Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

Chapter Twenty-Four

Awakenings

The next day, the Dueling Club standings were posted. Harry and Hermione paused for a while, perusing them before going into the Great Hall to run.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dueling Club Standings

Rank: 1 / Wins: 18 / Losses: 1 / Potter, Harry

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Rank: 2 / Wins: 17 / Losses: 2 / Granger, Hermione

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Rank: 3 / Wins: 17 / Losses: 2 / Weasley, Virginia

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Rank: 4 / Wins: 15 / Losses: 4 / Weasley, Alfred

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Rank: 5 / Wins: 14 / Losses: 5 / Longbottom, Neville

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Rank: 6 / Wins: 12 / Losses: 7 / Davies, Evan

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Rank: 7 / Wins: 11 / Losses: 8 / Malfoy, Draco

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Rank: 8 / Wins: 11 / Losses: 8 / Spinnet, Alicia

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Rank: 9 / Wins: 11 / Losses: 8 / Davies, Roger

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Rank: 10 / Wins: 8 / Losses: 11 / Bones, Susan

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Rank: 11 / Wins: 7 / Losses: 12 / Jordan, Lee

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Rank: 12 / Wins: 6 / Losses: 13 / Quirke, Niamh

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Rank: 13 / Wins: 6 / Losses: 13 / Johnson, Angelina

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Rank: 14 / Wins: 6 / Losses: 13 / Weasley, George

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Rank: 15 / Wins: 6 / Losses: 13 / Patil, Parvati

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Rank: 16 / Wins: 6 / Losses: 13 / Weasley, Ronald

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"Who's Alfred Weasley?" Harry asked her, perplexed.

"Fred."

"Fred is short for Alfred?" Harry made a face.

"Well, I suppose it could have been short for Frederick. But it's not. You understand who Virginia is, I hope?"

"Of course..."

"--or did you think 'Ginny' was short for 'Gingivitis?'"

Harry glowered at her. She laughed.

"Sorry. Dentist humor. My background creeping through." Then they both laughed together and went into the Great Hall to run.

Harry, Hermione and Ginny had each lost to Neville, but he'd lost to some people in his first week, so their standings were unaffected. And after this, they would all be learning together.
Harry had looked forward to talking to Neville about the dueling, but Neville hadn't wanted to stay after the meeting was over. He said he needed to work on Potions before dinner. Ginny looked irked; Harry thought she might have been planning to go down to the dungeon with Malfoy, and now Neville would be there.

Neville was definitely doing better in Potions--perhaps from all that extra time he was putting in, Harry thought. Harry had also put in some extra work, and was hopeful that he'd get O.W.L.s in basic and intermediate potions both. Snape still seemed to go out of his way to humiliate him in class, but the grades he was getting on paper were quite respectable.

Later that morning, just before dismissing the Potions class, Snape stood at the front of the room and announced, "For those of you in Gryffindor, the headmaster wishes you to know that you should report to the Great Hall for Charms class next period. Evidently, the substitute professor has decided to grace us with his presence early. And Slytherins should report to the Great Hall for Charms at your usual time, directly after luncheon."

Harry's heart sank; great, no free period. And it was someone Snape didn't like, evidently, based on the sneer on his pale face. When Harry was younger, that would have made him pretty happy and optimistic. Now, however, he was actually getting along with Snape and trusting him. Harry also realized, quite suddenly, that Snape hadn't liked or trusted Quirrell, and he was right--Quirrell had been trying to kill Harry. Then there was Lockhart-- tremendous waste of space, thought Harry. Huge fraud. And another person Snape hadn't liked. Of course, Snape hadn't liked or trusted Sirius or Lupin, but after what Harry had seen in the Pensieve, he wasn't too surprised. (Snape seemed to be moving past that now.) Then, during the previous year, Snape hadn't liked Crouch because he thought he was Moody, and Crouch hadn't like him because Snape had become a spy, and he knew it.

In a way, Snape had a pretty good track record for judging whom to trust and whom not to trust. Harry could imagine the new professor being quite like Lockhart. "Grace us with his presence," didn't exactly sound like a ringing endorsement. How odd to be looking to Snape, wanting to know what he thought about things, what he thought of people. Harry would never have guessed it, a year earlier.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and the other Gryffindors ascended the stairs to the entrance hall with trepidation, unsure of what to expect from this substitute, who could be the person responsible for preparing them to be tested on Charms for their O.W.L.s, if Flitwick didn't awake soon. If Snape didn't like him...

But when he entered the Great Hall and saw who the teacher was, Harry was shocked. Dumbledore! No, wait, he thought; that's not Dumbledore...

The fifth-year Gryffindors entered the hall cautiously, eyeing their new instructor suspiciously. He looked like Dumbledore and yet not. He was just as tall and had the same twinkling blue eyes, even the same style of half-moon spectacles; he had the same silver-white hair, but when he turned, Harry noticed that it was only shoulder-length, not cascading down his back, like Dumbledore. He had the same kindly face, marked with deep smile-lines around the mouth and eyes, but his skin was darker, more leathery, as though he spent a great deal of time in the sun. The lower part of his face was hidden by a close-cut white beard and mustache. He wore a tall purple wizard's hat with silver and gold moons and stars embroidered on it, which matched his robes. He held his wand loosely, as though he didn't particularly care where he waved it. At the moment he was using it as some sort of conductor's baton, directing them into the hall, pointing out where he wanted them to be. Silver sparks flew out of the tip as he did this.

"All right, class. Am I correct in assuming that you are the fifth-year Gryffindors?"

They nodded. Harry looked down at his silver prefect's badge, and at Hermione. As the prefects, should they be taking more of a lead? But he felt as unsure and dumbfounded as the others, confronted by this Dumbledore-yet-not-Dumbledore.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Aberforth Dumbledore. Yes, the headmaster is my brother. Now, some of you may have heard that I was in a spot of trouble some years ago for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat..."

Seamus and Dean could not prevent themselves from sniggering, trying to cover it up with their hands, but unable to stop. Ron's eyes were bulging and his mouth was clamped tightly shut; Harry thought he would lose it in a minute, the thought of which was starting to make it difficult for Harry not to burst out laughing. He caught Hermione's eye, though, and her stern look was enough to calm him again. He determined that he should not look at Parvati or Lavender, whom he could hear tittering behind him. Neville was the only other person besides Hermione seemingly unaffected by the goat remark.

"Yes, well," he said, then cleared his throat, clearly aware of the effort some of them were having to expend in not laughing. "All charges were dropped, although it did keep the Daily Prophet gossip mill spinning for some time. And I still maintain that 'inappropriate' is in the eye of the beholder..."

Ron lost it now, laughing openly. Hermione glared at him. He clapped his hand over his mouth, a horrified look on his face. But then Harry saw that Aberforth Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. Finally, he smiled.

"Just my way of breaking the ice. I'm not really a teacher, per se. I do specialize in Charms, of course. Or rather, a cross between Charms and Herbology and Animal Husbandry. But what you need for now is a Charms teacher, so I'm here as a favor to my brother. Now, as you probably already call him Professor Dumbledore, calling me Professor Dumbledore as well would probably make everyone's lives needlessly confusing, yes? Therefore I have received permission from my brother to tell you that you may call me Aberforth. You do not need to call me 'Professor' Aberforth, after all, I'm not one, really, and this position is strictly temporary." He put his wand away and clapped his hands together, smiling in anticipation. "Now! Why don't you introduce yourselves to me and tell me what you know about Confundus-class charms."

Harry was relieved that when he told Aberforth who he was, he didn't make a big deal out of his scar and the whole Voldemort thing. Instead, he noted that Harry was captain of the Dueling Club, according to the parchment in the entrance hall. Harry proceeded to have the most fun he'd ever had in Charms--and that was saying something, because Harry had always enjoyed Flitwick's classes. Aberforth would put the charms on them and then show them how to see past the confusion so that they could still function effectively. It was a little like Defense Against the Dark Arts, without the pain. Harry realized that Neville had already started learning this; that was why the Reverso charm hadn't seemed to have any affect on him when they dueled. But the end of class, Harry could function completely normally under the Inverso charm; even while having the sensation of hanging upside-down in the air, he could accurately point his wand at a target (after about thirty tries).

They stayed in the hall after class, since it was time for lunch. The fifth-year Gryffindors were already sitting at their house table, excitedly discussing the Charms class, when the rest of the students started pouring in. Harry looked up at the staff table. Dumbledore was smiling at his brother and beckoning him to sit next to him. Harry looked at the two men, so alike and yet with subtle differences.

Dumbledore always seemed to be hiding--something. Harry would ask him questions, and he'd give answers, but they never seemed to be quite complete. Or he'd ask a question to which Dumbledore simply didn't want to give an answer, and Harry had to be content with that (although he usually wasn't).

Aberforth, on the other hand, seemed completely open and straightforward, nothing hidden. The chief characteristic they shared, Harry felt, besides their looks, was their sense of humor. Perhaps that was why Snape disliked him, Harry thought. A sense of humor wasn't high on Snape's list of priorities.

When there were only about ten minutes left before afternoon classes would start, Will Flitwick came hurtling into the hall and ran to the Gryffindor table. There was a space open next to Harry, and Will slipped into it, banging his rucksack down and reaching for a roll before he was even sitting. He bumped into Harry as he positioned himself, mumbling something that might have been, "Sorry," through the bite of bread he was already chewing.

"S'okay," Harry said, trying not to laugh at him. His normally pale cheeks (puffed out with food now) were quite pink; he pushed his gold curls off his sweaty forehead and reached for a chicken leg to put on his plate, taking a large bite out of it first.

"Where've you been?" Harry asked him, smiling. Will tried to speed up his chewing so he wouldn't have to answer with his mouth full. After what looked to Harry like a rather painful swallowing process, Will was ready to speak.

"Hospital wing. Visiting my uncle." He said this with not a trace of recognition that the vast majority of people in the school were blaming Harry for Flitwick being in a coma. Harry swallowed and looked down at his empty plate.

"Sorry, Will," he mumbled. Will swallowed another larger piece of chicken after chewing it only briefly.

"What're you sorry for, Harry? You didn't do anything."

Harry jerked his head up, staring at the eleven-year-old boy who had stated this as unequivocally as if he'd been saying the sky was blue and Snitches were gold. Then he realized that everyone else at the Gryffindor table was staring, too. Will looked back at them all, a strange maturity, Harry thought, in the way he met the eyes of every person there.

"Well, you all know that, don't you? You don't honestly think Harry could have done anything to hurt my uncle, or Cho Chang?"

Harry waited for the affirmations to come; but Ron's and Hermione's voices were feeble and too late; they knew, of course, but to say how they knew would be to tell far too much.

Now Will was standing glaring at them all, his blue eyes frowning stormily. "Is that what you think? Is that what you all think?" His voice had risen, the high-pitched, young timbre cutting through the murmur of luncheon conversation, which ground to an abrupt halt. "Is that what everyone thinks?" he said, looking around the hall, his voice carrying to the farthest corners. "You all think Harry Potter hurt my uncle?" Silence greeted him, as even people Harry knew didn't believe this didn't dare to speak.

Will's voice grew louder. "Whoever did this to my uncle was a coward. Harry Potter is not a coward! Most of you watched him lose a duel here yesterday. Did he hide afterward? No! He voted for his opponent along with everyone else! He dueled with You-Know-Who! He won the Triwizard Tournament! He deserves the respect of everyone here, of everyone in the wizarding world! Harry Potter has not done anything wrong!"

The echo of his treble voice took half a minute to die away. Harry looked at the other Gryffindors. After what seemed like a long minute of silence, Alicia stood; she nodded, and the others at the table, first through seventh years, also rose. She said softly, "Go on then, Harry. We're all behind you." He stood also, striding toward the door, flanked by Hermione and Will on his right, Ron and Parvati on his left, the rest of the Gryffindors walking in his wake.

The other houses watched this show of Gryffindor solidarity in silence. Once they were in the entrance hall, his housemates fell on him, some hugging him, others pumping his hand or slapping him on the back. Harry almost felt like crying; for two weeks he'd been living under a cloud, and now this outpouring of support was almost unbearably touching. This is what houses are for, he thought.

He smiled at the other Gryffindors, waving to the ones moving off to go to their afternoon classes. He saw Ginny look over her shoulder at him. He frowned; her expression was hard to read. He realized she had not joined in the hugging or back-slapping. She had kept her distance from him. She did believe he was innocent, didn't she? Could she have traveled out of the Great Hall in the pack with the other Gryffindors just to avoid calling attention to herself? Harry swallowed, watching her go, wishing her opinion did not mean so much to him. But that was something he could not help.

* * * * *

On Thursday, Ron asked Neville to stay in the Divination classroom for a few minutes after class so he could try doing another Tarot reading for him.

"I need the practice," he said. "You know, for the O.W.L.s."

Neville looked skeptical. Since when had Ron cared about O.W.L.s? his expression seemed to say. Ron went to the shelves near the fireplace and took down a Tarot deck; they were still trying to plumb the mysterious depths of Augury, still staring listlessly at the insides of dead birds. The Tarot cards hadn't been used in a while.

As Harry was leaving, he heard Ron ask Neville, "All right. When's your birthday again?" Harry could tell Ron was trying not to smile. Neville looked unsurprised that Ron did not remember his birthday.

"Today. Um, February twenty-ninth, that is," he stuttered.

"Today? You don't say. Happy birthday, Neville. Right then. We'll just do you a birthday reading..."

Harry smiled, going down the ladder. Ron knew very well that it was Neville's birthday. Ginny had gotten wind of it and organized a party, as she had for Hermione. Was Ginny still interested in Malfoy? he had to wonder. He had mixed feelings about this. Perhaps Ginny was just organizing the party as Neville's friend, not a potential girlfriend. She'd talked Ron into being the delaying tactic, keeping Neville from coming back to the common room until they'd gotten everything ready.

When Harry arrived, Ginny and Hermione were still running around frantically. "Harry!" Ginny said imperiously. "Get out your wand! Fix those falling streamers by the stairs!" He did as she asked--or rather commanded--trying not to show how amused he was by her perfectionism. Hermione charmed the glass punch bowl so that it was suddenly frosted over; then she etched fairy-like designs in the frost with a wave of her wand. Over the mantel hung a banner declaring, "Happy 4th Birthday Neville."

Harry frowned. "Uh, Ginny? I believe Neville is sixteen."

She laughed. "He's sixteen years old, but this is only the fourth birthday he's ever had. Because it's the Leap Day! You know, it only rolls around once every four years."

Harry was nodding with understanding before she was finished. Neville would certainly be surprised, he thought.

Suddenly, a loud voice in the corridor was giving the password. Ron was heard very clearly saying, "Kneazles!" Harry fought the urge to shout, "Gezundheit!" as an answer.

The portrait swung open, and Ron climbed through. A moment later, Neville followed, but he didn't have a chance to come in under his own power; he was dragged in bodily by a half-dozen people, while practically everyone in the house shouted, "Surprise!" or "Happy Birthday!"

Bowled over, Neville was grinning broadly, until he looked up and saw the banner over the mantel, and then he was laughing outright. Oddly, Harry couldn't remember seeing Neville laugh before. Surely he had, Harry thought. That's ridiculous. But if he had seen him laugh, it had been a very long time.

When the first excitement was over and Neville had been given a place of honor by the fireplace and a very silly hat to wear (a large stuffed vulture was on top), the presents were brought out. Harry had pitched in most of the money for a Wizarding Wireless for Neville (Ron, Ginny and Hermione were going to pay him back) and as soon as Neville saw what it was, he turned it on so there would be music for the party. He also received a glass terrarium from Seamus, Dean, Lee, Fred and George, for his toad Trevor to live in style. Neville fetched Trevor and placed him in it, and Trevor seemed quite taken with the artificial pond with its little sandy bank and smooth, round stones, ferns and other foliage. It was also stocked with a number of choice insects which could not leave the terrarium, and Trevor started pulling them into his mouth with gusto.

After the gifts, the refreshments were passed round, and then George and Angelina started dancing to the wireless, and little by little, other people joined in. Neville asked Ginny to dance after Ron and Parvati started. Harry remembered Ron dancing with her at the Christmas party (although at the time, he was unsure whether it was Parvati or Padma). Harry somewhat self-consciously asked Hermione to dance.

Harry held her loosely, his hands on her waist, her hands on his shoulders. He noticed that Parvati was wearing her birthday sweater from Lavender again. Ron was holding her closely, his hands caressing her back. Harry saw that Neville and Ginny were dancing loosely as he and Hermione were. That was something of a relief, as it seemed to indicate they were still just friends. On the other hand, Harry thought, Hermione and I are not really just friends any more...

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ron and Parvati move toward the portrait hole. He had an idea of what they might be going off to do, and it occurred to him that he and Hermione hadn't done that for a while. He whispered in her ear, letting her know what he was suggesting.

"Where?" she whispered back. "The Charms classroom is out of the question..."

"How about Transfiguration? It's not far," he breathed. She nodded.

"You go first. I'll wait--oh, ten minutes. That should be safe." Harry murmured agreement. When the song ended, he separated from her and went up the stairs to his dorm to get the Invisibility Cloak. He tucked it under his robes, almost dropping it when climbing out of the portrait hole, but he saved it in time. Ginny looked at him coldly as he left. What was with her lately? he wondered.

Once he was in the corridor, he looked around carefully before donning the Invisibility Cloak, hoping he would not run into Moody. He proceeded carefully to the Transfiguration classroom, so he wouldn't accidentally collide with someone coming around a corner suddenly.

As he neared Transfiguration, Sandy hissed to him, "A bull wants a fish..." Harry frowned. A bull? A fish? Whom had Sandy called a fish before? Parvati. Harry had a feeling he knew who the bull was. They must be nearby, Harry thought, for Sandy to be Seeing anything. He hissed to her, "Thanks for the heads up, Sandy, but while I'm wearing my Invisibility Cloak, I need to be as quiet as possible."

"I understand."

"Thanks, Sandy."

He reached the Transfiguration classroom. The door was open; the moment he entered, he saw them in the far corner, partially concealed behind a stack of extra chairs. Ron had his arms around Parvati, his hands were on her bare back under her thin violet sweater. Harry could see her smooth golden brown skin; in fact, he could see almost her whole back. She didn't appear to be wearing anything under the sweater. Subtle, Harry thought. Then he remembered Hermione on the day he'd first kissed her--but that wasn't planned. Parvati seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Well, Harry realized, she'd started to notice Ron after the Gryffindor/Slytherin match in the fall. Padma had too. Perhaps the two of them had reached some sort of agreement about who was going to "get" him.

But the question in Harry's brain was, Why had Ron suddenly decided to be with Parvati? After all, Hermione was on the verge of being rid of Viktor, and he hadn't seen any indication that Ron had suddenly stopped caring for her or being attracted to her. In fact, Harry was well aware of the fact that Ron's hormones were in as much of an uproar as his own. He had caught him on more than one occasion looking at a Muggle skin magazine that Dean kept stashed under his mattress. (Harry had also had a look at it.) But then he remembered Ron's panic when he'd tried to speak to him about Hermione, his fear that she'd either laugh in his face or that if they did try to be a couple and failed, everything would change. Why didn't I ever think of that? Harry wondered. It simply hadn't seemed like a problem to him. Parvati, on the other hand, was very pretty, attracted to Ron, and not exactly Ron's friend; a rejection or failed relationship with her wouldn't be the same as with Hermione.

Hermione! She would be here soon, Harry thought. He looked over at Ron and Parvati again. Ron had moved his hands down below her waist; she was clutching him around the middle as they kissed; he could see their tongues shooting out, then Ron moved his mouth down her throat, down the low V of her sweater, while she threw her head back, an animal-like sound escaping from her which Harry did not associate with Parvati. Her hands started to move lower on Ron as well, and Harry's mouth went dry.

Then he remembered Malfoy saying, "Who knows what you've seen in that Invisibility Cloak of yours," and admitting to spying on Hannah and Ernie. I am not like Malfoy, he insisted to himself. He carefully backed out of the room, waiting for Hermione, wanting to make absolutely certain she did not see Ron and Parvati. He tried to resist the urge to look again to see why Ron was making that moaning sound...What if McGonagall were to come in? he wondered.

Harry felt like he was waiting years for Hermione to show up. Finally, he heard a step at the end of the corridor. She was walking forward briskly, swinging her arms, her prefect's badge gleaming, her black robes billowing behind her. Harry smiled at the sight of her. He walked down the corridor to meet her, well away from the Transfiguration classroom. Somehow he managed to forget he was wearing his Invisibility Cloak. He kept expecting her to stop any second. She seemed to be looking right at him. Then they collided painfully, both falling onto the hard stone floor.

"Ow," she groaned, wincing. "Harry, watch where you're going. I was almost at the Transfiguration classroom..."

"That's the problem." he whispered, helping her up, then adjusting his cloak again. "Someone else thought of it first. I thought we could go up to Fluffy's old hangout."

"You mean where you were ducking the prefects' meeting?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that--"
She sighed as she walked, speaking lowly, trying not to move her lips too much. "I can't really blame you. Roger was being a real prick."

"Hermione!" Harry said in shock, then clapped his hand over his mouth.

"Harry, if there's one person who does not inspire me to watch my language, it's Roger Davies. And if there's another person, it's Draco Malfoy."

"Where?" Harry said, looking around anxiously.

"I didn't mean he was here, silly. Oh, be careful; are you in front of me? We're coming up on one of those trick steps Neville always used to forget."

"Thank goodness for Neville!" Harry said softly. "Davies was so happy about him beating me he was less of a prick than usual at Sunday night's meeting."

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Hermione said softly. "Language."

"Hey, if you can say it, I can say it." He smiled under the cloak.

When they reached the door, Hermione opened it quietly, looking up and down the corridor. She lit her wand and held the door open so Harry could slip past her. She closed the door and he removed the cloak, practically throwing it on the floor. She looked at him with a helpless, open expression that made him catch his breath. She slid her hands around his neck and he pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his, feeling her open her mouth, clutching at her desperately. She dropped her lit wand and it went out.

They held each other in the total darkness, mouths ravenous, hands more adventurous than in the recent past. It's amazing how brave you can be in the dark, Harry thought as he drew her down onto the floor. They were sitting side by side against the door, turned to each other, mouths linked, her hands in his hair, his on her back, slowly and cautiously moving one to the front, remembering that night in the common room when they were interrupted by Ginny and Malfoy.

Suddenly, Hermione pulled away from him. "Ow," she said, grunting softly. "why do stone floors have to be so hard?" she asked rhetorically.

"It's not so bad in here," Harry said, reaching out to find her again, running one hand lightly down her leg.

"It's not being in here, really," she said, although he thought part of the problem was being in such a comfortless place. "It's that fall I took downstairs. I feel so sore now."

"Well then you shouldn't be sitting on a hard stone floor. Come here, sit on my lap."

He wished he could see her face. He heard her hesitate. "Well, all right," she finally said, and crawled into his lap, sitting on him sideways, her legs extending to his right.

"Is that better?" he whispered in her ear, making her shudder from his mouth being so close to it. She put her right arm around his shoulders.

"Much. It's just that--I'm so sore," she said again.

"How's this?" he said softly, moving his left hand down below her waist, caressing in light circles. He leaned forward and found her ear again, kissed it lightly, then moved his lips down her jawbone, down her neck, feeling the insistent pulse beneath the skin.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed, sinking her fingers into his hair again. Whether it was because of his hands or mouth, he didn't know, but he kept on, wanting to hear her sound like that again.

He tried not to think about Ron and Parvati and what Hermione might have done if she'd seen them. He lifted her chin and found her mouth again. He didn't want to think about them right now. He just knew that he wanted to kiss her and hold her and touch her, and as it went on he became sadder and sadder, because he knew that soon they would have to stop. He didn't want her to remember being with him on a cold stone floor in a dark room the first time; he wasn't sure how to manage it, but he wanted it to be special.

Finally, he decided it was time to stop, before they couldn't. He fumbled for his wand, lit it so he could see to fasten his robes, fasten hers, straighten his glasses. She was beautifully flustered in the dim light, her hair in her face, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip. She stood up to brush down her robes, and he tried not to sigh with relief too loudly when she got off him. Having her sit on him had been both wonderful and excruciating. He also stood, shaking out his robes. She stooped to get her wand, then handed him the Invisibility Cloak. She seemed so practical and businesslike suddenly. He pulled her to him again, opening his mouth suddenly, feeling her respond immediately, losing that core of reserve she wore like a suit of armor most of the time. He ended the kiss, looking down at her, running his thumb along her bottom lip. She looked back at him as though she might lose her composure at any moment.

Harry looked away from her; that look was almost the end of his own self-control. He opened the door, clutching his Invisibility Cloak, and then put it on. They walked back downstairs, Hermione looking for all the world like she was alone, Harry walking unseen beside her, aching for her and very, very grateful that she had not seen Ron and Parvati.

* * * * *

Harry was glad he and Hermione had taken some time to be together on Neville's birthday. Now that he was done his Animagus training (McGonagall just wanted him to check in once a week) he was able to concentrate on Quidditch more. They had a match against Hufflepuff coming up on March sixteenth, only about two more weeks to prepare. The weather had already started to warm a bit. Harry felt that might be a red herring, as it had snowed in April in years past, but as the day of the match approached, the warm spring-like weather persisted, and Harry was optimistic about a fair day.

After Will Flitwick's show of support, many of the students had evidently decided that he probably had not cursed the Charms classroom doorway . Harry decided to go visit the hospital wing on a regular basis, talk to Cho and Flitwick, in case they could hear anything. Hermione went with him, looking very concerned about little Professor Flitwick. A possible solution for their comas was mandrake root, but Sprout's mandrakes wouldn't be mature for another month or two. Someone had Spellotaped Flitwick's many get-well cards to the wall behind his bed, as well as a banner saying, "We miss you Prof. Flitwick." Cho always seemed to have fresh flowers on her bedside table, Harry noticed. They were replenished every day, although he never saw it happen.

A few days before the Quidditch match, Harry thought he saw Viktor Krum leaving the entrance hall after he finished breakfast. Harry had left before the others; now that the weather was warming, he just wanted the chance to stand on the front steps and breathe in the fresh almost-spring air, look at a real blue sky scattered with fluffy white clouds, rather than the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall. But as soon as he saw Viktor, his plan changed. He waited for Ron and Hermione by the front door and asked them to go down to Hagrid's without him and give his apologies for being late. Hermione looked like she was about to ask why, but Harry turned from them and headed for the marble stairs. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Ron take her arm and draw her away, out the door.

When he entered the infirmary, he saw again the fresh flowers on Cho's table, and he went to look for Madam Pomfrey in her office, but she wasn't there. He went to a door on the far side of the office which had frosted glass in it etched with the legend APOTHECARY. Harry had never been here before. He thought he saw a shadow moving about on the other side of the door and rapped gently on the glass.

He heard steps approaching the door, which was opened by a flustered-looking Madam Pomfrey, wearing a voluminous grey apron over her black robes, her face flushed with heat, wiry grey hair escaping from a sloppy bun. Harry saw a large bubbling cauldron hovering in the air above a purple fire, shelves with as many potions and potions ingredients as Snape's office, if not more.

Madam Pomfrey looked quite harried. Harry thought quickly. The way to get information, he knew from talking to McGonagall, was to behave as if you already have it.

"Madam Pomfrey, would you be sure to tell me if Viktor Krum doesn't come to see Cho in the next few days? I promised him I'd make sure she still had fresh flowers if he couldn't make it. The Cannons might be stepping up their practices."

She told him what he wanted to know without hesitating for a moment. "I'd be happy to tell you if he doesn't come, Potter, but I'll be surprised if that happens. Not a day has gone by since she's been in here but he's bringing her flowers and sitting by her bedside talking to her...usually more than once a day." He's been coming every day, Harry thought. He had suspected, but now he knew. He thanked Madam Pomfrey and returned to the infirmary to look at Cho and Flitwick before leaving.

A side effect of people knowing she'd broken up with him but not blaming him for her current state was that girls were suddenly asking him out. There was a Hogsmeade weekend coming up on the twenty-third, one week after the Quidditch match. After the most recent Dueling Club meeting, Susan Bones had shyly asked him if he wanted to go with her to Hogsmeade. He was shocked; she'd never said two words to him in Herbology. He had deflected her invitation by saying he wasn't ready to date again yet, thanks. Perhaps she thought he was harboring hopes of making up with Cho when she awoke. Mandy Brocklehurst then waylaid him after the prefects' meeting and asked him out for the same Hogsmeade weekend. What was so important about that weekend? Harry wondered.

He soon found out. A large parchment went up in the entrance hall announcing a traditional Scottish ceilidh on the day of the Hogsmeade trip, to be held in the town hall where they'd gone to the opera. Admission would be ten Sickles. The well-known wizarding bagpipe group Screaming Haggis was on tour, and they were stopping in Hogsmeade after playing Glasgow and Edinburgh but before going up to the Orkneys. Harry learned that ceilidh was pronounced "kelly" when Dumbledore announced it at dinner the evening after the parchment went up. But Harry was still mystified.

"What's a seelid--I mean, a kelly?" he asked Hermione across the table while they ate.

"A ceilidh," she said it more like kay-lee, "is a gathering, a dance. With traditional Scottish reels and that sort of thing. You know, lots of bagpipes, usually some sword dancing. And the men are supposed to wear kilts."

Kilts! Harry thought, alarmed. Had Susan and Mandy been asking him on a date that would required him to wear a kilt? But soon, Susan and Mandy were the least of his problems. A fourth-year Slytherin girl he didn't know asked him to the ceilidh. He turned her down. She had a thick Scottish burr and he could barely understand what she said. He did think, though, that it took guts for a Slytherin to ask him out. Then, to make matters worse, Katie Bell cornered him in the common room and asked him to the same dance. He deflected her, stuttering nervously the whole time. But the really difficult refusal came when Alicia trapped him in the Quidditch changing room after practice the day before the match.

She put her hand on his arm and stopped him leaving after the other players had left. No one seemed to miss them. He looked at her quizzically.

"Alicia, what--" he started to say, when she pushed him up against the wall and slid her hands up around his neck. The next thing he knew she had pulled his face down to hers and put her mouth against his, then an insistent tongue was trying to slip between his teeth...

He sputtered and pulled back, the taste of her still in his mouth. He swallowed and looked at her. She appeared as perfect as ever. Her straight blonde hair shivered around her chin, her crystal-blue eyes looked at him curiously. Her smooth porcelain skin had not a blemish or freckle, and he could easily picture her in a riding habit, nodding imperiously at a groom holding her mount. But for some reason, he pictured her in an old-fashioned habit with a large skirt and fitted black jacket, a lace jabot at her throat and a jaunty black bowler with black netting pulled down over her aristocratic face as she sat side-saddle on a gleaming chestnut thoroughbred...

She took advantage of his mind wandering to kiss him again, and this time she was more successful; he found himself kissing her back, hands holding her shoulders, mouth on auto-pilot for almost ten seconds before he came to his senses and pushed her away.

"Alicia! Stop!" he said when he had his brain back.

She was smiling knowingly. "Your words say stop, but your actions--"

"Alicia! You--you caught me by surprise. This isn't about the ceilidh, is it? Because I'm not going with you."

She looked rather hurt. "Yes, I was going to ask you to the ceilidh--" she said, tears in her voice. He knew he shouldn't have said that; he should have let her ask him out, then tactfully turn her down. He realized he probably seemed awfully conceited to assume she was going to ask him to the dance.

"I'm sorry, Alicia, I didn't mean to--" but she backed up from him, laughing and yet seeming like the laughter was to stave off her tears.

"What was I thinking?" she asked, as if she was talking to herself, not him. "What made me think I could--that Harry Potter would--"

"Alicia!" he shouted to get her to look at him. "Are you all right?"

She looked at him, rather dazed, then shaking her head as if to clear it. When she spoke, she sounded closer to normal.

"Harry--I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that. I just--I just felt this compulsion--I know that's not a good excuse, but you're not seeing anyone now--"

"And I don't want to," he said, trying to soften the edge of his voice a little. "I'm just--not ready to do that again, not yet--"

She nodded, swallowing, wiped her eyes delicately, so that there were no longer unshed tears there, ready to spill over her cheeks. "I understand."

But did she? wondered Harry. In a way, he was seeing someone else, but it seemed more tactful to wait and see whether Cho and Flitwick could be wakened by the mandrakes before going public with a new relationship--especially with one of his best friends.

Alicia whispered, "Can we just pretend this never happened?"

Harry nodded. "Of course. Total amnesia."

She smiled. "Almost as good as a memory charm." Then, looking at him wistfully for a moment, she turned and ran out of the changing room. Harry let his breath out, not having even realized he was holding it. Clearly, he needed to figure out what to do about the damn ceilidh.

* * * * *

Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff by a respectable two-hundred ten to thirty. Gryffindor was now in the lead for the Quidditch cup, with five-hundred and twenty points. Slytherin only had two-hundred and ninety from their match against Hufflepuff, since they were scoreless against Gryffindor. And Hufflepuff had a paltry one-hundred-ten points and no wins after three matches. Ravenclaw only had two-hundred and ten, but unlike Slytherin, they still had two matches yet. The schedule had been rearranged by Madam Hooch so that Ravenclaw was playing in the late April match and the final match of the year in early June; everyone was hoping that Cho Chang would be recovered and ready to play Seeker by then, with little Flitwick looking on and cheering for his house team.

Even though the Quaffle had only gotten past him three times, Ron was enormously chagrined about this. The new Hufflepuff captain was Ashraf el-Madi, who played Chaser. He had scored the thirty points, looking venomously at Ron the entire time. Harry thought el-Madi seemed more like a Slytherin than a Hufflepuff. He had given Harry a funny look when they shook hands before the match. Harry had shuddered afterward; he was glad el-Madi was a seventh-year. The Hufflepuffs would have to choose another captain next year.

The rest of the team just wasn't up to el-Madi, however. Ernie Macmillan struggled as the Keeper, letting Gryffindor score on him six times. Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones were the other Chasers; Susan wasn't bad, but Hannah wasn't any better at Quidditch than she was at dueling. The Beaters, a fourth year named Drumm and a sixth year named Carson, were almost more of a danger to their own teammates than to the Gryffindors. They reminded Harry of how Hermione had played at the Burrow. Four times Justin had almost been struck by Bludgers hit by his own teammates.

Harry felt in his element again. Even though it wasn't shaping up to be very difficult to play Hufflepuff, Harry didn't want to be lackadaisical about catching the Snitch. If Justin got to it first, Hufflepuff would still win. When Harry spotted the Snitch, he zoomed for it on his Firebolt, executing a perfect roll before going into the dive, as Justin followed half a field behind. Harry flew around the pitch, holding the Snitch over his head, smiling.

When both teams landed and Harry shook el-Madi's hand again, he couldn't help but notice a sadness in his hooded eyes that seemed to have little to do with losing at Quidditch. Perhaps his hostility earlier had simply been loyalty to his house, rather than a Slytherin-like quality. All of the Hufflepuffs seemed pretty subdued. It wasn't just that they were out of the running for the Quidditch Cup, Harry suspected. They'd all looked like they'd been carrying a heavy burden all year. Cedric should have been their captain still, and their Seeker. Instead, Ashraf el-Madi had been tapped to be captain, and Muggle-born Justin, who was small and lithe but had never played Quidditch before, was now their none-too-sharp-eyed Seeker. Perhaps el-Madi resented Harry for living when Cedric was dead. Harry himself felt this way quite often.

The other Gryffindors seemed to get the idea that this wasn't the sort of win to be gloated over. This wasn't beating Slytherin. They walked back to the castle talking quietly, Fred and George clowning rather half-heartedly, no one discussing the match. Ron walked with his arm around Parvati's shoulder, her arm around his waist. They both looked rather serious somehow. Harry trailed behind everyone else, and Hermione noticed and slowed her pace.

"Are you all right, Harry?" she said softly, putting her hand on his arm. He didn't look at her, nodding. "If you say so," she murmured, obviously unconvinced. "Oh, I almost forgot. You know the ceilidh? Viktor says he can't come. I had hoped he would show up to break up with me, or maybe I could break up with him. But now--anyway, everyone else is going, and it sounds like fun..."

"Actually, I was going to ask you. But to tell the truth, I've been fending off all of these invitations from other girls. Rather amazing. I mean Cho did break up with me, but she is in a coma now. You'd think they'd be a little more sensitive." Then he notice Hermione's face. "I didn't mean you too! It's just that--well, we'll have to tell people we're going as friends. You're still with Viktor, technically, and I've been telling all these girls I don't want to be in a relationship again already--not that I ever really felt like I was in one--oh! I almost forgot!" He stopped and turned to face her. "Hermione, I--well, it wasn't really me--okay, it kind of was, but I didn't start it--oh, dammit! Here!" He extended his foot out toward her. She stared down at it.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Mash it! Stomp on it! Go on!"

"Harry, what are you talking about?"

He sighed. "Listen, don't be mad at her. And don't tell anyone. Alicia is one of the girls who asked me out. And she--she kissed me."

Hermione took this in, looking strangely calm. "And?"

"And, well, I kind of kissed her back for a few seconds. But then I put a stop to all of it!"

Hermione continued to look at him with a strange calmness. "So that's it?" He nodded. "Harry, I'm not going to mash your foot. It certainly doesn't sound like you were trying to get Alicia to kiss you. I'm fine."

"You're fine?" he said, incredulous.

"Harry, I know that--that I once said I wanted this too much, that I felt out of control, but that's not true anymore." She looked at his face for a moment, then, as if realizing how this sounded, she got a horrified look on her face and plunged on. "Oh, Harry, I don't mean--I mean I still want us to be together. I just don't feel--I don't know how to put it--insane? Desperate? None of this is probably coming out right. I feel confident that everything will work itself out. That's it. I think I lacked that confidence before, and it made me feel rather frantic about us. In the last month, I've felt a kind of calmness come over me. I just feel that we're inevitable, somehow, and to expend a huge amount of mental energy obsessing about us would just be a waste. I have no doubts about us, Harry. I know we're going to be fine. I don't care how many girls throw themselves at you. I think I know you pretty well by now, Harry, and you haven't given me any reason to worry." She paused. "Well, except for one thing..."

"What?"

"Well--you do seem rather--odd about Malfoy and Ginny."

Harry tried to keep his face impassive. "You tried to warn him yourself about his behaving himself with her."

"That was because of her age. You told him he had to keep behaving himself after her birthday as well. And the way you said it--"

"I thought you said you didn't care how many girls threw themselves at me?"

"Yes, but Ginny isn't one of those girls, is she?"

Harry looked at her, a lump in his throat. "I'm just thinking of Ron. He'll be mad enough when he finds out about them--and that goes for you now too. We're both keeping this from him. I'm just trying to keep what he doesn't know to a minimum."

But although she nodded, Harry could see she was unconvinced. It wasn't surprising. Harry didn't feel particularly convinced by his own words. He reached out for her hand and she gave it to him. He took a deep breath before continuing.

"I've been meaning to mention something to you, Hermione. There's this potion, it's called Prophylaxis Potion--"

"Yes. I know all about that." She sounded very calm again, like she'd forgotten about Ginny.

"You do?"

"Don't worry Harry. When the time is right--"

She squeezed his hand, then released it. They were at the door to the castle. She walked in ahead of him, and he stood watching her, having difficulty breathing suddenly. Maybe this would happen after all, Harry thought. Perhaps she was right, and everything would work out. He certainly hoped so.

Then, he realized that if they were going to the ceilidh in one week, he would need a kilt. Suddenly, wearing a kilt to go to a dance with Hermione didn't seem like such an onerous task. But how to get it?

Then he remembered what he had done when he needed a Pensieve, and Muggle newspapers: he'd contacted Sirius. But he didn't have time for Hedwig to fly all the way down to Manchester and back. How to do it?

As he passed the doorway to the Great Hall, he had an idea. He stopped and turned, walked into the enormous room, the enchanted ceiling showing the same brilliant blue sky he'd just been playing under. His steps sounded very loud and echoed as he briskly crossed the hall, and he hesitated for only a moment before opening the door to the passage Snape had shown him.

He lit his wand and closed the door behind him, carrying his broom carefully and descending the stairs lightly, instinctively walking on tip-toe. When he reached the hidden passage that he and Snape had accessed by going behind the tapestry, Harry was momentarily flummoxed; where had Snape touched the wall again? Harry leaned his broom against the wall so he could run his left hand over the slightly damp stones, still holding his wand up so he could see.

Finally, part of the wall gave way; he put his shoulder to it and felt it pivot, groaning and complaining. When there was enough space for him to pass through, he turned himself sideways and slipped into Snape's office, carrying his broom, putting his wand away first. He breathed a sigh of relief and started to brush himself off, then looked up and into the inquisitive eyes of Severus Snape, sitting at his desk.

"And to what do I owe this visit?" Snape's oily voice met his ears. Harry felt himself redden. He'd been accused of breaking into Snape's office in the past, and now here he was actually doing it. He'd been hoping to use the powder on the mantel to call Sirius without Snape knowing about it, but now--

"I, um needed to talk to you and I didn't want to take the chance that someone might be in the Potions Dungeon and see me coming in," he lied, although, he thought, that could have been how it happened...

"What did you need to see me about?"

"Well--all right. Not really you. I needed to contact Sirius and I was hoping you'd let me use your fireplace to do it."

He nodded. "And why do you need to speak to Black?"

Harry fought the urge to shuffle his feet and look like a four-year-old. "Because--he's my godfather and I need a kilt for the ceilidh next week."

Snape sat up and looked concerned. "You're going? Are you sure you want to do that?"

Harry frowned. "Is the band that bad?"

He sneered. "I don't care about the damn band. We have some intelligence that there might--there might be some Death Eater activity..."

Harry's eyes opened wide. "Are you positive? Because a lot of the students are planning to go. Would they all be in danger?"

Snape sat back and put his fingers together, his brow knit in thought. "On the other hand, perhaps it wouldn't be a bad thing for the captain of the Dueling Club to be there. If anyone could probably manage Death Eaters...Are you taking a girl?"

"Hermione."

"Well, there you go. The two top students in the club. And you'll be prepared, since you'll know ahead of time. But don't tell the other students; I don't want to create a panic. We've had other leads go south. It's unclear whether one of our informants is actually a double-agent, giving us bad information on purpose. Four times in the last two months while Black was sent on a wild goose chase, elsewhere Muggles were being tortured or just played with by Death Eaters. The Ministry dispatched their Memory Charms people to take care of the aftermath, but Fudge is still ignoring the root problem. There is yet to be anything in the Daily Prophet about the Dark Lord returning, or about these Muggle attacks. Let alone the Westminster tube station."

"I didn't know about those attacks," Harry said, feeling a little left out.

"Black didn't see the need to tell you about every little bit of mischief they're up to, and I concur. You need to focus on school, on learning everything you can. On the one hand, I hope that everyone at the ceilidh will be safe. I'm going myself. But you're right; you'll need a kilt. Black should be able to get you the right clan. He'll know."

"I'm Scottish?"

He nodded. "I seem to remember your father mentioning something about his mother, or grandmother."

Harry nodded. Then he remembered something. "So, do you have a Clan Campbell kilt?"

Snape had been looking for something in a desk drawer, but now he snapped his head up; Harry had never before mentioned to Snape anything that he'd learned in the Pensieve. He had brought up the goblet of blood with Sirius, but never with Snape.

"Yes," he said softly. "I have one."

Harry looked toward the fireplace, wanting to dissipate the awkwardness. He put his hand near the powder on the mantel. "May I?" he asked. Snape nodded.

He threw some into the fire, saying, "Remus Lupin."

After a few moments, Lupin's face appeared in the flames. Harry smiled; he hadn't actually seen him in some time.

"Harry! How are you? Looks like you've been playing Quidditch. Was it a practice or a match?"

"Match. We won. Against Hufflepuff. Two-ten to thirty."

"Excellent! I'll get Sirius." His head disappeared.

In a few more moments, Sirius' head appeared in the flames. "Hello, Harry. Why the call?"

"Well, you know the ceilidh in Hogsmeade next week? I'm going. So I was hoping you could get me a kilt. Snape said you knew what the right clan would be. I didn't even know my dad was Scottish."

"Clan MacGregor. Very nice tartan, red and dark green, primarily. Are you going with Hermione?"

Harry looked down, coloring, then caught Snape's eye; he seemed interested that Sirius knew about Hermione. "Yes."

"All right, I'll get a length of tartan for her to wear around her shoulders. Women don't wear kilts; they drape the tartans on themselves and hold it in place with a large sort of brooch with the clan crest on it."

Harry hesitated now. "Sirius--are the Death Eaters going to attack the ceilidh? If that's a possibility, shouldn't Dumbledore cancel the Hogsmeade trip?"

Sirius sighed. "I don't know what to think, Harry. I feel like we've been getting as much good information as bad lately. I mean, look at your situation; someone managed to bewitch the door of the Charms classroom in Hogwarts! How did someone infiltrate Hogwarts?"

Harry was perplexed. "I didn't tell you anything about that." He thought of Malfoy and the mystery of who had sent him the school owls.

"Yes, and I'll be hacked off at you about that another time. Severus told me."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"At any rate, I'll hopefully see you there."

"Where?"

"At the ceilidh. And there will be other operatives there as well. Hopefully we'll be so well-covered that the Death Eaters won't dare pull anything. Plus, this will be a wizard gathering, not Muggle. I don't suppose you've ever been to a wizard ceilidh, Harry?"

"Never been to any kind of ceilidh."

"Well, it used to be that only the men danced. But Scottish magical folk gave women more freedom and equality than Muggles pretty early on. Now the only wizard-only dancing is with the swords. Although, I suppose that if a witch wanted to join in the sword dancing, no one would stop her."

"But Sirius--how will you be there? You'd be recognized, thrown back into Azkaban!"

Sirius smiled cryptically and flashed his eyes at Harry. " I didn't say I would look like myself, did I?" Harry caught on; Polyjuice Potion.

"Be careful," he cautioned him. Sirius took the warning in the affectionate way it was intended.

"I will," he said to his godson gently. "Well! If I'm to get you and Hermione some Clan MacGregor gear, I'd better get going. I know the perfect place in Sloane Square in London. I'll Apparate there and back this afternoon and you should have your kilt, tartan and everything else you need by tomorrow. And I don't need to get you a dirk; you can use that knife I already gave you. It's a magical dirk."

"What does that have to do with the ceilidh? Not that I mind having another weapon..."

Sirius smiled. "I'll also send a book so you know how to dress yourself properly. The dirk goes in your sock. Perhaps you can explain it to him, Severus."

Snape nodded, and Harry tried not to laugh; if anyone had ever told him he'd be getting advice on how to dress from Snape...

"Well, I'd better get shopping then, Harry. Good bye for now. See you both next Saturday." And he was gone. Harry thanked Snape and left through the secret passage again, grateful that Snape gave him a way to contact Sirius that was faster than owl post, but also somehow grateful that he wasn't also in Clan Campbell, like Snape. He wondered what tartan Sirius would wear. And what face.

* * * * *

The next day at breakfast, Lupin's owl delivered a large package to Harry from Sirius with his kilt, plus something called a sporran, some diamond-patterned socks, and several other alien-looking things he supposed he'd have to look up in the book Sirius also included about the Scottish Clans. A paper-wrapped parcel inside Harry's larger package had Hermione's name on it. She was surprised, opening it after moving her breakfast dishes aside.

"Oh," she breathed when she took out a beautiful length of the red and green MacGregor tartan, which had a white windowpane overlay. Harry put out his hand and felt the material; it was a heavy wool, but silky soft. The kilt was slightly rougher. There was also a silver-colored brooch with a lion's head in the middle, wearing a crown; it was flanked by a unicorn and a stag. Harry held it, looking at the stag wistfully, tracing it with his finger.

"Prongs..." he said softly, under his breath.

Unfortunately, Katie and Alicia were sitting across from them at the Gryffindor table that morning. Alicia eyed Hermione in a rather unfriendly way now.

"What's that for?" she wanted to know, nodding at Hermione's tartan.

Hermione looked at her as though she had no knowledge of her kissing Harry and asking him to the same dance.

"Harry and I are going to the ceilidh. As friends. But since I'm not Scottish, I'll be wearing his tartan."

Alicia and Katie looked at each other knowingly; perhaps their suspicions were just fueled by jealousy, but Harry started to worry about how much longer they were going to be able to keep things covered up. It was getting very awkward, and here they were, preparing rather publicly for what amounted to a date.

"As friends?" Katie said, sounding doubtful.

Hermione nodded, then started speaking rapidly. "You know, it's quite fascinating how most Scottish wizards didn't start wearing robes until the wearing of the tartan was outlawed after Culloden, in 1754. Before that, you couldn't really tell a Scottish Muggle from a wizard, unless you actually saw him Apparate or do some other kind of magic. And did you know that Robert the Bruce was actually a wizard? Well, of course, that explains Bannockburn. I mean, if he hadn't been a wizard...I've been reading this book from the library, 'Great Scottish Wizards', and it's just amazing how many of the really famous Scots were magical..."

Alicia and Katie rolled their eyes and rose to leave. Harry smiled. Hermione really knew how to clear a room when she wanted to (and sometimes, when she didn't want to). Of course, the really foolproof tactic was for her to start reciting 'Hogwarts: A History' verbatim, but any obscure book would do.

On her other side, Ron was wincing. "Is there any book in the library you haven't memorized?" He was sitting with his arm around Parvati. Hermione looked at him coldly.

"Is there any book in this school you've actually opened?" she responded, then rose, taking her package from Sirius, leaving the hall. Ron followed her with his eyes, his expression inscrutable, then turned to Harry.

"So. You're going to the ceilidh."

Harry nodded, unsure whether he meant 'you' as singular or plural. Ron made a face. "Couldn't pay me to wear a kilt. And I'm always hard up for money, so that's saying something. We're just going to hang out at Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks." Harry realized after a second that Ron's 'we' included Parvati. He was still getting used to this. It felt rather odd. Parvati also looked relieved, as though a ceilidh were the last place on earth she wanted to be.

This was confirmed for Harry when she said, "Bagpipes..." and shuddered in revulsion.

"I rather like bagpipes," Ginny said. She'd been sitting next to Katie. Next to her, Neville got a strange expression on his face. He turned to her now, looking a bit nervous.

"In that case--would you--would you like to go to the ceilidh with me, Ginny?"

Ginny looked at him, her mouth open. Ron was frowning. Harry wondered what she would do. She looked like she was afraid to hurt Neville's feelings in front of so many people. She finally mumbled, "All right," looking like she'd been tricked into it. Neville smiled.

"Thanks. I have to find out from my gran if she can send my dad's old kilt. I don't even remember what clan it is. I'm sure there's a length of tartan too. Unless you have your own clan."

She shook her head. "No. Yours will do fine."

He smiled again and rose to go. Ginny remained, looking helplessly at Harry. She checked to see that Ron was speaking in low tones to Parvati before whispering to him, "Oh, dear. What do you suppose I should tell--you know who?" she whispered.

Harry hoped nobody present could hear Ginny; they might think she was talking about Voldemort. "If he's going," he said softly, "then he could probably cut in at some point. You two might actually have a chance to dance together."

Ginny looked thoughtful. "Hmm. I hadn't considered that. Do you think he would go?"

Harry sighed. "Well if you tell him you're going with Neville, do you think you could keep him away?"

Ginny smiled. "You have a point. I mean, though, he isn't Scottish, is he?"

He nodded, taking a piece of bacon from his plate. "Clan Campbell," he said casually, biting the bacon. Ginny was perplexed.

"How do you know?"

He looked guiltily at her. The Pensieve wasn't even something he could really tell Ginny about...But he managed to answer truthfully. "I heard Lucius Malfoy mention it once."

Ginny didn't have to know that the Lucius Malfoy in question had been twenty years younger, and that he'd heard it in a Pensieve. Ginny seemed satisfied. Harry thought, that's two more. Three, counting Malfoy. He agreed that if Hogwarts students were going to be there, having many of them be members of the Dueling Club was an excellent idea. He wished he could warn more of them besides Hermione that they needed to keep on their toes, however. But he didn't dare. He would just have to hope that it would be all right.

* * * * *

On Thursday afternoon, Harry and Ron were staring dispiritedly at the entrails of yet another dead chicken, having, over time, grown inured to gazing at the mess. Trelawney came over to their table and leaned over, looking at their bird. "Ah," she said in that misty way of hers. "I know what I see. The question is, do you see it?" She looked at Harry expectantly; she'd been waiting all year for him to display his Inner Eye again, to no avail, since he had stopped wearing Sandy to Divination for a while. Even though he was wearing her now, he was determined to ignore any of her predictions unless she told him something of life-and-death importance.

Harry squinted at the bloody mess in front of him, trying to look thoughtful. Ron had that I'm-just-going-to-make-it-up look on his face. Harry couldn't wait to hear what he would say.

"What do you think?" he said to Ron, trying to keep a straight face.

Ron looked like he was pondering a question for the ages. "I think--that the sleeping will awake and feel refreshed. A curse will be lifted." Yeah, thought Harry; those of us sleeping in here will awake refreshed and the curse of being in Divination class will be lifted as soon as the bloody bell rings. Once when he'd told Dumbledore he'd fallen asleep in Divination, the headmaster hadn't even been surprised. He seemed to expect it.

Trelawney frowned. Harry could tell she knew she was being played. She didn't comment, but moved on to Lavender and Parvati, who had also grown used to the dead chickens, even going so far as to volunteer to strangle their own, which still gave Harry the willies. Some dueler I'll be, going up against Death Eaters, he thought. Girls can bring themselves to strangle a chicken, but I can't.

After class was finally over, they found Hermione waiting for them at the foot of the ladder that led down from Trelawney's. She was practically hopping up and down with excitement. "Harry!" she said excitedly. "They're awake!"

He frowned, confused. "Who?"

"Cho and Flitwick! I just found out! Let's go!" She pulled his hand and Harry looked at Ron helplessly.

"See you in the common room," he called to him. Ron nodded. He didn't seem inclined to come with them, which Harry thought was just as well. He saw Ron put his arm around Parvati and start walking along to Gryffindor Tower while he was pulled along the corridor to the hospital wing by Hermione.

When they reached the door to the infirmary, Harry hesitated before putting his hand on the knob. Hermione was in no mood for that, however, and she put her hand on the knob instead, turning it and rushing inside. Harry followed her, as she started across the room. Little Flitwick was sitting up in his bed, talking with Will and some Ravenclaws who had already come. He waved cheerily to Harry and Hermione. A curtain had been drawn around Cho's bed, which was where they went now. But when they pulled back the curtain, they found Viktor Krum kissing Cho Chang on the mouth, holding her face in his hands. They stood still, struck dumb. Viktor turned, becoming the same color as the sheets. Cho looked embarrassed.

"Herm-own-ninny! And Harry! I--uh--"

Hermione smiled at him. "It's okay, Viktor. I--I knew you were coming every day to see her. I kind of suspected..."

Cho Chang looked at Viktor. "Every day?" Viktor got his color back, and then some, looking down at his feet. Cho smiled and laced her fingers through his, and he looked down at her, covering their linked hands with his other hand. Then Cho looked at Harry, horrified. "Oh, Harry--I'm sorry--"

He gave her an understanding look. "You already broke up with me, remember?"

She looked confused, then looked as though she remembered again. "That's right. And--hey! Why'd you send me that note? Are you the reason I've been asleep for--how long has it been, Viktor?"

"Forty days."

"Well," Harry began. "Yes and no."

"Yes and no what?" Cho demanded.

"Yes I'm the reason you've been asleep for forty days, but not because I sent you the note. I didn't send it, in fact." He explained to her how Ron and Hermione had also received notes, and he had prevented them from going. He hadn't known she'd received a note, so he hadn't been able to warn her. "We still don't know who did it," Harry told her. "But you clearly did the right thing to break up with me. I wondered for a while if I ever should have gone out with you, whether it would make you a target..."

She grimaced. "I'm the one who asked you out, Harry. I had my eyes wide open."

He nodded, not wanting to argue with her. Viktor looked at Hermione again. "I am sorry for the vay things vorked out, Herm-own-ninny..."

She patted Viktor on the arm, smiling. "I'm not. You two look pretty happy." Cho and Viktor gazed at each other; they did, actually. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all, Harry thought. He felt a kind of matchmaker-smugness come over him. He and Hermione decided to leave Cho and Viktor alone when they started to kiss again, clearly forgetting they weren't alone.

Outside the curtain, they saw that Flitwick's visitors had left, so they went to talk to him.

"Harry! Hermione! How nice to see you again. How nice to see anyone again!" he chuckled. Forty days of bed-rest didn't seem to have disagreed with him. Harry, however, was having trouble meeting his eyes. Flitwick noticed. His voice became uncharacteristically commanding. "Harry. Look at me." Harry raised his eyes to the little wizard's and swallowed. "Will told me people had been blaming you for what happened. He told me about Ron's and Hermione's notes. Of course you wouldn't do such a thing. This is not your fault. Although, I would like to find out who did it. Quite ingenious. A very simple burglar alarm charm, actually, slightly obscure; it's been superseded by more complex charms for the same purpose, so it isn't used very much any more. It simply puts the victim into an enchanted sleep for forty days, after which they usually wake up in prison, having been tried while asleep. Did you know you could be tried for burglary under wizarding law while you are asleep? The law only requires that the accused be present; not conscious." He laughed, and Harry and Hermione laughed with him. "I half expected to wake up in a cell at the Ministry of Magic, convicted of robbing my own classroom!" he crowed.

"But why couldn't Professor Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey wake you and Cho?" Hermione wanted to know.

"For the very reason I just said; it's an enchanted sleep. There is absolutely nothing that can be done before the forty days are up. One just has to wait."

"Then--it's not dark magic?"

He frowned. "Not even close. It's harmless stuff. Inconvenient, I'll grant you. I hope you have been keeping up with your O.W.L. preparation..."

"Of course," Hermione assured him. "And Aberforth was teaching for the last three weeks..."

He sat up straighter now, frowning more deeply. "Aberforth Dumbledore?" Now he grimaced. "Well! Thank goodness I'm awake now!"

Harry was perplexed. What did the other teachers have against Aberforth? Was it that 'inappropriate charms on a goat' thing? He'd noticed in the three weeks Aberforth had been teaching that the other teachers avoided him like the plague, and Professors Sinistra and Vector appeared to be staring venomously at him and whispering behind their hands at mealtimes. Snape definitely did not like him; Harry heard him deliver more than one cutting remark in his direction. Even though he was Dumbledore's brother, even McGonagall and Sprout looked askance at him. Now Flitwick, it appeared, was none too pleased to hear that Aberforth had been covering his classes. Boy, Harry thought, people in the wizarding world can sure carry a grudge for a long time...

Harry and Hermione bade Flitwick goodbye, and when they were in the corridor outside the infirmary once more, they couldn't help but grin foolishly at each other. Hermione slid her arms up around his neck and he bent down to kiss her; they were each free! Cho and Viktor were together, she and Flitwick were unharmed and feeling just fine, and as the kiss deepened and Harry pulled her closer to him, he thought that he couldn't remember when he'd had a better day.

"Ahem!" came a familiar throat clearing. As Harry jerked himself away from Hermione, he was ready to face--

Aberforth Dumbledore. When Harry saw it was him, and not his brother, he heaved a sigh of relief. Aberforth looked mildly amused at the scene he'd interrupted. "Hello Harry, Hermione. You're--blocking the door to the infirmary." His eyes twinkled so like his brother's that Harry wondered whether they were twins. Albus Dumbledore a twin! Why had it never occurred to him before? The differences between them were superficial; hair length, the cut of the beard, Aberforth's tan...It made a certain amount of sense. Harry wondered, however, when he would ever get up the nerve to ask either of them. Certainly this was not the time.

"Are you sure," Hermione asked Aberforth diplomatically, as though he hadn't just caught her exploring Harry's tonsils, "that you want to go in there? Professor Flitwick seemed a bit--agitated to learn that you'd been teaching his classes."

Aberforth looked merely amused. "I daresay he would be. I don't intend to let him get to me, Hermione. I've developed a pretty thick skin over the years." Harry and Hermione stepped out of the way and Aberforth opened the door of the infirmary. Then, before closing it, he turned to them again.

"Well, this will probably be goodbye. From what you say, Flitwick will want to get right back to teaching his own classes tomorrow." They each said goodbye to him; Harry felt he really would miss him. He was so easy to be around, having all of Dumbledore's easygoing qualities, but none of his authority as headmaster.

"Good luck on your O.W.L.s," he said to them finally. "And Harry--" Harry turned to him again. Aberforth winked one blue eye. "I'll see you soon." Then he closed the door to the infirmary.

Two seconds later they heard Flitwick cry, "Aberforth Dumbledore, what have you done to my classes?" Harry and Hermione smiled, walking away down the corridor, refraining from laughing until they'd gone a respectable distance. Then, as they went back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry puzzled over the last thing Aberforth had said. "I'll see you soon." But he was leaving, he'd said. He thought of saying something to Hermione, changed his mind. Oh well, thought Harry. He probably just meant he was going to the ceilidh or something. Harry was starting to look forward to that more and more himself. He smiled at Hermione, walking beside him. They would actually be going together, almost like a couple. This would be a good weekend. If there were no Death Eaters.

* * * * *

After classes on Friday, Harry, Ron and Hermione went to the library together. Harry and Ron were doing research on a History of Magic essay which Hermione had already finished (they'd been putting it off, as usual). Harry and Ron wanted to be done with it before the Hogsmeade outing, if possible. Hermione was reading more about Scotland's wizarding past, trying to get some idea of what the ceilidh would be like. Finally, she had gleaned everything she could on the subject.

"I'm going back to Gryffindor Tower. I want to see if Ginny can help me drape my tartan correctly. I'll see you two at dinner, I suppose?"

Harry looked down at the three inches he'd written so far for his three-foot essay; Ron had written even less. Harry sighed. "If we're lucky, we'll have these done by then."

She smiled at him. "Well, at least you're making a start, finally. You can always finish on Sunday." But after she left Harry thought, When Sunday? During Dueling Club? Or the prefects' meeting? He was starting to feel just a bit overextended. At least Ron didn't have to go to the idiotic prefects' meetings. But if Harry told him how lucky he was, he would just think Harry was patronizing him again, complaining about being rich, famous Harry Potter. Harry sighed. He was feeling like he was walking on eggshells with Ron more and more often.

After a little while, they heard a group of students come into the library and sit on the other side of the bookcase behind which Harry and Ron were seated. They didn't seem to be in the library to study.

"I heard Susan asked him," came a familiar voice; a little like Parvati's, but with more of an edge to it. Must be Padma, Harry thought.

"Didn't you ask him, Mandy?" said another voice. Harry thought it might be Niamh Quirke. Which would mean these were Ravenclaw girls, gossiping in the library. Mandy would be Mandy Brocklehurst.

"Yes," Harry heard Mandy's reluctant admission. "But he also turned down Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, I heard."

Harry had been hoping against hope that they might be talking about someone else. But as soon as he heard this, he knew it was no good. He looked at Ron, measuring his meager essay and frowning; had he figured out yet what they were talking about? He wished he could perform some sort of silencing charm without Ron noticing.

Unfortunately, the girls went on. He heard Niamh's voice next. "So is he going or not?"

"Yes. With Hermione Granger," Padma answered her. Ron's head jerked up. He looked at Harry with wide eyes. Harry widened his eyes as well, acting as though he hadn't previously known who they were discussing.

Harry and Ron heard Niamh snort in derision. "Like I couldn't have seen that coming."

Padma said, "Parvati said they're going as friends."

Another snort from Niamh. "Your sister had better watch herself. That Ron Weasley's probably going to throw her over as soon as Harry Potter's done with Hermione Granger. He's just the type, isn't he, to wait for his famous friend's cast-offs. He'd probably be with Cho Chang already if she hadn't taken up with Viktor Krum, and don't get me started on him..."

Padma chimed in, "Oh, I agree about Hermione Granger. I mean, he went to the Yule Ball with me, then spent the whole time ogling her. He's been panting after her for years, but he was really so obvious that night. Classic dog in the manger..."

Harry dared to glance at Ron. He had never seen him so angry. His face was almost as red as his hair, and his nostrils were flaring; his jaw was clenched, as though he had to try very hard not to spit out a hateful retort to what they had just said. Instead, in what Harry felt was a great show of self-control for Ron, he threw his things into his rucksack and prepared to storm out of the library. Harry threw his things into his bag as well, and also rose to leave. Ron stopped before going, glaring at the girls, who were startled to see him. Niamh had been about to say something else, but looked like she changed her mind when she saw Ron's face. He too looked like he might say something, then turned and left, steam practically coming out of his ears.

Harry remained, staring them down, breathing through his nose, also feeling the anger roiling through him. "In future," he said to them formally and stiffly, "I would recommend not gossiping about people who are sitting less than ten feet away. In fact, not gossiping at all is something you might try." They looked back at him, Mandy terrified, Padma still looking alarmed at the way Harry and Ron had seemed to materialize from nowhere. Niamh alone was trying to maintain her composure, staring back at him. He looked her in the eye now.

"See you in Dueling Club, Niamh," he said softly, hoping it sounded like the threat it was. When he saw the change in her expression, he knew she understood. Yes, Niamh, he thought. Be afraid. You have no idea...

Actually, he hoped he could calm down a bit by Sunday, if not quite a bit sooner. He stormed out of the library, having trouble seeing, he was so angry about the thoughtless things they'd said. He felt that if he'd stayed any longer, the three of them would have been floating on the ceiling, like Aunt Marge tripled. He looked around the corridor. Ron was gone. Harry strode quickly in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, hoping that was where he'd headed.

When he reached the corridor where the portrait of the fat lady was, Harry was almost run over by Neville, who looked disheveled and disoriented. His eyes were wild. He gripped Harry by the shoulders and shook him slightly.

"Harry I'm going to make a potion, but I'm out of Eupatorium fistulosum---do you have any?" Unfortunately, at the same moment he mentioned the plant, Sandy said something about a bull and a fish, and Harry's head felt split in two. He was confused, sputtering his reply.

"What? No. Why don't you go ask Professor Sprout?"

Neville hit his head dramatically. "The greenhouses! Of course! I could kiss you!"

Harry backed up, taking Neville's hands from him. "Please don't. I have to go--" but Neville hadn't waited to hear even this brief sentence; he'd already run off. Harry stared after him. Boy, he thought, every time I turn around, Neville's trying out a new personality. Now it's scary raving lunatic. Great.

Shaking his head, he climbed in the portrait hole after giving the password. He had thought about stopping to ask Sandy to repeat what she'd said, but he was in too much of a hurry.
There was no one in the common room but Lavender, sitting in an armchair near the stairs as though she were pulling guard duty.

"Hey, Lavender," Harry said by way of an off-handed greeting as he passed her, preparing to climb the steps to his dorm, where he hoped Ron might be.

"Harry!" Lavender said abruptly and very loudly, almost in a panic. "Don't go up there!"

Harry stopped, turned around and looked at her with his brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"Well, um--" she paused, looking like she in fact wanted to tell very much, but he had to earn the right to be told, or show how much it mattered to him.

Just then, Ginny and Hermione came down the stairs from the girls' dorms, chatting about the ceilidh. They stopped abruptly when they saw Harry glaring at Lavender. But he needn't have worried; Lavender had a larger audience now, and a choice one at that.

"Well," she said to Harry, speaking far louder than necessary, so even if Ginny and Hermione had wanted to avoid hearing her, it would have been very difficult. "Ron came storming in here, looking really hacked off. Parvati and I were just talking. He grabbed her and stood her up. Then he kissed her, and I mean kissed..." she paused for dramatic effect. "Then he whispered something in her ear, and after that she was practically dragging him to the stairs going up to the boys' dorms. But he wouldn't let her walk; he picked her up and carried her up the stairs." Lavender looked triumphant, delivering this news, particularly to Ron's two best friends and his sister.

Harry wanted to do violence to her even more than he had wanted to hurt the Ravenclaw girls. But then she went on, making matters even worse.

"I daresay tomorrow, she'll need to go see Madam Pomfrey for some Prophylax--"

"Oh!" Hermione cried, her face horrible to behold. Harry had never seen her look like this. She ran to the portrait hole and was out of the common room before he could think.

SMACK! Harry turned. Ginny had stepped toward Lavender and slapped her across the face. Lavender stared at Ginny in shock, her hand to her cheek. Because of the redness that appeared now where she'd been struck, it suddenly occurred to Harry what a beige person she was; beige hair, beige skin, beige eyes, even. She was so completely ordinary; she could blend into the wallpaper seamlessly in any modern doctor's office. She was so ordinary that that in itself was almost extraordinary. But not quite.

Lavender looked back and forth between Ginny and Harry; she would find no quarter there, she could tell. Finally, she pushed past them and ran up the stairs to her dorm. Harry heard the door slam. Well, she wouldn't be disturbed. Hermione had run off, and Parvati was--Harry swallowed painfully as he remembered--preoccupied. He didn't look at Ginny. He started toward the portrait hole.

"Leave her alone right now," Ginny said suddenly. "Give her time." He looked at her for half a minute, marveling at how she'd grown up, both inside and out. But he didn't agree with her on this.

He shook his head and went through the portrait hole. When he was in the corridor again, he looked around frantically. Where could she have gone? She had too much of a lead. He could go back for his map--but that was in his dorm. Damn!

He leaned against the wall, then sank down onto his haunches. Maybe Ginny was right; if she wanted to be with someone, she would have waited for me. She needs time. We all need some time...

Harry put his head in his hands, trying not think of Ron and Parvati up in their dorm, and also trying not to think of Hermione thinking of it.

* * * * *