The Potions Master

Chapter 7: MEMORY

Harry ran his thumb down the parchment on which he'd collected pertinent facts about familiars. Hagrid's classes were so practice-oriented that his lecture notes fit on one two-foot scroll. Despite his lack of interest, Advanced Potions had taken up three four-foot scrolls. The intricate theories of Temporal Transfiguration had required five.

"Okay, Ron. What are the four ways animal companions help their guardians perform magic?"

Ron continued staring out their study nook, down the cavern formed by two long bookcases, to the library entrance. "Where is she? Probably still working on her letter to Viktor Krumm."

Harry blew out his breath. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was to be sucked into the electromagnetic storm brewing between his two best friends. Pretending he hadn't heard Ron's question, he answered his own. "One: familiars carry out spells at their guardians' direction. Two: they amplify the power of their guardians' spells. Three: they allow their guardians to impel others to carry out their spells. And four: they--"

"Notice how secretive she's becoming?" Ron glared at the doorway that Hermione wasn't entering. "Hanging out with Moaning Myrtle. Yeah, right."

Frustrated, Harry let go of his parchment and watched it curl back up. Lately, he'd been hanging out so much with Cho that he hadn't noticed what Hermione had been up to, but he was sure Ron was making a big deal out of nothing. "Do you want to drill for Magical Companions, or not? The test's tomorrow, and I--"

"--have another appointment," Ron finished sourly. From his friend's scowl, Harry knew that his newfound rapport with Cho wasn't making Ron's troubles with Hermione any easier to bear. Before Harry could respond, his friend sighed. "And all power to you."

For twenty minutes, Harry kept Ron's mind on topic while they quizzed each other to the ends of both their parchments. Even so, he felt guilty when he dashed out to meet Cho to review the seven scrolls they'd filled for Professor Binns. When he crawled through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room at ten and saw Ron slumped on a corner sofa, he hid Cho's early Christmas present to him inside his robes.

Summoning a pleasant smile, Harry sat down beside his friend. "All set for Hagrid's test? Exchanging messages with Pig will count more than the written exam, anyway."

Ron mumbled, "I'm worried about her."

Harry knew his friend didn't mean his owl. "Why? Hermione can take care of herself."

Ron shook his head. "Did you know that the entire time we were waiting for her, she was already in the library? I found her at a table on the other side, reading through three stacks of arcane potions texts up to here." He jabbed his own Adam's apple.

"That high sitting or--" When Ron glared, Harry dropped his attempt at a joke. "Come on. You know Hermione's been into esoteric manuscripts since we first came to Hogwarts. Snape probably mentioned some obscure formula when you and I were dozing, and she just had to look it up. If we're lucky, we can wheedle the information out of her without having to research it ourselves."

"She was acting weird. When I asked her about Magical Companions, she said, 'Memorized it.' Just before you came, she lurched in here looking even worse. When I tried to talk to her, all she said was, 'Pentathlon,' and stumbled up to her room."

Harry smiled. "That explains it. Everyone in the school knows she's going to win the Academic Pentathlon come House Spirit Week--everyone, that is, except Hermione. She never believes she's studied enough."

Ron looked unconvinced.

"Well, I'm going to bed myself." He had one more Wudang Shen session with Cho the next morning before they put flying on hold to concentrate on cramming. This time they had written okays from both McGonagall and Sinistra. Just let Snape try to threaten them with permissionless dawn adventure detention.

Once Harry had drawn his bed curtains, settled under his covers, and lit his wand, he drew out the book of ancient Chinese magic Cho had given him. The text was in inked characters with a literal and an interpreted English translation. Stroking the intricately carved wooden cover, he decided to start with the word-for-word version, though most of it might be incomprehensible. The very title, Seven Tablets in a Cloudy Satchel, evoked images as mysterious and exhilarating as Cho herself.

To him she was pure magic.

#

Saturday morning, Ron sent Harry's spirits even higher. As he scanned his weekly owl post from his mother, he let out a whoop. "Mom's asked Dumbledore if you can spend the holidays at the Burrow. Wouldn't that be great?"

Harry was thrilled. His first Christmas with a family that actually liked him.

Sunday evening, Professor McGonagall dashed his spirits back down. "I'm sorry, Potter, but your request for leave has been denied."

Harry's jaw dropped a moment before he managed, "But I've visited the Weasleys before--every summer for the last three years. Is it the Dursleys? They refused to authorize it, didn't they? They're spiteful. Just plain spiteful."

His housemistress pursed her lips sympathetically. "It wasn't your family. It was the headmaster. He told me he had a good reason. That was all he would say."

When Harry gave Ron the bad news, his friend slumped into a chair. After a minute of frowning, he murmured, "This is terrible."

"I know," Harry sighed, flopping into the chair next to him. "I was really looking forward--"

"Not just that," Ron said. "It's the implication. These failed attempts on your life--Dumbledore is worried that if you're out of his sight, the next one might succeed. What other good reason could he have for not letting you go?"

Harry took his glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose. Ever since the shock of hearing his mother's name on Snape's tongue, the question of who had been trying to kill him had paled in importance. "If that's it, then Dumbledore's being overly protective. It's been more than three weeks since the griffin incident. The Enchanted Preserve gamekeeper said he couldn't figure out how he'd misread the order. Hagrid knows him and is certain the mistake was honest. And the dragon statue incident, well, we probably misinterpreted it."

Ron eyed Harry skeptically. "Do you really believe that?"

No. "Why shouldn't I? If Dumbledore thought I was in danger, wouldn't he take more precautions than just keeping me at Hogwarts? I'm sure the sticking point is really the Dursleys--no matter what McGonagall said."

"Maybe." Ron shrugged. "Those Muggles are medieval, that's for sure. I can't believe you're related by blood. If they could, they'd burn you at the stake."

Harry laughed and returned his glasses to his nose. "Don't judge all non-magical folk by my relatives. Hermione would never forgive you." As soon as he mentioned her, he wished he hadn't. The worry lines in Ron's forehead only deepened.

"Whatever you do, Harry, don't tell Hermione what Dumbledore said. Pretend staying behind is your idea. She's got enough on her mind."

#

Monday afternoon, Harry had a hard time dragging Ron down to Snape's dungeon. Instead of facing their Advanced Potions final, Ron wanted to do an all-out search for Hermione.

"Don't worry," Harry soothed. "When she was missing this morning, it was because she'd snagged a quick breakfast from the elves and headed for the library. That's what Dobby told us. She probably did the same for lunch.

Ron hovered in Snape's doorway, staring up the stairs as if he could will Hermione to appear in the crowd of students tromping toward them. "Dobby said she looked odd."

Avery, flanked by Malfoy and shadowed by Crabbe and Goyle, swaggered down the staircase. Malfoy stopped on the last step to drawl, "Saw your girlfriend, Weasley, cowering behind a heap of books in the library. I knew that mudblood would crack one of these days."

Harry gripped Ron's shoulder. But instead of confronting Malfoy, his friend turned to him. "I told you we should go look for her."

Watching the Slytherins strut by, Harry felt uneasy for the first time himself. "You're right. She'd never miss a final. Maybe Madame Pomfrey should--"

As the words left his mouth, Hermione appeared at the top of the steps. But her glazed expression only heightened Harry's concern. When Neville caught up with her, she didn't return his greeting. When her gaze passed over Harry and Ron, her fixed stare didn't change. She appeared to be mumbling under her breath.

Ron reached her first, taking her hand and guiding her the rest of the way. She answered his questions with, "Fine. Been studying. Remember it. All of it."

Harry took a position on Hermione's other side, keeping an eye out for any Slytherin foot stuck in the aisle to trip them. As usual for Snape's written exams, a test scroll tied with a no cheating ribbon lay on each acid-scarred desk. On the far side of the room, forty cauldrons simmering over forty blue fires waited to mystify them.

When Ron piloted Hermione to her stool, she repeated, "Fine."

Before Harry could share a worried frown with his friend, Snape swooped out of his office, compelling their attention.

"You have sixty minutes to answer the test questions. At the end of that time, the scrolls will roll themselves up and return to me. Any eyes gazing at a scroll not their own will find themselves blinded until New Year's. Ready. Begin."

#

Hermione had spent the hour writing non-stop. That was a good sign, Harry thought. But every time he'd glanced at her, her lips had been moving. They were moving now.

Ron stood before Snape, peering nervously at a fizzing red concoction that stank like an undershirt after a full day of Quidditch. "Shrinking potion, sir. At least, it will be after you add hummingbird, uh, one dram of finely ground hummingbird talons."

Snape's sallow face remained impassive, not betraying by even a flicker of an eyelid whether Ron had been correct. "Would you give such a potion to a living entity?"

"Uh, no, sir. It would kill. Living processes would stop. You'd use it to make large inanimate objects easier to move."

Harry frowned at the mustard-colored goo he'd been asked to identify. Had he been right to name it liver tonic? Or was it really wart remover?

"Next," Snape announced, neither acknowledging nor dismissing Ron.

Harry nudged Hermione toward a cauldron filled with a bile-green liquid reminiscent of partially brewed truth potion. She moved toward it like a sleepwalker.

"Miss Granger. Identify."

"Veritaserum."

I was right, Harry thought. Too bad that hadn't been his question.

"Three quarts melted snow," Hermione recited. "Four grains mashed candori root. Steep ten minutes. Blend in seven drams sphinx--"

"That's enough. You weren't asked to show off."

When Hermione didn't stop droning, only lowered her voice, Harry cringed. Any moment now, red spots would appear on Snape's cheekbones.

But instead, the black eyes narrowed speculatively. "Miss Granger, you have convinced me that you've memorized the formula and are qualified for employment by the Bureau of Auror Investigations. I'm sure you're aware that information extracted by veritaserum is inadmissible in court unless independently substantiated. Tell me why."

Hermione stared blankly at the cauldron, then resumed repeating ingredients and preparation steps. Crabbe sniggered.

Because the truth of any information revealed is only partial, Harry urged her silently. Different viewpoints are necessary to truly understand it.

"That's enough, Miss Granger," Snape said as Hermione continued rambling. "Enough. Go stand by my office door. I will speak to you after class."

Avery and Malfoy exchanged triumphant smirks. Reluctantly, Harry let Hermione stumble off alone. Talking to her during the examination would just get her into more trouble. Ron swayed, as if also suppressing an urge to follow.

"Next."

Only Neville was left. Harry could see him trembling in his shoes. When Snape pointed imperiously at the last cauldron, their housemate inched forward.

"Tranquility potion, sir," Neville whispered without being asked. "Nearly."

Snape's face stayed expressionless as he extended a lavender phial. "Complete the brew and bring us all some peace."

Shakily, Neville reached for the small bottle. "Essence of bluebird song," he rasped. "Just a drop." At first, he couldn't dislodge the cork. Then he gave it a sharp tug. The phial popped open, and its entire contents sprayed into the cauldron.

A sensation swept over Harry of a flock of birds squawking and pecking. Classmates shrieked and flailed at invisible pests. Flinging his arms over his head, Neville crumpled to the floor. By Snape's office door, Hermione remained stiff as a post.

"The examination is over," the Potions master shouted above the pandemonium. "Class dismissed. Everyone except Miss Granger and Longbottom."

Harry took several deep breaths, digging deep for the discipline Cho had tried to teach him. Ignoring the crawling feeling overwhelming his arms and legs, he hurried to Hermione. Ron joined him, swatting at non-existent birds. They each took one of her hands and pulled her into the office. Turning, Harry saw Snape chanting one of the many spells he used to cancel student catastrophes. By the time the rest of the students had fled, the atmosphere of horrible discomfort was gone as well.

As the professor stalked toward them, Ron begged, "Please, sir. She's ill."

Snape inspected her coolly. "Self-induced." He glanced from Harry to Ron. "The ever faithful. You two might as well come along." He closed his door behind them and strode to his desk.

Harry and Ron kept their mouths shut while they waited for Snape to settle in his chair. Harry squeezed Hermione's fingers, hoping to stop her babbling.

"Elixir of Infinite Memory," Snape said at last. "The very potion I warned against when lecturing about memory enhancement. Miss Granger just had to try it."

Harry's mouth opened a little as he remembered that long ago session of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Any pupil willing to use a Time-Turner to double up classes for a year would leap at the chance for total recall. Now he knew what Hermione had been doing in the library: memorizing textbooks whole.

Snape leaned back in his mahogany chair. "I'm tempted to fail you for trying to gain an unfair advantage over your fellow students."

Hermione looked stunned--but not more so than when staring at her examination cauldron.

"Yet I am rather impressed you managed to turn out such a complex potion." Snape studied her uncomprehending face with amusement. "Tell me, what is the formula for Weltschmerz Tonic as described in Rauschen, Lautheit, and Schreien's Prussian Desideratum?"

Like one drugged, Hermione rattled off a list of ingredients ranging from cockatrice eggs to eidelweiss blossoms, along with the exact measurements, preparation steps, and infusion times. She ended by stating the page number.

"My compliments. And its uses?"

"Relief of melancholy, angst, and the burdens of the world."

"Yes," Snape answered. "I believe that's a quote from the text. Tell me, if Potter skinned his knee running late to class, would you give him Weltschmerz Tonic? Or would you save it for the day he discovers that one desire all the applause in the world can never win for him?"

Hermione's dazed look didn't change. Harry glared at the professor.

Snape glanced at him sidelong. "Nothing personal, of course. Just demonstrating the limits of infinite memory. So much lumber is stacked in Miss Granger's brain at the moment that she is incapable of determining what it might build."

Ron turned to Hermione, his forehead netted with worry. He waved a hand in front of her eyes. When she didn't react, he grasped her shoulders.

Snape laughed. "Shake away, young Weasley. Miss Granger made too potent a potion for that to have an effect. To my knowledge, only one other fifth-year ever made one as successful--with the same problematical results, I'm afraid."

Harry gave Snape a measuring look. "And how did he get over it?"

The professor smiled faintly. "His friends walked him to his bed, placed a blindfold over his eyes, closed the curtains, and left him for three days while a dozen library shelves of potions and spells rolled mercilessly through his brain."

"Three days?" Still staring into Hermione's blank brown eyes, Ron swallowed hard.

Snape didn't answer, instead bending to rummage in a low drawer. "Happily for Miss Granger, an antidote now exists." Straightening, he held out a slim magenta vial. "Take this and her to Madame Pomfrey. I'll send instructions for how to administer the drops. Afterwards, she must lie in a dark corner of the infirmary. By evening, Miss Granger's conscious mind should be free of the wisdom of the ages."

Ron took the vial in one hand and gingerly retook Hermione's hand in his other. "She'll forget everything she read?"

"Never. Her unconscious memory should retain each word--although it may take her years to sort it all."

Harry glanced from his friends to Snape. "You said you wouldn't fail her."

"Did I?" Snape shrugged. "She'll have to take a make-up exam, of course. Tomorrow evening. When she returns from holiday, she must give a quarter-hour class presentation on the drawbacks of memory enhancing potions." He paused. "And she must write me a step-by-step account of how she made it."

Harry shot Ron a relieved grin. Even if Snape didn't remember it, unburdening himself under the influence of somnoleveritaphantasmagoria powder must have done him some good. Never before had he shown such mercy.

The professor's smile broadened. "And twenty points from Gryffindor."

#

When Harry and Ron trudged out of Snape's office, steering Hermione between them, she resumed reeling off potion recipes like an automaton. Harry had forgotten about Neville until Snape's voice rang out: "Longbottom."

Neville squeaked.

Harry caught sight of his classmate, hyperventilating in the corner. "Are you--?"

"Okay," Neville whimpered.

"Buck up," Ron said. "He's in an awfully good mood. Slytherin just gained on Gryffindor by twenty points."

"Longbottom!" Snape called again.

As they exited the dungeon, Harry whispered to Ron. "Hermione losing us points doesn't look so bad when you consider the alternative: her failing Advanced Potions. Poor Neville."

#

By settling in time that evening, Hermione still had not returned to Gryffindor Tower. Harry curled up in an overstuffed chair with Seven Tablets in a Cloudy Satchel. Not taking Cho to the Yule Ball was disappointing, but holding her token of friendship wasn't bad.

Ron fidgeted--starting a chess game with Seamus, abandoning it for his essay on Temporal Parallelograms, running upstairs for an extra parchment, returning with his wand to practice digestive charms. Still restless, he collapsed into a chair next to Harry. "Who are you taking to the Yule Ball?"

Harry shrugged. "The girl I wanted to take is leaving on holiday early. At least I didn't lose out by waiting till the last minute." He glanced at his friend. "You'd better ask early this time--so you don't get scooped."

"I don't know. I mean, I planned to do it this evening. But the girl . . ." Ron blew out his breath. "She probably wouldn't go with me anyway."

"Ask!" As Harry repeated his admonition, the portrait of the fat lady swung inward and Hermione stepped over the threshold. Before he could nudge Ron, he saw a blissfully grinning Neville climb into the common room after her. Crookshanks sent a welcoming meow from across the room, then returned to his evening bath.

Harry had no time to tell Hermione how much better she looked before she blurted out, "The most extraordinary thing. About Professor Snape. Well, Neville, it's your story."

Their fellow Gryffindor hurried toward them. "I thought he'd fail me for sure--after my tranquility potion made everyone dart from the room. Then he offered me another way to pass the course. I've never been so surprised."

Somnoleveritaphantasmagoria powder, Harry repeated to himself wonderingly. What a liberating effect it had had, after all. He'd have to tell Hermione after Neville left earshot.

"I'm so hopeless at concocting potions, he can't give me a high mark, but he recognized that when it comes to cultivating the basic ingredients, I'm not that bad." Neville grinned.

Hermione couldn't help but butt in. "The professor gave him a list of plants. If Neville brings him samples meeting certain standards and correctly identifies their uses, he'll pass."

"A list of plants! You lucky dog." Ron grinned at Neville. "Snape realized that if he fails you, he's faced with a horrifying prospect: having you in class again next year."

Neville shrugged.

"Which plants?" Harry asked.

"That's confidential." At his friends' raised eyebrows, Neville shook his head. "Seriously. Professor Snape told me that revealing questions on an exam is bad form."

With that he strolled across the room to his favorite nook. Not until he sat down did Harry see him draw a parchment from his robes.

Harry stood, motioned Hermione to his chair and perched on the arm. As soon as they had a quick chat, he'd leave her to Ron. He just hoped his friend could make the right words come out his clenched teeth.

Hermione obliged, sitting daintily and crossing her legs toward Ron.

"Speaking of alternative ways of passing courses," Harry began, "do you remember what Snape said to you in his office?"

Hermione blinked a few times, then brushed a hand over her face. "I remember the grain in the wood, the pores in his nose, the creaks in the rafters. You know those labeled jars behind his desk? They hold pickled spleens from 78 different species of bat. And those twelve white rats? None are missing any toes." She drummed her fingers on her forehead as if to loosen a logjam. "Rauschen, Lautheit and Schreien's Prussian Desideratum. Weltschmerz tonic. You wouldn't use it for a skinned knee, would you?"

Harry saw Ron smile. Her observation proved Hermione's mind was cycling back to normal.

Suddenly, Hermione buried her face in her hands. Crookshanks looked up from washing his front paw, then loped toward her.

Immediately, Ron began patting her back. "Taking points from Gryffindor is unfair, but what else do you expect from Snape? At least he didn't try to disqualify you from the academic pentathlon."

"It isn't that," she wailed as Crookshanks consolingly licked her ankle.

Harry leaned down. "You're worried about passing? Snape was more lenient than I'd thought he'd be. A make-up exam, a talk to the class--"

"And a paper on how I made the potion," Hermione finished miserably. "Most of the ingredients I bought in Hogsmeade. A few I picked from the forest myself. One I begged off Hagrid. But mammoth bone . . . that Dobby got for me from Professor Snape's office."

Harry's eyes met Ron's. According to plan, Dobby had added flaked rat skin to the bandersnatch canister to make the level the same. He'd rearranged the candori roots so the jar would look full. Replacing the missing Sphinx piss, well, they'd left that up to him. Harry recalled Hermione slipping an extra item into her robes the night Dobby brought them the loot from Snape's cabinet. Now he knew what it had been.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, "how was the mammoth bone stored? Was it powdered or--"

"It was a cross section. Dobby shaved off a tiny sliver. We never thought the professor would look."

Ron sucked in his breath. "The poor guy will get sacked for sure."

"I objected to the whole undertaking in the first place!"

"Then took advantage of it," Ron said.

Hermione's eyes began to glisten. Around the room, fellow Gryffindors glanced curiously their way. Crookshanks jumped into her lap.

"There's got to be more than one memory potion," Harry said quietly. "Say you used one that doesn't require rare ingredients."

"He'll know. No other formula is so strong. I'll just have to come up with a believable way I could have gotten into his stores."

"Maybe I--" Ron began.

"No," she said quickly. "Snape would never buy that. He saw how flummoxed you were about my condition."

"You remember?" Harry asked.

"Of course. I just didn't realize the significance before." Gently, she set Crookshanks back on the carpet and rose to her feet. "I'm going to have to come up with a really plausible alternative." Lost in thought, Hermione wandered away.

Gazing after her, Ron whispered, "Isn't she cute when she's cooking up a story?"

Harry rolled his eyes. And the Sorting Hat said cunning was a Slytherin virtue.

Ron stood.

Finally. Harry smiled. "Going to ask her?"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Hermione had paused near a circle of Gryffindor girls. Her bout of infinite memory still seemed to be disorienting her.

Ignoring the fact she wasn't alone, Ron strode toward her.

Go for it! Harry cheered silently.

Stopping near the girls, Ron said, "Uh, Angelina. George is going to be too busy to visit Hogwarts before Christmas."

Gryffindor's highest scoring chaser was quizzing herself from a parchment unfurled in her lap. A seventh-year student, Angelina would be taking her Ordinary Wizarding Levels come springtime. Smiling, she looked up. "What can you expect when your boyfriend is a genius? Mr. Zonko sent him an invitation--can you believe it? I'd never let him pass that up. George promised to make it up to me at New Year's."

Angelina never tired of raving about how successful George and Fred's practical joke shop had become. Everyone in Gryffindor knew they were the youngest inventors to ever have an appointment with the grand master of wizard pranks, Mr. Zonko. Harry puckered his forehead. Why would Ron bring it up now?

His friend took a deep breath. "Too bad George can't make it to the Yule Ball. He suggested that maybe, since--just so you won't be lonely--maybe I could be your, uh, escort."

Angelina shot Hermione a quick look. Then she shared a perplexed frown with her best friend and fellow chaser Katie. After an uncomfortable silence, she returned her ebony eyes to Ron. "If you're sure . . . ."

"Some people would go to a dance with just anyone. I prefer to stay loyal to Hogwarts."

Hermione no longer looked disoriented. She looked livid. Stiffly, she strode back to Harry and dropped on the seat Ron had vacated. When Angelina's reluctant, "All right," floated across the room, Hermione ground her teeth. "Viktor did ask if we were having another Yule Ball," she muttered. "Ron saw the owl deliver the letter. But he didn't see my reply turning him down. Viktor's a sweet guy. I couldn't lead him on."

"Hermione, I'm so sorry--" Harry swallowed the rest of his sentence. Ron was strutting back toward them, his face ablaze with both triumph and relief. The idiot.

"So, who are you going with to the Yule Ball?" Ron addressed his casual question to Hermione. He obviously thought he knew the answer.

Harry saw her jaw start to tremble. Raising his chin, he announced, "Me."

#

By Thursday evening, pass or fail, end-of-term testing was over. In his sleep, Harry flew with Cho over craggy peaks jutting above fleecy clouds. Friday, he awoke just as Hedwig was returning from her nocturnal hunt. He dressed quickly to meet Cho.

She waited for him on the porch as she had that glorious morning when he'd learned she liked him. This time she wore a gray serge cloak lined with white fur that highlighted the ebony of her hair. When she turned, his heart soared to see a single diamond framed in gold sparkling at her throat--his Christmas present to her. When Harry reached out to take her two overstuffed carpetbags, she smiled and handed him one.

They slung their burdens over their backs, and set out down the stairs to the frost-covered trail that led around the lake to the Hogwarts Express. Harry couldn't recall just what they talked about, but when at last he stood facing Cho on the empty platform, he felt like several old doors had quietly closed and enticing new ones had opened.

Mist from the lake obscured everything outside the glow of the station's single lamp. Their breath looked like steam, reminding Harry of the rapidly approaching train. When he heard the distant hoot-hoot of the whistle, he felt a bittersweet ache in the pit of his stomach. He had so much to say, but what he was feeling couldn't be put into words.

Cho dipped her head, then gazed up from under her long, feathery lashes. "I'm not some delicate China doll, you know. I won't break."

Without further thought, Harry wrapped his arms around her. Awkwardly, they moved their heads from side to side, like passers-by uncertain of which way to go. Then she closed her lips over his. Lost in joy, he was vaguely aware of the train chugging closer. Its approach only pulled him more urgently into his unexpected, wonderful, heady communion with Cho. He ignored the hissing air brakes and the billowing steam. Only when he realized that the train had stopped beside them did he draw back far enough to focus on Cho's sparkling almond eyes.

Harry could feel a goofy grin spread across his face. His glasses were fogging over. As he wiped them and returned them to his nose, he thought, That was a kiss I'll remember forever. Feeling both bashful and exuberant, he grabbed her bags. "Time to board." Humming a Christmas carol, he took a step toward the last carriage's open door.

He froze, gaping up at a maliciously sneering Snape.

"Good morning, Potter. Indulging in a bit of trainspotting, are we?"

Harry was so aghast, it took him a moment to register the additional surprise that instead of wizard robes, the professor was wearing denim and leather.

"Good morning, sir," Cho said quickly. "I'm leaving on holiday. Harry is helping carry my bags."

Snape slowly descended to the platform. "Indeed. And what better time to yield to a little PDA."

When Cho winced, Harry bit his lip. Peculiarly distracting adieu? As Snape turned to motion to the elderly baggage handler who had just unloaded three cartons onto a dolly, Harry scanned the professor's strange attire--rawhide boots, jeans too slim for the current fashion, and scarred leather bomber jacket zipped to the neck. His black robes he'd wadded under his arm. For once, his long, unkempt hair went perfectly with his costume. Surely, there was a secret here Harry could use to keep Cho and himself out of trouble.

After the decrepit baggage man wrestled the pushcart over, Snape pressed a gold galleon into his hand and waved him away. When the professor faced them, Harry stood at attention.

Snape gazed from one student to the other with an expression Harry couldn't read. "PDA is against the rules. I warned you."

"But I have written permission," Harry said indignantly. "From Professor McGonagall."

"To commit PDA?" A ghost of a smile hovered on Snape's lips. "I think not."

The amusement in his black eyes said he'd realized Harry hadn't a clue what PDA meant. Well, Harry wasn't going to grant him the pleasure of being asked.

"The headmaster has requested that we allow students the choice of detention or lost points. Miss Chang will have to opt for the latter if she doesn't want to miss her train, unless--" he arched an eyebrow at Harry "--she was forced."

"That's it," Harry blurted out. "I forced her."

Cho gasped. "You did not."

Snape chuckled under his breath. "Chivalrous by claiming not to be."

A loud whoosh from the train made Harry jump.

"That's right," Snape continued. "If Miss Chang doesn't board now, the Express will depart without her. So we'll leave it at that: forced."

"But that's not--" Cho began.

"Let's hurry," Harry interrupted, swinging her bags into the train, then following them up. Inside, he peered around the dimly lit carriage for a comfortable seat, then stowed the luggage under it. Outside, he could hear Snape's "That will do," countered by another exasperated murmur from Cho. When he passed her coming in, she was scowling. "See you next year," she muttered and marched to her seat. Before he could respond, Snape yelled, "Potter. Come down here this instant."

Harry trudged out of the carriage. When he looked over his shoulder to watch it go, Cho's ivory face was pressed against a window, staring at him without expression.

"So," the professor resumed, dragging Harry back to his immediate troubles, "which will it be? Detention or lost points?"

"Detention," Harry mumbled.

"Naturally. Can't let down the house, can we? I could give you detention tonight so that you miss the Yule Ball." He paused, leaving Harry hanging while he shook out his robes, swung them over his shoulders, then smoothed them down to hide his Muggle jeans. "But I'm not heartless."

Harry clamped his teeth to keep from revealing his opinion on that subject.

Looking disappointed at not getting a rise, the professor continued. "Instead, you will report to Mr. Filch Saturday morning after breakfast. In the meantime, you will assist me with these boxes."

Harry eyed them dubiously. Their plain brown cardboard didn't reveal by so much as a bar code what they might contain. As he put his entire weight behind the cart to make it budge, he thought how easily Snape could cast a spell to float the cartons safely to the castle. No, he grumbled as nearly an hour later he tussled the obstinate dolly into the headmaster's office, the little tyrant had made him sweat the load the whole way.

From the hearty smile on Professor Dumbledore's face as he looked up from the magical photos he'd spread across his desk, Harry could see that Snape's overnight trip had not been a secret. "So kind of you to help, Harry. I've been looking forward to this shipment for a long time." Several of the auburn-headed witches and wizards in the pictures seemed to smile their thanks as well. Relatives? Harry remembered from Tom Riddle's diary that the younger Dumbledore had had red hair.

"No problem, sir," he replied, then glanced sidelong at Snape. "Always eager to lend a hand."

In the bright light of the headmaster's office, Harry could see that Snape's ride on the night train must have been taxing. His face appeared somewhat drawn.

"I'm looking at memories," Dumbledore said softly. "Maybe you'd like--"

"Harry has done us a service," Snape cut in. "He mustn't miss his breakfast."

Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps, you're right, Severus. Someday."

Despite their fatigue, the cold black eyes still managed to threaten Harry into a hasty farewell. Clearly, Snape didn't want anyone present while he and the headmaster discussed the mystery packages.

As Harry escaped down the winding secret staircase, he thought, So much for somnoleveritaphantasmagoria powder. Any positive effect had definitely worn off.

#

That night, Harry waited until the last minute to put on his dress robes. The emerald green outfit Mrs. Weasley had picked out the year before hung a bit shorter but still fit reasonably well. Glancing at the mirror on the dormitory door, he ran his fingers through his unruly black hair, shrugged, and turned the knob. When he ambled down the steps, he found Ron already huddled on one of the overstuffed chairs by the fireplace. His friend smiled glumly.

Unlike last year's second-hand, lace-trimmed monstrosity, Ron wore brand-new robes of a royal blue that went rather well with his carrot-colored hair. "A gift from George and Fred," he explained.

Harry nodded, not revealing that the gold galleons to buy the outfit had really come from his own Triwizard Tournament winnings. Sinking into a chair, he gazed into the fire, trying to ignore his friend fidgeting into increasingly awkward positions of nonchalance. Soon his mind's eye filled with a picture of how lovely Cho had looked at last year's ball. But the vision was marred by his memory of her inscrutable stare at him out the train window.

Hearing a cough, Harry twisted to see Angelina frowning down at Ron. Her black athletic body looked elegant in a soft white gown elaborately embroidered in indigo, ruby and amber.

"It's from Eritrea. Say you like it."

"I like it," Ron mumbled.

Angelina rolled her eyes and flounced onto the couch. "Oh, George! The favors I do for you!"

Then Hermione descended the stairs, and Harry heard Ron gulp. Once again their pal had transformed into an astonishingly pretty girl. Gold combs tamed her chestnut hair, pearls gleamed at her ears, and sea green robes flowed around her. Ron's speechless admiration seemed to fill her as she stepped past him and up to Harry. "Ready?"

Harry offered his arm. "You look stunning." Resisting the temptation to peek at Ron, he led Hermione to the portrait hole.

Behind them, Angelina laughed. "You can close your mouth now, sport. And you'd better dance at least seven dances with me, or I'm reporting you to your brother."

#

As Harry and his three fellow Gryffindors descended the stairs to the packed entryway, he saw that Hogwarts's regulation black had transformed into a sea of color. He caught sight of Parvati in plum and her sister Padma in peach, arm-in-arm with two good-looking boys he recognized as the Ravenclaw beaters. At least the Patil twins would have a better time this year than they'd had with Ron and him last year.

With Hermione still clutching his elbow, Harry led his friends through the throng. He averted his eyes when he saw Wilhelm Avery with Pansy Parkington, though he was pleased at the thought Draco Malfoy might be coming to the Ball alone. When he saw Barden, he suppressed a grin. The husky Hufflepuff was whispering non-stop into his equally tall date's ear, his arm hooked in hers to keep her from collapsing in giggles. Then Harry did a double take when he recognized Millicent's brown eyes. Nothing else about her looked the same. Her skin was smooth, her features delicate and her teeth even.

Catching his eye, she called out, "Potter! Hear you're stuck here for Christmas."

Harry shrugged and nodded.

"I'll be making the rounds of my aunts in the highlands--kind of a hag's holiday. Could you look after my cat? He hates riding on a broom."

At the word hag, Ron's lips became an O. Obviously, he'd just realized that the tall, attractive girl was Millicent.

"Sure thing," Harry called back. "When you leave, just send Bête Noire on over."

"Thanks!" She winked. "And tell Weasley he can close his mouth now."

Reddening, Ron did an about-face for the door. Angelina had to hurry to catch up. As Harry tagged after with Hermione, he wondered whether Millicent's change was permanent or just for the dance.

Nearing the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry found Professor McGonagall wearing the same red tartan she'd worn the year before.

At his season's greetings, she retorted, "Don't dawdle. Move along."

Obeying his housemistress, Harry followed his friends into the Yule Ball. The glory of a Hogwarts Christmas no longer astounded him. Instead, Harry found the towering, garlanded, bejeweled Christmas trees--each decorated in a different style--comforting. The stage that would hold the musicians sparkled with icicles and candles.

Above his schoolmates' appreciative murmurs, Harry caught a whirling noise. Looking up, he saw dozens of snowflakes dancing under the star-spangled ceiling. Four broke away and zigzagged toward them. One lacy crystal singled him out. As it hovered in front of him, silver letters appeared in the center: Harry Potter, follow me.

The usual four long house tables had given way to twenty-five round ones, decked with poinsettia-red and holly-green tablecloths and sporting lavish ice sculptures. As Harry trailed his magical place card, he kept his eyes open for which group of Gryffindors they'd be joining. Instead, the snowflake led them to a half-dozen students he'd never met before. When he identified two as Slytherins, he wondered if there had been some mistake. Then their magical place cards lit on four empty seats and melted from sight. Dutifully pulling out Hermione's chair, Harry glanced curiously at the two waist-high stools next to it. Who could they be for?

Hagrid waved to him from the high table, then resumed his fond study of Madame Maxime's blushing face. The Beauxbatons headmistress, resplendent in red and black, had come all the way from France. Headmaster Dumbledore, his head bare, nodded along with an animated Madame Pomfrey. Next to her, Professor Flitwick stared straight up, apparently counting how many enchanted place cards still swirled overhead. Watching him, Harry recalled his first year at Hogwarts--the winged keys the Charms master had devised to complicate the journey to the philosopher's stone.

The philosopher's stone, Harry repeated to himself nostalgically, an adventure of his younger years, when he could still meet a challenge, before he'd lost his edge.

With a sigh, Harry turned to Hermione. As her escort, he was supposed to chat. He saw her staring across the hall.

"Blimey," she murmured, then nudged him.

Following her gaze, Harry caught sight of Professor Dane wearing silver as diaphanous as cobwebs. Blimey was right. As she drifted graciously from table to table, Harry saw that her gown was not just silver but iridescent, displaying a different shade of the rainbow every time she moved.

Reaching the door, Professor Dane stopped and bent low. When she shifted, Harry saw that she was talking to a pair of elves.

"I can't believe it!" Hermione said excitedly. "Winky's changed her clothes!"

Sure enough, Winky was wearing a frilly flowered shirt that looked like it might actually be clean. The crowd shifted and Harry saw a new pink tutu encircling her waist, sticking out nearly as far as her stubby arms. On one leg a green stocking rose to her thigh, and on the other a white ruffled sock exposed a dimpled knee. A straw hat festooned with ribbons perched on her head.

Next to her, Dobby seemed almost unobtrusive in a striped waistcoat that hung to his ankles, mismatched socks and a child-sized sombrero.

When Professor Dane began walking the pair toward their table, Harry whispered, "Now we know whom the stools are for."

Hermione grinned.

Nearing them, the professor smiled back. "I believe you all know each other."

Dobby grabbed Winky around the waist and, with a mighty swing, hoisted her to her stool. Harry forced himself to keep a straight face as the tiny elf made three attempts before successfully perching himself next to his date. "Great to see you two," he said.

After a minute of exuberant greetings, the elves lost themselves in open-mouthed awe of the marvels around them.

Hermione whispered to the professor, "I never would have believed it. This is all due to you."

"And Severus," Professor Dane whispered while slowly surveying the hall.

"Yeah, well," Harry said doubtfully. Then he looked at the elves again. "I knew you'd worked a change in Winky, but this is nothing short of--"

"--miraculous," Hermione finished.

"When you help someone see she has the right to pursue happiness, you never know how far it will lead."

Harry noticed the pair from Slytherin staring at the elves, their expressions curious but not disdainful. When Dobby smiled at them, the boy offered his hand to shake. Professor Dane drifted over to make introductions, then glided off to another table.

"The professor was in charge of seating," Hermione breathed at Harry's ear. "When she told me all four houses would be mixed at each table, I wasn't looking forward to an evening with Slytherins. But those two don't seem that bad."

#

When Ron and Angelina returned panting from the dance floor, Harry and Hermione were engrossed in their first friendly supper chat ever with schoolmates from Slytherin. Harry looked up to see Ron's eyes widening at Winky's attire. Mastering himself, his friend said, "Uh, Winky. You look charming. Are you having fun?"

The elf launched into a rapture of superlatives that lasted until Professor Dumbledore rapped his knuckles on the high table for everyone's attention. "Once more we come together to celebrate the season of birth and rebirth. A time of peace and good will to all men--"

"And women," Hermione whispered.

"And women." Dumbledore winked as if he'd heard her. "A time when the most powerful spells can be cast by hope, trust and commitment--when the greatest magic of all can be found in compassion, open-mindedness and good fellowship." The headmaster beamed at the assembly over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "Of such a night are memories made. Let the feasting begin."