Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin

Harry awoke early the next morning, but he did not get up at once. Instead, he stared at the hangings surrounding his four-poster, trying to decide how to handle the problem of the scroll. He remembered with a pang of guilt how Professor Green had warned him not to touch anything, and how that little admonishment had slipped his mind as soon as he'd seen the scroll. He hoped that he hadn't inadvertently done any damage- but that certainly didn't appear to be the case. Then he wondered whether the scroll might possibly be cursed, and whether he may have accidentally brought some unknown blight upon himself. Well, he concluded, there was only one way to find out.

He would ask Hermione first. She was the closest person to him who was at all likely to tell him what was written on the scroll. Maybe, he thought hopefully, he could even persuade her not to tell anyone else about the matter unless it was absolutely necessary.

Satisfied, Harry dressed and woke Ron.

"Come down to the Common Room after you've dressed," Harry whispered as Ron stared over at him groggily, "I have something to show you."

Ron shot him a curious look, but Harry refused to say any more with Dean, Seamus, and Neville beginning to wake up. He left Ron sitting upright in a state of sleepy bewilderment, and made his way downstairs.

Hermione was sitting in a chair before the fire, apparently attempting to steal a few spare minutes before breakfast to check her Arithmancy homework. As Harry walked toward her, she looked up.

"Oh, hello," she said brightly. "Are we going to breakfast? Where's Ron?"

Harry looked down at her seriously and spoke in a low voice. "Hermione, I need to show you something." He looked around. Most of the Gryffindors were either still asleep or eating breakfast, but a few sat around the Common Room studying or finishing last-minute homework before their morning classes.

Hermione frowned, but nodded. "Alright."

"Not here." Harry grabbed her shoulder and ushered her into a corner, where they both sat. Ron rushed over from the entrance to the dormitory staircase, having obviously dressed in haste. He was still barefoot, and carried an old pair of socks that had been darned repeatedly. He took a seat next to Hermione.

"Harry, what is it?" he asked, beginning to pull on the socks.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the ancient-looking scroll. Ron peered closely at it. Hermione gasped quietly.

"Where did you get this? It looks so old." She took it and gently turned it over in her hands, taking in the brownish hue of the parchment and the cracked edges.

"I found it last night during detention, in--" he hesitated, anticipating Hermione's reaction, "in Professor Green's trunk."

"And she let you take it?" She looked up at him in disbelief.

For a second he considered letting Hermione think this, but then he imagined her mentioning the scroll to Professor Green in passing after a class, or during dinner. "Eh--no, not exactly." Making sure to stress how tired and sore he'd been the previous night, he told her and Ron how he had come to find the scroll and leave Professor Green's office with it. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly.

"Never mind that right now, Hermione. Look at the writing. Do you recognize it?"

Displeased as Hermione was with Harry's indiscretion, her interest in the scroll prevailed. She began to examine the writing. She peered closely at the tiny script for a minute, then looked up at them. "No. It's not written in any kind of script I've ever seen, and I've seen just about every type of rune there is. So it's definitely not British, and I'd be willing to bet it's not even European."

Harry was a bit disappointed to hear this. Hermione looked back at the scroll. "I'm no expert on Middle Eastern alphabets, but it looks Semitic to me, although I'm pretty sure it isn't Hebrew. Hang on," she said suddenly, pointing down the right side of the scroll. "Look at these little glyphs here. They're different from the other characters, see?"

Harry and Ron looked closer. She was right: their similarity to one another made the letters of the strange alphabet easily discernible. Set off from the writing, running down the right-hand side of the scroll, were an assortment of odd little pictures that looked a bit like hieroglyphics. One consisted of two wavy vertical lines; one resembled a crown; another looked like an eye. Ron looked at Harry quizzically.

"Have you looked at the rest of it, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry shook his head, and she began to unroll the parchment slowly.

The scroll was longer than they had expected, and they glanced down at each little picture as it came into view. Suddenly Hermione gasped and dropped the scroll onto the floor.

"What?" Ron asked urgently. "What is it?" Neither he nor Harry had seen what had startled her.

Hermione stared intently at Harry. "Hermione!" he said, irritated. "What's wrong? What are you staring at me like that for--" At once he realized she wasn't staring him in the eye. She was looking at his forehead, at the lightning-shaped scar situated there.

Slowly, she picked up the scroll and unrolled it to the spot where they had left off. There, below a picture that looked like a hand, was a little lightning bolt.

"Well, that could mean anything," Ron said uncertainly, sneaking a quick glance at Harry's scar.

"Look at it, Ron!" She pointed at the glyph. "It's exactly the same. See how many times it zigzags? And the little curve on the bottom?"

Looking at the scroll, Harry knew she was right. He didn't need a mirror to compare the glyph to his scar; he knew the scar by heart, and the glyph was an exact replica.

Ron looked from the scroll back up to Harry, saying nothing. Harry's heart was pouding. "What does it mean?"

"I've no idea," Hermione answered, frowning. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes. Suddenly she opened them again. "Maybe it tells what types of scars different curses leave when they backfire."

Ron shook his head. "But remember, Mad-Eye Moody told us that no one's ever survived the Killing Curse before. How would anyone know what type of scar it would leave, if it never left a scar before Harry's?"

Harry nodded; Ron was right. "Hermione, keep unrolling it. What else is on the scroll?"

Remembering she still held the scroll in her hand, she held it out between them and unrolled it quickly. Several little pictures came into view and disappeared into the top roll before Harry, Ron, and Hermione reached the end of the parchment.

What they saw there made their blood run cold.

It was a picture of a tiny skull, with a snake protruding grotesquely from its mouth, like a tongue. Ron gasped. Hermione put her hand to her mouth. Harry gaped, puzzled.

"The Dark Mark."

Just then Angelina Johnson appeared behind Hermione. She had crept up so noiselessly that the three of them jumped in unison. Angelina laughed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything! Harry and Ron, I wanted to have a word with you about Quidditch practice."

"Oh, right," Ron said, eyeing Hermione as she surreptitiously pocketed the scroll.

"Well, after the--er--match against Slytherin--" Angelina glanced sideways as though she actually wanted to call the disastrous match something more fitting "--I was thinking we ought to practice more."

"We're already practicing three times a week," Harry put in.

Hermione looked alarmed. "Yes, they've got O.W.L.s in a few months, they need time to study."

Angelina smiled at Hermione politely but addressed Ron and Harry. "Yes, well, I was thinking it couldn't hurt to have one more practice a week. I've spoken with Katie, Alicia, Fred, and George, and Friday nights work best for us."

Harry looked at Ron and grinned. Friday was the night Professor Green had set for their run. He wondered whether they'd be able to get out of it...

"But we've got to meet Professor Green Friday nights," Hermione protested.

Ron rolled his eyes.

Angelina considered this. "I'll talk to her for you. I'm sure we could work something out. The seventh-years meet her on Thursday nights; you two could probably just run with us."

"Alright," Harry replied brightly. Ron grunted his assent.

"Right then, I'll let you know what she says." With that, Angelina disappeared through the portrait hole.

"Thanks, Hermione. We might've gotten out of running if you hadn't said anything." Ron stared at her crossly.

"Oh, really, Ron. As if Professor Green wouldn't have noticed you missing." Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "And speaking of Professor Green." She lowered her voice and focused on Harry. "Harry, you've got to get this scroll back to her. It could be really important to her, or it could have some Dark curse on it. Either way, you can't keep it."

Harry took a deep breath. He had seen this coming. "Look, nothing bad's happened to me yet. I really want to find out what's written on it--" But Hermione wasn't buying it; she simply glared at him. He knew she was right; there was no way he could keep the scroll.

"Well, we can ask her what it says. If she doesn't know, I'm sure she'll take it to Professor Thorne to figure out. Either way," Hermione's eyes narrowed, "the best way to find out what's on this scroll is to give it back to Professor Green."

Although she made sense, Harry couldn't help having reservations about giving the scroll back. His scar, and the Dark Mark--what could they have in common? If Green didn't know about the scroll being hidden away in the trunk, that was alright, but if she did... Harry wondered why she wouldn't tell him what she knew. He was certain that the lightning glyph on the scroll had something to do with his scar. This scroll could tell him something about himself. He had to find out what that was.

***

"What's this?" Professor Green stared down at the little scroll that Harry had just placed on the palm of her hand.

"Don't you recognize it?" Hermione asked.

"No. Should I?" Very carefully, Professor Green placed the scroll on her desk. Slowly she unrolled it and inspected the strange writing.

Harry took a deep breath and began to explain. He told her exactly how he had come to find the scroll in her trunk, and how he had absentmindedly carried it up to the dormitory in his pocket. She gasped, glanced back down at the scroll, and addressed Harry sternly.

"Harry! I'm very surprised at you. Don't you realize that it could be cursed? And you exposed your friends to it as well," she looked around Harry at Hermione and Ron. "I'm extremely disappointed in your judgment. I'm afraid I will have to deduct fifteen points from Gryffindor for this.

"However, you did decide to bring it back--a wise choice, and probably not an easy one to make, considering that you didn't know whether I'd ever discover that the scroll was missing. I think that should earn you back five points." She paused thoughtfully.

Hermione nudged Harry in the ribs and shot him a very self-satisfied smile. Obnoxious as this was, Harry knew that Hermione had made the correct decision, and he was grateful. Still Professor Green mused quietly, and just when Harry, Ron, and Hermione began to wonder whether she was ever going to continue, she clasped her hands together, turned toward them, and spoke. "In light of your decision to return this scroll to me, I think we can consider the matter closed. However, I sincerely hope that you will pay more heed to my instructions in the future. At some point, your life may depend on it."

Harry nodded somberly, grateful to be receiving only a reprimand. He didn't know whether he would have been able to stand two detentions in the same week.

"You don't know what's written on it, then?" Ron asked.

Professor Green shook her head and stared back at the scroll. "No, I'm afraid not. I always was bad with runes and foreign scripts, to be quite honest." She raised her head and looked at the three of them. "I think this is a problem for Professor Thorne."

Professor Thorne's office was located on the fourth floor of the castle, near the library. With Harry, Ron, and Hermione in tow, Professor Green marched up to his door and knocked.

The door opened to reveal a tall, reedy wizard, with gray hair and a moustache, holding a pipe. Harry had seen him before, in the corridors and the Great Hall. He figured the man must be about the same age as Professor McGonagall.

"Ah, Professor Green and Miss Granger." He nodded at them, then noticed Harry and Ron. "Hello, there. I don't believe we've met."

"Professor, these are my friends," Hermione explained, "Ron Weasley and--"

"Why, Harry Potter, of course," Professor Thorne interrupted, his eyes performing the familiar flicker up to the scar on Harry's forehead. He shook Ron's and Harry's hands, smiling.

"Pleased to make your acquaintances, Mister Weasley and Mister Potter. I am Professor Julius Thorne, Master of Foreign Languages and Scripts at Hogwarts." He turned and addressed Professor Green and Hermione again.

"Well, I must say, this is quite a surprise. To what do I owe
the--"

Without waiting for him to finish, Professor Green held up the scroll. Professor Thorne instantly froze, and his eyes grew wide.

"My dear, what is this?" he whispered, taking it from her.

"Professor, shall we step inside your office?" Professor Green asked.

"Oh yes, of course, where are my manners?" Professor Thorne answered absent-mindedly, gesturing in the direction of his office. Professor Green ushered Harry, Ron, and Hermione inside; Professor Thorne followed slowly, never looking up from the scroll.

His office was a rectangular room, like every other teacher's office that Harry had seen at Hogwarts, except Dumbledore's. This room looked like it could belong to any teacher, except for the bookshelves completely covering the walls--and the ceiling. Harry and Ron craned their necks to stare in amazement at the shelves directly above them; their contents by all rights should have slid right off and fallen on their heads.

"They're charmed, of course," Hermione intoned quietly, noticing the boys' surprised looks.

Every shelf in the room was full of all kinds of texts: old, dusty books, parchment manuscripts, inscribed stone tablets, carved fragments of wood--even a few yellowed scrolls like the one Harry had found. But judging from Professor Thorne's reaction, none of these shelves contained a scroll quite like the one the scholar now held in his hands.

"Good heavens," Professor Thorne whispered, moving to his desk and setting the scroll down upon it. He picked up a magnifying glass and began to inspect the scroll more closely. "Where did you get this?"

"Harry found it in my trunk last night--I had him in there doing detention," Professor Green explained. "It was hidden in there; I had never seen it before."

"Do you have any idea who put it there?"

Professor Green shook her head. "The only thing I can figure is, it must have belonged to the person who owned the trunk before me."

"Another Auror?" Professor Thorne turned the scroll over and began to inspect the back.

"I assume so." Professor Green shrugged. "I was never told who the trunk belonged to before it came into my possession."

After a long pause, Professor Thorne finally looked up from the scroll. He placed the magnifying glass on the desk and spoke hesitantly, almost anxiously. "My dear, had you considered that this may be a matter for the Ministry to solve?"

"Yes. But considering that Harry, Ron, and Hermione have already been exposed to the scroll, I'd rather not wait eight to ten weeks for some Ministry bureaucrat to tell me whether it's cursed. And besides, we don't even know that the Ministry knows what it is; it might have belonged to some Auror who didn't know what to do with it ... Though I can't say why he would have stuffed it into a crack in the wall like that."

Professor Thorne started, obviously horrified by the idea of the decrepit scroll being "stuffed" anywhere.

"Besides," Professor Green continued matter-of-factly, "My grandfather says there's no one in Britain more knowledgeable about foreign languages than yourself. If the Ministry doesn't know what it is, I suppose they'd just send it to you to translate anyway."

Professor Thorne relaxed and spoke with a regal air, gratified by the compliment. "Yes, quite so. Well, I have drawn a few conclusions about this little scroll." He paused dramatically, looking around at them all. "It's definitely not British, and it's quite old--possibly as old as several thousand years, if it's had a Preservation Charm put on it."

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry. "It's not British, and it's old," he whispered. "Good thing we asked an expert."

Professor Thorne didn't appear to hear Ron's remark. Hermione, who had been making a visible effort to hold her tongue, could remain silent no longer.

"Professor, I was noticing that the characters look very much like Hebrew, but not exactly. And did you see the glyphs lined up along the right-hand side? They're not a part of this alphabet, are they?"

Professor Thorne beamed down at Hermione, who looked a bit breathless but intensely relieved to have said her piece. "Miss Granger is quite perceptive--but that's no surprise, is it?" He looked up at the rest of them. "Yes, I do think this is an ancient Semitic script, but I'm not sure exactly which. I have to admit, my specialty is Celtic runes, not ancient Middle Eastern languages." He looked back down at the scroll and carefully began to unroll it. "But I think that with a little research I can get to the bottom of--"

He hesitated as he saw the Dark Mark at the very end of the scroll. A glimmer of recognition appeared in his eyes. "I see." He glanced quickly at Harry, and then at Professor Green. "Yes, I think it wise that we attempt to decipher this here, as quickly as possible. I have a colleague at Timshel University in Tel-Aviv; I'll consult with him by owl as quickly as possible."

"Please, sir," Hermione said timidly. "I was wondering if you might allow me to help you. As a kind of extra-credit assignment."

Professor Thorne frowned down at her. "Miss Granger, don't be ridiculous. Your marks in my class are perfect."

Hermione grinned, reddening. "All the same, I'm very interested in this scroll. We're convinced it says something significant about ... at least one of us."

Professor Thorne scowled down at the scroll thoughtfully. "Well, it is a rather long document, and I suspect it will take a while to decode. It's tedious work. So ... yes, I suppose I would be grateful for your help." He looked down again at Hermione. "Thank you, Miss Granger."

As Harry headed off for Divination class with Ron a few minutes later, he was excited at the prospect of getting some answers about the scroll, but also a bit disappointed; he hadn't expected it to take so long. He would have to be patient.

***

That January at Hogwarts was unusually mild; no new snow fell to cover the remnants of December's blizzard. The students were grateful for this, as it made walking to the greenhouses and Herbology class much easier and more comfortable than in past years.

In the first class of the term, Professor Sprout informed the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that they would be tending hemlock. Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced at each other quizzically.

"Erm, Professor?" Hermione asked, raising her hand. "Isn't hemlock used exclusively for poisons?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," Professor Sprout answered, handing each table of students its own bunch of plants. "Professor Snape wants to poison the fourth-years again."

Harry was taken aback for a moment. Then he remembered last year's Potions lessons on antidotes.

"I'll wager none of you has forgotten how to brew an antidote, eh?" She raised her eyebrows and looked around the room as the students nodded knowingly.

Harry had thankfully missed the Potions lesson last year in which Snape had tried to poison a student--if Harry hadn't been called out of class to have his photograph taken with the other Triwizard Tournament champions, he was certain that Snape would have tried to poison him. As he and Ron inspected and repotted a hemlock plant, Harry realized that he had never heard who had been poisoned.

"Ron," he whispered. "Who did Snape poison last year?"

Ron gave him a puzzled look. "You were there."

"No, I wasn't. Remember? I had to have my picture taken for the Tournament. Hermione wasn't there either, she was having her teeth fixed. And you and I weren't ... er ... speaking then."

Beneath his freckles, Ron's face reddened. "Oh, right. Well, I guess with you and Hermione gone, it was just a question of who Snape hates most, wasn't it? I suppose the contest was between me and Neville." He grinned. "Lucky for Neville, I won."

"He poisoned you?"

"Yeah." Ron tried to suppress a chuckle. "You should've seen the look on the slimy bat's face when I took my antidote and nothing happened."

Harry smiled. He could just imagine Snape's look of malicious triumph as he had handed Ron the poison, and his sneer of angry disappointment when Ron's antidote had worked.

"I guess we've found another thing you're good at."

Ron snorted derisively. "Yeah, Potions. And I'm in such good company, too. Me and the Slytherins."

But the more Harry thought about it, the more he realized that Ron had become quite good at Potions--at least as good as Hermione. The three of them had just been too busy trying to avoid Malfoy's whining accusations and Snape's hateful glare to notice.

"No, seriously, Ron. Remember the Shrinking Potion in third year?"

Ron scowled as he packed potting soil around the roots of the last hemlock plant, a particularly large one. "Yeah. Snape gave Neville's potion to Trevor, and he turned into a tadpole. What about it?"

"You prepared most of the ingredients for Malfoy's Shrinking Potion- do you remember how it turned out?"

Ron stared off through the transparent greenhouse wall, concentrating. "Pretty well, I guess. Better than mine, since he got all my best daisy roots, the sniveling b--"

"Alright, chaps," Professor Sprout called. "By now you should have finished repotting your plants. I'll come round and collect them again. You may as well get your things together, there's not much time left before the end of class."

At that moment, the bell boomed from the castle. Harry, Ron, and the rest of the class collected their things and left the greenhouse for lunch.

***

"I hope you all had a restful holiday, because you're going to be working like Nifflers from now on."

The Gryffindor fifth-years had assembled in the Great Hall for their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term. They felt more like they were outside, though, with the ceiling glowing a stunning shade of sapphire, and the sun's likeness beginning to sink from its apex in the exact center of the blue expanse. Although the weather outside was nice for January, it was still too cold to allow them to resume their lessons on the Quidditch pitch. So they had assembled here in the Great Hall, with its tables and chairs cleared away against the walls, and a Cushioning Charm placed on the floor--mostly, everyone thought, for Neville's benefit.

At least, they thought so until Professor Green continued speaking.

"I know you've all been anxious to begin sparring," she said as she eyed each one of them in turn, "but I wanted to make sure you had a proper foundation in the martial arts first. Now, I think you're ready."

A frenzy of murmurs broke out among the students. Ron looked excitedly at Harry. "You're going down, Potter," he whispered, grinning madly.

Only Neville seemed the least bit apprehensive. He smiled at the other students nervously, as though pre-emptively asking for mercy. Professor Green began moving among the students, pairing them off.

"Right, then: Neville and Ron, Lavender and Parvati, Seamus and Dean, Harry and Hermione. Fighting stances, everyone."

Disappointed, Ron left Harry and faced Neville. Hermione and Harry squared off, hands raised, feet apart, just as they had been taught the previous term. She looked determined: not the least bit worried, but intent and focused. Harry noticed that Neville's apprehension seemed to have eased now that he was paired with Ron; apparently, he expected Ron to go easy on him. Ron, however, had developed anxieties of his own.

"I'm worried about what he might accidentally do to me--or to himself!" he whispered to Harry as Neville looked eagerly to Professor Green, awaiting her instructions. Harry shrugged and chuckled.

"It won't be so bad," he whispered back. "What's the worst he could do?"

Ron frowned fiercely and opened his mouth to reply. Unfortunately, Professor Green chose that exact moment to address him.

"Ron, pay attention!" she called. "Your posture's completely off. You're supposed to stand with your feet apart, like this--yes, that's right." Professor Green backed away from Ron and surveyed the Gryffindors.

From behind him, Harry heard Dean Thomas say, very solemnly: "I know Kung Fu."

The entire class dissolved in giggles.

"This is not a joke," Professor Green barked, staring at them sternly. The laughter promptly ceased. "Now, Harry, Parvati, Ron, and Dean," she called out, pointing to each student as she spoke his or her name, "you will be the aggressors. When I signal, you will approach your opponents and attempt to trip them." Ron shot a final, pleading look at Hermione and Harry, then gave up and turned exasperatedly to Neville. Professor Green took another look around the room, and said, "Let's see what you remember from last term."

With that, she pulled the silver whistle out of her pocket and blew it. The shrill note echoed through off the stone walls and floor, and the aggressors lurched forward. Harry wasted no time, quickly closing the distance between himself and Hermione. He placed his right foot behind hers, and attempted to push her backward.

But Hermione was ready for him. Just as soon as Harry had planted his foot behind her, she stretched out her right arm and swiftly placed him in a headlock, knocking him off-balance. He teetered in front of her for a split second, then landed flat on the stone floor.

Harry was stunned. He remembered how easily he had beaten Malfoy. He had presumed that defeating Hermione would be just as easy--but he had presumed too much.

Professor Green knelt near Harry's head, smiling wrily. "Not as easy as you thought, eh? Not everyone's as ... slow to learn as Malfoy is. Here," she held out her hand to help him up, "try again."

He did. He and Hermione spent the next hour trying to trip each other, and Harry quickly learned to anticipate her moves. By the end of the class period, Hermione had spent a considerable amount of time on the floor. Longer, in fact, than Harry had.

A short distance away, Ron and Neville were taking turns knocking each other onto the floor and, by all appearances, enjoying themselves immensely. Nearby, Seamus was standing over a prone Dean Thomas, smiling triumphantly. Parvati and Lavender both appeared quite disheveled and unhappy--somehow they had both ended up on the floor simultaneously.

"Good work today," Professor Green told them all just before class ended. She clasped her hands together and looked around with an expression of approval. "Remember what you've learned. In a few more weeks, it'll really get interesting."

Ten minutes later, the entire class was making its way up the stone staircase, panting, covered in sweat, and in desperate need of a bath.

"I let him throw me a few times," Ron whispered to Harry. He eyed Neville, several steps ahead of them on the landing, and safely out of earshot. "I figured it would be more fun that way."

Hermione looked back disapprovingly. "Ron, you shouldn't do that! How will he ever learn if you just let him win?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Hermione, he wouldn't learn anything sitting in the hospital wing with a broken arm."

Hermione sighed indignantly, but she had to concede the point.

"Hermione, you surprised me," Harry said, and meant it. "That headlock was brilliant."

"Oh, that." She grinned. "Thanks. But after the first ten minutes, you had my number. I'm going to have to learn to think more quickly if I'm going to have any hope of beating you next class."

"Hopefully you won't get the chance," Ron put in. "I want to fight Harry next class. Hermione, you fight Neville. It'd give you the chance to make him learn something."

Over the next few days, Harry found that Angelina was as good as her word. She had spoken with Professor Green and secured permission for both Harry and Ron to run with the seventh-years on Thursdays and train with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team on Friday nights.

Harry rather enjoyed running with the seventh-years, who gave him more competition than his fellow fifth-years had. In the first run of the term, he was a little surprised to find himself finishing third, behind a very tall Ravenclaw boy and Bernard, one of the Gryffindors who had tried out for Keeper with Ginny.

Ron, on the other hand, didn't enjoy the run at all.

"I'm freezing--how cold is it out here, anyway? And those goons nearly ran me over," he panted as they headed up to the Great Hall, pointing discreetly at a trio of Slytherins. Harry just smiled and shook his head.

The seventh-years entered the Hall and took seats at the Slytherin table, just as the fifth-years did every Friday night. And, just like the fifth-years, the Slytherins sat at one end of the table, while everyone else sat at the other. Apparently Draco Malfoy didn't have to be present in order for malevolent looks to pass between the Slytherins and members of the other Houses. If anything, the tensions among the seventh-years were worse than in Harry's and Ron's year.

"Don't pay any attention to them," Lee Jordan said over dessert. He had noticed Harry's sidelong glances toward the Slytherin end of the table. "They're just jealous because they know we're going to win the Quidditch Cup this year."

A few seats away, Angelina snorted into her custard. "Lee, did you watch our last match? Or was your mouth just running while your brain was on holiday, as usual?" Everyone who heard her comment laughed, including Harry and Ron.

Lee smiled at her. "No need for such bitter mockery, m'dear. I have a good feeling about this season, that's all." He reached down to the floor and began fiddling with something Harry couldn't see. Harry stared at Lee curiously, until he pulled up what appeared to be a regular Muggle guitar. "Just for that, I am going to sing you a song, Angelina."

Angelina looked at him with mock horror. "Oh, no! Anything but that! I take it back."

"Too late!" With that, Lee began strumming and ad-libbing a very silly song:

At this point, Professor Green very wisely cut in.

"Oh, Lee, is that it?" From her spot at the head of the table, she reached for Lee's guitar. Reluctantly, he gave up his song and handed the guitar over the heads of several wary Hufflepuffs.

"Yeah, my dad gave it to me for Christmas." He smiled proudly.

Professor Green strummed a few chords, then held the guitar at arm's length, admiring it. "Gorgeous. You'll be playing this one at the ball, then?"

"Yeah."

Harry and Ron cast wary glances at each other. "Ball?" Ron asked tentatively, as though he were afraid that a terrible fear was about to be confirmed.

"Oh, yes," Professor Green answered, handing the guitar back to Lee as the Hufflepuffs dodged and ducked apprehensively. "A Valentine's Day ball. It was my idea, I thought it might help to ... ease some of the tensions that have developed between the Houses this year." She glanced quickly at the Slytherins, who were just standing up to leave. "Professor Dumbledore is going to announce it any day."

Ron sighed heavily. Harry had developed a knot in his stomach and suddenly lost all interest in his blackberry pie. Neither one of them had forgotten the social disaster that had been the previous year's Yule Ball. They had managed to come out of the experience alive, but not before Harry had humiliated himself in front of Cho Chang, and Ron and Hermione had exchanged several unfriendly words at an elevated volume.

Later, they walked through the corridors toward the Gryffindor common room, lost in thought.

"If I don't ask Hermione this year, I don't reckon I'll ever hear the end of it," Ron muttered. Harry suppressed the urge to laugh.

"If you don't want to ask her, don't ask her."

"Right. Well, you know ... I guess I might as well. It would be better than not going at all. I mean, why not? Right?" Ron was making an extravagant effort to sound offhand, which just intensified Harry's urge to laugh.

"You'll go, won't you?" They had reached the portrait hole, and Ron had turned to face Harry.

"Me?"

"Come on, Harry! Please? It would be so much more fun with you there. It could be the four of us--you can ask Cho!"

"Right," Harry answered sarcastically.

"No, really, I bet she'd go with you this year, since--"

Ron stopped himself, but they both knew what he was going to say next. Since Cedric's not here to ask her. Harry winced involuntarily. Ron quickly changed the subject.

"But she likes you, doesn't she? I mean, hasn't she always been nice to you?"

Harry thought about this for a moment. Ron had a point; Cho had always been kind to him, even when most of the school believed he had illegally entered himself into the Triwizard Tournament. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he wouldn't mind going to a Valentine's ball with Cho.

This time it was his turn to try to sound casual. "Okay, I guess I can try to ask her. I mean, might as well. Whatever."