The Potions Master

Chapter 8: Laurels

The Great Hall burst into applause. In the midst of the clapping, hors d'oeuvres appeared on the golden platters gracing the middle of each table.

"Stuffed mushrooms!" Winky chirped. "We made these! Try them! Try them."

Everyone began helping each other to Winky's mushrooms, as well as generous samplings of garlic chestnuts, Stilton cheese, turkey puffs, cranberry buns, pickled pumpkin, and eggnog. And new courses kept coming. Soon the combination of scrumptious food and end-of-term good cheer sparked friendly conversations all over. Harry compared the latest racing brooms with Kier Falconbrook, the aristocratic-looking sixth-year Slytherin, while Hermione discussed Advanced Arithmancy with his incredibly thin girlfriend, Vivian Innis. Harry was just thinking how alike the two houses were after all when something happened that recalled their differences: Snape arrived.

Catching sight of him, Vivian sighed, "Doesn't he look handsome tonight."

Harry shot Ron a warning look, and his friend mimed zipping his lips. Angelina stifled her giggle. Harry tried to meet Hermione's eyes to keep her from staring rudely at their supper companions' housemaster. Then she murmured, "He does."

Skeptical, Harry glanced at Snape again. Sure, the professor had washed his hair and his robe looked reasonably appropriate--black, as usual, but with a faint sheen, pulled back at the shoulders by jade and silver studs. Yet the supercilious sneer thinning his lips looked the same.

Suddenly, the last snowflake name card dive-bombed Snape from the enchanted ceiling. Startled, he swatted it, then stared as it smashed on the floor. Harry pretended to cough to keep from snickering as Snape, raising his pointed chin, strode to the high table and the only seat left--next to Professor Dane.

Poor thing, Harry said to himself as goose gristle, squab bones and olive pits disappeared off his plate, and sugarplums, fruitcake, fig pudding, marzipan, and other sweets appeared on the serving platters. Just like Snape to consider himself above enjoying the grandest feast of the year, to make an appearance at the very end. Professor Dane greeted him warmly, but Harry put that down to her generous nature. Snape looked tense as he chose a strawberry tart and offered it to her. He trained his cold eyes on her until she picked up her fork and began to eat.

"Hermione, let's dance," Harry said.

Her gaze slid over to Ron before she smiled and nodded. "I thought you'd never ask."

Out on the floor, Harry was glad to find the music an energetic, bouncy number that didn't require handholding. Dancing at Hermione was rather fun. Soon everyone from their table joined them--except Dobby and Winky who might have feared getting knocked about. Surveying the crowd, he saw Natalie shimmying with Derek. A few yards away, less lively than the other couples, Neville once again escorted Ginny. She sent Harry a sheepish grin, then expertly sidestepped her partner's misplaced foot.

After four tunes, the tempo slowed, and Hermione stopped dead as a rock. With a strained smile she said, "I'm beat. Let's sit."

As she led him back, Harry noticed the remaining dancers edging toward each other. Ginny didn't flinch when Neville placed his hands on her waist. Gratefully, Harry retook his chair a comfortable foot from Hermione. Angelina and Ron had already returned, but neither greeted them. Both were staring at the high table.

Twisting, Harry saw the reason for their astonishment. Professor Snape was pulling Professor Dane to her feet. And she was smiling.

"You don't think--" Harry began.

"I don't think. I see," Ron answered.

Thankfully, no one from the other houses had come back to witness the Gryffindors' amazement as Snape swept an arm around Professor Dane's delicate waist and cupped a hand on her shoulder.

"Isn't that sweet," Winky cooed.

"You mean gross," Ron muttered.

Dobby looked askance at him.

"Oh, come on," Hermione said. "It's just a dance. He's obligated to ask her at least once. And she has to be polite."

"Look's a bit more than polite to me." Angelina shook her head. "Ariel Dane. Who'd have guessed?"

Harry felt a sudden chill. Turning, he saw that the Gryffindor ghost had joined them.

"Well," Nearly Headless Nick said dryly. "If she's Ariel, he must be Caliban."

"Cali-who?" Ron asked, unable to pull his perplexed gaze from the dancing professors.

Nick threw up his hands, causing his head to wobble precariously on his neck. "Caliban. The bad spirit in The Tempest. Shakespeare, my good man. Don't you know anything?"

Ron shrugged. "Are you talking Muggle--uh--magically challenged stuff?"

Hermione's appreciative smile at Ron's use of the respectful term dissolved in a gasp as Nick's head began to spin. When it had gone as far as it could on his half-inch of neck, it began spinning back the other way. Grimacing, Harry stuck out his hand. Nick had just enough substance for human touch to slow him.

"Thank you," Nick said when once again his head faced front. Then he resumed his stern look. "I've told Albus the Hogwarts curriculum is too narrow. Oh, wherefore the universal gentleman of years gone by!"

"I read Shakespeare's plays," Hermione offered. "All of them. When I was ten."

"Of course." Nick sighed. "You would have."

Vigorously rubbing his still frozen hand, Harry dredged up a memory of sitting in a corner of the Dursley's living room while Aunt Petunia exposed the family to Culture via the BBC. "I saw half of A Midsummer Night's Dream once."

Nick looked outraged. "Half! Half!"

"My aunt decided Titania's gown was too revealing. She turned the telly off."

"Titania!" Winky squealed. My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother was lady-in-waiting to Queen Titania."

"And my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather knew Ariel," Dobby added. "But she couldn't have been as wonderful as our Professor Ariel."

"She's the kindest--" Winky gushed.

"The most charming, the most sensitive--" Dobby continued.

"The most unique sorceress in the world. Such a match for Professor Severus! He's the most sagacious--"

"The most gifted, the most inspired sorcerer. "

Leaning their heads together in a bliss of elfin appreciation, the pair finished in unison, "They're the most perfect couple ever."

Ron put a hand to his mouth. "I think I'm going to be ill."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Oh, surely they're not a couple."

Angelina laughed. "You've been a ghost too long, my friend. Can't you see how she's glowing at him?"

Out on the dance floor, Professor Dane pressed so close to Professor Snape that his black robes swirled around her iridescent ones.

"I see it and I can't believe it," Ron muttered.

Watching the pair twirl effortlessly around the packed dance floor, Harry realized they were floating an inch above it. Stripped of his sneer, Professor Snape gazed down into Professor Dane's face with the unguarded look Harry had seen in the wizard photo. Her lips parted, as if being near Snape left her breathless.

The same embarrassment washed over Harry that had made him slam his album shut. "Come on, guys. Let's go outside. The fireworks should be starting any minute. They say Dedalus Diggle's shooting stars aren't to be missed." He glanced at Hermione. "You game?"

Hermione put her mouth to Angelina's ear and whispered, "Please bring Ron before his eyes pop out of his head."

Angelina chuckled and poked a playful fist at Ron's cheek. "Come along, sport, or I'm going to tell George you've become a peeping Tom."

#

The courtyard outside was already teeming. Nick sailed up for a better view. "A stage is set up, all strung with holly. Some of the staff are there--Argus, Minerva, Rubeus. Maxime is with him. And there's Dedalus. Albus better make haste. Dedalus likes to begin with a bang." The ghost circled, searching. "Ah, there he is! Coming up behind you."

"Merry Christmas!" the headmaster called out.

Harry turned. "Seasons greetings!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

Everyone within hearing distance joined in, shaking hands and patting backs all around. Harry moved aside so the headmaster and the three staff members accompanying him could reach the stage.

When Madame Pomfrey passed, she broke into a smile. "Harry Potter! Just the boy I wanted to see. Did you know that your mother used to work in the infirmary?"

"Yes. I'd heard that." He stepped closer to catch her words above the buzzing mob.

"When I first saw her name, it didn't connect, but it nagged the back of my mind. Checking student records, I saw it: Potter, Harry. Mother: Lily Evans."

Harry hunched his shoulders, feeling his usual mixture of longing and regret at hearing his mother's name.

Madame Pomfrey gave his cheek a comforting tweak. "I found something of hers--lost behind a cabinet. I think you'll like it. I'm leaving for a few days, but if you come by after breakfast tomorrow, I can give it to you."

Harry's heart leapt. Something of my mother's! Then his shoulders sagged. "Tomorrow morning, I can't. I'm--I'm busy."

"Too bad." Madame Pomfrey cocked her head. "When I return, then. It'll be like a Christmas present from her." She waved cheerily, then bustled to catch up with Dumbledore.

"Harry!" Hermione looked baffled. "What could you possibly have to do tomorrow that's more important than getting hold of something of your mother's?"

Harry sighed. "Besides saying good-bye to you, Ron, and everyone? Detention."

"Detention!" exclaimed Ron, butting in. "What in the world did you do to earn that on our first day of freedom?"

Harry moistened his lips, determined to look nonchalant--as if he knew exactly what rule he'd broken. "Oh, just PDA."

Ron gaped. "PDA?" Then he roared. "PDA! You poor so-and-so. Who caught you?"

Harry ground his teeth. Then he mumbled, "Snape."

"S-s-s-nape!" Ron convulsed as if his sides would split. "That's pri-i-iceless."

People around them turned to gawk. Glaring at his friend, Harry decided PDA must mean Positively Deranged Attitude. Alongside him, Dobby and Winky twittered uncontrollably, though Harry thought they looked as confused as he was. Drawn by her brother's hysterics, Ginny led Neville through the partygoers toward them. When Ron stuttered, "P-D-A-A-A!" Neville looked embarrassed, and Ginny's smile dropped clean from her face. She clutched her escort's elbow and urged him toward the stage.

Glancing sidelong at Hermione, Harry saw her suck in her cheeks as if to keep from cracking up, too. Unable to stand it, he leaned close. "End my misery. What's PDA?"

A squeak escaped Hermione's clamped lips. Then she mastered herself and put her mouth to his ear. "Public Display of Affection."

Harry hung his head. He'd been nicked for kissing Cho. Why hadn't he guessed? One of the finest moments of his life, and all he'd done was amuse his friends--and Snape. If we'd sneaked into a closet, that wouldn't have been public.

As if things weren't embarrassing enough, a lazy, affected voice spoke up behind him. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Potter and his covey of cackling clowns."

"Draco," Hermione breathed. "Ignore him."

"Ooo. And the itty-bitty ones are all decked out in Weasley's castoffs."

Harry pivoted. Malfoy grinned. Glancing down, Harry saw Dobby bow his head. A sick feeling swept over him. The arrogant sleaze was Dobby's former master's son.

"What dustbin did you rummage for those rags?" Malfoy drawled.

Winky wrung her hands, her saucer eyes swimming. Dobby maintained his humble stance.

Oh, no, Harry groaned. Any minute now, he's going to start banging his head on the flagstones.

Instead, the elf answered calmly, "These clothes cost three galleons in Hogsmeade. Dobby is earning money now--"

"--thanks to your father's generosity," Harry finished, stepping up beside his little friend. When Ron flanked Winky, Crabbe and Goyle took up positions on either side of Malfoy.

Harry gritted his teeth. He knew Malfoy wouldn't do more than toss insults at the Yule Ball. What his muscle-bound friends might risk wasn't so certain.

Then a fourth Slytherin sauntered up behind Malfoy--their aristocratic supper companion, Kier. "Harry is so right. What your father did was truly inspiring. My own father quite admired it--offered socks to all the elves in our house, too."

Reluctantly, Malfoy turned. Harry saw Kier favor his fellow Slytherin with a bland smile that dared him to challenge the unwelcome compliment he'd just received.

At last, Malfoy muttered, "Thank you."

Throwing an arm around Malfoy's shoulders, Kier nodded pleasantly at Harry and his friends. "It was marvelous making everyone's acquaintance." He made a point of bending low to acknowledge Dobby and Winky. Then he turned, shepherding Malfoy into the throng. Confused, Crabbe and Goyle trailed after.

Harry shot Ron a dazed smile. "Slytherin cunning in action.

"So something good can come out of that house," Angelina said.

"Not just good," Winky trilled as tears streamed down her cheeks, "but wise and diplomatic and gracious and noble."

Ron rolled his eyes.

At Harry's side, so softly that only he could hear it, Dobby murmured, "Too bad Professor Severus wasn't his father. When he was a boy, Master Draco tried to give Dobby a sock."

Before Harry could register this surprise, Nick coughed for their attention. Looking up, he saw the ghost's head flop forward in a nod. "Yes, indeed. Very courtly." Then he sniffed. "Too bad Snape didn't witness it. He might have learned something."

Just then the first of the fireworks shot into the sky, erupting in a fountain of stars. And in that instance of daytime brilliance, Harry saw why Snape had not witnessed the confrontation between Gryffindor and Slytherin. He was too absorbed in Ariel Dane.

Public display of affection was inadequate to describe them. On the far side of the patio, the two embraced beneath a birch tree, so entwined, they looked like one figure. When the next rocket lit the night, the couple had gone, but their image stayed burned in Harry's mind. Nothing from the parade of fiery spectacles--sparkling sprites, shimmering angels, exploding snowmen--could dim the memory. Had his mother ever hugged Snape that way? No, never.

When the last flickering reindeer leapt over the audience, then vanished with a pop, Madame Pomfrey's voice rang out, inviting everyone's indulgence.

"They're proclaiming Dumbledore Father Christmas," Hermione whispered, reducing Pomfrey's flowery speech to its basics. "It's a surprise. Professor Dane told me."

Snatching Harry's hand, Hermione dragged him forward. He dispensed excuse me's right and left until they reached the foot of the stage. Nervously gripping Ginny's hand, Neville twisted to smile at them. Above them, the staff, radiant in their multicolored dress robes, ranged around the headmaster. Harry could have sworn Dumbledore's wrinkled cheeks glowed pink above his snowy beard. Ariel Dane looked bubbly, like she'd had too much to drink. Snape's eyes appeared heavy-lidded, as if he were drugged. Between them, Filch glanced suspiciously from one to the other. Then he crammed his fingers down the neck of his antiquated tailcoat and scratched.

When her well of adulation finally ran dry, Madame Pomfrey turned and scanned the row of professors. "Professor Sprout--where is she?"

"Called away," Snape said, breaking ranks to stride to a pedestal at the side. Picking up a red cap festooned with laurel leaves, silver bells and golden stars, he added, "She asked me to do the honors." Stiffly, he carried the jingling crown to the Headmaster.

"Because you give so much to us every day of your life, on this special occasion we crown you Father Christmas." Snape sounded stilted. Evidently, praise was a foreign language to him. He hesitated, apparently at a loss for what more to say. Then, lifting the Santa cap high above the headmaster's head, he murmured, "You're a father to us all."

When Snape placed the laurel-trimmed band over the snowy, white hair, everyone raised a resounding cheer. But on the second hip, hip, hooray, Dumbledore's smile contorted. He choked out a tortured moan. The students' voices faltered, then cut short.

Ginny shattered the stunned silence with a shriek: "It's the hat!"

Dumbledore fell to his knees, his chest wracked by spasms, his hands clenching the sides of the cap. He seemed helpless to let go. Harry heaved himself onto the stage and jumped up to yank it off.

"No!" Neville cried. "That's shock laurel! Don't touch it!"

Harry paused. Dumbledore gasped. Without further thought, Harry seized the leaf-studded brim.

A jolt like lightning swept through him, forcing out a scream. His muscles contracted unbearably tight. As he shuddered in agony, the world spun around him.

"Neville, do something!" Ginny screeched.

While his consciousness wavered in and out, Harry had a nebulous impression of Neville Longbottom clambering up, then scrambling forward to croon gibberish at the red cap. Harry felt his taut muscles liquefy. As his eyeballs rolled upward under fluttering lids, he saw Dumbledore's death mask rictus relax as well.

Reaching out, Neville removed the cap.

Harry collapsed on the stage. Squares of black appeared at the edges of his vision, slowly filling in toward the center. Faintly, he heard someone say, "Well-done, Longbottom. You've done your parents proud."

Then Harry's darkness became complete.

#

Later--Harry couldn't be sure how much--he awoke to pinches, jabs and slaps. As he forced his eyes open and waited to regain his sight, he heard his friends murmuring: "He's coming around." "But he's weak." "Let's take him to the infirmary."

When he finally focused, it was on a dispassionate, narrow face hanging upside down above him. "Potter, are you ill?"

Snape's offhand tone brought back everything--his headstrong foolishness in grabbing the cap, his relief that Neville had known how to save the day, and his embarrassment that he hadn't. Quickly, Harry sat up, muttering, "I'm fine, I'm fine."

Hermione tried to push him back down. "Take it easy. Neville told us those leaves pack quite a voltage."

Neville. "I'm fine. Really."

"He's fine, Miss Granger," Snape repeated sardonically. "Really."

Harry struggled to his feet, Ron and Angelina helping him. He could feel Winky and Dobby steadying his knees.

Behind him, Snape snorted. "So, you're well--well enough to keep your appointment with Mr. Filch after breakfast. You may return to the party."

Instead, Harry excused himself from his friends' ministrations--and Professor Dane's licorice wands--to stumble off to bed. An hour later, he remained sleepless, staring into the darkness, wondering how he'd ever live down this fiasco of a night.

Dumbledore saving him from the fire-breathing statue--that he could accept. After all, he was one of the greatest wizards of modern times. And giving Cho the credit for protecting him from the griffin had made him feel magnanimous. But being rescued by I-can't-even-find-my-wand-without-my-toad-helping-me Neville Longbottom? That was mortifying.

Yet worse was the realization of what a conceited fool he'd been, assuming all these weeks that the mysterious attacks had been directed against him. The belligerent statue, the enraged griffin, the electrocuting laurel--their target had been someone much more important than little Harry Potter. The only way he could redeem his self-respect now was to uncover who was trying to murder Headmaster Dumbledore.

#

Scrubbing grime, moss and bird droppings from the head of the non-transfigured dragon Saturday morning, Harry wondered whether Snape had specifically requested this particular detention. What else could have made his shame more public and more complete? A survey of the porch, walkways, and patios below revealed more families than he'd ever seen personally picking up their children for winter break. And all of them seemed to be having a high time reminiscing about their school days, pointing out the landmarks they remembered, and asking if it was really the famous Harry Potter slogging away atop the ancient statue.

His mouth twisted wryly. This last observation was not just chagrined imagination. Ron's Fourier Analytical Earhorn--jammed in his right ear--left him no doubts about what everyone was saying. His only consolation for being placed by Snape on such degrading display was the unique opportunity it gave him to spy.

Hundreds of yards away, beside some rose bushes cut back to gnarled stumps for the winter, Lucius Malfoy held court before three elegantly robed men--one of them Willimar Avery. Despite his distance, Harry could hear the old Death Eater as clearly as if he faced him. "Potter has had his day. He no longer figures into our equations."

Harry assumed Malfoy, Jr. was hanging on his father's words until he turned the earhorn and caught Draco whispering to his mother, "I don't want to stay here over Christmas. I want to spend the holidays with you. You look fine. Really you do."

His mother's beautiful face seemed slightly off-center. She wrinkled her nose, as if blocking an unpleasant odor. "It's necessary. I'll try to explain."

Twisting, Harry passed over this mother-son exchange, then Katie with her parents, Seamus with his aunts, and Barden with his horde of siblings until the earhorn picked up Colin Creevey on the opposite side of the gardens.

Eagerly, his former admirer posed his kid brother next to Neville. "Just one more photo! In front of the laurel bush. It looks rather like shock laurel, doesn't it? Terrifying! Spine tingling!" He pointed his wizard camera. "Smile!"

Last night's hero looked abashed at the attention. After he recovered from the blinding flash, he murmured. "Could you take one for me to keep? I'd like to bring it with me when I visit my father and mother."

Harry blew out his breath. He'd be a louse to begrudge his fellow Gryffindor that.

On the far side of the laurel, Professor Sprout held forth to Neville's grandmother. "I was away tending the Confessing Conifer. The old tree was in a crisis--besieged by weevils and termites. If my best pupil hadn't been at the ball, that hazardous hat might have killed both the headmaster and Harry Potter. The professors realized it was shock laurel. Only Neville knew the precise chant to disarm it."

Neville's wizened grandmother smiled proudly from the depths of her bulky cape. "He's quiet and unassuming, but he has the knack."

Unlike me. Harry plunged his brush back into the cleaning potion, then shuddered. The chill morning had lowered the liquid's temperature near freezing. At least it has some effect on dirt, he thought.

Speaking of dirt, Harry spied Wilhelm swaggering out of the woods. The earhorn picked up his formal salutations to his father and the other men. Evidently, he'd also be spending Christmas at Hogwarts. Then Avery, Jr. sauntered over to Malfoy, Jr. "Check out Weasley. He used to be the hero's sidekick. Now he's the scrub man's sidekick."

Malfoy was too preoccupied with scrutinizing his mother to do more than nod.

Rankled, Harry aimed the earhorn to the other side of the dragon and the most humiliating conversation of all. As a surprise, the Weasleys had shown up with the Grangers--answering the question of who had taken Hermione's Muggle mom to Diagon Alley to buy a Little Nemo Hammock. During the last few months, the four parents had grown chummy. Today they were commiserating over poor Harry Potter.

"Surely, Harry can take a little break," Mr. Weasley said, repeatedly clicking something in his left hand. "At least long enough to see this amazing gizmo your dad gave me."

Hermione's thick brown hair, released from its fancy combs, billowed as she shook her head. "If he stops without permission, his detention will be doubled."

Mrs. Weasley tsked, clasping her knitted maroon cloak against the nippy air. "I don't see why he should be punished--just because he bungled his attempt to disable the shock laurel. They expect too much of the poor child."

Ron made a face "That's not why he got detention. He got it for--"

Ginny poked him.

"--something else altogether."

"Too bad," Mrs. Granger said, looking stylish but out-of-place in a topaz ski jacket. "I'd been looking forward to getting to know both of my daughter's best friends."

A cold voice from beneath Harry made him jump.

"Potter. No slacking."

Hastily, Harry resumed scouring grit off the dragon's marble scales. Out the corner of his eye, he watched Snape stalk around the statue. No surprise, he headed toward the Malfoys--until Mr. Weasley sang out his name.

Snape halted, then jerked his head toward the summons. After a pause, he started toward it.

"That's the Potions master," Hermione offered in an aside to her parents. "I've told you about him. He's one of my best professors."

Unlike Harry, Snape didn't appear equipped to hear whispers at a dozen yards. He approached the party with a guarded expression, as if certain the Gryffindors and their Muggle friends intended him no respect.

Mr. Weasley beamed at him, still clicking the Grangers' mysterious present. "The boys apologize they couldn't come--spending the weekend at Mr. Zonko's, of all places. But they insisted I tell you how grateful they are. They owe it all to you."

"They?" Snape's black eyes narrowed. "Who?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Fred and George. If you hadn't been such a taskmaster, they never would have had the know-how to invent Ten Ton Toffee, Zapping Gumballs, Chortling Chocolate or any of it. They say they'll never forget you."

"The twins." Snape exhaled slowly. "They were . . unforgettable, too."

Hermione's mother nodded warmly. "Our daughter also speaks highly of you."

Snape gazed at her along the side of his very long nose. "Does she."

Each time Snape opened his mouth, Harry had the distinct impression the Grangers were sneaking peeks at his crooked, off-white teeth. He recalled they were dentists.

"Yes," Hermione's father put in, averting his eyes. "She talks about you a lot."

Harry noticed Ron furtively drawing Hermione away--no doubt to avoid having to compliment Snape as well. Out of the adults' earshot but not Harry's, Ron took Hermione to task. "One of your best professors? Trying to kiss up?"

Harry saw Hermione compress her lips before launching into a soft retort. "I didn't say friendliest, pleasantest, funniest, or cutest, did I? But he is one of our best. Do you think your brothers could have invented anything Mr. Zonko would be eager to market if they hadn't been schooled by Professor Snape? And if we hadn't been sitting through his classes for five years, would we have had the discipline to pull off somnoleveritaphantasmagoria powder? Whom should I admire? Gilderoy Lockhart?"

At mention of the most incompetent teacher they'd ever had, Ron sniggered. "My Temporal Transfiguration essay--you've just given me an inspiration."

Sudden movement grabbed Harry's attention. He cut back to the grownups. Mr. Weasley was heartily shaking his head, his eyes dancing with the thrill of controversy. "Potions can't do everything. Far from it. Oh, they can uncover secrets a person would rather keep hidden."

Hermione's mother cocked her head. "Even us non-magicians can do that. When I put people under for dental work, you'd be amazed at what they babble out. I have to stick my hands in the patient's mouth just to keep from being embarrassed."

"Score!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, spreading his gangling arms. "Potions can be more precise--make people say quite specific things. But they can't fundamentally change what a person thinks, believes, or feels. None of them can."

Harry saw one side of Snape's mouth curl in a superior smile. "I disagree."

Mr. Weasley grinned--as if pleased at drawing the professor out.

"Potions can make the timid brave or the brave cower," Snape continued in his silky, soft voice. "They can wipe the memory clean or--" he glanced at Hermione "--enhance it to forget nothing. Potions can produce eloquence or reticence. They can bring people to hatred . . . or even love."

Still clicking, Mr. Weasley waved a hand in the air. "Yes, yes--but not real love. Everyone knows that. Take the Maia Draft. Can it create maternal love? Oh, it can make a woman spout loving platitudes, but children know the difference. Real maternal love is the same whether you're magical or not."

Mrs. Weasley fondly ruffled Ginny's hair. Harry saw Snape look aside.

"And romantic love, well . . . ." Mr. Weasley just lifted his shoulders.

"Of course," Snape agreed quietly. "Real love can't be won by a potion." With that comment, he nodded his farewells, folded his arms inside his robes and walked off.

When Snape was distant, Hermione's dad leaned toward her mum and whispered, "Wouldn't our dental hygienist love to get him into the chair for a cleaning. Do you suppose Hogwarts might be on the National Plan?"

"Probably not," her mother answered, "but I think we could do a freebie."

Out the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione hook her foot playfully around Ron's ankle. His friend's cheeks reddened, and he bumped her with his hip. Harry didn't need to aim the earhorn at them to know their teasing was leading them dangerously close to committing PDA. At breakfast Angelina had congratulated him on his brilliant idea--leaving the Yule Ball early. I nearly had to kick Ron, but I finally got him to ask Hermione to dance. When I left the party, they didn't even notice.

Allowing his friends privacy, Harry again trained the earhorn on Snape as he stalked across the grounds. Centering his suspicions on the Potions master was counterproductive, he told himself. Hadn't Snape's somnoleveritaphantasmagoria powder confession shown he was unlikely to do anything that supported Voldemort? But Harry couldn't forget Snape's look of unease as he placed the treacherous crown on the headmaster's head. Had it been awkwardness--or guilt? Could he have his own reasons for getting rid of Dumbledore? As the professor approached the Malfoys, Harry felt sure that the most revealing chat of the morning was about to take place.

Malfoy, Sr. returned Snape's greeting loftily, then cast a jaundiced glance at the Weasleys and Grangers. "What disgrace will Dumbledore sanction next? It's offensive enough having our pureblood children schooled with mudbloods, but to allow their Muggle relatives the run of the grounds--it's appalling."

Snape turned his back, and Harry couldn't hear his reply--but Avery laughed and said, "Not for long."

Bridling his indignation, Harry focused even more closely on Avery, in time to pick up--"The beast wasn't as fierce as we'd hoped."

Snape shifted slightly, his eyes on Wilhelm chatting up Mrs. Malfoy while Draco pouted. "Not quite, but your effort was still appreciated."

Harry's jaw dropped. Then he clenched it. What statement could be more damning? Malfoy had failed to replace Hogwarts's headmaster with its Potions master by petitioning the Ministry, so he'd devised a more direct scheme--one requiring an insider at the school to carry out. That Voldemort would benefit was irrelevant. Snape had tried three times to murder Dumbledore purely to benefit himself.

Harry slammed his scrubbing brush into the bucket, spraying his robes with icy cleaning potion. He gripped the statue's horn to steady his surge of anger. If he could have transfigured the marble beast into a real dragon--biting jaws and snatching claws--he'd have ridden it straight at the Death Eaters and trampled them into the mud.

How dare that monster say he owed loyalty to Lily? His mother's name in that brute's mouth had been nothing short of an abomination.

An unexpected giggle wrenched Harry's gaze to the base of the statue. Millicent was grinning at him--her teeth again jagged, her nose bulbous, her forehead craggy and her skin warty. "I hope whatever you did was worth freezing your bum off up there."

Harry swallowed hard, trying to control his seething emotions. "Yes, it was." Doubly so, he added to himself, since it had placed him in a position to unravel the plot against Dumbledore.

Before Harry could say No, Millicent began shinning her dumpy body up the dragon's spine as nimbly as a chimp. He gnawed his lip. Under normal circumstances, he'd have welcomed the distraction. Now he needed to concentrate on the conspirators.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on Bête Noire," Millicent said after she'd roosted behind him. "I was wondering if you could also check on the hydra while I'm gone."

"The hydra?" Harry repeated vaguely, his eyes once more on the villains. "Certainly."

"My cousin's supposed to tend the four lads, but I don't trust him."

Puzzled, Harry faced her. "Your cousin?"

Millicent tilted her head toward Malfoy's group. "Draco."

"Your cousin?"

"The family resemblance surprises you?" She grinned toothily.

"There's none at all," Harry said quickly. "You're much nicer."

Millicent threw back her misshapen hag's head and cackled. "Narcissa, his mother--she's my aunt." She peered obliquely across the gardens. "And from the looks of her, Uncle Lucius is about to send her for a very long stint at Wizard's Rest Sanitarium."

Following her gaze, Harry saw Mrs. Malfoy pucker her upper lip as if she were about to retch.

Millicent sucked air through her teeth. "It's nice to put on a pretty face for a party, but keeping it up all the time is exhausting. Like being stuffed into a girdle, one's body just aches to let it all hang out."

"Is that why she does that?" Harry asked softly. "Screw up her nose like the whole world smells rotten?"

Millicent nodded. "Dear Uncle Lucius married her for her exceptional second sight--then prevents her from using it. The demands he makes! It takes all her energy just to keep up appearances."

Harry swiveled to stare at the object of their discussion. When he did, he saw Barden shepherding his relatives up the path toward them.

"If Uncle really loved her," Millicent continued quietly, "he'd be more concerned about her inner beauty. But if Auntie were to ever show her true face in public, he'd have an apoplectic fit."

Nearing them, Barden called out, "Hallo, up there. Anything going on I should complain about?"

"Never!" Millicent hopped off the side of the statue. Seeing how gracefully she glided down, Harry felt certain Cho had coached her in Wudang Shen. The look on Barden's face as she landed beside him made clear his eyes were on the lady Millicent was inside.

Before the Grandstaffs could settle in for a chat, Harry held up his scrub brush. "If I don't get cracking, I'll be here till midnight."

As Barden and his family switched to pleasant farewells, the littlest sister piped up. "Can we go see Neville Longbottom now? Do you think he'd give me his autograph?"

"Just a minute." Millicent held up a finger to Harry. "I almost forgot. I got you an early Christmas present--my thanks for looking after the beasts. Bête Noire will bring it by when he comes tonight."

"You didn't have to," Harry said, feeling bad he hadn't gotten one for her.

Millicent shrugged. "Just a little something I had lying around. Don't throw out the wrapping. It gives instructions on how to use it."

As the Grandstaffs and Millicent rambled off to meet Hogwarts's newest celebrity, Harry heard the little sister ask, "Who's that boy up on the dragon?"

He grimaced. Never mind. Resolutely, he once again tuned in Malfoy and his gang.

"Take your father and his friends to see the hydra," Narcissa Malfoy was saying to Draco. "I'm afraid I'm too fatigued for the walk."

"Wilhelm can do it. I want to--"

"Run along, now." Mrs. Malfoy twitched her nose. "Severus will keep me company."

Without a backward glance at his wife, Lucius Malfoy said, "Yes, Willimar. Let's see this famous beast of yours."

Sullenly, Draco tagged after the men down the path.

When they were out of view, Mrs. Malfoy beckoned Snape closer.

He stayed motionless, studying her. "You have something to say to me, Madame?"

"I--I do." She steepled her hands under her nose, apparently unsettled by his impassive tone. "Draco didn't want to hear this, but I have to tell someone."

Snape arched an eyebrow as if to say, I'm listening.

Mrs. Malfoy lowered her voice. "Lucius tries to keep Draco in line, but sometimes he's wayward. Now he's reaching a turning point. Late last night, I cast the bones. I saw that these two weeks will be critical--"

Snape raised a hand. "Enough. You know my feelings on prognostication."

Mrs. Malfoy's upper lip quivered violently. She jammed her fingertips against it. "No prophecies, then. Just a caution. Draco is at a crossroads. As his mother, I know that. A moment of decision is approaching. Its appearance will be sudden, but it will set the course for the rest of his life." A tremor passed over her face. "I would appreciate if you would . . . watch out for him."

Snape inclined his head mockingly. "Madame, don't I always?"

She swung away.

He ignored her, his black eyes roving indolently over the grounds. Then they focused on something that transformed their indifference into another expression altogether. His farewells came out in a rush. "You must excuse me. A professor's duties. But don't trouble yourself, Madame. I've taken your words to heart. Draco will be looked after." Without waiting for her reply, he set off.

A paroxysm overwhelmed Mrs. Malfoy. She threw her violet alpaca hood over her head and clutched it closed--but not before Harry caught a glimpse of her elegant features contorting. Whirling blindly, she stumbled toward a wrought iron bench.

Harry whipped his attention back to Snape. When he did, he saw what was making the Potions master quicken his pace, even as he folded his arms protectively in front of himself. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was tripping up the path from the lake, her blonde hair wispy in the breeze, her feet as light as if she were dancing.

Disconcerted, Harry dove his scrub brush into his pail. Snape was evil. Once and for all, he'd proven it. Hadn't he colluded with his Death Eater friends to bring a fierce beast to Hogwarts to assassinate Dumbledore? And his promise to Draco's mom to mentor her son along his dad's depraved path was just the bizarre coda to his deceitfulness.

But when Snape faced Ariel Dane--his thin lips pressed together, his dark eyes watchful, his right hand fidgeting with his left sleeve--he seemed more wary than wicked.

"How do you feel this morning?" he asked as softly as a breath.

"The same." Professor Dane's face shone as she gazed up at him. "Giddy. Exultant. Wonderful. You've put your spell on me, all right."

Before Harry could be privy to another syllable, he popped the Fourier Analytical Earhorn out of his ear and shoved it in his pocket. Hunkering down, he began avidly washing the dragon's shoulders. He didn't stop working until the sun was high overhead and a friendly voice asked, "Mind if I sit in?"

Startled, Harry almost lost his balance. Professor Dumbledore was levitating in midair next to him, a scouring pad scrunched in his hand.

"No," Harry said hurriedly. "Please. Let me--"

"Hog all the laurels for yourself?" Humming a Christmas carol, Dumbledore began rubbing a particularly troublesome stain on the dragon's jowls.

The headmaster looked so buoyant that speculations of dastardly intrigue seemed silly fantasies. Harry knew he had a duty to voice his misgivings, but not here, out in the open. He had to talk to Dumbledore privately.

When he stole a glance, the old man smiled and tipped his head toward the last large party socializing in the patchy garden. The Weasleys and the Grangers had gathered around Neville and his grandmother. Ginny stood beside her Yule Ball date, smiling bemusedly. "Now there's a sight to warm the heart."

Harry felt a grin quirk his lips. "Yes, it is."

They continued working, Dumbledore whistling and Harry reflecting. Laurels. They were nice. They let one know one was doing a proper job. But they weren't necessary. As he rested on that conclusion, he observed the Weasleys and Grangers strolling up the wide, granite steps.

"Albus!" Arthur Weasley wagged his right hand. "You just have to see this astounding gadget Hermione's dad gave me."

Extending a finger, Dumbledore guided the slender red object from Mr. Weasley's palm to his own.

"Kind of a mechanical quill," Mr. Weasley explained, "but much, much better. Its nib never breaks, and you never need to dip it in an inkwell. It has its own supply! Isn't that remarkable? It's called a ballpoint pen."

Harry bit back a smirk. He could see that all three Grangers looked sheepish.

As delighted as Mr. Weasley, Professor Dumbledore held the cheap plastic pen so Harry could admire it, too. Let the Grungers put a smile on your face, read a message down the side. Dental care for all ages.

"A printer's error," Hermione's father said self-consciously. "We were throwing out the lot, but Arthur--"

"They gave me the entire box! Isn't that fantastic?" Grandly, Mr. Weasley began pulling Grunger pens from his expansive robes to hand to everyone.

"We'll buy everybody really nice pens for Christmas," Hermione's mother put in weakly.

While Harry's departing friends gushed out Season's Greetings with promises to write, Dumbledore tried a few experimental clicks. An hour later, he was polishing the dragon's belly with one hand and happily clicking with the other. Every time Harry heard it, he grinned. Soon the brisk air and bright sun had him whistling, too. Thoughts of plots receded into the distance. Just when his own progress down the dragon's bumpy spine was amazing him, the headmaster lowered his scouring pad and peered over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "A praiseworthy effort. And high time we broke for lunch. I'd like to share it with you in my office. I have an inkling you have something you wish to tell me."

Before Harry could express his surprise and relief at Dumbledore's perceptiveness, he heard Snape's self-important cough. Glancing down, Harry saw the Potions master was once again by himself.

"I'm sure Harry's story can wait," Snape said coolly. "I need to speak with you now."