said again--

“Check.”

Ron furrowed his brow. Hermione stared at the board, then stood up excitedly.

“No, Harry, it’s not check. It’s checkmate! You--you’ve won, Harry!”

Harry and Ron both stared at the board. Ron’s king, if he didn’t move, was going to be taken by Harry’s bishop. If he did move it, the king would be taken by either one of Harry’s knights or Harry’s queen. Hearing Hermione’s declaration, Ginny came over, followed by Seamus, Fred, Lee, and others. Ron looked up, surprised to see so many people around them.

“Well,” he said flatly. “I suppose it was the beginning of the end when you took my queen.” Harry felt as though he had killed Ron. He tried to get Ron to meet his gaze but he refused.

“Wow, Harry, how long have you been trying to beat Ron?” Seamus laughed.

“Way to go, Harry,” said George.

“SHUT UP!” Harry said suddenly, louder than he had meant to. Everyone had been muttering and laughing and talking excitedly about the game and the party--but now there was total silence. Sometimes, Harry thought, it pays to be the Boy That Lived. He rose and went to the portrait hole without looking at anyone. When he was in the corridor, he could only walk two steps before he had to lean against the wall and sink down onto the cold stone floor, his head in his hands. He was going to lose Ron. He knew it. He was going to lose his best friend.

....when you took my queen....

Suddenly, the portrait hole opened. Ginny climbed out.

“Oh, Harry, there you are. I’m glad you didn’t get very far. Are you all right?” She sat down next to him. He sighed and looked at the ceiling.

“No, not really.”

She hugged her knees, rested her chin on them. “Hmm. that’s different. Most people say yes whether they are or not.”

“I’m not feeling like putting a pretty face on things, just now,” he said irritably, looking down at his hands.

They sat in silence for a while. He’d felt at first that he really just wanted to be alone, but now he was grateful for her presence beside him, just being. Then, she spoke softly.

“You know, Harry, I never thanked you--”

“For what?” he said, sounding more snappish than he’d planned. Evidently, Ginny decided to overlook this.

“For suggesting that I send that owl to Draco. The day after the match. He really needed me, but he was afraid to ask me to come...”

“He wasn’t afraid to keep you in the Potions Dungeon all afternoon,” Harry grumbled in a low voice.

“Oh, we weren’t in the Potions Dungeon.”

Harry jerked his head up. “I expressly told him he could only see you in the Potions Dungeon--”

“When I sent the owl,” Ginny interrupted him, “I watched to see where it flew. It went directly to the hospital wing. I sat with him by his bedside, and I read to him.”

All Harry could say to that was, “Oh.”

Ginny sighed and nodded. “Madam Pomfrey had to give him a lot of painkillers. And this syrup she makes from fig leaves, for the bruising.”

“Bruising?”

“On his arms. His dad wasn’t too happy about the match.”

Harry frowned. “What did his dad do?”

“The Passus Curse. It’s a little like the Cruciatus Curse, but it’s legal. Not as painful. And you can’t just point your wand at someone and say ‘Passus.’ You have to combine it with a specific body part or organ, like ‘Brachio suo passus est.’ And it doesn’t last that long--only for a few seconds. It’s a bit like being stabbed or poked really hard in the name area. But it you do it repeatedly--like Draco’s dad did--you can get quite a lot of bruising and the pain can really accumulate.”

Harry grimaced. “That’s why he wants Moody to get around to teaching us mind-body separation.”

She nodded. “He mentioned that.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, perplexed. “I guess I just don’t understand, Ginny. How you two even became friends, let alone--”

“More.”

“Yes.” Harry paused. “Um, Ginny--how much more?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “Only a little more.”

“He isn’t--pressuring you--”

She looked up at him now. “No, Harry. We’re both aware of the fact that the wizarding age of consent is fifteen....”

He was still concerned. “And is he aware of the fact that you’ll be fifteen in a few months?”

She looked away again. “We haven’t discussed it. We’re--not anywhere near ready to discuss such things, Harry. Trust me, please? I can take care of myself. I would never let someone talk me into doing something I don’t want to.”

Harry put his hand on her arm. “This is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about.”

“You say that like you know him, Harry. You don’t. Maybe--maybe no one does...”

She looked at the wall now, as though focusing on something blank would help her to concentrate, to remember all the details.

“It was the beginning of term. After Herbology, I was helping Professor Sprout take some spleenwort plants up to the hospital wing. She said it was for Madam Pomfrey to make Prophylaxis Potion, whatever that is. She was acting strangely, said she thought Madam Pomfrey shouldn’t just go doling it out to any girl who asked. Then she looked at me and said that of course, I was a good girl, I would never need it. I haven’t bothered to look it up, though I meant to.”

Harry remembered that they had covered spleenwort in Herbology in October; it was generally used for making medicines for liver and spleen ailments, but such medicines could only be used for men because it was believed to cause barrenness in women. It didn’t really, not permanently, but Harry could guess what the Prophylaxis Potion was for, if Sprout was talking about Pomfrey giving it out to girls.

“Anyway, when we got to the infirmary with our levitating trays of spleenwort, there was Draco sleeping in one of the beds--he was the only patient--and he had this awful look about him. I couldn’t see anything wrong with him, but he was wincing in his sleep when he moved. Professor Sprout had left, and Madam Pomfrey was arranging the spleenwort in her office. I was about to go when he cried out in his sleep.”

“Did he say anything about how he’d gotten hurt?”

“Not exactly. He said--he said--”

“What?”

“Mummy.”

Harry laughed, and so did Ginny, a little, but then he could see she was making herself stop. “Now, Harry,” she chided him. “We all do that. I’m sure you’ve--you’ve cried out for your mother.”

Harry sobered, looking down and then up at her again. “Too right.”

“At any rate, he seemed to--to need someone so. I went over to him. He was saying ‘Mummy’ over and over, and then he said, ‘Make him stop, Mummy.’ I took his hand and shushed him, told him Mummy was there. He settled down again, went back to sleeping more peacefully. He never opened his eyes, never knew his mum wasn’t really there. After a while I took his hand out of mine and left. He looked so--”

“Please don’t say cute or handsome or sweet or anything, I won’t be able to eat for a week.”

“--lost. Alone,” she finally said.

“So if he never knew you were there, I still don’t understand how--”

“Well, we always seemed to turn up in the Potions Dungeon at the same time to do extra work. I--I admit I was sneaking looks at him while I worked. After that day in the hospital wing, I was--curious about him. He was usually pretty nasty to me, actually. Called me Weasley, made snide remarks about our family being poor. You know. Vintage Draco Malfoy.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Finally, one day I lost it. I said to him, ‘Well, at least my dad doesn’t put me in hospital, and if I were in hospital, my real mum would come and hold my hand.’” She smiled. “He didn’t know what I was on about. Told me I was mad. I told him I’d been up there when he was crying, ‘Mummy, Mummy. Tell him to stop, Mummy,’ and that I’d held his hand and told him his mum was there. He looked shocked. ‘That was you?’ he said. But I was so angry with him, I couldn’t stop somehow. I told him that in our family, which he was always insulting, we looked out for each other, we weren’t afraid to express our feelings--”

Harry made a face, looking away from her so she couldn’t see. He thought of Ron.

“I asked him who did he think he was, why was he so insistent on making people think he had no feelings, no soul? I said, ‘No wonder no one likes you.’ As soon as I’d said it, I wanted to bite my tongue. I couldn’t believe I’d said such a thing. He looked--I felt so dreadful for making him--for making anyone--look like that. And he just said, ‘Well, you’ve expressed your feelings all right,’ and he left.”

“Whew!” Harry exhaled. “Nothing like making friends with someone by getting into a huge row.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say we were friends at that moment. But the next time we were both in the dungeons at the same time--he was civil to me. We talked about our work, and what we were doing in classes. A real conversation. He laughed, and it wasn’t at someone else’s expense. Something had changed, somehow. We were on our way to being friends. And now...”

She stopped, stared into space, then a smile crept over her face and she colored slightly. “You know what I was reading to him, the day after the match?”

“What?”

“The Wind in the Willows.”

Harry laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Not a bit,” she still smiled. “He always likes to read Wind in the Willows when he’s laid up sick.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Well, I can see him identifying heavily with Toad. Toad Hall would be the equivalent of Malfoy Manor, I suppose.” He looked closely at her. “What do you read when you’re sick?” he wanted to know.

“That’s the interesting thing--like Draco, I like to read a children’s book. I’ve always been partial to The House at Pooh Corner. I always felt a kinship with Piglet, somehow...”

“Piglet?”

She stood up. “Don’t laugh at me.” She checked her watch. “We should go to dinner before the stampede. What’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your favorite children’s book.”

Harry looked down, then up at her. “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” He started to stand awkwardly, but then she put out her hand and helped him up. She nodded knowingly.

“Charlie’s family was dreadfully poor, but he had a family--”

“Two parents, four grandparents.” Harry grinned.

“That’s probably the last book Ron would choose,” Ginny said. “Now Hermione’s would probably be--Matilda.”

“Spot on! And it’s a good book, but those Wormwoods--” Harry looked like he’d just eaten an Every Flavor Bean tasting like dung.

“Bit too much like the Dursleys? I suppose then that you didn’t like James and the Giant Peach?”

“Oh, not at all. I quite like the part where the peach rolls right over Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker. After Dudley started his diet last year, I had some similar fantasies about my aunt and uncle and a giant grapefruit...”

They both went down the stairs to dinner laughing.

The train from Hogsmeade wasn’t leaving until five o’clock, so the students who were going on the last Hogsmeade visit of the term sent their luggage down to the train station after breakfast. Hermione had had Harry invite Cho to the party during dinner the previous evening. She had sent an owl to Viktor, giving him the address of the cottage where the party was to be held. They would have another opportunity to put the two of them together. It was largely a Gryffindor party, but some students from other houses would be there. Harry hoped he could spend as little time as possible with Cho Chang.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Cho walked down to the village along with the other Gryffindors going to the party, except for the Chasers from the Quidditch team. Alicia and Angelina went to the village before breakfast with Katie to help her get the cottage ready.

When they arrived at Katie’s great aunt’s house, it seemed very quiet. (Her great aunt was in America visiting her grandchildren for Christmas.) The cottage had a charming front garden, even covered with snow, and swags of evergreen and holly were draped across the turquoise-blue-painted wooden fence separating the garden from the lane. Hermione knocked on the red-painted Dutch door with a large boxwood wreath on it, as Harry wondered whether they had the right house, but the moment Katie opened the door, the noise that spilled into the lane confirmed that they had found the party. Must have put a silencing charm on the house, Harry thought.

The noise thus far was largely from the Wizarding Wireless Network being turned up very loud, but there was also the bustling coming from the kitchen, where Alicia and Angelina were laughing loudly. Soon the noise was largely from the small living room of the house being filled with rowdy teenagers all jostling to get a good seat, although Fred grabbed Katie and began dancing to a fast number on the wireless, and refreshments began to be passed around, despite the fact that they’d all just finished breakfast.

Harry felt like his head was whirling. Hermione sat next to Ron, who was looking rather protective. Viktor hadn’t arrived yet. Cho was clinging to Harry’s arm, making him want to pry her hands from him, and he thought Ginny was looking around in a strange way. He saw her slip into the kitchen, looking like she hoped no one else had noticed.

Suddenly, another crowd of people spilled in the door, including a hunch-shouldered Viktor, as well as Ernie MacMillan with his arm around Hannah Abbot, and Roger Davies escorting--Harry had to rub his eyes, he couldn’t believe it--Fleur Delacour. Harry was still in shock as she came rushing over to him, pulled him away from Cho into an embrace and firmly kissed him twice on each cheek, in rapid succession.

“’Arry! ‘Ow are you? Ah, I see you are doing quite well, yes?” she said, eyeing him up and down in a way that made him color deeply. “The leetlest champion eez growing up, n’est-ce pas?”

Harry caught Cho’s face out of the corner of his eye. She was not pleased. Good, thought Harry. Let the beastly behavior begin.

Then he caught a glimpse of Hermione’s face; also not pleased. Well, I hope she does a better acting job than that, he thought. Viktor was greeting her now with a kiss on the cheek. He pulled her off the settee where she’d been sitting with Ron, who scowled, but then Fleur had seen Ron too, and she threw herself into the spot Hermione had just vacated, also kissing him twice on each cheek. Ron’s ears were bright crimson. He appeared to have forgotten about Hermione, who was now reacting poorly to Ron’s being kissed. But then, Harry thought, she never liked Fleur. After all, Ron did get up the nerve to ask her out, even though she didn’t accept. This might turn out to be a very interesting party, Harry thought.

Fleur returned to Harry and Cho, Roger on her arm. “So,” Harry said to her. “What are you doing here, Fleur?”

She tossed her cornsilk hair over her shoulders and bestowed an indulgent smile on him. “I am teaching now at ze village school. Because I am ze youngest teachaire I am teaching ze most petite children, yes? I am eemproving my English since I am coming to live in Hogsmeade. My seestair Gabrielle is also going to ze village school. Eef I am still here in a few years, she will of course attend ‘Ogwarts instead of Beauxbatons. I would naturalment prefer to be as close to ‘er as possible.”

“Of course,” Harry said feebly, but then another influx of guests from the front door turned the room into a crowded mass of bodies, and they were separated from Roger and Fleur. People were laughing and talking and drinking butterbeer, the center of the floor given over to dancing. Harry, Hermione, Cho, Viktor and Ron were in a cluster. Viktor and Cho were talking Quidditch and Harry and Hermione were talking about which teachers they thought would be willing to do which chores on Boxing Day.

A slow song came on the wireless, and Harry jumped when a small pale hand appeared on his arm. Alicia was standing at his elbow. The room seemed very dark; the sky outside was already cloudy, and the curtains in the room were drawn. There were only a few candles for illumination.

“Harry--would you like to dance?” Alicia was asking him. Harry stared at her in shock. I’m being beastly to Cho today, he reminded himself.

“Oh--er, yeah. Sure.” He thought, Smooth, Potter. Real smooth.

He and Alicia moved into the middle of the mass of dancing bodies. He placed his hands around her waist and she put her arms around his neck, resting her cheek on his chest. She was even shorter than Hermione, he realized. Somehow, when she was being Head Girl, she seemed--larger. He felt her breath through his shirt and her fingers tickling his neck. He prayed for the song to end soon--although he saw that Cho looked none too pleased. Good. Think dreadful things about me, think I’m a cad. Go ahead.

Harry saw Hermione whispering to Viktor, who was bending down to put his ear near her mouth. Harry grimaced over Alicia’s head. But then he understood what was happening: Viktor leaned over to say something to Cho, and then the two of them walked toward the dancing throng, and Viktor and Cho put their arms around each other, increasing the number of dancers by two. Yes! thought Harry. Thank you, Hermione.

But Harry was starting to get a little alarmed about Alicia. What was she doing with her hands? Then to his relief, the song was over and Harry turned to see Katie looking up at him.

“Dance, Harry?” He agreed, and Alicia went off looking sulky. He saw that Viktor was dancing with Cho again. Ron was then pulled onto the dance floor by Parvati--or was it Padma? Harry wasn’t sure. He lost track of Hermione, then he saw her over near the narrow staircase leading to the bedrooms. She looked him in the eye, then turned to climb the stairs.

When the song ended, he deflected yet another invitation to dance and made his way through the crowd to the staircase. He held onto the railing convulsively, acutely aware of the splintery wood beneath his hand, a large lump in his throat which he could not swallow. Turning for a moment, he saw that Viktor and Cho were dancing to a third song. He went back to climbing the stairs. At the top he found Hermione, smiling broadly at him. He kissed her quickly on the cheek.

“Viktor and Cho are still dancing,” he told her.

“Good. Gives us a chance to be alone.” Harry looked around uncertainly at the plethora of doors opening off the small irregularly-shaped landing. He realized that the house was probably magically larger inside than out. From the front, one wouldn’t expect to find more than two rooms upstairs, three if the bathroom were counted. He also wasn’t sure they should be sneaking off to a bedroom in the midst of the party--that night on the hearthrug, he felt like anything could have happened....

But Hermione was pulling him toward a door with glass panes in it that had a red brocade curtain hanging on the other side. She opened it, revealing a book-lined study with a generous bay window containing a couch, on which Ernie MacMillan and Hannah Abbott were writhing and kissing.

“Aaack!” Hermione choked out. “Sorry!” she said hastily, shutting the door before she could be verbally attacked by Hannah and Ernie.

“Um,” she said to Harry, “you open the next one.” He laughed at the look on her face. He moved two doors down, past the one labeled LOO, which he deemed it unwise to monopolize. He tapped gently on the door first, and, receiving no answer, opened it cautiously.

It was a bedroom, a larger bedroom than the cottage had any right to hold, with a sitting area near some leaded-glass windows and a large four poster with a brightly-colored patchwork crazy quilt. In the bed was George Weasley.

“George!” Harry cried, before he could stop himself. He hadn’t opened the door very much, and Hermione, behind him, could not see into the room.

George was under the quilt, leaning back against the pillows, not wearing anything from the waist up. Harry doubted whether he was wearing anything from the waist down, either. When he opened the door, George had his eyes closed, an expression both happy and agonized on his face. His muscular shoulders, chest and Bludger-whacking arms were as generously freckled as his face, the skin pale beneath the spots, but growing more and more flushed with each moment.

When Harry said his name, George’s eyes flew open and he cried out. Suddenly, Angelina’s head popped up from under the covers. Harry looked at her in surprise, her bare shoulders smooth and dark as Belgian chocolate.

“Oh, George, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked, quite concerned. Then she turned and saw Harry in the doorway.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” she said, as though this happened every day. “If you’re looking for the loo, it’s the next door over, the one labeled LOO. Can’t miss it.”

She dove under the quilt again, and George threw back his head, a low groan beginning in his throat, growing louder and louder. Harry still stood in the doorway, frozen, mesmerized. George opened his eyes again, and on seeing him still standing there cried, “Sod off, Harry!” at which point Harry woke up and abruptly slammed the door.

He and Hermione looked at each other, each feeling the giggles coming on. Hermione stuffed her fist in her mouth, her eyes watering with mirth. Harry pressed his mouth into a line, holding his stomach, closing his eyes with the effort of not laughing out loud.

When they felt almost under control they crept to the next door. It was locked. So were the next three. Then a door revealed narrow, steep stairs going down and a collection of noises that sounded like they were coming from the kitchen. Back stairs, thought Harry. He moved on. Then Harry felt a knob give way. He stopped and tried rapping on the wood first, before just opening it. There was no answer. Not that that did any good last time, he thought. When people are preoccupied...

He opened the door cautiously, peered around the edge, made a sound like, “Eergh!” in the back of his throat and closed the door, leaning against it as if afraid that Hermione would insist upon opening it again.

“Harry?” she whispered. “What is that room?”

“Linen closet.”

“And? Who’s in there?”

“Justin Finch-Fletchley.”

She frowned at him. “Well, he’s not alone, is he?”

Harry opened his eyes wide. “No.”

Hermione waited. “Well? Who’s he with?”

Harry felt suddenly impish. “Guess.”

“Okay--Lavender.”

“Nope.”

Lisa Turpin.”

“Cold.”

“Susan Bones.”

“Colder.”

“Pansy Parkinson.”

Harry made a face. “He’s not blind, deaf and dumb, Hermione.”

She laughed. “All right, I give up.”

“Well--it’s that sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect--oh, what’s the name...”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “The sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect is Cho. We left her downstairs with Viktor, unless she’s learned to Apparate--”

“The other sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect.”

A sudden wave of understanding swept over Hermione’s face. “Ooooh! It’s--oh, drat, what’s his name again? He’s nice. They’d make a really cute couple.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. Meanwhile, I have to say--getting a bit tired of this. One last try, and then back downstairs, before someone comes up and wants to know why we’re lurking about in the corridor.”

She agreed, and they moved on to another door. Taking a deep breath, Harry simply opened it. The room that met his eyes was a long conservatory, all manner of exotic and magical plants growing in planters of all sizes. The planters lined the edges of the long, narrow space, which had a tile walkway leading down the center of the room like a corridor. It culminated in a seating area about thirty feet from the door which had a wicker loveseat, where two people were kissing.

It was Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley.

He closed the door quickly, before Hermione could see.

“What?” she said, just a slight whine in her voice.

“Go back downstairs,” he told her. His voice was hard. She frowned.

“Harry--”

“It’s occupied. Go back downstairs. We can’t go together, you know that. I’ll wait a few minutes before I follow.”

She sighed and kissed him quickly on the lips. “Oh, well,” she said, turning to go. When her head had disappeared down the stairs, Harry went back into the conservatory, locking the door magically, then striding the length of the room to the oblivious kissing couple.

He stood before them. Both of them had their eyes closed; Malfoy had one hand around her waist, the other sunk into her luxurious hair while she clasped her hands around his neck, her face turned up to his as he devoured her mouth. Harry tried to stem the tide of anger growing in him.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat.

Malfoy whipped his head around in shock.

“Potter!”

Ginny’s mouth was open; she was speechless, and coloring deeply. Harry looked back and forth between them, his jaw clenched, telling himself he would not reach for his wand.

“How did you two get up here?” he demanded. “The last time I saw you, you were going into the kitchen,” he said to Ginny.

“Back stairs,” she said simply in a quiet voice. Harry stared back and forth between the two of them again, still trying not to reach for his wand. Instead, he pulled the basilisk amulet out of his shirt and held it out.

“Ginny! Why did you give this to me?”

She looked flummoxed. “Be--because when I was in first year, you saved me. From the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Malfoy’s mouth hung open stupidly. “What? There was a basilisk down there? And Potter--”

“I killed it. When I was twelve.” He glared at Malfoy, who was the one trying to swallow a lump now.

“They never told us...”

“No. That was to protect Ginny, so no one would know she’d opened the Chamber.” Malfoy looked at her in surprise. Harry went on. “She opened the Chamber because she was under the influence of the diary of Tom Riddle--which your dad gave her, Malfoy. Your dad almost got her killed.”

He watched this register on Malfoy’s face, who looked desperately at Ginny, as though afraid she would suddenly decide to tell him off. Harry went on.

“Having saved Ginny’s life,” he said to Malfoy, “I feel somewhat responsible for her. I love her--” he said, his voice cracking a little (while Ginny’s eyes became very wide) “--like a sister.” He looked at Ginny, aching that he’d just said that--but knowing he had no choice but to convince all of them--himself most of all--that it was the truth.

“You know that your families will never consent to your being together. You know that one of you will have to turn on your family if you want this. I’ve decided that it will be you, Malfoy.”

Draco Malfoy was staring at him as though he’d never heard of or seen Harry Potter before in his life. “What?” he finally said, at a loss for words.

“You will convince your father to take you into his confidence. You will learn all you can of the plans of the Death Eaters, your father in particular. You are going to put your own father in Azkaban.”

“Harry!” Ginny was shocked. Both Harry and Malfoy looked at her as though she were incidental to the entire conversation.

“Ginny,” Malfoy said to her softly. “Could you wait over by the door, please?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but she looked at Harry and he nodded at her. She strode angrily over to the door to the conservatory, then leaned against it, her arms crossed, looking extremely put out.

Then Malfoy turned his back to her and said quietly to Harry, “Listen, Potter. Ginny doesn’t know yet, but that--that was a good-bye kiss. I was just about to break up with her.”

It was Harry’s turn to be surprised. “What?”

“Shut up! I was going to tell her--tell her that after Christmas break, I was going to be a different person, a person who couldn’t be with her anymore--” his voice faltered, but then he cleared his throat and straightened up. Harry looked at him shrewdly for a moment, then he had a flash of brilliance.

“So that’s what’s going to happen on Christmas night...” he said slowly. Malfoy’s eyes were wild.

“How do you know about that?”

Harry smiled enigmatically. “I have my sources. So. You’re going to be a Death Eater, so you’re breaking up with Ginny. How noble of you. Except that it won’t work.”

“What? What won’t work?”

“Breaking up with her. You think that means you won’t care about her anymore? Think again. When Voldemort--or your dad--comes after her again, or someone else in her family, what are you going to do? Sit back and say, ‘Oh, well, I don’t care about her anymore. I broke up with her.’”

Malfoy’s face darkened. “I can’t be with her if I have--that thing on my arm. This is what I was raised to be. This is what my father says I was destined to do.”

“And as recently as last June you were looking forward to it, weren’t you? I remember what you said on the train. But then--you had nothing to lose. Now you’ve got Ginny to lose. Now you’ve got someone in your life who actually cares what happens to you.” Malfoy set his jaw stubbornly, refusing to look at him. Harry went on, whispering fiercely. “Why do you still want to do your father’s bidding? Do you like the Passus Curse?” Now Malfoy looked at him, with a pure hatred in his eyes; Harry knew, and that killed him. “You plan to do the bidding of the father who bargained for your life when you were a baby by promising you to Voldemort!” Malfoy looked startled that he knew this, but he didn’t comment on it.

“It’s not as though I have a choice, Potter. It’s not as though I can refuse...” his voice faded, and he looked through the conservatory’s glass ceiling, at the white winter sky, flat and featureless and hopeless.

“But you will do it. In a way. You will become, to all intents and purposes, a loyal Death Eater. You will have the Dark Mark burned into your arm. You will do whatever they want you to do during your initiation. But none of it will mean anything because you will be mine. You will spy for me. You will give me your father.” Harry took a deep breath. “I’m tired of running. I’m taking the fight to Voldemort. I’m going to take down his Death Eaters one by one, starting with your father, until he has no more servants and has to face me on his own, like a man!”

Malfoy turned and looked at Ginny. “You think my giving up my father will make a difference to her family?”

“It’s the only thing that could make a difference to her family.”

Malfoy shook his head. “Still--he’s my father. Azkaban...”

“Better Azkaban than what an overzealous Auror could do to him. You know they’re authorized to kill, when they deem it necessary.” Malfoy considered this, swallowing, nodding. “So you’ll do it,” Harry said to him. It wasn’t a question.

Malfoy gave him a look with eyes that were dead. “Yes,” he said tonelessly. Harry turned to Ginny.

“Ginny, you can come back.” Looking still very miffed, Ginny strode back to them, her color up, her robes flying around her wildly, illustrating her mood. Harry was sure that she had never looked lovelier. “I’ll give you two five minutes--that’s all. After that, I start sending other Weasleys up here, understand?” They both nodded. Harry turned and walked back to the door. The wheels had been set in motion....

He turned with his hand on the knob, preparing to leave. Ginny was crying, touching Malfoy’s face with her fingers as though it were a precious thing to her. He pulled her mouth to his, and she responded immediately, opening her mouth under his and twining her hands around his neck. Malfoy pressed his hands to her back, holding her as close to him as possible.

Harry turned and walked out the door, his heart in his throat. Walking away from them was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

When Harry came back downstairs at last, he found Ron and Hermione near the refreshments, surreptitiously glancing at Viktor and Cho, who were on the other side of the room talking animatedly.

“How long have they been like that?” he whispered to them.

“About fifteen minutes. Where’ve you been?” Ron wanted to know.

“Queue for the loo.”

“Because I’ve heard there are people upstairs--um--”

Harry thought of Ginny and Malfoy. “Yeah, there are people--umming--up there. Some more than others. They get rather upset if you don’t know where the loo is.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up so high they disappeared into his hair. “Like who?”

Harry decided to have some fun. “Guess. In five questions or less.”

“Um--is it someone in Gryffindor?”

“Most people here are Gryffindor. Yes.”

“Is it someone in our year?”

“Oh, come on Ron. The three of us are here, there’s Parvati and Lavender dancing, and Seamus and Dean are on the couch. And Neville didn’t come. The answer is: No. You’ve wasted two of your five questions.”

“Is it someone in sixth year?”

“No. I’m done giving you clues.”

“Is it someone on the Quidditch team?”

“There you go! Good one. Yes.”

He looked around the room suspiciously. He saw Fred talking to Katie and Alicia. Harry and Hermione were standing with him, and just then Ginny came out of the kitchen, making Harry feel extremely relieved. She must have used the back stairs. Ron grinned.

“George and Angelina! Ha!”

“Ssssssh!” Harry reached up and put his hand over Ron’s mouth. Then a look of horror came over Ron’s face.

“George and Angelina!” he said more quietly. “Blimey! Mum will have a meltdown, she will...”

“So don’t tell her, you prat!” Harry hissed at him. Ron looked unbelieving.

“And she was worried about Percy and Penelope...”

“Is she worried about Bill and Charlie, too? Honestly, Ron, Percy is out of school, after all. And George and Fred practically are,” Hermione said, sounding critical of Ron’s mother for the first time Harry could remember.

Ron still looked dazed from the revelation about George and Angelina. “Still--” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Mum told me she’d kill me if I ever got a girl in troub--” He stopped abruptly, and his ears turned deep red.

“Anyway,” Harry said, trying to get them on topic again. “Viktor and Cho are hitting it off. That’s good. The plan’s going well, agreed?”

They both nodded. Something was actually working.

In no time, it seemed, it was time to leave for the station. Hermione said goodbye to Viktor at the cottage; he was Apparating back to the Chudley Cannons’ team headquarters for his luggage, then taking a Portkey back to Bulgaria to see his family for Christmas. Harry and Hermione accompanied the other students to the train, so they could see them off. For the first time, Harry noticed Hermione looking a little wistful about not going home for Christmas, and he realized that she hadn’t seen her parents since Snape and Sirius brought her to Privet Drive. Perhaps this whole Boxing Day thing was to take her mind off that, he thought. She was keeping herself busy so she wouldn’t think about missing her parents, worrying about them, wondering whether they were safe.

At the station, the luggage had already been loaded onto the train and Harry and Hermione were traveling up and down the train corridor saying goodbye to various Gryffindors and friends from other houses. Harry heard Cho calling to him, and pointedly ignored her, walking in the other direction. Suddenly, a hand emerged from a compartment and pulled him in, the door rolling shut behind him.

It was Snape. He immediately released him, and Harry straightened his cloak, wondering what was going on.

“Potter,” Snape began, “I need to talk to you. I was going to send you an owl, but this is better.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Why do you need to talk to me?”

“Should any students need to borrow potions ingredients while I am gone, I am placing you in charge of my private store. I have charmed my office door so that only this password can open it. Only you and the headmaster know it.” He handed Harry a small piece of parchment. “I want you to keep meticulous records--the type and amount of any ingredients borrowed. They are to be replaced within a week of the start of the new term. Understand.?”

Harry was still confused as to why he was being burdened with this. “Yes, Professor.”

Harry turned to go, but suddenly Snape said with mock-casualness, “How is your owl, Potter?”

Harry turned and stared at him. What? “My owl, sir?”

“Some weeks ago at breakfast, your owl delivered to you a rather large package. Has she recovered?”

He had seen, Harry realized. He had seen Hedwig delivering the Pensieve. And I left it in the same box to give it to him. He knows it was from me. Harry had grown so accustomed to Snape missing meals in the Great Hall (perhaps to talk to Sirius? to brew Polyjuice Potion?) that it had not occurred to him that Snape was present that day; he hadn’t even looked.

“She’s fine, sir.”

“Post owls are powerful magical creatures, Potter. Don’t abuse them,” he growled.

“No sir.”

“You should go.” He looked at Harry now as though Harry had invaded his private compartment, rather than having been yanked in through the door by Snape himself.

Harry opened the door to leave, and turned to him suddenly, remembering something important. “Oh, Professor--”

“What?”

“Good luck.” Harry looked at his face, but it was as impassive as ever; he was not about to admit he was planning to do anything that required luck.

“Remember: you are the only student with the password to my office. Keep meticulous records, Potter!”

Harry nodded and left, closing the door behind him. When he was back on the platform, standing next to Hermione, the two of them raised their hands silently to the friends whose faces were pressed to the glass, excited to be going home for Christmas. There they went, Ron and Ginny, Seamus and Dean, George and Fred and Angelina...Harry lowered his hand and Hermione turned to go; then Harry saw Draco Malfoy ride past, slowly raising a hand, looking right at Harry. Harry solemnly raised his hand in response, as if he were taking an oath.

When the train had disappeared, he turned to where Hermione was waiting for him, at the steps leading down to the path back to the castle. They walked back to Hogwarts silently, their shoes crunching on the snow, a light breeze blowing flakes from the bare branches of the trees that lined the path.

They were now the only Gryffindors at Hogwarts.