The Potions Master

Chapter 3: SNAKES

Dobby is bad. Bad, bad, bad." Once more, the elf banged his head against the damp tile floor of Moaning Myrtle's restroom. Harry patted his friend's back, then lifted his eyes to the spook circling above them. Her vaporous features waxed and waned between annoyance at their midnight disturbance and glee at seeing someone more distressed than she was.

"There now," Hermione soothed, "it was for a good cause."

"And you made a brilliant job of it, too," Ron added.

The elf groaned. "The better for you to hoodwink the magnificent, munificent, multi-talented Professor Snape! Why didn't Dobby realize the wizard he was? Oh, bad Dobby!"

On hands and knees, he scrambled under a stall door. Before Harry could reach him, Myrtle wafted through and obligingly flushed the toilet. When Ron swung the door open, the elf was half-submerged and gurgling in the churning water. Hastily, Harry and Ron pulled him out. This time they each took an arm to restrain him.

Dobby spluttered. Then he started up again. "Professor Snape is a wizard most noble and benevolent. Professor Snape has liberated Winky."

"Actually," Ron said, "it was Professor Dane who--"

"Oh, Professor Dane is most benevolent and noble, too. But Winky was so lost, it took both of them to save her." Dobby let out a high wail. "And all the while they were freeing her, Dobby was robbing him!" The elf sunk his bared teeth into his own hand.

Hermione grabbed his long pointed ears and yanked him back up. "Somnoleveritaphantasmagoria powder can be liberating too. Being guided to admitting the truth can be very helpful to some people."

When she finished, a dawning look came over Dobby. He glanced from one to the other of his human friends. "You want to make Somnoleveritaphantasmagoria powder to help Professor Snape?"

Pasting a big grin on his face, Ron nodded.

Hermione bit her lower lip. "It could help him."

Harry crossed two fingers and sat on them. "Absolutely."

Like magic, Dobby's anguish vanished in a brilliant smile. "Forgive Dobby for doubting you--Harry Potter who quelled the Dark Lord and threw Dobby a sock, Ronald Weasley who gave Dobby his favorite cardigan, and Hermione Granger who struggles to free all house elves. None of you would ever do anything dishonorable." He lifted his jutting chin. "Liberating Professor Snape. That is a good cause."

Sidelong, Harry saw Myrtle raise a ghostly eyebrow.

"So--" Hermione smiled brightly "--could we have the ingredients?"

As Dobby rummaged through various pockets in his soggy, mismatched jacket, vest, shirt, and pants, Ron leaned close to Harry's ear. "Another three-week potion. I hope that's not too long a wait to liberate Snape of the truth."

Harry shrugged. "I'll watch my step."

Beaming, Dobby handed over the ingredients. Hermione laid the candori root, the pouch of bandersnatch skin flakes, and the tiny vial of sphinx piss on her lap. A fourth package she slipped into her robes.

"This concoction has three parts," she said. "The sleep portion will only take an hour to brew and another eleven to distill into powder. I should be done in time to catch a long nap before tonight's party."

Party. With so many other things on his mind, Harry had forgotten tonight was Halloween.

"Twelve hours!" Myrtle moaned. "She's not staying with me for twelve hours!"

Recalling the collection of ghosts, specters, and phantoms Hogwarts attracted on this special day, Harry smiled. "You won't even be here. So many friends will be dropping by, you'll be flying all over the castle."

"Friends?" Myrtle's misty face contorted. "Friends? Friends? Friends?" With each repetition, her lament grew more ghastly until she dwindled to a wraith that promptly flushed itself down the toilet.

Ron peered down the whirlpool, then cocked an eyebrow at Harry. "She really told you Hogwarts's toilets empty into the lake? Don't the merfolk complain?"

Harry spread his hands in a gesture of That's what she said. Relieved the dearly departed had departed, he turned to Hermione. "You're certain it's all right to just leave the truth potion simmering?"

"Yes--except during the new moon."

"And the dream potion--?"

"Needs to be stirred every four hours."

Ron grunted.

"And we need to repeat an incantation each time we stir it, so we can't just enchant a spoon to do it for us. I'll drop by during the day. There's so little privacy with a ghost flitting about and the place is so often flooded that nobody really uses this bathroom--but if someone did happen to see me come in, it wouldn't seem so odd."

Ron sighed. "Harry and I will trade off the before-and-after midnight hours. If Myrtle pesters me, I'll tell her how pretty she looks. She'll flush herself out of sight."

Poor Thing, Harry thought. She was rather lonely. Maybe she'd enjoy telling him what Hogwarts had been like in the forties, before the basilisk struck her dead.

"Don't forget Dobby," the elf piped up. "Give me all the times nobody else can make. Anything to help Professor Snape."

"Uh, right," Ron said.

"After three weeks, we'll distill down the truth and dream potions. Then it should take an evening to convert the powder into time-release granules. Then we'll be ready--"

"--for the biggest challenge of all," Harry said. "Getting Snape to drink it."

The elf yanked Harry's sleeve. "Dobby can help! Every evening Dobby leaves a glass of amontillado in Professor Snape's office. He never sees Dobby. He'll fall asleep at his desk."

"All nice and cozy, ready to be liberated." Ron winked at Harry.

Harry winked back. He felt great. They had a plan. They were doing something. "Concocting Somnoleveritaphantasmagoria powder is going to be harder work than anything in Advanced Potions, but I think it'll be worth it."

Ron grinned. "Too bad we can't ask Snape for extra credit."

***

An hour later, Harry surveyed the three cauldrons he and Ron had helped Hermione set up in the second-to-last stall. Dobby was lucky he'd left early. Like a schoolteacher, Hermione had insisted they each light one of the waterproof fires necessary to keep the potions simmering, prepare a portion of the ingredients, and recite the details of each step. Giving their scheme an aura of the educational made her feel better, so Harry obliged. He just hoped she wouldn't spring a pop quiz on them later.

Ron rolled his eyes. "At least this potion doesn't involve me turning into Crabbe."

"Or me Goyle." Glancing at Hermione, Harry grinned. "You looked charming as Millicent Bulstrode's black cat."

Ignoring him, Hermione ground her pestle three more times into her palm-sized mortar and inspected the wormwood she'd powdered. "Just a smidgen. This draft is for twilight sleep, not living death."

Since they'd agreed Harry would be the one to interrogate Snape, he pinched the wormwood and sprinkled it over the steaming cauldron, intoning "Somnole" as Hermione had instructed. A hissing purple fume uncoiled from the surface and undulated snake-like toward the ceiling.

"Good," Hermione said. "That's all for you two. Get along to bed."

Ron yawned. "You can't stay up twelve hours. Not without us to hassle you."

"I'll catch some winks." Hermione reached into her sleeve, then flung a silvery web above their heads. "My mum bought me a Little Nemo Hammock in Diagon Alley."

"Your mother shops in Diagon Alley?" Harry asked in surprise.

"She couldn't get in there unless she's made some magical friends," Ron said.

Hermione shrugged. Then she flicked her wand, extinguishing the flames they'd conjured to light the stall, leaving only the blue fires flickering beneath the cauldrons.

Harry pulled his invisibility cloak from a deep pocket, then arranged it over Ron and himself. Since Hermione wouldn't be leaving until daytime, she wouldn't need it. Now that they were fifteen instead of eleven, it was rather hard to fit it over all three of them.

As Harry opened the door, he heard Hermione softly chanting. Somewhere in the dark reaches of Hogwarts, cats were yowling.

***

When Harry and Ron stepped over the portrait hole to leave Gryffindor tower at eight that evening, they were greeted by the ghostly grin of Nearly Headless Nick. "Fine night, my lads. Best of the year, don't you think?"

Harry returned a faint smile. Halloween was the day, 503 years earlier, when Sir Nicholas de Mimsey-Porpington had had his ill-fated encounter with an executioner's dull axe. Their second year at Hogwarts they'd attended his deathday party out of curiosity. One evening of rotting food and howling music had been enough. But if Nick invited them, he wouldn't want to hurt his feelings by saying no.

"Wish you could come to my deathday party, but this year it's strictly spirits--almost axed spirits, actually." He jiggled his partially attached head above his wide Elizabethan ruff. "None of that hoity-toity headless bunch. But I'll be whisking by your party later. Special invitation."

As Nick faded, Harry shot Ron a relieved smile. Then more Gryffindors crawled out the portrait hole after them, and together they made their way to the feast.

***

Entering the Great Hall, Harry saw the theme was The Haunted Woods--complete with towering trees. Some were skeletons, struck by lightening. Others dripped with phosphorescent moss. A spectral wind rattled the jack-o'-lanterns and corn dolls that hung everywhere. From the eerie chorus of hoots, Harry surmised that the Hogwarts owlery had perched throughout the rasping branches. Peering around, he spied ghost-white Hedwig blinking solemnly from a hole in a dead oak. As usual, Ron's flibbertigibbet Pigwidgeon was fluttering about, vainly seeking Hedwig's attention.

"If we ignore her, maybe she won't come hover around my head," Ron whispered, then poked Harry's arm. "Hey. Look at Dane."

Turning, Harry saw a vision hesitating on the threshold. Ariel Dane wore a fitted white gown that flared from her waist in an abundance of lace and ribbons. Silver beads twinkled with every movement. White ribbons festooned her wand. Instead of fluffy blonde, her hair was a mass of red curls crowned by silver stars.

"Oh, goodness." She stared at the roomful of black robes. "Am I the only one who wore a costume?"

Harry heard Ron suck in his breath. Evidently his friend felt like he did--anxious to rescue their sweetest teacher from embarrassment but at a loss for how to do it.

Then Professor Flitwick scurried forward. "My dear child, so charming! Glinda, isn't it? Good witch of the North."

"Of the South, actually, as Mr. Baum wrote her. Hollywood moved Glinda to the North." Professor Dane smiled sheepishly. "I must look a sight. Do I have time to change?"

"Nonsense," Professor Sprout soothed, bustling up beside her. "Next year I vote we all wear fancy dress."

Harry watched the two older professors shepherd the sparkling good witch toward the high table. The other staff smiled at her. Only Snape stared with eyebrows askance.

Relieved, Harry turned to the Gryffindor table and waved to Hermione. Quickly, Ron and he zigzagged through a copse of phantom birches. Taking their seats, they leaned close to their friend. "Do you have it?"

She grinned and patted her side pocket. "The other two are brewing nicely. Someone needs to slip in at ten to give the dreams a stir."

"I'm ready," Harry said. Then oohs and ahhs around the hall drew his attention to the serving platters. His housemates were already piling their plates with apple-and-walnut salad, beef brisket, grilled trout, herbed potatoes, baked yams, roasted chestnuts, wheat cakes, corn muffins, gooseberry jelly, hazelnut tarts, and mounds of pumpkin fritters.

A long while later, after dedicated feasting had given way to contented sighs, Headmaster Dumbledore rose from the high table. "As all of you know, music sparks a special joy in my heart. This Halloween, I have prevailed upon Professor Ariel Dane to introduce Hogwarts to a delightful custom from across the sea--square dancing."

Professor Dane took a deep breath, then smiled and raised her wand. In a moment, three black boxes, strung together by black wire, burst through the Great Hall's double doors, whizzed over their heads, and settled on the table before her. Harry stood and craned his neck, as did several of his classmates. She touched a button on the squat box between the two tall ones, and a tray slid out. Spinning it slowly, she placed five shimmering disks around it. When she pushed the tray back, music filled the room.

"Fantastic!" Ron breathed. "What is that apparatus?"

Hermione groaned. "A CD player, Ron--a non-magical, battery-operated CD player. But what on earth is that noise?"

Except for an occasional discordant rendition of the school song, music at Hogwarts was rare. But Harry had enjoyed what Uncle Vernon called that racket coming from neighbors' houses back on Privet Drive. And an occasional musical assembly in Muggle elementary school had taught him to identify instruments. "I guess it's square dance music." He could pick out twanging guitars, a banjo, a quavering organ, and half a dozen fiddles screeching like banshees.

Professor Dane stood and walked around the high table. With a flick of her wand, she drew the floating candles away from the tables to form a double line down the center of the hall. "We'll start with ten volunteers--two staff and a boy and girl from each house. Don't worry. Everyone who wants will get a turn."

From the Hufflepuff table, Barden Grandstaff immediately raised his hand, followed by Hannah Abbott. Giggling, Ginny Weasley stepped forward with Dean Thomas. The two Ravenclaws Harry didn't know. At the Slytherin table nobody volunteered. When Professor Dane flashed them a dazzling smile, Millicent Bulstrode's ham-like hand slowly rose. She jabbed a pint-sized first-year next to her, and Slytherin had their pair. Professors Flitwick and Sprout completed the ten. Professor Dane set everyone in two facing lines, flourished her wand, sang some words, and off they went--skipping toward each other, joining hands, twirling, and passing. As they danced, Professor Dane called out their steps.

"She's enchanting their hands and feet," Hermione observed.

Ron arched an eyebrow. "Well spotted. You don't think that hag Millicent could manage that dosado and swing-your-partner stuff on her own, do you?"

Harry pushed back from the table. "I'm going to go watch." Reaching the crowd in the center of the hall, he squeezed in beside Professor McGonagall. Surprisingly, his stern housemistress was clapping in time to the music. Glancing around, Harry saw that all the staff had left their table to fraternize with the students. Except Snape, of course. He sat alone, his cold eyes fixed on Ariel Dane like a hunter sighting a swan.

Then a flapping overhead drew Harry's gaze upward. An owl swooped across the gathering to land in front of Snape. Startled, the professor broke his scrutiny of Professor Dane and leaned forward to untie his letter from the bird's leg. He appeared to note the sender before quickly unrolling the small scroll. As his black eyes darted across the message, a smile twisted his lips. Ignored, the owl took wing out of the Great Hall.

Unexpectedly, Professor McGonagall growled the suspicion on Harry's mind: "He's up to something." Out the corner of his eye, he watched his housemistress narrow her gaze. Looking back to the high table, he saw Snape rise and saunter around it.

Who wrote the letter? How could he find out?

As Snape neared, Harry snapped his attention back to the square dancers in time to see Barden grin as his raised hand met Millicent's and they circled each other. Apparently, the complex patterns of Professor Dane's spell were designed to mix and match Hogwarts's four houses.

With a sideways glance, Harry saw Snape stop beside Wilhelm Avery. He couldn't believe his luck. Straining his ears, he caught, "Your father sends his greetings."

Harry felt a tug on his sleeve. Meeting Ron's eyes, he knew his friend had heard Snape, too. Avery Senior had sent the message--Avery Senior the Death Eater, Snape's old comrade under Lord Voldemort.

The dance ended with bows and curtsies. The surrounding students applauded. Panting and grinning, the dancers dispersed into the crowd.

"Okay, now. You all see how it's done. Who's next?"

This time a mass of hands rose. When Professor Dane picked Cho Chang from Ravenclaw, Harry shot his hand into the air. His heart jumped when, out of all the volunteering Gryffindors, Professor Dane chose him and placed him facing Cho. He promptly cast his eyes down to his feet.

"So I can take a turn, the Sorting Hat has kindly consented to call the next dance. To complete our group I think . . . Severus."

Harry glanced back. Snape looked momentarily thrown. Then his lips curled into a sneer. "Nobody dances unless he is drunk or mentally unbalanced."

Professor Dane's smile widened. "A quote from Cicero, yes?"

Professor McGonagall burst out laughing. "You're on my team the next time we play Muggle Trivia."

As Harry watched, the Hogwarts staff descended on Severus Snape. The more they urged him, the paler he grew. "You'll manage. You're not that clumsy," Professor Sinistra said helpfully. "Show some pluck," Madame Hooch chided. Hagrid nudged Snape from behind. "Get on with yeh, then."

Only Professor McGonagall stayed apart, her mouth quivering with the effort of hiding an impish grin.

Suddenly, Barden began a rhythmic, "Professor Snape! Professor Snape!" Dumbledore joined him. In a minute, the whole room was chanting. From a position atop the CD player, the Sorting Hat's voice rang out the loudest. With an increasingly thin smile, Snape slinked forward. He faced Professor Dane with the resigned stare of a condemned man.

As the music restarted, Harry felt a pleasant tingle spread up his arms and legs. He relaxed into it and found himself skipping forward, then passing shoulder-to-shoulder with Cho. Stealing a glance, he saw a faint smile spread across her lips. He was grateful a spell controlled his movements--otherwise he might have melted into a happy puddle at her feet. As they sashayed right and left, Cho's eyes sparkled like black onyx. When they linked hands, her smile broadened. As he swung her in a circle, her hair swirled like a black satin scarf. The melody wove the lines of dancers in and out and he lost her--only to rejoin her, breathless, on the far side.

Harry fell back to a position next to Ariel Dane. In her glittering white gown, she seemed a fairy godmother amid the somber black of Hogwarts. He tried to catch her smiling eyes, wanting to thank her for one of the most magical evenings of his life. But her gaze was focused on Snape. When the Sorting Hat called their next step, they glided toward each other.

For once Snape's sallow cheeks held color. His thin lips quivered, either from the effort of denying the dancing spell or because he'd succumbed to it. Mirroring Professor Dane, he arched his arms toward her. As he did, his loose black sleeves slid to his shoulders. In the next instant, his jaw stiffened. On Snape's left forearm, Harry caught the pale gray outline of the Dark Mark--the Death Eater snake striking from the jaws of a skull. Gritting his teeth, Snape wrenched his arms downward. His feet continued to take him around Professor Dane, but his hands stayed clenched at his sides.

Glancing about, Harry saw no shocked faces. Apparently, Snape's angle was such that only he had glimpsed the forbidden brand. But when the two professors completed their circle, Harry saw from the horror in Dane's eyes that she'd seen it, too. A moment later, she swallowed her dismay and summoned back a weak smile.

When the music ended and the square dance spell sent him into a bobbing bow, Harry kept his gaze on Professor Dane. When the charm released him, he blinked, then looked up. With a sinking feeling, he saw that Cho had already rejoined her friends. Sighing, he rejoined his own. They barely noticed him.

"I'm not dancing--not to that," Hermione muttered.

"Oh, yes, you are." Ron grabbed her hand and raised it with his own.

When Dane smiled at them, Hermione screwed up her face appealingly to Harry.

"Almost ten," he said cheerily. "Time for me to go stir."

Harry slipped away from Halloween with recent events tumbling through his mind--Snape's satisfaction with Avery's letter, McGonagall's grim He's up to something, the glow in Cho's eyes, the revulsion in Dane's. The fragments jostled and jarred each other, reaching no conclusion. As he darted up the moonlit stairs toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, one thought rose clearly above the rest: How could he wait three weeks to question Snape?

***

Awhile later, after tending the dream potion, Harry peeked back into the Great Hall. The square dance was over. The candles had been snuffed so that only the three-quarter moon in the enchanted ceiling cast a soft glow. On the room's far side, schoolmates huddled together in a stand of oaks, their faces tilted upwards to the pearly apparitions floating above them. The Hogwarts ghosts were telling stories.

Catching sight of the Bloody Baron drifting behind the garrulous Fat Friar, Harry grinned. Maybe he'd tell the tale Nearly Headless Nick was too polite to ask. Harry was about to sneak forward, when he noticed Professor Dane slouched against a nearby sycamore--her hands folded against her stomach and her head tucked down. Before he could decide whether she was too sunk in thought to notice him, Snape emerged from the shadows in front of her. Quickly, Harry retreated around the door post. But he trained his ears to listen.

With uncharacteristic lightness, Snape began, "I hope you're enjoying our Hogwarts Halloween. Quite different from Lost Bayou, I gather. No costumes."

"Yes."

"That square dancing. Rather unusual. Somewhat similar to the Morris Dance, yet nothing we've ever seen here."

"Yes."

Snape blew out his breath. Then he plunged ahead in a voice no longer airy. "You're troubled. Troubled by what you saw on my arm."

"It's none of my business," she said quickly.

"This mark is no secret. The rest of the faculty know about it. Why shouldn't you? I was a Death Eater. But that's over. Finished."

"Of course, it is. How could you hold this job otherwise?"

Neither said anything for an interval longer than Harry felt comfortable hiding outside the door. When at last Snape responded, his voice had slipped into its typical acidity. "I was cleared--by the Ministry. Albus vouched for me. My right to be a professor here is unquestioned. Yet still you're troubled. You think--"

"Okay. I admit it. I'm troubled." Professor Dane's sharp whisper trembled with an indignation Harry hadn't thought the Good Witch of the South had in her. "I understand your Ministry was very lenient, and only diehards were punished. I'm happy for you. I'm sure you've been exemplary since. But seeing that snake on your arm does trouble me. I know what happens in the ceremony where a Death Eater receives it."

Snape released a bitter laugh. "Bravo! The most restricted wizards' coven of the century, and you're acquainted with the secrets of its most clandestine ritual. My compliments. Your wide range of knowledge well qualifies you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. But tell me this: who do you think revealed those secrets for you to learn them?"

Harry heard whooshing robes and loud strides approaching him. Hastily, he wedged between the wall and a stone griffin--just in time to see Snape storm out the Great Hall. Harry needn't have bothered. The Potions master was too vexed to notice anything.

***

At breakfast the next morning, Harry watched Ron's hand falter halfway to his porridge as his eyes drifted closed yet again. In a moment, he slipped sideways. Hermione bit her lip as Ron's scruffy red head settled on her shoulder.

Suppressing a grin, Harry concentrated on forking scrambled eggs into his mouth. Maybe Ron wasn't as sleepy as he looked.

Hermione managed to nibble her toast without disturbing him, but when she reached for her orange juice, he jerked awake.

"Stirring the potion at two and six too much for you, eh?" she asked archly. "Or couldn't you fall asleep in between?"

"It wasn't that," he mumbled. "Every time I got in the hammock, I conked right out. But Myrtle was so upset she wasn't asked to tell a story that every few minutes she let out a shriek." Once more his head nodded.

At the far end of the Gryffindor table, Harry saw Housemistress McGonagall studying them. Gently he nudged Ron with his foot, hoping to wake him quietly. Instead, his friend jolted upright, dropping his fork with a clatter. That did it. McGonagall fastidiously patted her lips with her napkin, folded it by her plate, then pushed back from the table. As she strode purposefully up behind Ron, his eyelids fluttered drowsily.

"Weasley. You have Temporal Transfiguration in ten minutes--not an easy subject to grasp on too little sleep. What happened? Didn't end your Halloween celebration at eleven like the rest of Hogwarts?"

"Ron's really keen on winning the chess tournament during House Spirit Week," Hermione said brightly. "Blaise Zabini is playing for Slytherin. They say she's an ace."

Harry stuffed a slice of bacon into his mouth to keep from smiling. Hermione hadn't lied to their housemistress--not exactly. What she had done was create a calculated diversion.

McGonagall fell for it. She patted Ron's back. "Today your friends can take notes for you. Get yourself back to bed. But no more late nights. If you want some practice, I can play with you this evening. Seven o'clock sharp in the staff room. By all means, let's beat Slytherin."

At her words, all four of them glanced across the hall to their rivals' table. From the hollow look of Snape's eyes and the way his head sank between his shoulders, Harry wondered if he hadn't slept either. He'd pushed aside his plate unused. As his sole nourishment, he nursed a mug of steaming coffee.

"And you're prepared for the opening pageant, aren't you?"

Harry took a moment to realize his housemistress was addressing him. "Yes, certainly. I get to parade a lion around, right?"

"We'll see." McGonagall shot another glance at Snape. This time a smile twitched the corners of her lips. "Well, time to get going." With that, she pivoted and marched toward the door.

Harry was about to pick up his book pack to follow when he noticed Ariel Dane. Once more her hair was cropped blonde and her attire was conventional black. He watched her leave the faculty table, but he couldn't tell whether she was leaving the hall. She moved a few steps toward the double doors, then hesitated and looked back. Again she took a stride, only to turn clear around. More than anything, she looked like someone under a square dancing spell.

Good grief, Harry thought. She's working up the nerve to talk to Snape.

After more waffling, Professor Dane squared her shoulders and smoothed her robes. Then she walked rapidly to the Slytherin table as if determined not to lose her courage. Snape didn't lift his head, but Harry could see the glint of his black eyes as he peered sidelong at her approach.

Glancing around, Harry saw he was the last student at the Gryffindor table, nearly the last student in the entire Great Hall. In a moment, Snape would wonder why. He fumbled for his book pack and took his time putting it on, all the while obliquely observing the exchange between the Good Witch and the ex-Dark Wizard. Dane appeared to be babbling out an apology. Snape's replies were clearly one-word grunts. As Dane made another appeal, Snape studied her warily. After a pause, he nodded.

Quickly, Harry turned on his heel and rushed out the Great Hall, new questions plaguing his mind. Why had Dane apologized? Was it just her Alabaman good manners? Or was she trying to ingratiate herself? Was she, perhaps, also preparing to spy on Severus Snape?

***

An oral presentation, Harry repeated to himself, staring in surprise at ghostly Professor Binns. If Avery hadn't just incited Goyle to shoot a paper plane through the professor's misty forehead and broken Harry's concentration on Cho's luxuriant black hair, he would have missed Binns's unusual assignment altogether.

Not that the airplane had broken the professor's concentration. "You may present alone, or you may present with a partner. You may take any dynasty we will have covered by the end of this semester. You may take any magical discipline developed during that dynasty. Presentations will be made the first week we return in the new year. Presentations will be fifteen minutes each. Presentation dates will be assigned at the next session. Presentations may employ visual aids. Visual aids are optional."

Once more, Professor Binns's droning voice was in danger of sending Harry into a doze. Last night, he'd caught a nap before taking the post-midnight shift in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, but he hadn't caught much shuteye in the hammock. He'd made the mistake of asking Myrtle her favorite subject, and the ghost had prattled non-stop until six about how much tougher and stricter Hogwarts had been when she was a student. Without the tutor her Muggle parents had hired for her, she would have been lost. He yawned. Odd that a dream potion should cause so much sleeplessness. How could they manage two more weeks?

In a moment, shuffling noises awakened Harry to the fact that class was over. With one last glance at Cho, he reached for his book pack. Tuesday again--exactly one week since Halloween. Professor Dane's square dance spell seemed like a fantasy. Since then, his relationship with Cho had slid back to wistful gazing.

"Hello, beautiful."

Glancing up, Harry saw Avery had directed his offhand remark at Cho. With growing disquiet, he watched the Slytherin sidle up to the Ravenclaw. As the handsome, broad-shouldered teen planted his hands on Cho's desk, Harry felt his blood curdle.

"Wilhelm. Hi. Got to go. My next class is clear across the castle. Bye."

At Avery's wink, Goyle edged nearer, as if to block Cho. Harry dropped his book pack and sprang to his feet. Then he paused, swaying. What if he was misreading the situation? What if he was butting in?

Avery leaned closer. "How about doing the presentation with me? I always like to work with the best, and you're clearly the expert on this subject. Forget that old spook. I bet you could teach me more mysteries of the Orient than he's ever imagined."

"Thanks," Cho responded dryly.

"Over the holidays I could buy some visual aids--amulets, potion pouches, good luck charms, anything you like. Gold's no object. Afterwards I'd make a present of them to you. What do you say?"

Cho didn't answer. Instead, she looked back over her shoulder at Goyle. To Harry it looked as though she were gauging her escape. Taking a deep breath, he charged.

"Cho! About that thing--"

Startled, she swiveled toward him, her long black hair whipping to the side. "That thing? Oh! That thing."

Like a Seeker playing Quidditch, Harry evaded Goyle and ducked under Avery's arm to snatch Cho's book bag off the floor. Taking advantage of the distraction, she scooted off her chair in the opposite direction and began walking backwards, keeping her dark eyes trained on the boys.

"The thing of it is," Harry said, putting some space between himself and the Slytherins, "Cho already agreed to do the presentation with me."

Avery's eyes narrowed. "How could she? Old Binns assigned it today."

"He assigns it every year," Cho said reasonably from a position near the door. "My big sister told me."

Harry hurried up the aisle, grabbing his backpack on the fly. Reaching Cho, he handed over her bag like a Chaser passing a Quaffle. As if they'd practiced, they turned and headed for the door in unison. Harry could feel Avery's eyes burning holes in his back until he and Cho slipped out the classroom and started down the granite-walled, high-windowed corridor.

They walked in silence until Harry judged them out of Slytherin earshot. Then he mumbled, "I don't really expect you to do your presentation with me, but I could tell you didn't want to do it with him."

Tilting her head, Cho measured Harry with her wide, almond eyes. "Oh, I don't think Wilhelm wanted me to do the presentation with him. I think he wanted me to do it for him."

Harry laughed nervously. "A typical Slytherin."

Cho shrugged, shifting the veil of silky black hair that hung past her shoulders. Harry resisted the urge to touch it. He dragged his eyes away to the uneven flagstone floor, forcing himself to concentrate on what she was saying instead.

"My big sister warned me that Slytherin always seems to have a core of slimy creeps. But they're not all bad. I don't know about the boys, but some of the girls are all right. Like Morgana and Vivian. I took a couple of Potions classes with them. They used to tickle me. The way they flirted at Professor Snape! You should have seen how flustered they made him."

Meeting Cho's dark eyes, Harry felt a tingle of electricity. "Let's see if I understand you: Snape? Flirt? Flustered?"

Cho nodded at each of his words.

"Just checking."

They resumed walking, Cho swinging her book bag, Harry trying to control the sparks zipping around his stomach. Out the corner of his eye, he caught a smile quivering on her lips that brought one to his own.

"And Millicent's nice," she added.

Harry raised both eyebrows. "Millicent? Bulstrode?" The dumpy, wart-riddled girl whose craggy face defines the word hag?

Cho frowned. "Boys."

Harry swallowed. "What did I say?"

"The only way you know how to judge a girl is by whether or not she's pretty."

"Not at all," he said hastily. "It's just that my friend Hermione had a fight with her once--an actual, physical, rolling around on the floor kind of fight."

The crooked passage curved upward. Cho's face grew thoughtful. "Yes, I remember. Three years ago, right? The one-and-only meeting of the Hogwarts Dueling Club."

"You were there?"

"Along with three-quarters of the student body. Maybe Hermione looked at Millicent funny. She used to be a bit touchy about her appearance. Then Vivian and Morgana taught her how to laugh it off."

Millicent Bulstrode nice. Harry would file that under Will wonders never cease. During their two years of Care of Magical Creatures classes, he'd generally avoided looking at her. But if Cho said Millicent was nice, he'd believe it. He glanced at her sidelong. She was as bright, open-minded, and kind as he'd always imagined. He didn't mind one bit that her skin was as delicate as porcelain and her lips looked as soft as a rose. As they neared the stairs he noticed that, without planning to, he and Cho had matched their strides.

Cho smiled. "Millicent admires you."

Climbing the steps in tandem, Harry twisted his head to stare at her.

"Seriously. She's really good with animals. Ask Hagrid."

Harry straightened his glasses. "I remember she was polite to the hippogriffs--unlike Draco. And she did have a way with blast-ended skrewts."

Cho nodded. "And she's especially partial to snakes. Her fondest wish is to learn to talk to them."

Harry felt a blush rising. "I don't know how I do it. When I'm speaking Parseltongue, it seems to me that the snake and I are speaking English. I had no idea I hissed until Ron told me."

Cho glanced up coyly from under her long, feathery lashes. "Do you like them?"

"Whom?"

Cho slanted an eyebrow. "Snakes."

"I've only talked to a real one once. The one at the Dueling Club was just a spell." Harry climbed a few more steps. "Come to think of it, that zoo snake was one of the friendliest fellows I've ever met."

"And some people think they're all slimy creeps."

Reaching the landing, Harry saw the hallway branch into three. He didn't ever remember being in this part of the castle before, and he had no idea where he was. Cho tipped her head toward the left. "I go this way. Esoteric Geometry. It's a pre-requisite for being accepted into the Academy of Arcane Architecture."

Harry nodded. "Magical architecture. That's fascinating. Secret doors, hidden chambers, shifting passages--"

"--fitting large rooms into small spaces." Cho began walking backwards, keeping eye contact with Harry even as she left him. "How about doing our presentation on Wudang Shen Quan Quigong?"

Our presentation. For a moment, Harry just stared as a dumb, blissful smile spread across his face.

"Unless you'd prefer another topic," Cho added.

"No, no," he said quickly. "Wudang Shen. I have absolutely no idea what that is, but if you recommend it--"

Cho grinned, hugging her book bag to her chin. "You'll love it. Lots of flying." She fell back a few more steps, then spun on her heel. Her long shimmering hair lifted behind her like a victory pennant. In graceful, loping strides, she raced up the hall.

After Cho disappeared, Harry continued grinning. His body felt lighter than air. Glancing down, he started laughing. Just as he'd suspected, his scuffed brown shoes were floating one inch above the flagstone floor.