The Potions Master

Chapter 4: FLYING

"What's keeping Professor McGonagall?" Hermione muttered.

Harry looked up from his Temporal Transfiguration notes and shrugged. "I saw her come into the Great Hall at breakfast, but she left immediately with Hagrid."

He glanced around the bright, airy classroom. Despite the professor's absence, nobody was making a racket. He could hear whispered dares to cast a witty retort spell on her chalk or transform her chair into a porcupine. Nobody did. When the Weasley twins had pulled these pranks three-and-half years before, McGonagall had given them A's for ingenuity and three evenings scrubbing bathrooms for impudence. At the time, Harry had been recovering in the hospital from his bout with Quirrell-Voldemort. The twins had sent him a toilet seat that sang Get Well Soon, but Madame Pomfrey had said it was too unsanitary and chucked it out.

But the challenge that sparked the most whispers was how to open the magically sealed Test Chest taunting them from the center of her vast oak desk. Whoever accomplished that feat would become Hogwarts legend. Even George and Fred had never managed it.

"The later she comes, the better," Ron mumbled, running his finger down the scroll of notes Hermione had copied for him two weeks before.

Harry dragged his attention back to his own. Sometimes he wondered how Hermione had talked Ron and him into taking Professor McGonagall's most impenetrable course. Temporal paradoxes, divergent sequences, and asynchronous chronological intercepts were bewildering concepts, to say the least. Then he'd remember the Time-Turner McGonagall had entrusted to Hermione their third year--the wondrous hourglass that had allowed them to return an hour and save Buckbeak from death and Sirius from a fate worse than death. If not for the magic of temporal transfiguration, the dementors would have sucked out his godfather's soul. He just wished he'd prepared better for today's midterm. But would he have given up the hours he'd spent the last week researching Wudang Shen in the library with Cho? No way.

Hermione pursed her lips. "If you don't already understand chronosynclastic infundibuli, five minutes of cramming won't help. Didn't you read the text?"

"You mean Vonnegut?" Ron whispered. "I've been too busy working out chess moves. And McGonagall knows it. I finally beat her in the staff room last night."

Harry straightened his glasses. "The staff room? Were they--? Again--?"

Glancing sidelong, Ron nodded.

Hermione's schoolmistress scowl disappeared into conspiratorial interest. "Do you think she's--?"

Ron lowered his eyes to his notes. "Spying."

Harry gazed thoughtfully at the foggy November vista visible through the four arched windows at the rear of McGonagall's classroom. All five evenings Ron had played chess in the staff room over the past two weeks, he'd observed Snape and Dane huddling in the corner, immersed in conversation. After the first session, Ron had rigged up a miniature Fourier Analytical Earhorn in shop class--able to focus on any chosen conversation up to a half mile away. After his second chess match, he'd returned to Gryffindor with the curious news that the ex-Death Eater was divulging his entire Voldemort experience to his American colleague.

Harry knew one thing. If Ron was able to listen in on Snape and Dane while beating their housemistress at chess, Gryffindor's chances of trouncing Slytherin during House Spirit Week were exceptionally high. "Did he say anything--?" he whispered.

Ron shook his head. "Still nothing I hadn't already read in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. But it sure is different hearing it told by someone saying I and me."

Hermione sighed. "The horse's mouth. That's got to be interesting. Maybe Professor Dumbledore should let Professor Snape teach--"

The door whooshed open behind them. Professor McGonagall strode in, clapping her hands twice for attention. "Everybody, eyes front." Bustling up the aisle, she pointed her wand at the Test Chest and spoke beneath her breath. The lid popped off, releasing twenty parchments to fan across the room. By the time she faced the class, midterm essay questions lay before each pupil. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a watch she'd previously shown the class--an advanced Time-Turner that could send a large spatial area into the future or the past, not just individuals the way Hermione's hourglass had done.

"Don't worry about having less time," McGonagall said. "As a practical demonstration of the discipline we're studying, I'm turning back the clock for the entire room by fifteen minutes. Ready. Begin."

The only clue that the room was shifting back in time was a momentary shimmer--much less disconcerting than the flying, rushing sensation Harry had felt with Hermione's Time-Turner. When he bent his head to read McGonagall's first question, he wished he'd gone back three days to mull over the assigned chapters in The Horological Web a few more times.

"If you return to the past," item one read, "do you create a new thread of reality? Provide three reasoned arguments on both sides of the issue."

In his experience, Harry had discovered himself in the same version of the same event twice. In his first run-through, he'd seen himself across the lake but hadn't realized it; in his second, he'd looked back at himself. But there were other possibilities. In some nth dimension, did Harry mourn the loss of his godfather? In another, had Harry's parents never died? Was there a place where Draco always saved the day and Harry watched, sick with envy? Was there even some alternate universe where Harry called Voldemort dad? Was there a place where Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts was completely different from what he was experiencing now? And was one of those time threads the true, the authorized version, while his predicaments were just a pale imitation? He had 45 minutes to write about it.

Three-quarters of an hour later, trudging out of class, Ron leaned close to Harry. "You know those words she whispers when she's pointing her wand at the Test Chest? They're Speak friend and enter."

Turning his head, Harry saw Ron grinning smugly. His red-haired pal scratched his finger in his right ear and pulled out what looked like a tiny conch shell.

Unexpectedly, McGonagall called out, "Potter."

Ron shoved his Fourier Analytical Earhorn into a deep pocket.

Swallowing hard, Harry faced their housemistress.

"Meet me in the entry hall tomorrow morning at six."

Detention? For a moment Harry stared at his housemistress, wracking his brain for what out-of-line stunt he'd pulled now--or, at least, what out-of-line stunt she'd discovered. Almost as an afterthought, he answered, "Yes."

#

Thursday morning, Harry showed up in the entry hall ten minutes before six. Professor McGonagall was already there. He braced himself for a lecture on whatever he'd done to disappoint her. If he'd been seen sneaking into Moaning Myrtle's restroom after midnight, he didn't know how he'd explain.

Instead, his housemistress grinned. "It's coming this morning. Hagrid told me."

"Oh, the lion." Harry blew out his breath in relief. He wasn't on detention. He was going to meet the Gryffindor symbol he'd help lead around during House Spirit Week.

"Lion?" McGonagall's smile broadened. "You'll see."

They waited in silence until two more Gryffindors staggered down the stairs, yawning and straightening their robes. Seventh-year Alicia bit her lip when she saw McGonagall tapping her foot. Second-year Natalie mumbled, "Sorry we weren't early."

Turning, McGonagall pulled back the oak bar on the tall double doors and pushed them open. Harry and his housemates trooped after her into the chill, gray dawn. His breath rose white before him--as white as the mist shrouding the Forbidden Forest that encircled Hogwarts.

"Get going!" Alicia muttered as she closed the doors behind them.

Seeing his housemistress already starting down the stairs, Harry sped up. At fifteen, he'd finally attained McGonagall's height, but her determined stride was still hard to match. He hurried between the marble dragons--one sedate, one threatening--and descended the broad steps two at a time.

"I can't wait to see the look on Severus's face," their housemistress murmured as they hustled along the gravel path.

Harry exchanged a puzzled frown with Natalie.

Alicia shrugged. "I don't have time for house rivalry. Not during midterms."

Harry nodded. The three of them had signed up to be wranglers in September. Now that it was November, adding the duty of tending the Gryffindor mascot to their load of schoolwork didn't seem so appealing.

"I'm sure Hagrid'll do the day-to-day stuff like feeding and grooming," Natalie whispered. "We just have to practice getting him to roar."

Abruptly, McGonagall cut across the stubbled remains of last summer's lawn. Rushing after her, Harry felt dew dampening his robe and cloak. As they skirted a tangle of mulberry bushes, he caught sight of Snape arguing with Headmaster Dumbledore.

McGonagall broke into a grin. Then she coughed. As if she'd cast a spell on it, her mouth pulled down into a stern, business-like line.

Closer, Harry heard Snape retort, "A griffin is not a lion."

"It's part lion." Dumbledore's tone was mild, but amusement lurked under his breath. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles.

Snape's dark eyes narrowed. "And a roc is certainly not an eagle."

"It's eagle-like," Dumbledore responded.

McGonagall stopped squarely in front of Snape. "A griffin is as much a lion and a roc is as much an eagle as a hydra is a snake."

Snape jutted his pointed chin. "On the contrary. A hydra is a type of serpent--so defined in any dictionary, magical or Muggle, you care to quote. As such, it's a legitimate symbol of Slytherin House."

"As a griffin certainly is of Gryffindor," McGonagall shot back.

"And," Dumbledore added reasonably. "If your two houses are going to be represented by such large, impressive beasts, it's only fair to let Ravenclaw be represented by a roc."

Beside him, Harry heard Natalie suck in her breath. When he glanced at her, he saw her eyebrows knit nervously. "A griffin?"

Just then Harry noticed Professor Sprout bustling up the path. Barden and two more Hufflepuffs trailed her. "What's this about magical creatures representing the Houses? Nobody told me."

When Harry saw what Barden was cradling--a normal-sized, non-magical, black-and-white badger that batted playfully at its wrangler's chin--he grimaced. Poor Hufflepuff. They always did look like duffers.

Barden remained unperturbed. "You'll help us put an engorgement spell on him, won't you? Hagrid said it wouldn't hurt."

Dumbledore stroked his long, silvery beard. "Certainly. Would four yards do the trick? This is going to be one grand House Spirit Week pageant." Humming, he strolled off, ignoring the storm gathering in Snape's black eyes. The Hufflepuffs, students and housemaster, left the opposite way. With an exasperated grunt, the Slytherin housemaster folded his arms inside his black cloak and tramped after them.

Dropping all pretense of nonchalance, McGonagall rubbed her palms in unbridled glee. When she'd finished chortling, she nodded at Alicia and Natalie. "You two come and see the trappings our griffin will wear." She darted a glance at Harry. "You go find Hagrid."

Harry started off in the direction his housemistress had indicated--but slowly so he wouldn't catch up with Snape. In a moment, he saw Malfoy and Avery outside the Slytherin pen, warming their hands at a floating blue flame. Snape scowled at them and stalked on, past Millicent who stood inside the fence, facing the hydra alone.

Seeing the beast, Harry stopped. It was magnificent--fifteen feet at least, sheathed in green and silver scales like sparkling jewels. And just like the legend, it had three heads. But despite its size, the hydra was anything but frightening. It curled placidly in the dust as if trying to sleep.

From a distance, Millicent's heavy face appeared sullen, but as Harry passed Malfoy and Avery, he saw desperation in her mud brown eyes. Her stiff posture said she was aware of him watching. Anxiously, she made more hissing noises through her clenched teeth. To him that's what they sounded like: noises. Evidently, to the hydra as well. The enormous beast continued to lie sluggishly on its side while all three heads cast her dull, disconcerted looks.

Behind him, Harry heard Malfoy snicker. He didn't need to look back to know that Avery was nudging him. Poor Millicent--dismissed by people outside her house as just another of those nasty Slytherins, mocked by those inside her house because (as Cho had told him) she wasn't.

Harry entered the enclosure. The three heads were muttering together.

"She seems nice, but what's she saying? Tra-la-la-la-la?"

"Sounds like baby talk to me."

"Perhaps it's foreign. I have a friend who speaks Amazonian Boa. Maybe he'd know what she's saying."

"Give her a break," Harry whispered.

Immediately, all three heads twisted in his direction.

A sob escaped Millicent's throat.

"Tell me what you want them to do," he told her quietly. "Maybe we can work out some hand signs. These fellows--" He raised an eyebrow at the hydra.

"Demosthenes."

"Erichthonius."

"Ted."

"Uh, Demo, Eric and Ted," Harry repeated in human talk to Millicent. "They think you're nice."

A smile spread across her craggy face, exposing crooked, spiky teeth. She tilted her hand up from the wrist. "When I do this, do you think they could raise their heads?"

Harry began translating gestures between hydra and human. In five minutes, the beast was coiling, uncoiling, baring its three sets of fangs, and pretending to strike at Millicent's prompting. The performance looked exceptionally fierce, but when the Slytherin wrangler invited Harry to bend down to pat the three chevron-shaped heads, it was clear the hydra was just an old sweetie.

Harry had forgotten all about Malfoy and Avery until he complimented Millicent and stood to go find Hagrid. The pair of snoots weren't looking so superior now. In another enclosure far beyond them, he caught sight of a delicate, satin-haired girl. Cho's appreciative smile said she'd seen his session as go-between for Millicent and the hydra. With a little wave, she turned away.

A glow spread over Harry as he watched her stroll toward two wizards in Arab dress. Before them crouched an enormous sapphire bird. When he noticed a saddle on the roc's back, he bit his lip. Would it really be safe for Cho to ride that thing? Then he saw the beast dip its huge head to delicately peck a treat out of one of the Arab's hands.

Of course these beasts are harmless. Hagrid had arranged for them. Since they were symbols for a pageant, not challenges in a tournament, only docile ones would have been allowed. He thought of the beast he'd be handling. Like hippogriffs, griffins were known to get testy with rude people, but so long as Malfoy wasn't allowed near it, the creature should be easy to handle.

Hopping the Slytherin fence, Harry saw Barden, the other two Hufflepuffs, Hagrid, Sprout, and Dumbledore squatting inside the Hufflepuff pen around the steadily enlarging badger. How the headmaster could have gone the opposite way and ended up here before him, Harry didn't know. Already the badger had grown six feet.

Noticing Harry, Barden rose and ambled to the fence. After a greeting, he dropped his voice, "She's a hag, you know."

Harry frowned. He'd called Millicent that himself in the past, but now he wanted to stick up for her. As he mentally scrounged for something nice to say, the Hufflepuff's smile broadened.

"A hag in a long line of hags. Famous. In the history books. Her forebears were councilors to Scottish chiefs." Barden sauntered back to the badger, whistling the tune about Loch Lomand.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

Suddenly, the engorging badger let out a boisterous belch. The people around it jumped back. Harry hurried through the rickety gate to see what was going on.

Hagrid jammed his hands in the front pockets of his mangy moleskin coat and gazed down fondly at the ten-foot badger. "Needs a spot o' peppermin' tea. Got some back in me hut." Turning, he spied Harry. Though it didn't look like rain, his disreputable pink flowered umbrella poked out from under his arm. "Ah, there yeh are. Waldo's come. The wranglers jes' hauled his carrier up the hill."

"Waldo?" Harry smiled. That sounded like a friendly name for a griffin.

Hagrid pointed to a stand of pines where Harry could see four wizards unlatching the rear door of a giant trailer. Snape stood a few yards back, glowering. Filch peeked through a crack in the side, then raced toward the Hufflepuff pen. Panting, he called out, "Professor. Dumbledore. It's here. You wanted. To know." Reaching them, the caretaker clutched the fence with one hand and rubbed his ribcage with the other.

"Thank you, Argus." Dumbledore leaned toward Harry, so close his beard tickled his ear. "As headmaster, I mustn't be partial, but sometimes it's hard. After all, I was a Gryffindor."

Barden and Hagrid strolled off toward the gamekeeper's hut. After kind words to Sprout, Dumbledore clapped Harry's back, and the two rounded the fence to head for the trailer. Filch hobbled after them, wheezing.

When the wranglers swung the door down to form a ramp, Harry could see a bird-like creature, twice the size of a hippogriff, lurking in the shadows. When the tall wizard intoned what sounded like old English, the beast snarled. The two short wizards shared worried looks. Then the middle-sized wizard spoke to Dumbledore. "I'm sorry, but this lad just wouldn't take a harness."

The headmaster's forehead lined slightly as he stepped nearer. He said something in a melodic, soothing voice, and slowly the griffin emerged from its box.

Harry sighed happily. Of all the creatures he'd seen, Gryffindor's was the grandest. The patrician face was a dozen times the size of a regular eagle's, and the feathers glimmered like rubies and gold. The jet-black beak looked as long as a scythe, and the talons on its sleek, scarlet-feathered front legs looked as large as grappling hooks.

"Lion. Right," Snape growled.

From what Harry could see, the back looked less noble than the front. The fur on the hindquarters looked sweaty, and flies buzzed around its flanks. Obviously, the journey had not been comfortable. No wonder the griffin seemed disgruntled.

Lifting its beak, the beast strutted down the ramp. At the bottom, it whisked out its mammoth, red-and-gold wings, sending the wranglers scurrying. Dumbledore said some more arcane words, and the creature fixed him with its beady red eyes.

McGonagall strode up. Alicia and Natalie followed, lugging armfuls of black leather straps and red-and-gold trappings.

"I'll ask him to bow his head." Once more, Dumbledore talked to the griffin.

The beast regarded him suspiciously, then did as asked. But when Alicia approached with the leather halter, the animal reared. When Dumbledore spoke again, it shrieked. Enraged, it lunged at Alicia.

Harry's jaw dropped. Then he leapt.

Distracted by Harry, the griffin missed poking out Alicia's eye, but a tremendous wing dashed Harry to the ground. His face in the dust, he heard Natalie scream. Rolling, then springing to his feet, he saw her terror wasn't for herself. The person held fast in the griffin's cruel talons was Dumbledore.

Panic welled up in Harry. Everyone else who could do magic lay sprawled and groaning in the dirt--all four wranglers, Alicia, his housemistress, and Snape. Aghast, he watched the Griffin flap upwards, dangling a limp Dumbledore. Harry jumped as high as he could yet just grazed the bottom of the headmaster's robes. Crashing to earth, he gasped for breath.

Then he remembered to pull out his wand.

Before he could use it, the griffin swooped off in a flash of crimson. All the spells Harry knew raced through his mind. A direct one like Stupefy was probably no use, or the wranglers would have tried it. He needed one that would take him up to the griffin itself.

He clambered to his feet and stumbled after it. Keeping the griffin in sight as it circled the Hufflepuff area, then the Slytherin, wasn't hard. It seemed the majestic eagle wings weren't strong enough to lift half a lion straight into the sky. Adding the weight of a full-grown wizard kept it low. When the griffin disappeared between some trees, Harry feared he'd lost Dumbledore. Then screams from onlookers told him exactly where the beast was.

He lifted his wand. "Accio Firebolt!" Summoning his broom from Gryffindor tower was his best hope. But when he sprinted past the cowering Hufflepuffs and saw the griffin winging back, dragging Dumbledore with it, he knew he'd need some magic a whole lot sooner.

In the Slytherin pen, Malfoy clutched Millicent's robes. "Do something!" Avery was nowhere to be seen. At the sight of the approaching monster, Malfoy broke and ran. He hadn't gone more than a yard when the griffin dipped to rake him with its lion paws.

"Hydra, attack!" Millicent screeched.

When the serpent coiled, then lashed all three heads at the griffin, Harry realized she'd shouted in Parseltongue. Instead of claws, the lion tail skimmed Malfoy's back. Then the nasty beak snapped off Ted's head.

Millicent fell to her knees in horror, and the griffin wheeled away.

Harry's stomach lurched. The monster was headed toward Cho.

As Harry put on speed he didn't know he had, Hagrid pounded up beside him, his pink flowered umbrella swinging crazily from his belt. Though age and size made him slower, the half-giant's long legs took him farther. "Tha's no' Waldo!" he puffed, "Tha's Regis! The meanes' griffin in all o' Britain!"

At last, Harry spied his Firebolt--a mere speck in the distance. To use it in the Triwizard Tournament, he'd left it by an open window. Digging its way out of his wardrobe had taken longer, but finally it was coming.

Not a moment too soon. In the Ravenclaw pen, the griffin was using the unconscious Dumbledore as a flail to beat the cowering roc. The Arab wranglers and two of the Ravenclaws lay splayed and motionless. Cho was circling behind, readying an attack.

"No! Don't!" Harry yelled, working his flagging legs as fast as he could. She mustn't endanger herself--not when his Firebolt was finally spiraling down at him through the beech trees. Then, as it grazed a low branch, something horrible happened. It snagged.

Harry's eyes popped wide. The broom shook itself. It pulled back, jerked, and stalled again. What could he do?

In that instant, Cho sprang.

Harry had never imagined anything like it in his entire life.

Cho didn't just leap, she flew. Without a broom, without her wand, working her arms and legs like pistons, she rocketed thirty feet into the air, aiming her foot at the griffin's head. The blow made it wobble. Before it knew what hit it, Cho pulled back behind the tree that held the Firebolt.

Hagrid pounced, trying to snatch Dumbledore from the dazed griffin. Before he could, the beast shook its head and flapped higher--farther than the half-giant's reach.

Harry opened his mouth to ask Cho to jump into the tree for his broom. With it he could soar up and unhook the talons. Then, with an evil glint in its red eyes, the griffin dipped its head and pecked Dumbledore's cheek. Blood splattered. When a drop touched the gigantic roc, it scampered into the bushes like a frightened hen.

Forget the Firebolt. That would take too long. "Cho, do something!"

She swung around the tree, pumped her arms and legs, and arched even higher. With outstretched hands, she grabbed the griffin and choked it from behind.

"Your umbrella," Harry yelled to Hagrid. "On the count of two, Jelly Legs. You must remember that one. Aim at the griffin. And be ready to catch Dumbledore."

Hagrid's face went grim. Mimicking Harry's stance, he pointed his pink flowered umbrella. At the right moment, he joined Harry in the common, schoolboy hex.

Struck by the double spell, both sets of talons lost their grip. Hagrid sprang forward and the headmaster dropped into his arms with a whump.

Unburdened, the red-and-gold griffin struggled higher into the sky. Cho released its throat and began plummeting. Harry thrust out his wand to voice a slowing spell. Before he could, she again whipped her arms and legs into an airborne run that transformed her fall into a graceful arc that landed her safely a few yards away. Incredibly impressed, he stuck his wand back in his pocket.

He turned to watch Hagrid gently spread Dumbledore on a mossy bank. The headmaster's eyelids fluttered.

Then Harry heard what sounded like a whirlwind. Overhead, he saw the griffin veering back on rapidly beating wings. Then the beast retracted all four legs and ducked its head. Holding its gargantuan body straight as an arrow, it dove--hurtling toward him, whirring like a missile, its black beak glinting as it aimed for his face.

Frantically, Harry groped in his pocket. His wand caught sideways. The whine of the plunging griffin intensified. At the last second, Harry threw himself out of its path, hitting the dirt on his stomach and sliding. As he did, his wand shot out and skidded away. He heard a thrash of wings--the monster sweeping upward, positioning for another attack. Harry threw his arms across the back of his neck. If his head was going to be snapped off, he hoped it would be quick.

Then the griffin yelped.

Harry rolled over. Staring up, he saw Cho mounted on the beast, gripping its neck with both knees and pummeling with lightning fists. The eagle head twisted wildly, but she was faster, feinting right and left, just out of reach of the slashing beak.

Harry scrambled across the dirt, fumbling for his wand. As he got hold of it, he heard a gruff voice intone old English. Flipping sideways, he saw Hagrid raise his right arm and train his umbrella on the griffin. The beast looked stunned from Cho's quick blows. At Hagrid's next command, it squawked. Its rage spent, it dropped its head. The wings slowed, flapping just enough to keep it aloft.

"Cho!" Hagrid called out. "Regis yields. Let him be. Jump!"

With one last box to the side of the scarlet-and-gold head, Cho slid off backwards, down the lion rump. She dangled from the tail a moment. The griffin bellowed. Then she swung out and let go, ran across the sky, caromed off the trunk of a pine, and floated to the ground.

"Whoah," Hagrid breathed. "What a woman."

On wobbly wings, the griffin disappeared into the mists that veiled the Forbidden Forest.

#

Harry stood by himself, leaning on his broom, watching Madame Pomfrey fuss over Dumbledore at the far end of the Ravenclaw pen. Even at a distance, Harry could see her smear of magic salve sending his cheek through a week's worth of healing in just a few minutes. Anxiously, she patted the headmaster all over for bumps then began brushing dirt from his long, white beard. He didn't wave her off in annoyance as Snape had done. Quite the opposite.

At Dumbledore's insistence, Madame Pomfrey had first treated all the other injuries caused by the crazed griffin--concussions, broken bones, twisted ankles, abrasions, and black eyes. Merely bruised and scratched, Harry knew he'd gotten off lightly. Two of the griffin's wranglers, Alicia, Professor Sprout, one of the Arabs, and two of the Ravenclaws had been sent by floating stretcher to recuperate in the hospital. McGonagall, as assistant headmistress, had canceled morning classes so the professors involved in the fracas could recover their composure. Those uninvolved were overseeing the rest of the study body.

As he had after the dragon incident, Harry felt at loose ends. Cho and the other Arab wrangler were off soothing the ruffled roc. Nearby, Millicent wept while Ariel Dane patted her back. Filch, who'd scrabbled up a birch tree at the first sign of trouble, was perched on the fence sucking a licorice wand. Across the way, Malfoy huddled against a spruce, his blond hair matted with leaves, his blue eyes scowling at the ground.

Hearing scuffing feet, Harry turned to see Barden and Hagrid shambling toward him. The Hufflepuff was big enough to come nearly to the half-giant's shoulder.

"Well, the badger's all righ'. There's a blessin', anyhow," Hagrid said. "I'm havin' a word with them Enchanted Preserve folk, sendin' us that mad Regis. I wrote the reques' meself, an' I wrote it fer Waldo."

Out the corner of his eye, Harry could see Malfoy raising his head to glare at the gamekeeper.

"What a mix-up," Barden agreed. Harry couldn't be sure, but it seemed the Hufflepuff was sneaking concerned glances at Millicent.

"There oughta be an inquiry," Hagrid said.

At that, Malfoy snorted. Lifting his pointed nose, he marched up to Hagrid. "Inquiry indeed. Father will insist on it. And the inquiry will be into your fitness to hold any position of responsibility at Hogwarts."

Harry clenched his Firebolt. "Seems I remember your father is no position to call for inquiries at Hogwarts."

The Slytherin flushed. "The Malfoy name still counts for something. Unlike Potter." Suddenly, his eyes gleamed. In a drawling voice, he said, "Potter, the famous hero. How does it feel to be saved by a girl?"

Harry exhaled slowly. Malfoy was one to talk. The rotting vegetable matter adorning his head came from scuttling into the underbrush. "How do I feel being saved by Cho? Wonderful. Grateful . . . the same way you must feel that Millicent saved you. Yes, sir. Cho can fly. Millicent can talk to snakes. We're a pair of lucky fellows."

As he spoke, Harry became aware of Barden nodding vigorously. Millicent peered over Professor Dane's shoulder.

The twitch at the side of Malfoy's mouth said he had no answer. Instead, he turned on Hagrid again. "I'm writing to the Ministry myself. And I'm going to mention your filthy old umbrella and whatever you're hiding in it. You'll see what happens."

"You will do nothing of the sort."

Startled, Harry looked over his shoulder. Snape was standing solitary several yards away. Despite a bump on his forehead, a scrape on his jaw, a tear in his sleeve and dirt all over, he still projected irrefutable clout. His murmur had slashed through the schoolboy argument like a razor. Now his black eyes brooded on Malfoy with a pessimism that was hard to read. As if reaching a decision, he strode forward and led Malfoy into the Slytherin pen. Though they were out of earshot, Harry could tell from Malfoy's hunched head that Snape was lecturing him. Both ignored the spasmodically shuddering hydra.

Hagrid muttered through his bristly beard, "I tell yeh, I wrote th'order fer Waldo."

Professor Dane smiled. "Of course, you did."

Millicent stepped back, dabbing her puffy brown eyes. When she glanced at Barden, he shifted his weight. Then abruptly, he swung away to check on his badger. Slowly, she turned her attention to Harry. On bowed hag legs, she toddled closer.

Hagrid grinned. "Parseltongue? I knew yeh had it in yeh, Milly."

Her jagged teeth bucked out over her lower lip. "Just a couple of words, but it's a start. Harry translated some of the hydra's talk earlier. I guess it finally came together for me."

Hagrid nodded, then waved to Professor Dane and tromped over to her.

Millicent lowered her voice. "You're all right, Harry Potter. I used to think you were stuck up--all those Potions and Creatures classes we had. But you're all right."

"Uh, thank you."

"Saved by a girl--most boys would be ashamed. But not you. You gave credit where credit was due. That means a lot. You're really all right."

Embarrassed, Harry nodded. He was grateful when Barden jogged back, yelling for Millicent.

"The hydra! It's got four heads. I think one of the new ones is the same chap that got bitten off."

Millicent's smile went as wide as a jack-o'-lantern's. She took off for the Slytherin enclosure at a gallop. Harry could see the hydra reared back, all four heads gazing at Snape. The professor made a solemn bow, then jabbed Malfoy in the side. Reluctantly, Malfoy lowered his head as well.

Harry was about to join the folk admiring the fantastic regenerating hydra, when he heard his name. As usual, Cho's musical timbre gave him a pleasant jolt. Turning, he smiled. "Wow. So that was Wudang Shen. Reading about it gave me no idea."

Cho shrugged, then rubbed her dirt-smudged nose. "My great-great-grandmother taught me. Just a little discipline, a little practice. You'd be a natural."

"Me?" Harry felt a shiver of anticipation. Could he really learn to fly without a broom?

"Now that midterms are almost over, I think we could fit in some lessons." She tilted her head, and a tangle of black hair, lank with sweat and dust, tumbled down her shoulder.

Harry had never seen her look so beautiful.

#

That night Harry dreamed of bounding star to star, sweeping the sky, propelled by nothing but the magic of his own limbs. The exhilaration overwhelmed him.

And taunting him everywhere he flew came Malfoy's words--"Harry Potter, saved by a girl."