Harry Potter and the Slytherin Spy

Harry Potter and the Slytherin Spy

Christine Morgan

Chapter Ten - Looking Glass

By the time they reached King's Cross Station and joined the students milling around with their trolleys by the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, Harry was once more the center of attention.

The Leaky Cauldron was quite a large inn, far larger than the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, for instance. Yet even so, Harry was sure that the Leaky Cauldron was not spacious enough to have contained everyone who now swore up and down to have been there when Nott's body was discovered.

Word of how Nott had left his broken wand on the open pages of Harry's interview in the Quibbler had also spread like wildfire. People nodded wisely to one another and said how they all should have seen it coming.

Over his wife's protests, Mr. Weasley had told the rest of the story to Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione on the way to the station. "With all the rumors that'll be flying about, Molly, it's best that they have the whole of the truth from me."

Nott's room had been one of the cheapest ones, tucked high under the eaves where the ill-repaired roof lived up to the leaky part of the Leaky Cauldron's name whenever it rained. His clothes and school things, according to Mr. Weasley, had been scattered around the room as if he'd been in the middle of packing. The rope had come from one of the inn's own storage cupboards, and the other end of it had been tied to the bedpost.

The healer who had come to examine the body confirmed that Nott had died of strangulation rather than a broken neck; the drop had been insufficient.

Here, Ginny and Hermione shuddered, and Ron looked as green as Harry felt.

"Arthur! You don't need to tell them that!" Mrs. Weasley had gasped, nearly ready to faint again.

"Sorry. Sorry, all," Mr. Weasley said, abashed. "After that, they sent for his mother to make the arrangements. For the funeral, you know."

Hermione hadn't said anything, but she'd gotten a familiar thoughtful frown that Harry and Ron knew well.

At the station, Harry and Ron waited while first Ron's parents, then Ginny and Hermione pushed through the brick barrier to Platform 9 and ¾. Moments later, it was their turn. Ever since the year that Dobby had barred their passage, Harry always tensed as the front of his trolley neared the wall, anticipating a jarring jolt as it refused to yield. But it did, and he and Ron emerged safely.

There stood the Hogwarts Express, scarlet engine gleaming, steam chuffing up from its underside like the breath of a dragon. A clamor of students rushed here and there, saying goodbye to their parents, loading their trunks. Many of them clustered in tight gossipy groups, and turned to look at Harry.

"I hope they don't think I had anything to do with it," he muttered to Ron.

"It is bloody weird," Ron admitted. "That he'd come and tell you off, only to go and hang himself."

"Well, nobody else knows about that," Harry said. "And nobody should hear about it, either. Next thing you know, they'd be saying that I shoved him out the window with that rope around his neck, to make it look like he did it."

"Yeah, but if he told anyone he was going to have it out with you ..." Ron trailed off, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

"I was downstairs having breakfast with you and your family," Harry said, feeling a little cross. "Besides, even if I'd wanted to do anything to Nott, you know me better than to think I'd stage a phony suicide."

Mrs. Weasley gave Ron the usual supply of sandwiches she made him for the trip. No one ever had the heart to tell her that Ron didn't eat them, but joined Harry in gorging on treats from the snack trolley. The waxed-paper wrapped sandwiches, fairly squashed after being stuffed in Ron's pocket for hours, were saved instead to feed to Hagrid's boarhound, Fang.

They all said their goodbyes, got hugs from Mrs. Weasley and hearty claps on the back from Mr. Weasley. Then, as Harry turned to climb onto the train, he came face to face with the white-blond hair and pointed features of Draco Malfoy.

"Potter," Malfoy sneered.

"Malfoy." Harry gave it right back, clipped and curt.

The temperature around them felt like it dropped thirty degrees. Nearby students sensed this and suddenly the two found themselves in the middle of a cleared circle several yards in diameter.

Only Ron, at Harry's elbow, was close. His gaze shifted to Malfoy's slicked-back hair and he smiled meanly. "Couldn't get rid of all the slug-slime, eh?"

Harry wanted to nudge Ron and shut him up. Malfoy's eyes narrowed until they were the slit, beady eyes of a snake, but he only glanced at Ron before looking back at Harry.

"You've gone too far this time, Potter," Malfoy said.

"I haven't done anything," Harry replied coolly.

"Aren't you awfully brave today, Malfoy?" asked Ron. "Without your usual goon squad to back you up?"

"So what happened, Potter?" Malfoy's gaze remained firmly on Harry. "Finally decide to put your teacher's pet reputation to the test, and see if Dumbledore really will let you get away with murder?"

Ron bridled, perhaps as much from being ignored as from what Malfoy was saying. He took a step forward, and Harry seized his arm.

"Trouble, Draco?" A tall, slender woman appeared behind Malfoy. The hem of her robe was trimmed in sable, swirling around her feet.

Her hair was similarly white-blond, her cold and aristocratic beauty marred by the disdainful set of her mouth, as if it pained her to have to mingle with the rabble. She was thinner than she'd been when Harry first saw her at the Quidditch World Cup, her cheekbones sharp as knives.

Narcissa Malfoy's hands settled on her son's shoulders, long pale fingers glittering with rings. One of these rings was a thick gnarl of gold set with a banded black, white and green jewel that resembled an eye. Another was a silver snake with emerald chips for scales. A third, carved from blue-black jet, looked like a spider crouching and ready to pounce. A fourth was a diamond the size of a robin's egg, shifting smoothly through all the colors of the spectrum.

Clearly, Harry had been correct in his guess that whatever privations had befallen the Nott family had not similarly struck down the Malfoys.

He looked from Draco's almost colorless eyes into Narcissa's. An unspoken weight of accusations and violent oaths yearned to spill from him.

Kreacher had gone to her, told her of the bond between Sirius and Harry. And she, gladly betraying her own cousin, had wasted no time telling her husband and the other Death Eaters. It was thanks in part to her that Sirius was gone.

For her part, Narcissa was staring back at him with freezing animosity, and probably thinking that thanks to Harry, her husband had gone to Azkaban, and the Dark Lord had been denied another victory. Thanks to Harry, her son more often than not had to spend the first week of the summer holidays recovering from disfiguring jinxes.

"No, Mother," Malfoy said, with the faintest renewal of his sneer at Harry. "No trouble."

Ron had been as petrified at the sight of Narcissa Malfoy as he would have been if he'd gone up against the basilisk. Or perhaps it was the jet spider on her hand ... Ron hated spiders, and was no doubt expecting it to come alive and spring onto him, eight legs skittering.

"Good," Narcissa said, and guided her son toward the train.

As she moved, Harry was sure he saw the eye in her other ring rotate to keep watching him, much in the way that Moody's did. He felt like an icicle had dripped just-melted water down his spine.

"Brr," Ron said. "She's creepy. I'd sooner go up against Crabbe and Goyle any day."

"I'm sure we'll get our chance," Harry said, spotting those selfsame Slytherins waiting for Malfoy by the side of the train.

They were still a right pair of gorillas, Crabbe and Goyle. Every year, they were taller and wider, with more jaw and Neanderthal brow, and less neck. Their knuckles didn't quite drag the ground yet, but it was a near thing.

He and Ron boarded and made their way through the bustling aisles, searching the compartments on both sides. As they did, it occurred to Harry that there was a strange mood in the air, one that couldn't entirely be attributed to Nott's death. It was as if everyone was trying to brace themselves for the new year, not so much looking forward to it as wondering what dreadful things would happen to them next.

Hermione, Ginny, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood were saving them seats in the second-to-last compartment. Harry felt strange seeing the group of them again, his makeshift Department of Mysteries survival society.

A few minutes later, with a great billowing cloud of steam, the scarlet engine pulled out of the station. It was soon chugging briskly along.

"Everyone's talking about Nott," Ginny said.

"And the ones who aren't are talking about Umbridge," Neville added.

"What about her?" Ron asked. "They don't think she's coming back, do they?"

"No," Neville said glumly. "They're wondering who Dumbledore could possibly have found that's worse."

"What do you mean, worse?" Harry asked.

"Well, they've gotten worse every year, haven't they?" Neville held Trevor the toad cradled in both hands, as if to comfort him.

"That's unfair," Ron said. "Lockhart was loads worse than Lupin, and you know it. Quirrell, too."

"Lupin, all right," Neville allowed. "Lupin was good. Still not sure I forgive him for that boggart thing, though ..."

"And like it or not," Ginny said, "we did learn a lot from the fake Moody, before he tried to kill Harry."

"Still, though," Neville said. "What if the new one is worse than Umbridge?"

"Impossible," Hermione said. "That woman was horrid."

"Dumbledore would have to hire a Death Eater, or Voldemort himself, to find anyone worse," Harry agreed, pleased by how few of them flinched at the name. "And trust me, Neville, he wouldn't."

"Here," Ron said, changing the subject. "Let's see your new wand, Neville. Harry told me it's a nice one."

Proudly, Neville showed off his new wand and the others dutifully exclaimed over it. Harry wondered if Neville's spell casting ability would improve now that he had one attuned to him, rather than using his father's old one - Frank Longbottom, sadly, had no further use for a wand.

"My father says that the new teacher is a princess from a magical island," Luna Lovegood said dreamily.

Harry almost laughed and turned it into a cough instead.

"Really?" Neville's eyes were wide.

Luna turned her copy of the Quibbler so they could see the artist's rendering, which showed busty witches in scanty armor, riding winged unicorns above a towering Mayan-style pyramid. The headline asked, "Amazon Witches of the Bermuda Triangle???"

This time, Harry did laugh, and only got himself under control when the snacks trolley rolled to a stop at their compartment door.

As usual, he bought a sampling of everything, and the next hour was passed merrily enough as they swapped Chocolate Frog cards and dared each other to eat the most noxious Every-Flavor Beans they could find.

"Did you hear?" Neville broke in, suddenly indignant. "There's a company doing a deck of Dark Wizard cards! In suits and all, with the court cards and aces being Death Eaters!"

"You're joking!" Harry had heard on the news of the Muggles doing such things, decks with international terrorists and serial killers and other criminals and politicians, and had thought it was in incredibly bad taste.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard," Hermione said.

"With ... with You-Know-Who on the ace of spades," Neville said. His voice quaked with rage. "And ... and her, Harry, that Lestrange woman, as the queen of spades. I thought I might get one of her and use it as a dart board."

As much as Harry hated Bellatrix Lestrange, he supposed Neville's cause for hate was even better. Bellatrix had killed Sirius, but she had tortured Neville's parents into lifelong insanity, leaving them little better than mindless shambling husks in the long-term ward of St. Mungo's.

"Who'd do something like that? It's stupid and sensationalistic," Ginny said hotly.

Hermione glanced quickly at Luna, her expression suggesting that she wouldn't be at all shocked to learn that the editor of the Quibbler was behind this latest tacky scheme.

But Luna's slightly bulging eyes were astonished. "How horrible," she said.

After a while, Harry needed to get up and stretch his legs. He wandered the train's corridor, stopping here and there to say hi to fellow Gryffindors and various members of the DA. Most who hadn't already done so asked him the same two questions over and over - was he going to take back his place on the Quidditch team? and were they going to resume the DA?

He passed one compartment packed with Slytherins, instantly recognizing Draco Malfoy's drawling voice even through the closed door. A peek through the inset window showed him that Jane was there, too, sitting in the window corner beside Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, with her hands folded on her lap and her dark ponytail lying over one shoulder as she gazed out at the scenery.

She looked pensive and pretty, and for a moment he felt a wild urge to bust in there and get her away from the Slytherins. He quelled it. She could handle herself among them. She'd been doing it for years. The last thing she would need or want would be a rescue from Harry "saving-people-thing" Potter. When all was said and done, she'd still have to live with the Slytherins, and all he could do would be to make things difficult for her if he ever let on that they were in the least bit friendly.

Jane lifted her gaze and shifted her focus slightly, and Harry suddenly knew that she was no longer looking at the scenery - dramatic though it was, with the train speeding over a high trestle across a gorge where waterfalls plunged in frothing whiter cataracts through sheer granite clefts - but had seen his ghostly reflection in the glass.

One of her hands moved from her lap to her pocket, touching the squarish bulge. The corner of her mouth turned up.

Harry hurried by. If she could see him, the others might catch a glimpse as well, and he did not need another confrontation with the Slytherins just now. He thought about Jane - so she had found the mirror and the note he'd slipped into her pocket. Would she use it?

He reached the front of the car and opened the door. Wind and noise whooshed around him. He stepped out onto the platform between this car and the one ahead of it, a platform with chest-high railings and a roof but otherwise open sides. The air was cool and misty from the spray of the many waterfalls. He could look down and see the dizzying drop of the gorge, the spindly wooden trestle supports, the river churning away far, far below.

No one else was out here. It was loud, and the platform was not fitted with shock absorbers, so he could feel the ratcheting vibration of the train as it rattled swiftly along the tracks.

Then he heard, or thought he did, Jane's voice speaking his name.

It came from his pocket. From the other mirror, which he'd put there just prior to leaving the Leaky Cauldron.

"--Potter had something to do with it?" she was asking. Her tone was soft, almost deferential.

Harry took the mirror out of his pocket and looked into it, noting that it still bore faint hairline cracks that his repair spell hadn't entirely erased, the reminders of the time he had flung it into his trunk with such force that the mirror had shattered.

He saw not himself in the dark glass but Jane, adjusting her ponytail and smoothing her bangs. She smiled - to anyone else, it must have looked as though she was pleased with her hair - and lowered the mirror, tilting it.

Now he no longer saw Jane, but a view very similar to the one he could see from this rattling platform between the train cars. The Hogwarts Express reached the far end of the gorge and was enveloped in deep forest shadows and flashes of sunlight.

Except in the mirror, he could also see the occupants of the compartment. She was holding the mirror casually, so that its surface pointed toward the window. No one else could see his image, but he could see their translucent reflections in the glass.

Yes ... there was Draco Malfoy, slouching in the seat nearest the door and rolling his wand between his palms. Crabbe and Goyle hulked on the bench across from Malfoy, and Pansy Parkinson sat beside him. Harry recognized two other members of the Slytherin Quidditch team. One was Tiberius Flint, former team captain Marcus Flint's younger brother, who looked just as mean and almost as ugly. There was also a squinty-eyed girl with a scruffy black lop-eared cat on her lap, sitting near Millicent Bulstrode.

Malfoy laughed, and the others followed suit. "Do I think Potter had anything to do with it?" he echoed.

She had activated the mirror by saying his name in the course of her question, Harry realized. Clever indeed.

"Maybe he didn't throw Nott out the window," Malfoy went on, "but mark me, he had something to do with it, all right. Nott didn't kill himself. He didn't have the guts."

Harry could have laughed, but he knew that if he could hear them, they might be able to hear him. As it was, the rushing of the wind and the clatter of the wheels on the tracks was so loud that he worried they might notice. But the Slytherins were, as always, hanging on Malfoy's every word.

"I've known him for ages," Malfoy said indifferently. "Our families go way back, and his mother had the nerve - or maybe had gotten enough courage out of a firewhiskey bottle - to come and ask my mother for help."

"Help?" Goyle's massive brow furrowed. "Help with what?"

"Charity," Malfoy said like it was a dirty word. "Can you believe it? Old Lady Nott thought that we'd take them in, her and her brats, once they'd burned through their money and gotten chucked out of their house."

"Some people have no class," Pansy Parkinson said.

She had, Harry saw, taken to wearing her hair tied with a bow, and with her already froggish features, this made her look alarmingly like Dolores Umbridge. He doubted it was accidental. Pansy had been one of Umbridge's finks last year.

"My mother sent her packing, of course," Malfoy said. "But Nott told me that he meant to deal with Potter himself. Said he could do a better job of it than we ever did."

Crabbe either rumbled disapprovingly deep in his throat, or his stomach growled. Harry couldn't be sure.

"How uppity! I'm glad he's dead," Pansy said. "Imagine, criticizing you, Draco! When did Nott ever do one thing against Potter? He just sat back and watched while you took all the risks."

"That's right," Malfoy said, sticking his sharp chin out defiantly. "If I'd wanted to kill Potter, believe me, I would have a long time ago."

"Yeah," grunted Goyle. "Weasel-King, too."

"I knew it had to be something like that," Jane said, sounding appropriately awed and impressed. "I knew you had to have some reason for leaving him alive."

"The Dark Lord wants him alive," Malfoy said, puffing up in venomous self-importance. "My father told me as much. The Dark Lord wants to exact his revenge personally. Next time, you can bet Potter won't be able to squirm his way out."

"The lucky bastard," Jane said, and Harry imagined her hard-edged smile. He smiled, too.

"Lucky is right!" Malfoy said. "Certainly skill's got nothing to do with it."

"Certainly not," murmured Jane.

"Dumbledore always coming to the rescue," Pansy said, sounding like she was rolling her eyes. "Or some other stupid, impossible, lucky escape."

"Deus ex machina," Crabbe said.

The Slytherins all stared at him, open-mouthed. Harry was dumbstruck, too. Had that really come from Crabbe? Of all people?

"God in the machine," Crabbe explained slowly, seeing them gaping at him. "It's what you call those stupid, impossible lucky escapes."

"How do you know that?" Malfoy demanded.

In the window reflection, Harry saw Crabbe shrug.

"He's right, though," the squinty-eyed girl said. Harry thought her name was Nadine Zellis, another of the girls in Ginny's year. "In Greek plays, when the hero got his Quaffles in a crack, they'd lower down a throne all decked with flowers and lift him up out of harm's way. To show the gods' intervention."

Over the snickering of the other Quidditch players at the Quaffle reference, Malfoy snapped, "I hope you're not calling Potter a hero!"

She blanched. "I didn't mean it that way."

"Potter doesn't have Quaffles," snorted Tiberius Flint. He held his thumb and forefinger a tiny way apart. "He's got little golden Snitches."

Pansy Parkinson cawed with laughter.

"What he's got," Malfoy said, "is Dumbledore in love with him. Not to mention that great oaf Hagrid. Even the Minister of Magic is fawning all over Potter again. It's enough to make me sick. They all think he's so bloody special."

"What will You-Know-Who do to him, do you know?" Jane asked.

"Whatever it is, I hope it's slow and painful." Malfoy stroked back his hair. "And I hope I can be there to see it."

"Us, too," Goyle said, and Crabbe nodded.

"They all deserve it," Malfoy said. "Potter most of all, but Longbottom, and the Weasleys, and that loudmouthed Mudblood know-it-all Granger, too. And everyone in their idiotic Defense club. A fat lot of good that'll do them when the Death Eaters and the dementors lead the first attacks."

"We should start our own club," Pansy said. "A proper Dark Arts club, that's what I think. You could teach it, Draco."

He affected a look of transparently false modesty. "I do know a spell or two ..."

"Yeah!" Tiberius Flint said. "Snape'd sign off on it, I'm sure he would."

"We could be ready," Nadine Zellis said. "Then, when the Death Eaters and dementors come, we'd be there to help. I'd love to curse McGonagall. The old hag gave me failing marks in Transfiguration last term, and all because the trap-jaw I was turning into a jewelry box bit the tip off her finger."

"A Dark Arts club," mused Jane. "That would be interesting."

The others all voiced their agreement. Just then, the train swept into a sharp curve, and Harry had to grab for the railing while tucking the mirror against his chest. He knew that curve, which signified the Hogwarts Express' final approach to the village station.

"We'd better get ready," Pansy said.

Jane brought the mirror up as if to check her hair one last time. Harry waved to her, and mouthed, "Thanks!"

She gave the most barely perceptible of nods, then skimmed her fingertips over the dark glass. At once, his mirror clouded, and when it cleared again, it showed only his own reflection.

Harry put it back in his pocket. He hadn't learned a lot, but it was a start ... and if Malfoy did form a Dark Arts club, he could find out everything that went on at their meetings. The only aspect of that which was bothersome was that Jane would have to join, would have to be involved. He didn't like the thought of her endangering herself to get information to him.

And it would be dangerous ... dangerous in many ways. Did she have any idea of the fine line she'd have to walk?

He returned to the compartment where Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna were pulling their black school robes on over their clothes. As he donned his own, Harry almost told them what he'd seen and heard, but stopped himself. He didn't want to have to explain why he'd given the mirror to Jane. Ron's feelings might be hurt, and Ginny might scold.

And even if Hermione continued her surprising support of Harry's association with Jane, she might decide that the best way to deal with Malfoy's Dark Arts club would be to go straight to a teacher, report it, and nip it in the bud. Hermione was all in favor of breaking the rules for a good cause, or when the rules themselves were punitive and senseless ones set in place by someone like Umbridge. Under those circumstances, she became not just a rebel but a genuine crusader. This, though ... saying nothing and allowing such a club to form so that Harry could, with Jane's help, keep an eye on what they were up to ... he didn't think Hermione would be comfortable with it.

The train slowed and came to a steam-puffing stop at the Hogsmeade station. Night had fallen and lights twinkled at every building but the dismal Shrieking Shack, perched on its lonely hill against the rising moon. As the students began to disembark, Harry heard the welcome and familiar sound of Hagrid's booming voice calling to the first-years, rounding them up for their traditional trip across the lake.

For the rest of them, the carriages awaited. The harnessed thestrals stamped and tossed their heads, wiry manes rippling, eyes shining blue-white, leathery wings folded against their bony black hides.

A few yards ahead of him, Harry saw a girl stop short. Her hands flew to her face and covered her mouth. Above them, her eyes were wide with fright. It was the blonde-braided Ravenclaw girl, the one whose screams had alerted everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

Without discussing it, Harry and Neville and Luna moved to her side.

"It's all right," Neville said.

"The ... the ... carriages ..."

"We see them too," Harry told her.

"They've always pulled the carriages," Luna added in her off-hand way. "Last year, Cecily, you walked right in front of one."

"But they're ... horrible!"

"They're not so bad," Neville said earnestly, and patted her on the arm. "Really, they're not. Come on. Ride with us, and you'll see."

"I wondered," Hermione said, moving up beside Harry as Neville and Luna escorted the trembling Ravenclaw girl toward the nearest carriage. "I wondered whether any of the rest of us would be able to see them now."

"You don't?" Harry asked.

Ron and Ginny shook their heads. So did Hermione. They had seen Nott's body, but they hadn't seen him actually die. Nor had any of them witnessed it when Sirius had fallen backward through the whispering black veil. Hermione, though, had nearly died herself in the Department of Mysteries. She had taken a Killing Curse full to the chest, and only the fact that the Death Eater who'd cast it had been unable to use his voice had reduced the effectiveness of the curse enough to let her survive.

The four of them climbed into an empty coach. "Did you see that?" Ron asked as they started to move. "Neville talked to a girl."

"He talks to girls all the time," Hermione said.

"To girls he knows, yeah," Ron said. "But he was holding her hand as they got in the carriage. What's happened to him? It's like he's not the same old Neville."

"He isn't the same old Neville," Harry said. "None of us are the same. How could we be, after what we did? I say, good for Neville. He came through in a big way in the Department of Mysteries. You all did, but Neville most of all. I wouldn't ever have expected it of him, but he was a lion."

"It's certainly given him confidence," Hermione said. "And not only that. Remember how he was during the DA lessons? And during our O.W.L.s? Now he's got a new wand that's suited to him. I rather think we'll be seeing a very different Neville Longbottom this year."

"He's cuter, too," Ginny said, with an impish grin at Ron because she knew that it drove him mad any time his little sister talked about boys. "The broken nose gives him character. Makes him look ... I don't know ... daring."

"It's just Neville!" Ron blustered. "Besides, I thought you fancied Dean Thomas."

"A woman has the prerogative to change her mind," Ginny said loftily.

"Girls are evil," Ron said to Harry. "I'm sure of it now."

"Oh, Ron, for goodness' sake," said Hermione. "Just because you don't understand something doesn't make it evil."

"She's right about that," Harry said.

"Blimey," Ron grumbled, sliding down in his seat. "You won't catch me asking a girl out, I can tell you!"

"We all saw how well that worked at the Yule Ball in our fourth year," Hermione said, with more than a touch of acid.

"Don't remind me!" Ron made an awful face. "Parvati's sister is still mad at me about that, and I still can't believe I tried to ask Fleur to the dance."

"Maybe you're asking the wrong girls," Ginny said.

Hermione sniffed. "Oh, Ginny, don't encourage him. Maybe he'll grow up someday, but until then, it'd be doing us all a favor -"

"Oy!" Ron sat up again. "Very nice, Hermione! It's not like I've asked you out! So why not keep your nose in your own business, all right?"

"Be that way, then," she said, and crossed her arms in a quick, angry movement.

"I can ask a girl out if I want," Ron said. "Fact is, I was planning to. First Hogsmeade weekend."

"Just, whatever you do, steer clear of the tea shop," Harry said darkly.

"What girl?" Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron.

"Um ..."

Ginny had been watching this with the avid back-and-forth attentiveness of someone at a tennis match. Her eyes twinkled. "Luna," she said.

"Huh?" Ron rounded on her. "Loony Lovegood? Me and Loony Lovegood?"

"Honestly, Ginny!" Hermione cried.

"What?" Ginny was all innocence. "She likes Ron, likes him a lot. Look at how she's always laughing at his lame jokes."

"That hardly proves anything," Hermione said, "except that Luna's soft in the head. She's nice enough, don't snarl at me like that, Harry, but not quite right. You can't deny it."

"So she's eccentric," Ginny said. "So what?"

"So what is what do you mean she likes me?" Ron blurted. "She didn't tell you so, did she?"

"Not in so many words, but I can tell." Ginny's eyes twinkled even brighter. "I'm right about Lupin and Tonks, and I'm right about Luna."

"Hmph!" Hermione said, and turned to look out the window at the castle that had appeared in the distance.

"All I'm saying, Ron," Ginny continued, "is that if you really are looking for a girl to ask to Hogsmeade, and you're worried about asking one who'd say no, then why not try Luna? I guarantee she'd accept."

"Hmph!" Hermione said, louder. "And then Harry can ask Moaning Myrtle, because everyone knows Moaning Myrtle is crazy about Harry!"

"What's the matter with you?" Ron asked.

"Nothing! But just because someone likes you doesn't mean it's necessarily a good idea to ask that someone out on a date."

Ron looked at Harry, gesturing with helpless bafflement. Harry shrugged. He had no idea.

Ginny only sat back with a satisfied smile.

Then it hit Harry. What she was up to. He stared at Ginny, thunderstruck. She saw him, and her smile widened, and she winked.

**