Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Ships:
Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Characters:
Harry Potter
Genres:
Romance
Era:
The Harry Potter at Hogwarts Years
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Stats:
Published: 07/15/2001
Updated: 09/04/2001
Words: 341,236
Chapters: 33
Hits: 1,097,321

Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

Barb

Story Summary:
In Harry's fifth year he gets a snake with the Sight. Hermione's torn between Ron and Harry, who's torn between her and Ginny, who's torn between him and Draco Malfoy, who's torn between her and loyalty to his father. Plus: a Prophecy, Animagus training, a Dueling Club, Snape's Penseive, kilts, giants, house elf liberation and more!
Read Story On:

Chapter 25 - April Fool

Chapter Summary:
In Harry's fifth year he gets a snake with the Sight; Hermione's torn between Ron and Harry, who's torn between her and Ginny, who's torn between him and Draco Malfoy, who's torn between her and loyalty to his father. Voldemort may be trying to recruit Harry now instead of killing him, and there are giants and house elves and a Dueling Club, oh my! Warning: sex, sexual tension, angst and tragedy.
Posted:
07/23/2001
Hits:
29,772

Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

Chapter Twenty-Five

April Fool


On the morning of the ceilidh, Harry and Hermione went running around the Quidditch pitch for the first time in months. Harry was glad spring had finally arrived. Even a brisk highland spring was better than no spring at all. As he and Hermione did their warm-down exercises, he watched her closely. Her face was screwed up in concentration as usual. When they were done, he put his hand on her arm and looked in her eyes.

"Hermione," he said softly. She looked back at him, but it seemed to be through a veil, a transparent wall that was nonetheless a barrier. She was hiding.

"What?"

"Are you okay? About--yesterday. And--and Ron. And Parvati."

She gazed back at him, not speaking. Then she had a smile on her face that looked more unnatural than anything Harry had ever seen.

"Of course I'm okay. It was--a bit of a shock at first. But--well, they're both over the age of consent. She's already sixteen, he'll be sixteen soon. He's still our friend, Harry. Nothing will ever change that." But her voice shook, as though she weren't so sure.

Harry nodded as though he believed her. "I've been thinking, Hermione. Maybe we should tell Ron about us. Before anyone else. I mean, I think it would be pretty awful if he didn't find out until the rest of the world, don't you? He's with someone now..."

Hermione stared into space. When she spoke, Harry got the impression her eyes were actually focused on some spot miles in the distance. "Whatever you say, Harry. That makes sense."

There was silence between them. After a while, pulling idly at some new grass just outside the sandy path, Harry said, "I couldn't believe how angry Ron was about what Niamh said. I never expected it to lead to him and Parvati--"

"What does Niamh have to do with anything?" she said suddenly, looking right at him now. He swallowed, trying to decide how much to tell her.

"She and Padma and Mandy were in the library gossiping. Niamh was telling Padma that Parvati should be careful of Ron, that he was only with her because she was my 'cast-off.' You know, because we went to the Yule Ball. Ron was--not really hacked off, because it was about a thousand times worse. He looked murderous. That's when he went charging up to Gryffindor Tower." Harry couldn't bring himself to tell her that they'd also already designated Hermione a future Harry Potter cast-off, destined to be inherited by Ron.

Hermione looked more detached and analytical now. She nodded. "He had something to prove."

Not that Parvati seemed to mind, Harry thought. Lavender did say she was dragging him to the stairs...

Hermione seemed calmer, knowing what set Ron off. Harry peered at her again. "And he certainly seemed happy at dinner last night. The last time I saw him looking like that was after Malfoy's performance as the amazing bouncing ferret."

"Yes, he did seem happy," she said absently. She raised her face to Harry, as though she'd just made a resolution. "You know what? I'm happy for him. I really am."

"So am I," Harry said firmly. Did he dare hope that she meant what she said? "We should tell him so," Harry added, standing up and extending a hand to her. She took it and swung herself up.

"Yes. We should," she agreed, then let go of his hand and strode purposefully toward the castle. Harry followed closely behind, wanting to ask her another question, and not daring.

But, Hermione, are you happy for Parvati?

* * * * *

Harry and Hermione went back up to Gryffindor Tower after lunch to change for the ceilidh. Most of the students attending the ceilidh had waited to go; many of those not attending had left for Hogsmeade after breakfast, Ron and Parvati among them. After dressing, Harry met Hermione in the common room.

Upon closer inspection, Harry found that the MacGregor tartan was actually red with very deep green, not black as Sirius had said. There was also a narrow white windowpane check overlaid on the red and green pattern. Harry was wearing a simple white button-down shirt with a deep green waistcoat Sirius had sent, plus a sporran (somewhat like a wallet) hanging in the front of his kilt, and the red and green argyle socks and black gillie shoes Sirius had also sent. He wore his dirk in a special leather holster around his right calf; his wand was in a long pocket that seemed made just for it on the left side of the front of his kilt, so he could just reach across with his right hand to be armed quickly. Sandy was wrapped around his left upper arm, on top of the thin white shirt, which was slightly open above the waistcoat.

Hermione wore a simple bottle-green dress that swung around her calves and that went perfectly with the deep green in the MacGregor tartan, which was draped artfully around her shoulders and fastened with the brooch that had the crowned lion flanked by the unicorn and stag. Around the lion's head was what looked like a belt with a large buckle, also crafted in silver metal. It bore the clan motto in Gaelic; according to Sirius' letter it meant, "My race is royal." The MacGregors had been Kings of Scotland in an earlier time, and his grandmother's name was in fact King, one of the septs of the Clan MacGregor. Elspeth King had married Henry Potter, and they'd given their son the name of other kings of Scotland, James. What had happened to Elspeth and Henry? he wondered. He knew now about his mother's parents, but what about his father's?

"Do you have your wand?" he asked Hermione softly, as they approached the portrait hole. She surreptitiously pulled back her left sleeve a couple of inches, showing him a clever holster for it that was strapped to her forearm. He nodded and she covered her left arm again. She also had a small wallet that was attached to the belt of her dress, containing the ten Sickle entrance fee to the ceilidh. His money was in the sporran. They needed to maintain the appearance of going as friends; Harry would have been happy to pay for her, but he knew she was right about this and had not argued.

Harry heard someone else arrive in the common room and turned to see who it was. Neville was ready to go, wearing a kilt with a black and white tartan with some thin red and yellow stripes running through it, a black shirt, black-and-white diamond-patterned socks, a sporran and--Harry noted--a dirk in his sock. If he had his wand, Harry couldn't see it. Ginny also arrived in the common room now, in a black dress with Neville's largely black and white tartan around her shoulders held by a silver brooch for whatever clan Neville was. Her red hair went beautifully with the simple plaid; she had pulled it into one long braid, tied with a black velvet ribbon at the end, tendrils curling around her face. Harry had never seen her look lovelier.

Neville appeared to be quite pleased with her himself, smiling broadly at her. She smiled back, unsure. But now the common room was filling with others preparing to go to the ceilidh; George and Angelina in a blue and green tartan with a red and green windowpane overlay; Alicia in a similar blue and green tartan, but with a white and yellow overlay; Dean Thomas in the same tartan as Alicia--were they going together? Harry wondered. But no; Dean had asked Katie, it turned out, who was wearing a very loud tartan of red, green and yellow broad bands, giving the impression where the red and yellow intersected of there being orange blotches scattered on the fabric. Harry winced at the combination. Then He spotted Colin in clan MacGregor, but not before Colin spotted Harry.

"Harry! Is that your family's tartan or Hermione's?"

"Mine," Harry told him.

"That's great! Do you know what that means? We're kinsmen! We're in the same clan! Oh, I cannot believe I'm in the same clan as Harry Potter..."

"Um, who are you going with, Colin?"

Colin looked even more smug now. "I can't believe I got up the nerve; I asked that fifth-year prefect from Ravenclaw. And she said yes! Can you believe it? I was afraid to, since I'm only fourth year, but I guess she really wanted to go, and didn't want to be alone..."

"Mandy's nice," Hermione said, her mouth twisting as she looked at Harry and widened her eyes, silently begging him to agree with her. They would not be guilty of gossip as the Ravenclaws had been.

"Yeah," was Harry's brief answer. He nodded toward the portrait hole. "We should go, don't you think?"

They all trouped out into the corridor and down the stairs to the entrance hall, the other students chatting merrily, the ones meeting dates from other houses running ahead. Harry and Hermione looked at one another apprehensively, thinking about the possibility of a Death Eater strike. Their first almost-date, and it might turn into a terrorist attack. Oh joy, thought Harry.

In the entrance hall, Colin ran up to Mandy and started talking at her very quickly. Mandy looked like she might like to get a word in edgewise, but Harry felt it was unlikely. Then he saw Alicia go over to--he felt like rubbing his eyes--Draco Malfoy, who was wearing the same blue and green tartan with the yellow and white overlay. So that was clan Campbell, he thought. Malfoy had a black leather sporran, blue and green argyle socks with the requisite dirk, black ghillie shoes very like Harry's, a pristine white shirt with a Campbell tartan four-in-hand necktie, an embroidered green waistcoat and a black velvet jacket with gold braid trim, as well as a tartan tam-o-shanter with green ribbons. Harry smirked; he looked a bit foppish, but in a way, he could also carry it off. Only Malfoy, he thought.

Malfoy was looking at Alicia in a very admiring way; her dress was rather tight, and it was still easy to see this despite the tartan fabric loosely arranged on her shoulders. Harry looked to see whether Ginny had noticed them. She had; then she caught Harry's eye and looked away, and after that she seemed determined to behave as if Neville were the center of her universe.

Roger Davies also appeared in the entrance hall, in another blue and green kilt, this one with a red windowpane overlay. He didn't appear to have a date; must be meeting Fleur in the village, Harry thought. Blaise Zabini and Niamh Quirke appeared to be partners, in a blue and green tartan with a red and yellow overlay. Hannah and Ernie were going as well, in two different tartans (Ernie's was the same as Katie's), but Fred had asked Susan Bones, and they were wearing the same pattern, which turned out to be the same one that Professor McGonagall was wearing.

She positioned herself next to Harry and Hermione in the throng walking down to the village, speaking softly to them. Hermione looked at the red, white, green and blue tartan around her shoulders (she wore it with her usual robes and pointed hat), saying, "So, is that the clan McGonagall tartan, professor?"

McGonagall frowned. "Heavens, Hermione. I thought you would have realized that there is no clan McGonagall. It is an Irish name. My mother is a MacBean; that is what I am wearing. Note the brooch."

She stopped for a moment so Hermione could look at the silver brooch with a cat surrounded by the sort of belt-with-buckle that seemed to be on all of the clan crests. The motto was in English--almost. "'Touch not the cat bot a glove,'" Hermione read, before they all went on walking. "What does that mean?"

"'Bot' means 'without,'" McGonagall told her. Harry thought it was interesting that there was a cat on the family crest. Do we really choose our Animagus forms? he wondered not for the first time. He remembered how he had felt manipulated by Dumbledore, just a bit, concerning the golden griffin.

Then, looking around the crowd as they approached the outskirts of the town, he realized that Snape wasn't with them. Harry frowned. Maybe he wasn't coming after all. Hermione was talking to McGonagall again.

"Are you--meeting anyone at the ceilidh, professor?" she asked, then colored. The idea of McGonagall having a personal life was frankly disturbing to Harry. He really didn't want to know.

"As a matter of fact, I am. An old friend." Then she leaned in toward the two of them, saying softly, "I understand you both know there could be trouble. You have your wands?" They nodded. "Of course, we're all hoping nothing will happen..."

"Of course, professor," Hermione said to her softly. The three of them turned and surveyed the nearly three-dozen students making their way down the High Street to the hall. Harry, Hermione and McGonagall joined them. Outside the building were large parchments bearing the legend SCREAMING HAGGIS 1996 TOUR and an illustration of a squashed-tomato sort of thing with what looked like tubes emerging from it at several points. It was drawn with a rather cartoonish mouth (no eyes, ears, nose or other features) open very wide in what was, presumably, a scream. Was that supposed to be an oatmeal-stuffed sheep's stomach? Harry wondered. Screaming haggis indeed.

There was something of a bottleneck at the door to the hall as everyone had to pause to pay their ten Sickles, but as soon as they were inside, they heard the wail of the band warming up; two pipers were on the stage adjusting their holds on their sets of pipes, while a fiddler tuned his instrument and a cellist tuned hers, and the drummer wandered around positioning various types of percussion instruments, some of which bore only a passing resemblance to a drum, Harry felt. The hall was empty in the middle; the seats where they'd sat for the opera had been mostly cleared away, a few left ringing the perimeter. Although it was the middle of the afternoon, the windows of the hall were opaque glass, so hundreds of candles floated overhead, lighting the space.

As the students trickled in, Harry saw that there were also a number of people from the village and possibly elsewhere who had come out for the ceilidh. Then across the room, he saw a tall figure with a red ponytail who smiled with recognition and came striding over to see them, hand extended.

"Harry! Hermione! Good to see you. I just Apparated into the village," Bill Weasley said jovially. Speaking more softly, he said, "Have you seen--Snuffles yet? I'm not clear yet what he's going to look like, are you?" So he also knew Sirius was going to be here, Harry thought.

"No sign of him yet," Harry said quietly. Then, in a more normal tone, he said, "Isn't that Black Watch? Is that the Weasley family tartan?"

"Oh, mum and dad aren't a bit Scottish. Snuffles got this for me, to have something to wear."

Harry nodded. "He told me we'd be well covered here. How many operatives you figure there will be?"

Bill shrugged. "No idea. Where's Ron?"

"At the Three Broomsticks, probably. He and Parvati didn't want to come."

"Who?"

Harry hesitated. Ron hadn't told anyone at home about having a girlfriend, evidently. And now they'd gotten rather serious very quickly. He suddenly remembered Ron saying at the Christmas party that his mother would kill him if he ever got a girl into 'trouble.' Except that he hadn't finished saying it, stopping with embarrassment. Harry sincerely hoped that Parvati had gone to see Madam Pomfrey.

"Parvati is in our year. Gryffindor. She and Ron are--" Harry paused again, not wanting to spill too much. On the other hand, Bill seemed the least likely person (after the twins) to tell Mrs. Weasley anything about Ron's and Parvati's extra-curricular activities. As the pause lengthened, Bill looked like he comprehended.

"Oh! I see," he said, and Harry thought he really might. Well, that saved him from having to say anything else, thank goodness. Hermione had looked away during this exchange. "Well," Bill went on, "if there's trouble, I'd just as soon not have to worry about another member of my family. I see that George and Fred are here."

"And Ginny came with Neville Longbottom," Hermione said, pointing them out in the crowd. At that moment, Ginny spotted Bill and came over to them.

"Bill! What are you doing here?" she smiled up at him after giving him a hug.

"Ginny! What, are you getting taller again? Didn't I talk to you about that?" He smiled at her, then Harry heard him say softly, "Making sure you're all right."

Ginny bristled, and Bill quickly amended that. "I mean you as in you and Ron and Fred and George. All of you. Dumbledore asked me to. Just a precaution. Charlie and Percy are with Mum and Dad." She looked a little less upset now, but a flush from her initial indignation still showed on her freckled cheeks.

"This is Neville," she said then, realizing that she ought to introduce him to her oldest brother. "Neville, this is Bill."

They shook hands, each of them looking a little like they were squeezing too hard. Bill smiled. "Nice to meet you Neville. You know that if you ever hurt my baby sister I will personally kill you." He smiled broadly, having said this in the friendliest voice imaginable. Neville looked at him with his mouth open. Ginny's eyes were wild.

"Bill!"

Now George had come over with Angelina and Fred with Susan Bones. They'd heard what Bill had said. Bill laughed, clapped Neville on the shoulder. Neville winced. "Just kidding, Neville! Just kidding!"

Fred and George looked at Neville very seriously (especially for them). "No he's not," they said in unison.

Neville looked nervously back and forth between Ginny's brothers. Harry remembered what Ron had said about what Ginny would think if he had gone on a date with her and shaken her hand at the end. "What I'd think if you went out with Ginny and did that is that maybe you'd decided you wanted to go on living after all." A girl with six brothers. And Percy and Charlie were no less protective than the others. Talk about having to run a gauntlet.

Just then, a large man with a broad, muscular chest barely contained by his rough-woven shirt leapt up onto the stage before the band. His chestnut hair curled messily on his head, becoming an unruly sort of curly beard and mustache lower on his face. More curly hair showed on his chest where his shirt was unbuttoned. He'd rolled up his shirtsleeves to the elbow, revealing strong, sinewy forearms, and his socks covered very muscular legs as well. His kilt was of a complicated, intricate-looking blue and green tartan overlaid with a white windowpane pattern. His sporran looked well-worn, as did his shoes. Harry thought he wore his kilt as though it were an everyday garment, not the costume it was for the rest of them. He wondered briefly whether this meant he wore nothing under it, in the traditional way. Harry knew he would never dare to do that; he hoped no one would be checking.

The large chestnut-haired man helped a handsome middle-aged woman with lustrous brown hair swing up onto the stage beside him. The tartan around her shoulders matched his kilt. Harry turned to Hermione. He'd noticed her looking at Bill's legs when they'd first seen him (Bill had seen her looking and seemed highly amused) and now he saw open admiration in her eyes as she looked at the man on the stage. That's right, Harry remembered. She looks at men's legs. Okay, he thought, there's certainly enough of that available today.

The man on the stage spoke now with a broad Scottish accent. "All right! Wailcome to the Screamin' Haggis tour and to the Hogsmeade ceilidh! Now, since there's sech a number o' ye here from the school, I thought we'd start fairst with a wee dancin' laysson. I'll wager most o' ye have never done this before. I'm Ian Lucas of Clan Lamont, as ye can see, and this here's m'lovely bride o'twenty year, Mary. We'll be demonstratin' some reels and other dances, and you lot'll do what we do. Aye? Are ye up fer it?"

The crowd roared its assent, and Harry began to relax, rotating around the floor with Hermione in his arms, and sometimes other girls, as they switched partners, swinging round by the elbow, then back to the start again. He'd been a bit worried about looking like a fool, but learning the dances first made his fears drop away, and before long his face was actually hurting from laughing and smiling so much, as he whirled Hermione, then Angelina, then Hannah, then a girl he didn't know, then Hermione again...

When the lesson was over, Ian Lucas said, "Aye, that's the stuff. Y'all look ready fer the band! Take a wee break fairst and get some drinks from the bar in the anteroom. Oh, and you young lads and lasses--just butterbeer for ye! Leave the hard stuff to those of us who've already ruined our livers." He smiled and laughed, jumping off the stage, his kilt flying. Harry glanced at Hermione, who looked like she was about to choke.

"What is it, Hermione?" he asked, concerned.

"Oh, nothing," she answered, her voice higher than usual. "It's just that--um--"

"What?"

"Well, he, uh, certainly believes in being traditional."

Harry thought for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then he realized what she meant, what she must have seen.

"Hermione!"

"Well, it wasn't like I made him walk over a mirror or anything! I heard that's what they used to make them do in the military."

Harry watched her eyes follow Lucas off the dance floor. He couldn't afford to appear even the slightest bit concerned about where she looked; and actually, he was starting to find it somewhat amusing in a discovering-just-how-libidinous-Hermione-was sort of way. He merely smiled at her now. "Do you want a butterbeer?" he asked, making her jump.

"Oh! Yes, please. I'm already thirsty, just from the lesson."

"Okay, two butterbeers. And--" he took off his waistcoat, "could you find a place for this for me? I'm already too hot to wear it."

Hermione took it and looked at him appreciatively. Harry felt her eyes and smiled back at her, feeling vindicated for not having let it get to him when she'd been looking at Bill Weasley and Ian Lucas.

"You know," he said quietly, "people aren't going to believe we're here as friends if you keep looking at me like that."

"Oh, sod that," she started to say, then sighed and nodded. "All right, all right. But Harry--"

"What?"

"You just--look like you were born to wear that. With just a few more shirt buttons undone, of course."

"Hermione!"

"And there's just one problem when we're dancing..."

"Just one? I felt like I was treading on everyone's toes."

"The one problem is, when I'm dancing with you," she lowered her voice and smiled mischievously, "I can't see your legs."

He laughed. "Well, I'm going over there now to get us some butterbeer, so you can see them the whole time I'm walking there and back."

"You can bet that I'll be looking."

He knew she would. He made his way through the crowd to the bar. But when he returned, he found that she was not in fact ogling his legs. Hermione was with the cellist, who was standing holding her instrument while Hermione spoke very rapidly to her. Then Harry was utterly amazed; Hermione sat down on a chair, took the cello between her legs, touched the strings delicately with her left hand while holding the bow reverently with her right, and began to play.

It was a haunting, sad melody that Harry knew he'd heard before. She played only a dozen measures or so, reluctantly standing up and handing the cello back to the witch from the band. As the cellist returned to the stage, Harry walked over to her in shock, handing her the bottle of butterbeer, which Hermione opened as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He took a drink himself before he said, "Hermione! I didn't know you played the cello!"

She looked at him, smiling mischievously. "There's a lot about me you still don't know, Harry Potter." He smiled back at her; that wasn't a double entendre, not at all. "I used to play before Hogwarts. But it wasn't really feasible to bring it with me to school, so I don't play much any more. When I saw it--I just got nostalgic."

"What were you playing?"

"Bach. Air on the G-String." She looked at his face, then hit his arm playfully. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Harry!" He laughed.

"Oh, think you're psychic now, do you?"

"I think I know how teenage boys think..."

He said softly to her, "And you'd be right." They both laughed guiltily, then tried to sober up as McGonagall walked over to them with her friend. Harry was shocked to see it was a man. He couldn't have been a day under sixty, but Hermione was regarding him with as much appreciation as she had Bill and Lucas and Harry. His salt-and-pepper hair and beard were meticulously groomed, and his hazel eyes looked around the room as though nothing in the farthest corner could escape his notice. Harry didn't know when he'd ever seen anyone who looked so alert. He wore a Campbell kilt.

Suddenly, the man said in a low voice, "So, Potter. What are they charging for the drinks? Double the going rate, I suppose?" The voice was completely unfamiliar, but the tone--

"Is that you, Professor Snape?" Hermione whispered with wide eyes. It was indeed Snape. Harry hadn't realized he wouldn't come as himself. Whose likeness had he borrowed?

"What should we call you?" Harry asked softly while opening his butterbeer.

"Duncan MacDermid. My uncle." Harry nodded. He looked around the hall as people stood in small groups, drinking and talking, waiting for the band to start playing. Was Sirius here yet? he wondered. If so, what did he look like?

But Harry didn't have a chance to wonder at this for long. The fiddle player and cellist started tuning up again, then the pipers. The drummer seated himself on a stool, holding a large drum between his legs. The cellist also sat, but the others all stood. The drummer started by hitting the edge of the drum with his knuckles, producing a hollow, sharp noise. The pipers started the low undertone emanating from their instruments, that drone that was supposed to have driven the enemy to distraction in the days of yore, when pipers led armies into battle. Then it began in earnest, as the pipers started to play a fast, high melody and the cellist produced a kind of basso continuo under the drone, and the fiddle danced an obligato above the pipes. And under it all the persistent whack!whack! of the drum, interspersed now with the softer sounds of the drum being struck in the middle of the taut skin.

Couples started moving onto the dance floor. Lucas and his wife led them all in a lively reel which, as far as Harry could tell, had him dancing with every girl or woman present at some point, as they changed partners and the kilts whirled and feet stomped and laughing, sweaty faces smiled at the strangers they had linked hands with. They were united in the dance, the skirling pipes were in their blood, it mattered not whether a person was actually Scottish.

After a couple of reels and a strathspey, the band quieted a bit and played a lilting waltz; Harry and Hermione danced near Ginny and Neville; Draco Malfoy was also nearby, his arms around Alicia. They actually made a very striking couple, Harry thought. Then he saw that Draco Malfoy's eyes looked quite alarmed, and Harry twisted his head around to see why.

Lucius Malfoy had entered the hall, resplendent in his clan Campbell kilt with all the trappings, escorting his wife, who wore a sweeping dress and the tartan around her shoulders, the clan crest brooch on her shoulder glittering in the candlelight. Seeing him now made Harry remember seeing him in the Pensieve, in his twenties, recruiting Snape. Snape was probably right not to come as himself, Harry thought.

He looked back at Draco Malfoy and Alicia. Upon seeing his father at the entrance to the hall, he dutifully left the dance floor, taking Alicia with him. Harry managed to dance Hermione over near the door, so they could hear what was going on.

"Father! Mother! I didn't expect to see you here," Draco Malfoy said to his parents; he didn't sound like it was a pleasant surprise. "This is Alicia Spinnet," he introduced her to them. Alicia smiled charmingly, but this was met with a cold, icy stare from Lucius Malfoy.

"Spinnet?" the elder Malfoy said suspiciously.

"She's Head Girl," his son said helpfully; he sounded just a bit like he was bragging. Harry wondered how many Alicia-on-a-horse fantasies had gone through his head since he'd met her in the entrance hall at the school.

"Yes, I knew that," he said, still somewhat grumpy. "But your parents--they're Muggles, aren't they?"

Alicia swallowed and looked at her date. "Yes, sir," she said timidly. It was a good trick to rattle Alicia, Harry thought, but he certainly didn't admire Lucius Malfoy for it. Quite the opposite.

Harry whispered in Hermione's ear; she nodded and let go of him, and they walked over to the Malfoys.

Lucius Malfoy was saying rudely, "I can't believe they couldn't find any pure-bloods to be Head Gi--"

"Hello, again, Mr. Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said in a rather loud voice. "Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I might dance with Alicia? You won't be without a partner; Hermione doesn't mind dancing with you, do you Hermione?"

She smiled at Harry. "Not at all." Draco Malfoy, confused, tucked her arm in his, preparing to return to the dance floor. Before that, though, Hermione turned to his parents, smiling brightly and saying, "My parents are dentists."

Harry tried not to laugh at the thunderous look on Lucius Malfoy's face as Harry moved in circles holding Alicia. She looked relieved to be away from the Malfoys.

"So. You came with Malfoy," he said to her while they danced. She looked up at him, reminding him very much of that awkward moment in the Quidditch changing room.

"Why do you care?"

"It's just that--I'm surprised. Because he knows how his father feels about Muggle-borns. This almost amounts to a rebellion, for him."

Alicia looked over at Draco Malfoy's parents, who were socializing with some other older witches and wizards who were not dancing. Then Harry glanced at Hermione, who had managed to steer Draco Malfoy over to where Neville and Ginny were dancing. She separated herself from Malfoy and said something he couldn't hear to Neville and Ginny. Then the dancing couples were different again, Neville holding Hermione, not looking altogether disappointed, and Draco Malfoy holding Ginny, who was blushing into her hair. Harry frowned; she needed to stop being so transparent. He looked at the elder Malfoys again. He thought it was possible that Lucius Malfoy would rather his son were with a Muggle-born girl than a Weasley.

When the song ended, the band segued seamlessly into a different slow tune, so the couples continued dancing closely. Harry looked about the room over Alicia's head, still trying to figure out where Sirius was. He saw Roger dancing with Fleur, Fred with Susan Bones, George with Angelina, Bill with a witch he didn't know. Then he realized that Bill, Fred and George were looking very agitated about Ginny's dance partner. Her partner had also noticed.

Ginny and Draco Malfoy worked their way over to Harry and Alicia. After a few moments of dancing next to each other, Malfoy stood still, taking his arms from around Ginny.

"If you don't mind, Potter, I think I'd like my date back."

Harry stepped back from Alicia, thanking her for the dance, and then he realized, I'm dancing with Ginny now. He took her in his arms; he had very little choice but to look in her face, since she was so tall, unlike Alicia. He swallowed, trying not to think about how it felt to hold her, his hand at her waist, his other hand wrapped around hers, her long fingers lightly wrapped around his shoulder. She looked at him, too. Her gaze was impassive. Harry again found that he had a hard time looking away from her. But something was bothering him.

"So," he said, trying to make small talk. "What tartan is that?"

"Neville's gran was named Gillespie, which is clan MacPherson." They danced in silence for a few minutes. Then Harry couldn't take it anymore.

"Ginny," he said softly. "Are you mad at me?"

She opened her mouth in surprise, then closed it quickly. "Harry, of course not. Why are you saying that?"

"Well, it just seems like when you look at me--I don't know. You probably just have a lot on your mind, I suppose." He made an excuse for her so she didn't have to do it herself. But he wasn't convinced. She looked down.

"Harry, I--I haven't been very honest with you and I just thought that if we actually spent much time talking, I would be."

Harry frowned. "What? You say that like it would be a bad thing to be honest with me."

She also frowned. "It would be. Because--because I've been helping Draco. With his plans to expose his father. And you're not supposed to know what they are. And I--I keep wanting to tell you, but I know I shouldn't--" she trailed off. Oh, thought Harry. That explained so much.

"So," he said softly, "do you know who sent the school owls?"

Her face looked blank. "What school owls?"

Harry frowned again. "Never mind. I'm relieved to know you're not mad at me, that's all. When Will was so great and then all the other Gryffindors stood up with me, you wouldn't come near me, and I thought you thought--that I'd done it. To Flitwick and Cho."

She nodded. "I see. No, Harry, I can honestly say that I never once thought you did anything to Professor Flitwick or Cho Chang."

He looked at her face, so close to his as they danced. Her eyes still looked very sad. "Ginny, I have to say, you don't exactly look happy."

She looked directly into Harry's eyes now. "Why should I be? Sneaking around because I'm afraid everyone will hit the roof when they find out about me and Draco, worrying about him, worrying about getting his father away from him so he can't hurt him anymore...and worrying about Ron, and--and you--" She looked down and away. She worried about him? he thought, feeling a warmth inside his chest, trying not to smile, since she still looked pretty miserable.

"You sound like you're under a lot of stress," he told her. She nodded in agreement.

"I'll just be glad when all this is over..."

The song ended and they separated, clapped with the rest of the crowd. The band struck up another fast tune. She went to look for Neville and Harry moved to the perimeter of the hall, where Snape was standing, looking like his uncle. He was talking to Ian Lucas, or rather, Lucas was talking at him jovially, while Snape looked rather miffed. Somehow, his trademark sneer managed to penetrate his uncle's features. They both took swigs from hip flasks, Snape's a shining silver, Lucas' a dirty leather-encased specimen.

"So!" Lucas said, putting his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Ye're Harry Potter!" Harry smiled feebly and nodded at him. He looked for Hermione on the dance floor; she was swinging arms with Bill. He nodded at her and she nodded back, her face flushed with the dancing. He turned to Lucas.

"I'm glad we had a chance to learn the dances first--" he started to say to Lucas, who slapped him on the back hard, so that Harry almost lost his glasses. He pushed them up his nose and tried to stand upright again.

"I noticed ye're wearin' clan MacGregor. Ye know, don't ye, that clan Lamont and clan MacGregor are forever linked, don't ye?"

"No, I don't really know anything abou--"

"Wail--" Lucas began, ignoring Harry, still grasping his shoulder. "Ye see, a long time ago there was a wizard o' clan Lamont who was travelin' through the MacGregors' country an' stopped at an inn fer the night. Now, doonstairs in the pub, he and the other lads praysent got to drinkin' quite a lot, and Lamont kilt none other than the son of MacGregor of Glenstrae, haid of the clan, whilst tryin' t'disarm him. Whain he flew back'ard, 'e struck 'is haid on a pike in the wall. Wen' right through 'is brain. No magic can revairse that. 'Course, now mos' books aboot clans say 'twas 'is dirk. Wail, 'e hightailed it outa there faster'n a jackrabbit in heat! Wen' over the moors, with the mob from the pub hot on his tail. Prob'ly all too shitfaced to Apparate withoot splinchin' th'msailves.

"Now, in those days, people still held great store in the code o' hospitality o' the Highlands. If a stranger is at yer door askin' for sanctuary and succor, ye give it, no quaystions askit. Ye don' tail yer name and ye don' ask his, in case it tairns out yer enemies. So this Lamont comes to a hoose and says t'the man standin' in the door that he's slain a man, save 'im from the death which now pursues'im. The man takes pity on 'im and takes 'im in, tells 'im he'll always be safe oonder 'is roof. Wail, no more'n a few minutes passed when the mob from the pub is at the door, askin' whayther MacGregor's seen the fugitive, tailin'im, 'That's the man kilt yer son!'"

Harry looked at Lucas shrewdly; what was he up to? he wondered. Making friends by telling Harry that one of his ancestors killed one of Harry's?

"Wail," Lucas went on, "MacGregor stands there weepin' over 'is son, but 'e tells'em they mayen't have the man; he'd asked fer sanctuary and received it, and they wasn't to harm a hair on 'is haid. He even gave 'im safe passage to 'is homeland. Later on, durin' the great proscription against the MacGregors, they wasn't to use the MacGregor name nor wear the tartan, and the Camerons and Campbells--" he gave Snape a hard glare "--were gaitin' rewarded fer going oot and killin' as many MacGregors as they could find. Any man who kilt a MacGregor was held scaithless; he wasn't punished, but actually rewarded! And the MacPhersons fought with'em against the Camerons, but it was the Lamonts who gave 'em sanctuary, who gave'em succor, b'cause of the MacGregor who protected his own son's killer."

Lucas looked at him closely and then Harry opened his eyes wide.

"Snuffles?" he said softly. Lucas grinned widely.

"Aye, there's some'at call me that." Then he spoke lowly to Harry without the broad accent. "How are you Harry? Have you seen anything suspicious?" The bagpipes were so loud now that Harry had to lean in to hear him.

"No. Who--whose body are you in?"

"The name really is Ian Lucas. Cousin of mine. And that's not really his wife; that's Arabella, another operative. I am actually clan Lamont. Black is one of the Lamont septs. And, see there?" He pointed to a man across the room also wearing the MacGregor tartan. "Mundungus Fletcher. Another operative. Plus Remus and Moody are at the pub. Going to meet them later to regroup."

Harry looked onto the dance floor, seeing Arabella/Mary Lucas dancing with a man he thought he'd seen in the pub. He turned back to Sirius.

"Why did you tell me that story? Is it true?"

"Yes."

"And--and is that what you think I did? Took in my parents' murderer? Because I do not blame you for--"

"Harry." Sirius looked at him levelly. "Do you blame yourself for what happened to Cedric Diggory?"

Harry didn't answer him for a good long minute; they just looked at each other. "Yes," he finally said.

"Then I don't have to tell you, do I?"

Harry grimaced; no, he didn't have to tell him how consuming guilt could be. How ironic that history seemed to be repeating itself, though. A Lamont kills a MacGregor, receives shelter and forgiveness, and in turn protects the MacGregors when they are in need. And the Campbells were enemies of both clans...

"Does--does your cousin really talk like that?"

Sirius made a face. "He'd probably say I'm overdoing the accent. But there's people here who've met him; I need for them to think I really am him."

Harry's mouth felt dry. He eyed Sirius' flask. "I don't suppose there's any hope of that being nonalcoholic--" he started to say, but Sirius pulled it closer to him.

"Polyjuice Potion!" he said softly. "And that was the last drop. Soon I'll have to go." Harry stopped; of course. The ceilidh was certainly going to be longer than an hour; it was actually getting to be quite late in the afternoon.

Suddenly a great whoop! went up from somewhere and the middle of the floor cleared; the band started up "All the Bluebonnets Over the Boarder," the swords went down, and a wizard enchanted them so that human hands didn't have to hold them; they moved of their own accord. Lucius Malfoy led the way now, picking his way through them expertly, and Draco Malfoy joined him in the sword dance. Snape-as-MacDermid looked resigned and joined his kinsmen as they skillfully avoided the sharp edges of the swords and held their hands over their heads. Draco Malfoy had taken off his jacket, waistcoat and necktie and unbuttoned his shirt a little, but left his cuffs securely fastened at the wrist. Harry looked at Ginny standing only about ten feet away. Harry ached, seeing how she gazed at him. Her fifteenth birthday was just over a week away.

Hermione had come to stand with him. Harry turned away from the sword dancers to tell her that Lucas was actually Sirius. She immediately reddened and looked away from him upon learning this.

"What's with her?" Sirius wanted to know.

"Um," Harry stalled. "Long story."

Sirius shrugged. He looked around the hall, at the crowd watching the sword dancing, some more wizards joining in. Sirius frowned.

"I don't understand. There are people here I'd bet my life were Death Eaters--and not just Lucius Malfoy. Yet they're not making any trouble. Either we were given bad intelligence again, or--

The building suddenly shook with a large crash. The band stopped playing and everyone looked around, bewildered. The hovering swords clattered to the floor. Harry went running to the anteroom at the entrance to the hall, then outside, Hermione and Sirius right behind him. Further down the High Street, he cold see smoke and flames coming from the direction of the Three Broomsticks.

Ron and Parvati were at the Three Broomsticks.

Harry ran toward the mayhem without thought; he had hoped that he could be prepared; he'd worn Sandy, who was too far away from the pub to be able to See this coming; he'd brought his knife from Sirius, he had his wand. And still it had done no good.

As he reached the smoking ruins of the pub, he heard someone say, "MORSMORDRE!" in a shaking voice, and the Dark Mark flew up into the sky over the rubble. Harry ran in the direction of the voice. Around the corner of the next building, he saw him; a tall wizard in a hooded cloak, a mask on. He jerked around upon seeing Harry; the mask kept Harry from seeing his expression. He tried to move quickly, tried not be distracted by not knowing who this was.

"Stupefy!" he cried, pointing his wand at the wizard before he could Disapparate. The stunned wizard fell to the ground. A moment later, Harry heard someone else growl the stunning curse, and he turned to see who was trying to attack him.

But it wasn't him they were putting the curse on; he saw Mad-Eye Moody with his wand pointed at another hooded, cloaked and masked Death Eater who had been coming up behind Harry. Remus Lupin was with him. Moody used his wand to move his stunned prisoner over near the man Harry had laid out. He grunted and kicked his man with his wooden leg absently.

"Hmph! He sent amateurs. Or they're out of practice. Not to mention they think we're stupid. Good job, by the way, Potter. You got here fast."

Harry looked at him in amazement. "You--you did too."

Moody shook his head. "Nah. We were in the pub." Oh, that's right, Harry thought. "But I saw these two through the back wall, figured out what they were up to."

"Alastor and I quickly put cushioning charms over the entire pub, so that anything falling would go down slowly and softly," Lupin said. "We'll still have to move this rubble out of the way--"

"--bloody pain in the ass--" Moody interjected.

"--but the people underneath shouldn't be injured," Lupin continued. "C'mon. How are you at levitation charms?"

"Not as good as Hermione, but she's coming now." Lupin nodded.

Harry saw Hermione coming down the High Street with Bill, Sirius, Snape, McGonagall and Arabella, as well as a number of other people who'd been at the ceilidh. Suddenly, Arabella stopped; Harry stared. Her hair was changing color, and her face. She put her hands up to her face, held a strand of hair before her eyes, then turned and ran the other way down the High Street. Her potion must have worn off, Harry thought. But as her face was changing, something about her seemed familiar...

Moody watched over the stunned Death Eaters while Lupin and Harry went to meet the approaching crowd. Harry went to Sirius and Snape before Hermione. "Moody and I stunned the Death Eaters who did this. He's with them behind that shed there," he pointed and they strode over in the direction he and Lupin had come from.

Hermione had tears running down her face, and Bill had frantically started waving his wand, first producing a stream of water to extinguish some flames licking at the fallen wood, then levitating the chunks of pub up and away from the site of the magical explosion. Harry tried to reassured both of them by telling them about Moody's and Lupin's cushioning charm, but it was still slow going to move so much debris.

Suddenly, Harry heard seven loud pops! near him and he looked up to see Dobby and Biddy and the other free elves. "Harry Potter!" Dobby cried. "What is happening? We is having a picnic outside the village for our day out, and we is hearing a big boom! What is happened to the pub?"

Harry looked at his little wrinkled face grimly. "Death Eaters," he said simply. Dobby nodded.

"We is here to help, Harry Potter. Tell us what to do."

Harry looked at him gratefully. "Well, you're pretty good at hover charms. We need to move all this mess and find all of the people who were in the pub when it went."

Dobby gave him a kind of salute, and before long, the house elves were doubling the speed at which they were able to remove the broken beams and other building fragments. They found students, shocked that they weren't gravely injured, feeling their arms and legs just to be sure they weren't mistaken. They found professors, people from the village, a few witches and wizards who'd just Apparated in for the day. Just when Harry was starting to think that Ron and Parvati had already left the pub before the explosion, Hermione and Quiff the house elf moved a large beam and saw Parvati's face, sprinkled with plaster dust, and she called Harry over so they could move some other pieces of furniture and building off her. When she was no longer trapped, Hermione pulled her to a standing position and then threw her arms around her in a thorough hug. Harry saw her shocked face over Hermione's shoulder, as she slowly returned the hug. Then Hermione held her at arms' length.

"Are you all right, Parvati?" Somehow her question seemed to have nothing to do with what had happened to the Three Broomsticks.

Parvati nodded. "I--I thought you might hate me now, Hermione..." she said softly, tears starting to roll down her dusty cheeks. Hermione smiled at her through her own tears.

"No. How could I? We've been roommates for--what? Five years? And--and Ron is one of my best friends. I want him to be happy."

Parvati looked like she might really bawl now; she seemed incredibly touched. Harry looked at the ruins of the pub; there was nothing like a disaster to bring people together who might otherwise be trying to tear each other apart, he thought. But they had yet to find Ron.

"Potter!" a familiar voice called. Most of the people from the ceilidh were on site now, moving rubble and helping the various pub patrons to their feet. But apparently, Moody and Lupin had missed a part of the pub with the cushioning charms. Harry ran toward the voice; it was Draco Malfoy, who was moving piece after piece of shattered wood rafter and chunks of plaster still embedded in thin wooden lath strips. He had uncovered Ron's ashen face. Harry cursed and put his wand away; he couldn't think about magic now. He felt as he had when Dick had had his leg crushed by the rocks in the Dursley's garden. He lifted the chunks of building from Ron and hurled them away, and Malfoy did the same, also not using his wand. Harry didn't see Lucius Malfoy anywhere. Of course, he'd been dancing in the middle of the hall when the explosion had occurred; dozens of people were watching him. An ironclad alibi.

He and Malfoy worked side by side to free Ron, then each took an arm to try to draw him out of the rest of the rubble. They dragged him clear, laying him flat on the High Street, where there was no debris to get in the way. Harry took out his wand again to do a rejuvenation charm, but Malfoy waved him away. Instead, he took out a hip flask and held up Ron's head, tilted the flask so some of its contents would run into Ron's mouth. Harry was about to yell, but then realized that of course Malfoy didn't have Polyjuice Potion in his flask.

Ron immediately started to cough, and Malfoy sat him up more, slapping his back. Ron opened his eyes, staring wildly at Malfoy and then Harry, then back at Malfoy. He nodded at the flask and Malfoy handed it to him again, and this time Ron took a long swig, his head tilted back. When he was done, he handed it back to Malfoy, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, saying hoarsely, "Thanks."

Harry crouched by his side. "Where were you Ron? Moody said he saw two Dark wizards skulking around, and he and Lupin put a cushioning charm on the pub to keep falling debris from hurting people. But they must have missed wherever you were."

Ron swallowed, looking flushed now after his drink. "I was in the corridor on the way to the loo. Then everything just--fell apart."

Malfoy smirked. "In the corridor, eh? Well, you're lucky you weren't already in there, busy relieving yourself..."

"Enough, Malfoy!" Harry hissed at him. Malfoy smiled benignly at him, and to his surprise, Ron laughed.

"It's okay, Harry. You think that didn't cross my mind? I could use a laugh anyway. Oh, and thanks for the drink, Malfoy."

The two of them helped Ron to his feet; he was several inches taller than both of them, so he was able to lean on their shoulders for support, as though they were live crutches. He could walk, but Harry could tell that he felt very weak. He had a dark bruise on his temple and a deep gash going from his right ear to the corner of his mouth, plaster dust sticking liberally in the blood. He would need attention soon to fix that, Harry thought, or else he'd have a scar.

Then Ginny was running toward them, throwing her arms around Ron and weeping, followed by Bill and Fred and George putting their hands on his shoulder, looking concerned. Then Harry saw her approaching, walking next to Parvati, saw the raw emotion on her face. She started moving faster, then she was running, and Harry thought she would knock him over with the force of her embrace.

Hermione threw her arms around Ron, sobbing, and he gathered her to him, looking like this was why he was glad not to be dead. He put his cheek on her hair and now there was blood and plaster dust on the top of her head. Bill looked fascinated; Parvati did not look happy.

She pulled back from Ron, crying freely. "You're all right. You're--" she choked and couldn't speak for a second. He smiled down at her, his arms still around her. Harry felt tears prickle against his eyelids. He was standing so close to them; he could see the look in both of their eyes. But now Hermione was mastering herself again.

She cleared her throat and said softly, "I talked to Parvati. I'm--I'm very happy for you both. I--I just want you to be happy. You're my best friend," she finished, looking up at him. But now, the happiness that had glowed in Ron's eyes when she had flung her arms around him evaporated. He swallowed and looked over at Parvati, who was walking toward him shakily. Hermione backed up some more and let Parvati come forward and put her arms around Ron, pillowing her head on his chest. Ron looked over her head at Hermione. Harry could see that he didn't want her to be noble about this. He wanted the Hermione to return who had flung her arms around him, who had given him that look. Not this detached friend, putting his girlfriend into his arms.

Suddenly, Rosmerta came up to them, covered in more plaster dust, her hair and eyes wild, holding Pinny and Zenana by their ears. She thrust them at Harry as though they were pieces of dirty laundry.

"Are these yours?" she demanded shrilly. "I thought I told you to keep those things out of my pub! Now look at it!"

Moody had come around the corner from where the stunned bodies were. "Rosmerta, leave the damn elves out of this. They didn't do anything except help get humans out of the wreckage. This was the work of Death Eaters. Who will be punished."

But now Rosmerta was staring at Sirius, who no longer looked like Ian Lucas. Her mouth was open. Harry swallowed. "Sirius Black!" she screamed. "It was Sirius Black! Get him!"

Harry's heart was in his throat; he looked at Draco Malfoy, who goggled at Sirius. Everyone froze except Sirius, who, realizing that he looked like himself again, ran behind the shed where the bodies were. No one else moved; Rosmerta tried to follow him, but then a large black dog came from the direction Sirius had gone, getting in her way. She ignored the dog; after it was gone she rushed behind the shed, then emerged again, looking at them all wildly. "Where is he? It was Sirius Black, I tell you! If anyone blew up my pub, he did!"

They all looked at her as if she were unbalanced, except for Draco Malfoy who was still clearly in shock. She looked from face to face, her mouth hanging open. "But you all saw! He was here!"

Harry heard a familiar voice say, "Mobilicorpi!" and Snape came around the corner looking like himself (except for the fact that he didn't normally wear a kilt). The stunned bodies of the Death Eaters accompanied him, floating.

"I'm afraid, Madam Rosmerta, that these two men are the ones who destroyed your establishment," he said, sounding even more oily than usual, Harry thought. Now he removed the mask from the first one. "Ah, Nott," he said, upon seeing his face.

He removed the other man's mask and Moody grunted, saying, "Avery. Well, that explains the incompetence. Not that we're not grateful for it."

But Madam Rosmerta wasn't done pointing fingers. "And you!" she said, seeing Lupin. "I don't want your kind in my pub either! Filthy werewolf..."

Moody looked like he wanted to put a good hex on her. "Shut it, you! You didn't mind him being in the damn pub when he was paying you good money for your overpriced drinks! Well--" he said, waving his arm over the pile of rubble that used to the Three Broomsticks. "You can ban anyone you want from your bloody pub now. Feel free."

She looked at him with raging eyes, then turned and stalked off. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, wondering, but then Sandy distracted him, saying, "A large black dog awaits." Good, thought Harry; Sirius wasn't totally gone. He wanted to talk to him. It was such a shock to turn and see his real face. Would Rosmerta alert the Ministry of Magic? And what about Malfoy? Harry could tell that Dumbledore must have filled in Moody about Sirius. Perhaps Moody could allay any fears at the Ministry about Sirius having been in Hogsmeade.

Moody came to him now, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You all right, Potter?"

They all started walking slowly down the street and in the direction of Hogwarts. "No," Harry told him truthfully as they walked. He looked over at where Neville and Ginny and Hermione were walking, then at Ron and Parvati. "I feel like I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, like I'm becoming a bit paranoid." He could have bitten his tongue as soon as he said it; Moody had a reputation for being the most paranoid person in the wizarding world.

Moody laughed now. "Potter, if someone really is out to get you--then it's not paranoia. It's called facing facts. And hopefully, being prepared." He smiled at Harry, but Harry had to look away. He could not take Moody smiling at him. It just looked too strange.

He glanced at Draco Malfoy, who was walking near Snape, giving him a strange look through narrowed eyes; would he catch on to the fact that he hadn't seen Snape at the ceilidh, yet here he was, walking along in a kilt as if this were how he always went to Hogsmeade? Harry thought about Malfoy also seeing Sirius. Would he put two and two together about the large black dog?

Then Harry put his hand to the back of his neck; it was as though he could feel someone looking at him. He stopped, making Neville plow into him. He mumbled an apology, then went to the side of the road and started walking back toward the village, until he was clear of the somber parade of Hogwarts students and teachers returning to the castle, many of them limping and dusty from the pub explosion.

Standing alone at the edge of the village, staring at Harry, was Lucius Malfoy. Harry stood in the middle of the road, glaring back at him. The elder Malfoy looked every bit the aristocrat, every piece of metal on his ensemble glittering; he looked at Harry like a lord who was sure of obeisance.

Harry both feared and hated this man and wondered what he was up to, what Draco Malfoy knew, what Ginny knew. He felt he understood more about the son every time he saw the father; how could you not develop a thick skin when your own father thought nothing of torturing you?

Harry continued to gaze at the man who had spawned Draco Malfoy. He would not back down. The tall, pale-haired figure gazed back impassively, minute after minute. Harry did not waver; he felt he could wait all day.

Finally, Malfoy pulled out his wand. Harry quickly pulled out his too, a defensive reflex. But before he knew it, Lucius Malfoy was gone; he had merely been preparing to Apparate. He had presumably returned to Malfoy Manor. Harry continued looking at the space where he'd been; it was right at the edge of the village. He wouldn't have been able to Apparate if he'd been any closer to Hogwarts. Harry finally turned and ran to catch up with the others, still clutching his wand.

* * * * *

"Surprise! Happy Birthday!"

Ginny leaned against the doorway to Hagrid's hut in shock, staring around at her friends, laughing and putting her hand to her chest. When she'd recovered, she shook her finger at Zoey Russell, one of her roommates, who was looking sheepish.

"Oh, you! I told you I didn't want anyone making a big deal--"

"Now, Ginny," Hermione cut in. "Don't blame Zoey. You've been doing so much for other people, I thought you should have a nice little party too. Zoey, Annika and Ruth just helped get you down here." Before Ginny had arrived, Hermione told Harry that Ginny had been told there was extra work they all needed to do for Hagrid's class. Hermione smiled at Ginny's fellow fourth-year Gryffindors. There were more than seventeen people crammed into Hagrid's very modestly-sized hut, and Ginny registered this.

"Little, Hermione? I think it stopped being little long before I got here."

"No problem!" Fred said. He and George levitated Hagrid's large table out the door and into the front garden, then magicaly stretched it by a couple more feet. Harry and Ron and Colin moved all of the seating outside that Hagrid possessed, and Angelina and Parvati conjured up some more seats to provide a place for everyone.

Soon Ginny was in a place of honor at the head of the table, opening presents. George's and Fred's gift was first. She unwrapped a large box that turned out to be chocolates. She smiled and thanked them, and started to pass it around the table. Everyone present looked alarmed as it approached them and hastily sent it on its way, until it got to Neville. He casually picked up a light-brown chocolate and bit into it. Everyone stared. Nothing happened. Ginny laughed, looking at the twins.

"Oh! That's the joke, isn't it? There's nothing wrong with them!"

George and Fred smiled, looking at Neville mischievously, saying "April Fool!" But Harry thought, No, that's not it. It's coming...wait, just wait...

And yet, Neville was still fine. He shrugged and took another chocolate out of the box, put it on his plate. No one else would have anything to do with the sweets. Ginny moved on to her other presents. She exclaimed over everything and thanked each person or group of people who'd gone in on a present. Then she reached for Harry's gift. She tore off the paper and looked at the framed photo.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Colin; it's another one of yours, isn't it?"

Colin smiled bashfully; he was really getting to be quite the popular photographer. Harry had chosen a shot of Ginny flying around the Quidditch pitch holding the Snitch at the end of the Gryffindor/Slytherin game. Her hair moved in the breeze in the photo, her robes flapped behind her, her face glowed. She smiled at Harry, looking like she was suppressing a reaction that might be too extreme.

"Thank you, Harry," she said levelly, completely in control. Then there was one gift left. She frowned around the table; Harry could tell she thought she'd opened gifts from everyone already. Who could this be from?

She opened it. A lovely silver barrette was nestled in a tortoise-shell box, cushioned in velvet. It looked heavy and solid, and it was etched with a detailed image of a dragon. A Welsh Green, by the look of it, Harry thought. He grimaced to himself; no need to wonder who that was from.

He could tell from her blush that she knew too, but she took a note from the tortoise-shell box and read it, then stuffed it into her pocket. She closed the box with the barrette and looked up at them all.

"Well! Thank you again, everyone. This was really lovely," and she rose to go. Hagrid patted her shoulder; since it was Hagrid, this was the same as shoving her back into her seat rather violently, although they were all used to Hagrid not knowing his own strength and she merely winced.

"Ye can' go yet! There's cake still!"

Uh-oh, thought Harry. He hoped Hermione didn't let Hagrid bake the cake. But she was emerging from the hut now, carrying a chocolate confection that looked more likely to be a product of the house elves in the kitchens. Hagrid had made tea, which was fine--he couldn't botch that. But the moment that Neville took a sip of tea, he sprouted a duck bill and white feathers and started quacking excitedly; apparently the chocolates were designed to be triggered by tea.

Fred and George were laughing fit to kill, and Ginny was trying to say, "Gred, Forge--I mean, Fred, George--" but she was laughing too hysterically to be coherent, and even Neville seemed to be enjoying himself until he molted and the duck bill suddenly dropped off into his cake.

"They're called Ducky Dreams," George told them all.

"No, they're not, they're called Drake Dreams," Fred insisted. Hermione frowned.

"That rhymes with Canary Creams. Is your whole product line going to rhyme?" she asked them. They looked somewhat abashed as they admitted that this was in fact their plan.

"What's next?" Ron wanted to know. "There aren't that many words that rhyme with 'cream.' There's only beam and ream and--" he faltered.

"Team," Angelina said laughing.

"Gleam!" Katie said triumphantly. They were all laughing hysterically, suggesting ways that Fred and George could create ridiculous confections with these words in the names, and what they might do to those who dared to eat them.

After they calmed down again, they were actually able to eat the birthday cake and have some tea, many of them taking seconds on the cake, which was chocolate with raspberry filling. They'd probably all ruined their dinners.

Harry was sitting with Hermione and the other fourth-year girls, whom he did not know very well. He got the impression that when they were in the common room, they were avoiding him. He was finding it hard to talk to Annika Olafsdottir now.

"Can you pass the cream, Annika?" he asked her.

She swallowed, handing him the small chipped jug. After he'd poured it into his tea, he tried to hand it back to her, but she wouldn't take it, so he tried handing it to Ruth Pelta instead. She took it cautiously.

"It's okay," he told them. "I don't bite. Not usually." He smiled at them. Annika laughed now, coloring.

"I'm--I'm sorry. It's just that I still can't get over you being you. I've been in Gryffindor for almost four years, and I'm still unable to say anything coherent to Harry Potter..."

Ruth rolled her eyes. "Annika, he does not want to feel like he's on display all the time. He probably just wants to be left alone."

Harry looked at Ruth; she was a brown-haired girl with hazel eyes and a slightly olive complexion.

"Is that why you never talk to me?" he asked her.

She raised her eyebrows. "I just thought you'd think it rude, someone who didn't know you just walking up to you as if just because you're famous and everyone knows who you are, you want to know everyone else. I didn't want to be presumptuous."

Harry nodded at Ruth. "Thank you. But you have no idea the level of presumptuousness that's been reached around here..." he smiled, remembering all of the girls who asked him to the ceilidh. Ruth didn't look away from him; she was a very direct person.

"Well, I should go soon so I can study a little before dinner. My mum sent me another Hebrew lesson by owl post; hopefully I can finally have my bat mitzvah this summer..."

Hermione looked at her. "Seriously?"

She sighed. "I'm two years behind because ever since I came to Hogwarts, I've been doing it by correspondence. My mum and dad are both rabbis. They weren't even sure they were going to let me come to Hogwarts when I got the letter. But my mum decided to be very philosophical about it, finally. Said that I had a gift; it would be rude to throw it back in God's face. The important thing is what you do with your gifts. And now, I'm the only one in Ancient Runes who can make head or tail of the Hebrew and Aramaic spells, so I'm one up on everyone else." Hermione looked envious.

Then Harry was startled by Sandy hissing at him; he listened, thinking, Not again....No one but Hermione seemed to have noticed Sandy's hissing; he thought she might be paying special attention, listening for the sound, now that she knew about Sandy's Sight. She raised her eyebrows at him, but he shook his head; it wasn't a good time to say anything. Not that he wanted to tell her about this, anyway.

"I can't even make out the Icelandic runes, and my dad's from there," Annika said dejectedly.

"I think that's psychological," Ruth told her, sounding like Hermione to Harry. "You don't get on with your dad, so you don't want anything to do with his heritage."

"Well how would you feel if your dad had saddled you with a last name like 'Olafsdottir?'"

Hermione smiled; Harry had heard her go on about her first name enough times. Ruth rose to go, and Annika and Zoey went with her. They all wished Ginny a happy birthday again before going up to the castle together, walking closely together. Annika shyly waved at Harry before leaving. He thought they made a rather tight little group; hard for Ginny to really penetrate. But then, he realized, she was used to boys. With six brothers, she'd never really learned how to get on with girls. And in her first year, she'd been rather isolated as well. She had spent her time confiding in Tom Riddle, in the diary, not bonding with her roommates. She was still not really integrated into their world; Harry remembered the many times he'd seen small knots of friends scattered around the common room, chatting happily, and Ginny, alone in a corner with a book. That's probably why she's at the top of her classes, he thought. No social life to distract her. That's probably also why she and Malfoy get on, he realized. Two isolated, lonely people...

Harry finished his cake and looked up to see Ginny furtively edging her way toward Hagrid's hut. The rest of the people at the table were chatting animatedly and eating cake and drinking tea and making up silly names for Fred's and George's product line; no one but Harry noticed that the birthday girl was slipping away. Of course, he knew to expect it, thanks to Sandy.

After she'd been gone for several minutes, Harry also slowly rose and edged toward the door of the hut. Hermione was talking to Neville now about what it had felt like to change into the duck. Harry thought it was possible that Parvati saw him, but he blinked and it seemed she was once more laughing at something Fred was saying, while Ron draped his arm over the back of her chair. While Neville was talking to her, Hermione was looking at Parvati strangely; it wasn't hostile, Harry thought, but...at least she's not taking any notice of what I'm doing, he thought. He slipped into Hagrid's hut.

He looked around the strangely empty room; without the large table in it, it actually seemed quite commodious. Then he heard voices, and he moved carefully across the room to the back wall. One of the windows flanking the back door was open a crack, although the rough, dirty curtains still hung in front of the glass. Harry recognized the voices; he lifted the edge of the curtain to peer through the dirty glass and saw exactly what he expected to: Ginny was behind Hagrid's hut with Draco Malfoy. A ram and a dragon. He hadn't had to guess what Sandy had meant this time.

Their arms were around each other and Ginny was smiling at him. "That was the non-verbal thank you," she said. Harry grimaced; that must have been a kiss. He wasn't sorry to have missed that. In retrospect, he'd probably rather see his mum kiss Snape. "Now the verbal thank you: it is beautiful and wonderful and thank you."

Malfoy looked more consumed by her every time Harry saw them together. His grey eyes seemed to be constantly moving over her, devouring her with his mind, as though he were memorizing every freckle, every small line, every eyelash and even the half-moons on her fingernails. He leaned down again and pressed his lips to hers, finding her ready and responsive, drinking him in, sliding her fingers into his wispy hair. Harry looked away, then back. What was Malfoy doing with his hands? Harry felt a rage wash over him as Malfoy raised his left hand and placed it purposefully over her right breast, just placed it there, not moving. Not missing a beat, Ginny simply moved her hand from his head to his left hand, and removed it from her breast, placing it back around her waist, never breaking the kiss while doing this. But Malfoy would not be deterred; instead of her chest, he now moved the same hand down below her waist, cupping her bottom in his palm, continuing to kiss her. Again, she reached for his wrist and this time pulled the hand up to have it in a more neutral location.

He broke the kiss and pressed his mouth to her neck as she tipped her head back so he could get more of it. Harry felt his pulse racing. Malfoy was moving further down, and now had begun to unbutton her robes, which fell to the ground. His fingers plucked at the buttons on her blouse. She suddenly came to her senses and pushed him away, turning toward the hut to button her blouse again; Harry had a glimpse of a simple white bra with a small fabric rosebud nestled in the valley between the cups. But it was only a glimpse; he ducked down below the windowsill instinctively when she turned.

He heard her talking to Malfoy, so he inched back up to the window, lifting the curtain again.

"Draco; we've talked about the hands..."

Malfoy took her in his arms again, not saying anything in response to her complaint. He moved his mouth down her throat again and she made a gurgling noise, grabbing at his shoulders as though she would have collapsed otherwise. He succeeded in undoing one of her blouse buttons again, moving his mouth lower, and now one of her hands was sliding down his chest, coming to rest on his waist.

Harry reached for his wand, feeling his knuckles strain on it as he gripped the wood fiercely. If Malfoy did anything that she didn't want and she couldn't hold him off, Harry wanted to be ready. He knew he shouldn't be watching this, but at the same time he felt that he must, he couldn't risk her being in danger.

Malfoy had undone the buttons on his own robes and they slipped to the ground. He moved his mouth up to her throat again, then his mouth was on hers once more, and as the kiss continued the hand she had at his waist of his pants slid down his side, and she was running her fingers along the side of his thigh, down to the knee, then back up, past his hip to his waist, then back down again.

Harry felt like he couldn't breathe. He could see how twitchy her hand was making Malfoy. He had his mouth on her throat again, concentrating on one spot, while she kept stroking his leg and driving him--and Harry--mad.

This had been continuing for several minutes when Malfoy pulled his mouth away from her throat; there was a bruised patch of skin where his mouth had been, and it was unfortunately shaped exactly like a mouth. He was unbuttoning her blouse yet again, putting his hands inside it, moving his mouth down...

Harry looked down at his hands. He tried to think of other things. He thought of the Daily Prophet article that had come out after the explosion at the Three Broomsticks. There had been an old photo of him from the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament; he was small and pale and scared-looking. It looked laughable; the article said that Harry Potter had apprehended a Death Eater, along with retired Auror Mad-Eye Moody. A weak-looking little boy and an old man. How much of a threat could these Death Eaters have been, really, to be taken by them? That was the upshot of the article. No mention was made of Voldemort's return; it was as though these Death Eaters were simply having a lark, and got caught. There was no image of the smoking rubble, although there was a quote from Madam Rosmerta with her assertion that it had been Sirius Black who had masterminded it; those caught were merely his stooges. Great, Harry thought. Sirius is accused of yet another thing he didn't do.

They had talked briefly when he had returned to Hogwarts after the ceilidh; they'd come here, to Hagrid's hut, where Sirius could change into his human form again. Because the Polyjuice Potion had worn off, he would have to lie low for a little while, especially avoiding Hogsmeade. And he would have to hope that Ian Lucas wouldn't be questioned either. People in the wizarding world knew he was Sirius' cousin. He might be in trouble for aiding and abetting a fugitive. This was such a mess, Harry thought. The only good thing was that two Death Eaters would not be coming to Voldemort's side when he summoned them. That was something.

He dared not look out the window; he could hear moaning from each of them, tiny gasps occasionally. What should he do? he wondered. She seemed to be letting him, now. He felt ill. He should go. She was going to do it; she was going to give herself to his enemy. He took the basilisk amulet out of his shirt and held it in his fist. He had a sudden urge to tear it from around his neck and throw it into the fireplace. But somehow, the moment he touched it, he felt calmer. I need to trust her, he thought.

He raised his eyes to the dirty window, lifting up the corner of the curtain again. She seemed to be trying to shove him away now; his head was between her breasts, but as she succeeded in pushing him on the second try, Harry could see that her bra was still on, another bruise forming on her chest in the V between the cups. She buttoned her blouse for the second time.

"I--we--have to stop. This is just--too much--"

"Listen, I'm sorry Ginny, it's just that--well, it is your fifteenth birthday."

She stared at him openmouthed, putting her Hogwarts robes on again. "And you thought my little birthday present to you was going to be sleeping with you?" It looked to Harry like that was exactly what Malfoy thought. He opened and closed his mouth like a rather stupid-looking fish, Harry thought. Ginny bent down, then thrust Malfoy's robes at him.

"Just because I'm fifteen doesn't mean I'm ready for this, Draco."

"You say that," he said, getting that argumentative tone Harry knew so well. "But what your body was saying was very different."

"So what? So you know how to do things that--that make me respond certain ways. I'm still governed by my brain. And my brain is just not ready for this yet. I know boys' brains are between their legs--"

"Hey!"

"Oh, come on. I have six brothers. And I'm not deaf. The things I hear at home! You know how sometimes Muggles who see magic don't even need memory charms because they just convince themselves they imagined it? Well, my brothers seem to think I'm like that when they're talking about what it's like to be a boy, about sex, about all that. I hear everything. I remember and file it all away. You should have heard one of them going on and on when he was waiting for his balls to drop...I won't tell you which one..."

"Ginny!" Draco Malfoy actually sounded horrified on behalf of all of the Weasley boys. Truthfully, Harry was too. He wondered if it was Ron...

"Oh Draco! You really don't understand, do you? I'm not a prude; I'm just not mentally ready to have sex."

Malfoy grimaced at her. Harry did, too; there was just something so uncomfortable about hearing a girl talking about the things boys were concerned with, the things they hoped girls didn't know. He thought, Malfoy will have to be a right wanker, waiting for her...

"Well," Malfoy said, his voice shaking. "When do you think you'll be ready?"

She stared at him. "How should I know? I just turned fifteen. I know that it used to be that when a witch turned fifteen it was considered a very big deal, her parents would throw a big party for her and invite wizards who might be interested in marrying her, and sometimes the girls would get married while they were still in school, and they'd go to be with their husbands during holidays instead of their parents. But that was a long time ago; nobody does that anymore. Just because I'm fifteen doesn't mean I'm on some kind of schedule, like a bloody train! Maybe this was a bad idea; maybe I'm too young to be in a relationship like this. I'm just frustrating you..."

Both Malfoy and Harry felt panic then. If she and Malfoy weren't together, what would happen to the plan for putting Lucius Malfoy into Azkaban? Malfoy, however, looked panicked for a different reason.

"No, Ginny! It's my fault. I shouldn't be putting so much pressure on you." Harry was shocked to hear him taking blame. Then he was shocked to hear his own name. "I have to ask, though; is this something to do with Potter?"

She rolled her eyes and threw her hands into the air. "No! This has nothing to do with Harry! This is about me! I am just not ready!"

Malfoy drew his lips into a line, mumbling an apology. He kissed her on the lips, briefly, softly, like that first tentative kiss in the Potions Dungeon. Then, without another word, he turned and stepped into the forest, and Harry could see him skimming the edge of it, until he was out of sight. Then Harry realized that she would probably be coming back into the hut. He ran across the room and had his hand on the door when she came in from the back, stopping in shock when she saw him.

"Uh, hi! There you are, Ginny. I just came in to look for you."

She looked skeptical. But she didn't contradict him. "I just felt like sitting out back, alone. I like to look at the forest." She was standing only about a foot away from him now, and he couldn't fight the urge to suddenly move his lips to her cheek, making only a brief contact with it.

"Happy birthday, Ginny," he said softly. She looked at him with wide eyes.

"We should go back out," she said shakily. He nodded and opened the door. When they returned to the large table, only Ron, Parvati, Neville and Hermione were sitting there with Hagrid. Everyone else had gone; it was almost time for the evening meal, but the sun wasn't ready to go down yet. The days had started lengthening again; they were hurtling toward midsummer and the end of the school year. Suddenly, it seemed that his fifth year had gone very fast. Harry felt he had crammed a huge amount of material into his brain, and wondered whether he would remember any of it when he took the O.W.L.s. Perhaps McGonagall would give him full marks for Transfiguration just because he'd learned to be an Animagus.

He wished he could transform now and run into the forest; Hermione was looking back and forth between him and Ginny with a furious expression; she had noticed the bruise on Ginny's neck. He sat next to her and whispered, "She met him behind the hut." Hermione nodded when she heard this, but she still looked at Harry oddly. He fingered the basilisk amulet again. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a fair-haired figure emerge from the forest on the far bank of the lake; then the figure skirted the lake, went behind the greenhouses, and up to the castle. What if something had happened and I hadn't been there? he wondered. Then he looked at Ginny; he remembered that she was ranked third in the Dueling Club and that Malfoy hadn't beaten her dueling (although he wasn't convinced that Malfoy was trying, actually). She can take care of herself, he tried to tell himself. She would never let him do anything she didn't want to do. The question that bothered him was--

What did Ginny want to do?

* * * * *


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