The Potions Master

Chapter 6: GHOSTS

Another crash of metal on stone made Harry jump. Yet facing the ruckus outside seemed less scary than facing Snape. Clutching his cloak, he raced toward the noise, praying he was truly invisible. If so much as a fingertip showed, he'd be nailed.

Behind him, Snape groaned, still groggy. The caged rats squeaked and scrabbled. Harry swung open the door. Arrows of light darted up and down the stairs. Before he could dodge, one pierced his shoulder. Icy pain shot down his spine. He cried out, only to be cut short by a yank on his arm. Desperately he twisted, anxious to escape. Then he heard a tense whisper.

"Come on! Quick! We've got to hide."

Relief flooded Harry. He threw half of the cloak across Ron's shoulders, and together they stumbled down the steps to the alcove where his friend had been keeping watch. Silver shapes whizzed past, lighting their way. Strange shrieks and hollers reverberated around them. Just as they slipped behind the musty tapestry that masked the alcove, Harry heard an imposing voice rise above the din.

"Show yourselves! Professor Severus Snape, master of this school, commands it!"

A whoosh of air shook the tapestry. Harry shrank back against the cold granite. Please don't mean us, he begged silently. Beside him, Ron shuddered.

"Show yourself this instant! You can't hide from me."

Harry glanced down. In the eerie light bouncing off the walls, he could see that his toes were sticking out beneath the tapestry. Could Snape see them, too? If he moved his feet to hide them, he'd draw attention for sure. At least Hermione wouldn't get kicked out. She was keeping watch at the professor's other door on the classroom side.

Another howl echoed up the passage.

"Stop this at once and come out!"

Abruptly, the staircase went deathly quiet. The numinous light coalesced into a soft, steady glow. Harry held his breath, expecting that any second now Snape would whip aside the wall hanging. One last hunk of metal clattered down the steps.

Then Nick's jovial voice rang out. "Working late, professor? Thought all you humans had gone to bed ages ago."

"Sir Nicholas de Mimsey-Porpington?" Snape sounded stunned.

"And friends."

"Friends?"

"To be sure. Let me introduce--" Nick imitated a drum roll "--the Almost Axed Acrobats. We're in rehearsal, of course, and Guy of Surrey and Bruce the Highlander don't quite have the juggling down, but--"

Snape exhaled slowly. The sound reminded Harry of a teakettle starting to heat. "The Almost Axed Acrobats?"

"Has a nice alliterative ring, don't you think?"

"You're juggling--"

"Armor. Helmets, gauntlets, breastplates. We'll put everything back, naturally."

"Naturally."

Snape spoke calmly, but Harry was sure his mildness was deceptive. Though he couldn't see the professor, memory of his own many run-ins created a picture of him--jaw stiffening, lips twitching, cheeks turning a mottled gray. Any moment now, the professor would erupt. Poor Nick. Surely a ghost couldn't be expelled from Hogwarts?

"We--we didn't mean to disturb anyone." For the first time, Nick's tone was hesitant. "We were only--"

"Rehearsing. Yes, well. You were rather loud. Be grateful I wasn't . . . sleeping." Snape cleared his throat. "I must ask that at night you continue to confine your rehearsing to this part of the castle. The living need their rest. And . . . rethink the juggling."

"Certainly, certainly. Don't want to waken anyone."

"Indeed."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Instead of exploding, Snape was quietly jiggling a key in his lock and murmuring an incantation. In a moment, Harry caught the rustle of robes as the professor ascended the stairs.

"Good night," Nick called out. "Pleasant dreams."

"What? Yes. Good night."

Ron grabbed Harry's wrist as they strained to hear whether the professor had truly gone. At last, he leaned close to Harry's ear. "Was that really Snape? He sounded almost, well--I don't know how to put it."

"Reasonable?"

"That's the word. Hard to think of it in connection with Snape." Ron released Harry and patted him on the back. "What did you do to him?"

#

You liberated Professor Severus," Dobby said happily, once the four conspirators were reunited in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "That's what you did."

"Uh, yes," Harry said. Or at the very least, confused him.

"Dobby saw his face as he passed on the stairs. Out-of-kilter, it was. Open."

Hermione's forehead wrinkled. "Open?"

Ron rolled his eyes.

Harry looked aside and saw his self-conscious grimace mocking him repeatedly from the row of tarnished bathroom mirrors. "He was probably just half-asleep."

"No, sir. Dobby knows that face. Dobby knows that feeling. It's liberation."

On the elf's last word, a sob echoed from the toilet at the end. "Lib-er-a-tion!"

Hermione jabbed her thumb in the direction of Myrtle's wailing. "What's wrong with her tonight? I thought she was lightening up."

Harry bit his lip, feeling even worse.

"Maybe she's jealous she doesn't qualify for the Almost Axed Acrobats." Ron shrugged. "Now tell us exactly what Snape--"

"Nick's Acrobats--" Harry interrupted, grabbing at the distraction. "You should see them, Hermione. After Snape left, they put on a show for us. When Nick and the other two wizards get their heads spinning, and the Scots start tumbling over each other, it is a sight to see."

"Another night," Ron said impatiently. "Those spooks are dying for an audience. But first--"

Harry pretended he hadn't spoken. "They should give up the juggling, though. They're too insubstantial. Even if one ghost manages to hoist and toss something, it goes right through the next. But when--"

Ron glowered. "Quit stalling. Tell us. Where do Snape's loyalties lie?"

Harry shifted his weight. His shoes made sucking noises on the damp tile. "Well, he was more drowsy than I thought he'd be. Not quite so coherent."

"But he told you the truth, didn't he?" Hermione sounded anxious, as if afraid to learn her potion hadn't worked.

"Yes. Of that, I'm positive." Snape wouldn't have said any of the things he did in jest.

"And that truth was--"

Harry stole a glance at Ron, wondering how many lies he could get away with. "Well . . . his loyalties would be with Dumbledore."

Hermione beamed. "I knew it. I just knew it."

Dobby nodded happily.

Ron frowned. "He said that?"

"Not in so many words . . . but he told me something that gave me good reason to believe his loyalties wouldn't be with Voldemort."

Ron cocked his head. "Which was--?"

"Snape let on he had once. . . ." Harry removed his glasses and polished them. When he put them back on, he saw that Ron looked ready to strangle him. ". . . he'd been fond of someone. A woman. Voldemort killed her."

Ron released a long, low whistle.

In a tentative voice, Hermione asked, "Professor Snape was in love?"

"I didn't say that," Harry shot back.

"But you said--"

"He was fond of someone. He didn't say she was fond of him. They might have been friends. Maybe. That's all I know."

"Snape was in love," Ron repeated in a wondering tone.

"I didn't say that," Harry insisted. And don't ask me with whom.

"Were they married?" Hermione asked.

"Of course not! I never said--"

"Don't be daft," Ron cut in. "If he'd ever been married, it'd be common knowledge all over Hogwarts. A wife's a rather public matter, after all,"

Actually, Harry couldn't remember having ever heard that any of the professors had ever been married.

Hermione sighed. "You're right, of course. The professor had a clandestine lover."

"He did not!" Harry blurted out. "I never--"

"No wonder he's so brusque," Hermione went on. "He's nursing a private heartache."

"Heartache!" Myrtle moaned.

Harry saw Dobby's eyes starting to shimmer. He stared at the floor.

"Snape in love. Who'd have thought it?" Even Ron sounded subdued. "Well, the somnoleveritaphantasmagoria powder did its job, and we're back to square one. Who's trying to kill Harry? It's not Snape."

Harry frowned, recalling Snape's adoring description of his mother: Too giving. Gave everything for that boy, Potter's son. Lily--she gave her life. Snape blamed him for his mother's death. Could he hate him enough to want him to pay with his life?

"I told you the professor's all right," Hermione said. "After all, he did protect Harry our first year."

That was true. Ever since Snape had scoffed at James's motive for saving him from werewolf Lupin, Harry had wondered about the real reason Snape had looked after James's son. When push came to shove, did Snape see Lily in her son's green eyes?

Harry passed a hand over his forehead, wanting nothing more than for all such images to go away. "You guys," he said softly. "We've got to keep this quiet. We can't ever discuss it or try to find out more about it. The story stops here. It mustn't leave this room."

The elf raised his chin. "You know Dobby can keep a secret."

"I'll carry it to the grave!" Myrtle cried from her end stall.

Ron raised his eyebrows, as if offended Harry had even asked.

Hermione pursed her lips. "It'll be hard to look at Professor Snape in the same way ever again. It's frustrating hearing just a piece of such a story and not--" When Harry glared at her, she nodded. "Of course, I'll respect his privacy."

#

The next morning, Saturday, Harry awoke with a burning desire to find out everything he possibly could about Snape and his mother. Did Sirius know something? He'd been with them at Hogwarts. But asking roundabout questions by letter would probably result in no answers at all. Dumbledore? He'd once said he had a good reason to trust Snape's loyalty--a reason he couldn't reveal. Harry stared up at the canopy that shrouded his four-poster bed. That meant Dumbledore was unlikely to reveal it to him now.

At breakfast, Harry remained tangled in his quandary. When Cho smiled at him from the Ravenclaw table, he pretended not to notice. By the time Hermione pushed back her plate and rose to her feet, he'd barely nibbled a biscuit.

"Going to the library?" Ron asked. "I've got a paper to research."

Hermione shifted from one foot to the other. "Uh, I can meet you there in an hour."

"Then where're you going now? I'll come with you."

"Well, actually, I'm going to Myrtle's. And this is not a good time of day for a boy to sneak in there."

Sidelong, Harry saw Ron's eyes widen.

"I want to say, 'Hi,'" Hermione added quickly. "See if she's feeling better." Before Ron could answer, she hurried toward the door.

After a moment of staring, Ron switched his attention to Harry.

"I have to go meet the new Griffin." Suddenly, Harry realized he knew the perfect person to ask about Snape and his mother: Hagrid.

Ron smiled. "I'll come--"

"No. Uh, Griffins are tricky. Until Waldo gets settled, it'd be best not to crowd him." Besides, Harry wanted to talk to Hagrid alone. Out of his friend's many fine qualities, the one he was counting on this morning was his inability to keep a secret.

When Harry stood up from the table, his food barely touched, Ron stayed--glumly balancing his spoon on his knife.

#

Waldo wasn't half as impressive as Regis had been. He was at least three feet shorter, and his feathers were rust-brown rather than brilliant red. But his stance was relaxed, and his eyes were calm. At first, he examined his new trainer gravely, but after Hagrid introduced them and Harry performed the proper bow, he strolled forward and inclined his head for a pat.

After an hour of learning old English commands until Waldo's cooperation showed Harry his pronunciation was acceptable, his mind slid inescapably back to the questions that had plagued him since dawn. He felt relieved when Hagrid called it quits and invited him for a cup of tea.

Passing the Slytherin pen, Harry saw Millicent chatting with the four-headed Hydra. The exchange sounded like English, but he figured that was a trick of his mind translating the Parseltongue.

Then Hagrid called out, "Good mornin', t'yeh. Enjoyin' the sun? It'll star' rainin', soon enough."

The newest of the heads replied, "Water's no worry for us. Why do you think we're called a hydra?"

As Harry raised a puzzled eyebrow, Millicent grinned toothily. "Meet Quatre. He speaks English. It turns out that when a hydra grows a new head, it has the ability the creature feels it needs most. His translations are helping me learn Parseltongue."

Even this interesting fact couldn't distract Harry from his need to talk privately to Hagrid. Yet when he sat down at his friend's massive oak table, he was still wondering where to start. He surveyed the hut for inspiration. Since his last visit, Hagrid had knitted another yard onto his latest red-and-gold afghan project. Over the mantle hung a new photograph of his mum, tenderly cooing. Harry smiled back. The summer before, when Hagrid and Madame Maxime had been envoys to the Carpathian giants, his friend had happily discovered that his mother did love him--that the reason she'd left had been to spare him the shame of having a giantess mother. They'd exchanged letters ever since.

But one addition to Hagrid's quarters surprised Harry, something he'd never expected to see: piles of books. Two volumes by Goshawk and Waffling's Advanced Magical Theory lay on the night table. On a stool by the wardrobe, more standard texts by Jigger, Spore, and Angedoux made a haphazard tower.

When Harry caught his eye, Hagrid grinned. "All th'letters did help. I never would o' hoped fer it, but after all these years, I'm bein' given me chance."

"Chance?" Harry leaned forward. "To--?"

"Ter take me equivalency levels. Ter get me diploma. Ter become a full-fledged wizard, good an' proper."

Harry whooped. "Brilliant! Congratulations!"

Looking pleased but embarrassed, Hagrid turned to pour water from the teakettle into his bucket-sized teapot. "The headmaster tol' me las' night an' brough' me all the books I need ter study. I owe it ter Regis, yeh migh' say--an' o' course ter th'professors an' students who wrote the Ministry 'bout him."

Harry laughed, happy for his friend. "That's one subject you don't have to brush up on--magical creatures."

Hagrid plunked his enormous tea tray on the table, then handed Harry a bowl-sized cup. "With Griffins it's jus' a matter o' knowin' the family tree. As a young man, I apprenticed fer a time at the Enchanted Preserve. I worked wi' Regis's dad. From hard knocks Rex gave me, I knew nothin' on this earth would get a harness on his son. Waldo, now--his dad's noble heart tol' me he'd wear it like regalia."

"Like father, like son." At last, Harry saw his opening. He waited while Hagrid poured him a steaming cup. With his ladle-sized spoon, he stirred in cream and sugar. "How about people? You've been here long enough to see a lot of father-son pairs. The Weasleys, for example."

Hagrid sipped his tea. "Well, Percy's an odd one, but the other lads're clearly nuts from tha' tree. Lively an' full o' fun."

"The Malfoys?"

"Spiteful, both o' them--but a bit scared o' not bein' thought the best."

"And the Averys?"

Hagrid grunted. "That Wilhelm. There's a nut that didn' fall far from the tree. A struttin' little do-nothin' who fancies the gold his great-granddad made earns him the right ter look down his nose. Just like his dad."

Harry nodded. Lifting his oversized teacup with both hands, he brought the steaming drink to his lips. He smiled over the rim to show his friend how much he appreciated it. Then casually he asked, "And Snape--"

"Professor Snape," Hagrid corrected, then winked. "Yeh always work it 'roun' ter Professor Snape. What're yeh suspectin' him o' now?"

Of being sweet on my mother. Aloud Harry said, "Nothing. Just imagining what his parents must have been like."

"One look at that pair, an' yeh'd know he'd been adopted." Hagrid stirred his tea thoughtfully.

"Adopted?" Harry hadn't expected that news.

"Not a bit like either o' them. His mum was the prettiest, flirtiest girl. You'd've thought her part veela. His dad was a big, jovial chap--a drinker an' a gambler. Those two had everythin' withou' workin' a day fer it. Everythin' but a child. When the Missus saw her Mister driftin' away, she got herself a boy to reel him back. Professor Dumbledore arranged it."

Harry sat back, full of questions. Who were Snape's birth parents? Why had Dumbledore handled their baby's adoption? Had they been teenagers the headmaster had helped avoid a scandal? When he looked to Hagrid, the half-giant just shook his head and chomped his raisin cake. Before Harry could think of something to prod him, his friend swallowed and went on.

"I 'spect it worked fer awhile. Then they both los' interest. Yeh'd catch 'em in the gossip pages o' The Daily Prophet--him gamblin' at some charity even', her dancin' at another. No thought fer their li'l boy. Severus spen' so much time with tutors tha' when he come ter Hogwarts, he knew more than many a fourth year."

Harry remembered the first day he'd walked into Snape's classroom, the professor scornfully asking if the famous Harry Potter knew the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. And Sirius had claimed that Snape arrived knowing more curses than most students did when they graduated. "So he was a top student?"

"Eventually. But fer awhile Avery, Sr. sidetracked him. Their first year they became cronies. Inevitable, yeh migh' say. Both sent ter Hogwarts by old, wealthy, pureblood families. Both sorted into Slytherin. But Severus had wha' yeh migh' call an unfortunate manner, an' I 'spect he was anxious fer a friend. Willimar could charm--if he though' yeh migh' be useful. Can yeh imagine how useful a lazy git like him foun' a scholar like Severus?"

Harry leaned his chin in his hand. His memory of Avery, Sr. was of the Death Eater groveling before Lord Voldemort. Difficult to imagine that the Hogwarts Potions master had once deferred to him. "Snape did Avery's schoolwork?"

"Professor Snape, yes, I believe he did qui' a bit of it--all fer the privilege o' bein' Avery's pal. They became a double act o' the worst kind. Young Will would deem someone unworthy; Severus would think up the stingin' insult. At the time, I was only the gamekeeper an' my reputation was un'er a cloud. Yeh can imagine how they treated me."

Harry could. "Then why in the world do you seem to like him?"

"Things changed." Hagrid shrugged. "I wouldn' be tellin' yeh this 'cept the gossip was in all the papers an' yeh could o' found it out in the library. At the start o' Severus's sixth year, his dad bet an' lost not jus' all the family had but more than the family had. His mum run off with some muggle millionaire from Brazil. His dad jus' disappeared. To this day the goblins use his name ter remind gam'lers what happens when they don' settle accounts."

Harry stared at Hagrid. He'd never imagined such a story in Snape's past. "That must have been a shock."

Hagrid nodded. "I never knew how Severus felt 'bout losin' his dad, but losin' the money knocked him down a notch. Avery dropped him, tha's fer sure. Thought he'd have ter leave Hogwarts, too, 'til Albus appointed him assistant Potions master. Made it look like an honor, not jus' a way ter pay his bill. Severus became respons'ble fer procurin' the ingredients the Potions master needed." Hagrid shot Harry a mischievous look. "And fer ingredients that came from magical creatures, he had ter come ter me."

Harry grinned. "A chance to get a bit of your own back?"

"At first, I admit. But after awhile I grew t'respect him--an' him me."

Still smiling, Harry shook his head. Was there ever a man kinder and more forgiving than Hagrid? Just yesterday, Snape had reported him to the Ministry for unauthorized use of his broken wand, yet Hagrid could still talk about respect. "And since he needed a job when he got out of school, he decided to aim for professor?"

"Not at all. When Severus was young, what he really wanted ter be was an auror--somethin' gran' an' splashy, somethin' ter make people goggle. He was a great fan o' the Longbottoms."

"Fan?" Of Neville's parents? That was hard to believe.

"Yes. In the days when aurors' work was directed outside the wizardin' circle--against vampires, ghouls, banshees an' the like--reporters, people like Rita Skeeter, wrote up their exploits regularly. When Severus came by fer hippogriff toenails or centaur spit or what have yeh, he'd ask what new magazines I'd got an' sit righ' where yeh're sittin' now ter read 'em. The Longbottoms were quite popular."

Harry remembered Dumbledore using just that phrase. He hadn't known being ballyhooed in the press was part of what he'd meant.

Hagrid sighed. "O' course, once You-Know-Who started bringin' the dark arts into our midst an' nobody knew who ter trust, bein' a high-profile auror became a bit of a hazard. Nowadays they work pretty secret."

Too late for the Longbottoms, Harry knew. Because of their fame, they'd been kidnapped by Voldemort's diehard supporters and tortured into madness. Thinking of the Longbottoms naturally made him think of their as-good-as-orphaned son.

"Poor Neville," Hagrid said as if reading Harry's thoughts. "Such a timid soul. There's a nut tha' fell all the way on the other side o' the fence. Albus's spoken ter Severus 'bout bein' too rough on the boy. I 'spect Severus thinks he can bully him into showin' some o' his dad's spirit."

Hagrid gnawed his raisin cake. Harry's mind circled back to his original purpose in coming. He mentally kicked himself for lacking the guts to bring up what was really bothering him. Moistening his lips, he ventured, "Snape--Professor Snape--knew my dad at school and hated him. What about . . . my mom? Were they ever--"

"They?" Hagrid exploded into laughter. He shook so hard in his chair, the wood floor began to tremble. "Se-severus an' Lily?" Another laughing fit choked his words. "Li-lily an' Se-ver-us?"

The more Hagrid laughed, the broader the relieved smile that perked up Harry's mouth. Snape and his mother--anyone could see the idea was ridiculous.

Hagrid wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "Oh, Harry! Yer mum an' dad were a pair from year one. She didn' always go adventurin' with him--in those days us men were still a bit too protective o' the ladies. Hermione's been an education, I can tell yeh. An' that Cho! But otherwise, James an' Lily were inseparable. Wha' in the world made yeh think--" Another roar of laughter overtook him. But as it died into a ripple of chuckles, his expression grew reflective. "Of course, Lily an' Severus did work together."

A cold lump formed in Harry's stomach. "What do you mean work together?"

"Well, the same time Severus became the Potions master's assistant, yer mum became hospital assistant. An' the hospital uses more potions than any place else, so sometimes Lily got involved in makin' 'em."

A vision of the two alone together in some dark dungeon of Hogwarts loomed in Harry's mind--his sweet-faced mother innocently stirring a bubbling cauldron, Snape hovering behind her like a great big bat.

Hagrid cast his eyes across his sun-dappled oak table. "Right here. I remember 'em grindin' up wyvern scales an' debatin' the need ter protect endangered magical creatures. The notion was novel at the time, but I liked it right away. Yer mum an' I hated the slaughterin' o' beasts. Severus said it was necessary. Argumen' after argumen' they had--Severus flingin' out bitin' sarcasm; Lily returnin' calm reason. In the end he came 'round--saw the wisdom o' not killin' the last unicorn. An' he still believes in preservation. Why jus' this mornin' he came ter ask if I'd found any chimera teeth that'd broken off. Needed one fer a special potion, he did, but wouldn' kill jus' fer a tooth."

Harry sunk low in his chair, afraid to look at the table. Somehow the image of Snape and his mother working side-by-side in the sunlight, arguing endangered animals while Hagrid looked on, disturbed him more than any of his previous speculations. When Ron and Hermione debated house elves, the electricity between them was undeniable.

Hastily, Hagrid rose from his chair and fussed around the table, gathering up the bowl-sized teacups, the tureen-sized sugar bowl and Harry's untouched slab of raisin cake. When Harry glanced at him, his friend looked away.

"Yer mum was smitten with yer dad--long before any o' that. Nothin' could o' swayed her. An' Severus, well, yer mum wouldn't've been his type. She was Muggle-born, after all, an' a Gryffindor, an' definitely not his type. Guess yeh could say they were friends. Severus was really broken up when she died--but everyone who knew Lily fel' that way. I wep' buckets. No kin'er, gentler woman anywhere."

Snape really broken up over anything was not easy to picture. Instead of reassuring, Hagrid's explanations made Harry more uncomfortable still. Forcing a smile, he pushed back from the table. "Thanks for the tea and for introducing me to Waldo. I feel much more confident about House Spirit Week." Even if he felt less sure about everything else.

Hagrid nodded vaguely. The look on his face said he was seeing ghosts--and wondering things about them he'd never wondered before.

_#

Late that night, after every other Gryffindor had gone to bed, Harry quietly returned to the common room, clutching the wizard photograph album of his parents Hagrid had so thoughtfully put together for him at the end of his first year at Hogwarts. He set the leather-bound volume on the bearskin rug in front of the hearth, added some chunks of wood to the guttering fire, and lit a candle with his wand. Then he flopped down on the rug and opened the album.

He went through his parents' school years slowly, lingering on any picture that showed James and Lily together. The more time he spent gazing into those years gone by, the more at peace he felt. In photo after photo, his mom would shoot his dad a mischievous smile that expressed affection greater than words. His dad's answering wink would say that here was the girl of his dreams, and nothing would ever change that.

Stifling a yawn, Harry decided to look at just one more picture, his favorite: his father zooming across the Quidditch field after the Golden Snitch. The players' red and yellow robes identified this as the traditional last match of the season: Hufflepuff against Gryffindor. The crowd had gone wild. In the middle of the bleachers, James's friends and admirers jumped to their feet. Harry could pick out Remus Lupin waving excitedly and Sirius Black with his mouth open to scream victory. Even Peter Pettigrew was grinning and clapping, innocent of the tragedy he would one day create for the man on the broom.

And in the middle of the old gang stood James's biggest fan. Harry's mother-to-be was hugging herself, her face ecstatic as her eyes followed her sweetheart's every move. The portrait of happiness was so comforting that Harry gazed at it for several minutes.

Then another figure edged into view, one he'd not seen any of the previous times he'd looked at the photograph. Though twenty-five years younger, Severus Snape with his pale skin, long nose and unkempt hair was unmistakable. He cast a venomous scowl at James Potter diving for the Golden Snitch ahead of the Hufflepuff Seeker. Then he turned.

Harry watched Snape's dark eyes pick Lily out of the crowd and saw his anger fade into an expression so desperate and desolate that he no longer looked like himself. A shiver ran across Harry's shoulders, and he slammed the album shut. He stared at the fireplace. Even the embers had died. Around him the shadows seemed to be closing in.

In this very room his parents and their friends had joked and chatted and dreamed of the future. Twenty-five years later, Remus scrounged for work far beneath his abilities; Sirius evaded dementors because of a crime he hadn't committed; Peter cringed before Lord Voldemort; and James and Lily were dead. Of the people Harry had watched in the picture, Severus Snape had fared the best--secure as Potions master of Hogwarts. Yet instead of being contented, he let bitterness consume him.

What lay in store for his friends and him when they left school for the big wide world? Tonight, Harry couldn't bear to think about it.

Quickly, he scooped up his photograph album, anxious to return to his friends' comforting snores. He blew out the candle and held out his wand. "Lumos." By the faint light glowing at the tip, he made his way to the stairs, ignoring the darkness on either side.

"Ghosts," he whispered.

#

The next day, a ghost brought Harry's concerns firmly back to the present. When he swung back the portrait of the fat lady to exit Gryffindor Tower on Monday morning, his left arm went straight through Nearly Headless Nick on the other side. The sensation of plunging into an ice cap made him fall backward onto his book pack.

Nick was too het up to notice. "Where is Minerva? I must speak to Minerva. That Severus Snape. Who does he think he is?" The ghost was so distracted that he allowed his head to loll from side to side.

"Uh, Professor McGonagall isn't--" Harry stopped because the subject of his sentence was rushing up the hall.

"Sir Nicholas," she called out respectfully, "Sir Nicholas. The good friar told me you wanted--"

Nick whirled so fast that his head took a moment to catch up. "What's this about Snape refusing to let the Almost Axed Acrobats perform? We've added five members! We've practiced and practiced! Snape knows that better than anybody. He gave us no inkling he wouldn't approve. But the Bloody Baron said Snape put his foot down." Nick stamped his own foot for emphasis, although it was too insubstantial to make a sound.

Professor McGonagall raised her hands calmingly. "Severus thought perhaps it might not be appropriate--"

"Appropriate! Isn't Cirque du Soleil known around the world? Doesn't the Peking Circus entertain the queen?"

Slowly, Harry got back on his feet. He didn't know what performance of the Almost Axed Acrobats Nick was fuming about, but he did think it a stretch to compare robust humans in leotards to partially dismembered ghosts, one of whom had an axe planted in the middle of her skull.

"We'd love you to perform," McGonagall soothed. "Halloween would be--"

"A whole 'nother year away!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. What was one year to a being who'd been around for over five hundred?

"Sooner, then. House Spirit Week. Your own special . . . spirit evening."

This time Nick paused. "We were looking forward to Christmas. For the finale, we planned to form a giant tree."

Professor McGonagall blinked rapidly, as if struggling to retain her composure. "I'll propose you for House Spirit Week at the next staff meeting. The Almost Axed Acrobats in Midwinter . . . Madness. I won't let Severus veto the idea."

"The Bloody Baron told me Snape called us a bunch of discombobulated buffoons who couldn't be allowed to ruin the night." Nick lifted his chin. "I prefer to think of us as free spirits."

With that statement, his form began to dissipate into wisps that slowly drifted up the hallway. Professor McGonagall leaned back to avoid a smoky curl.

Harry stepped over the Gryffindor threshold and up to his housemistress. "What was that about the Almost Axed Acrobats wanting to perform at Christmas?"

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "The announcement is to be made at breakfast, but I might as well tell you now. Last year's Yule Ball was so popular that the headmaster wants to make it a yearly event. It'll be a week before Christmas this time because so many parents complained that their children preferred to stay for it rather than going home."

Another Yule Ball. Why was his throat suddenly dry? For the same reason his stomach felt hollow and his head felt light. Of the tasks he'd faced the year of the Triwizard Tournament, the challenge of finding a date for the Yule Ball had placed slightly above tricking the Hungarian Horntail. At the same time, Harry felt a sizzle of excitement. The Yule Ball would be a do or die deadline to find out how Cho really felt.

Professor McGonagall folded her arms inside her long black robes. "I was quite surprised Severus had such a strong reaction to Nick's offer, but I'm glad he did. Can you imagine those hacked up spooks cavorting above the dance floor? The mind boggles."

With that, she pivoted and strode back up the hall. Harry stayed, fiddling with the straps on his book pack. This year he'd ask Cho early. This year he'd just do it. As he resolutely followed Professor McGonagall, he could feel his heart beating double time.

#

During Wudang Shen meditation exercises Sunday night, Cho so insisted on concentration that Harry didn't dare bring up something as mundane as the Yule Ball. Monday and Tuesday, his nerve failed him. Even when Cho smiled and said that the following morning, he could start flying, he couldn't muster the courage to pop the question.

Wednesday, when he slipped outside before sunup, the sky was polished obsidian, the stars were diamonds, and the half-moon was a luminous chip of crystal. Cho waited at the end of the porch, gazing up at the glittering beauty. Harry gazed at her. In less than an hour, Hogwarts would awaken. Right now he had Cho to himself. If he couldn't ask her in the midst of this splendor, he never would.

She turned, as if aware of him watching, though he'd done his best to not make a sound. "Good morning, Harry. Time to fly. Breathe deeply, open your thoughts, and follow me."

With that, she leapt off the porch, whipped her legs into an aerial run and shot out into space. Her energy filled him. But he didn't follow her yet. Methodically, he exhaled all the stale air. He expanded his abdomen, and then his chest. Lifting his shoulders and opening his mouth, he drew the pre-dawn chill deep into his lungs. Chanting mentally as he'd practiced for weeks, he bounded between the marble dragons. All the while, he focused on Cho, floating over the frosted gardens.

Then he took off.

His legs made great strides above the patchwork of dead, gray flowers. His robes spread behind him. Smoothly, he arced back to earth, only to spring once more toward the sky.

I'm flying! Harry thought happily and, for a moment, took himself out of the magic. As he began to drop, he looked again to Cho. Her laughter was as effervescent as morning sparrows. Her spirit buoyed him up again, and he vaulted toward her. Passing in midair, he reached out and just missed her fingers.

Wheeling and dipping with Cho recalled the square dance magic of Halloween--except that this time he was both enchanter and enchanted. Cho's view of magic, passed down to her through generations of magical women, was of bonding with the flow of wonder that always surrounded them. As they wove closer and closer to the forest, he sensed their lives intersecting as well. No moment was more perfect than now for asking Cho the question that would tell him whether she was his girlfriend or just a friend who was a girl.

With a few airborne strides, Harry brought himself face-to-face with her. "Cho. The Yule Ball is coming up in a couple of weeks. Do you think--could you, would you consider, well, going to it with me?"

The instant Cho heard his question, her smile faded. "I can't."

Harry began to plummet.

As the ground rushed up at him, his fear of smashing into it loomed larger than his disappointment. He clutched at whatever strands of magic he could, pumped his legs, and aimed toward a giant oak several yards away. His decaying arc made him fear he'd miss it. Then he caught sight of a sturdy branch and grabbed for it. When he pulled himself up, he saw Cho already clinging to it, looking shaken.

"Harry. Let me explain. The reason I can't is--"

"What are you children doing up there?"

The harsh voice exploded through the darkness, startling them both. Harry peered through the branches to a clearing on the other side. His stomach twisted. Snape, recognizable despite his hood, was standing with his hands on his hips, glowering at the out-of-bed students. Beyond him, Harry thought he could make out a steaming cauldron.

"Oh, no," Cho breathed beside him. "Does being in this tree technically puts us in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Being caught anywhere by Snape technically puts us--" Harry cut his sentence short. The professor had stalked through the underbrush and was now standing beneath them, pointing his wand.

"Come down. Now. I'll direct you. First Miss Chang. Then Potter."

Cho obeyed. Harry followed. If Wundang Shen had filled him with wondrous power, having his fall controlled by Snape made him feel weak and useless.

When Snape glanced back over his shoulder, Harry's gaze followed to a rose-pink potion shimmering over a sapphire flame. He lost sight of it when he thumped on the ground.

Snape grabbed his wrist, yanked him up and thrust him toward Hogwarts. Harry stumbled, then began plodding to the castle. Head bowed, Cho trudged beside him. They continued in silence until they'd climbed the stairs to the porch.

"That's far enough."

When Harry turned, Snape's gaze was probing.

"Sir," Cho said quickly, "I was teaching Harry Wudang Shen."

When Snape continued to study him, Harry put in, "That's the ancient Chinese discipline of--"

"I know what it is," the professor snapped. Then a bitter smile twisted his lips. "It all comes so easily to you, doesn't it, Potter?" When his dark eyes flickered to Cho, Harry wasn't so sure Snape was referring to flying.

"Not that easily, sir," Cho answered. "Which is why we came out so early to--"

"Without permission. Without a chaperone. Someone less tolerant than myself would say you were dangerously close to committing PDA."

When Harry saw Cho cast her eyes down in embarrassment, he stole a glance at the professor. PDA? Permissionless dawn adventure? Permanently disabling activity?

"PDA would be grounds for detention and for deducting points from both your houses. Take warning."

Snape's intense scrutiny receded into a brooding look that let Harry relax. At least, neither of them was getting detention now. Then he frowned. Why was the professor being so reasonable? Was he, perhaps, remembering some permissionless dawn adventure he'd had with Lily? No. Never.

"The Enchanted Forest is especially treacherous at night," the professor added. "Sometimes I must go there to gather potion ingredients that lose their power during the day. It's your good luck I was taking a walk and could stop you from really getting yourselves into trouble."

Harry nodded, not letting his face betray his sudden curiosity. Why was Snape pretending he hadn't been brewing a potion?

With a jerk of his wand, the professor swung the front doors open. "Go inside. Now. Each to your own house."

"Yes, sir."

Snape pivoted on his heel and strode off--back to his cauldron, no doubt. When Harry looked at Cho, she looked away. A knot forming in his stomach, he entered Hogwarts. She hung a few yards back, painfully reminding him of her answer: I can't.

But once the doors closed behind them, he heard her whisper, "Psst. Wait."

Turning, Harry watched Cho hurry toward him until she was close enough to make his heart skip.

"I'd love to go the Yule Ball. But I have family obligations. The morning after end-of-term exams, I'm leaving for China to visit my great-great-grandmother."

Cho's soft smile was all the reassurance Harry needed. He wanted to spill everything--how long he'd dreamed of her, how she inspired him, how much he adored her. But his self-confidence didn't quite reach that far. With a sinking feeling, he realized he couldn't even divulge his questions about Snape to her. Somehow Cho was still outside the circle of friends with whom he shared those worries. Instead he asked, "The great-great-grandmother who taught you Wudang Shen?"

Cho nodded, and her satiny black hair cascaded down her shoulder. "She stays in a monastery high in the Wudang Mountains--a glorious place. I hope I can show it to you someday."

Warmth suffused Harry. "I'll miss you, but I'm glad you have a chance to visit your great-great-grandmother. She must be quite a lady."

"She is. In a hundred years, I couldn't attain her mastery at Wudang Shen."

A hundred years. Harry cocked his head. "How old is your great-great-grandmother? I'd think she'd be a bit frail for flying."

Cho grinned. "Flying is no problem for her. And she's only fifty-five."

"Fifty-five?" Harry repeated in surprise. With a quick calculation, he figured that four generations would have had to have borne children at age ten.

"Fifty-five when she died," Cho amended. "My great-great-grandmother is a ghost."