Transition

“Thirty minutes to go, ladies, gentlemen,” the squeaky voice belonging to one Professor Flitwick interrupted the anxious silence of the classroom.

Harry’s head came up at the sound of the professor talking and he tried to calm his startled heart. Beside him – a table away – he heard Hermione mutter something panicky under her breath and watched her scribble furiously on her parchment. That set off his anxiety again, and he re-read the questions and his answers, making more amendments to his already untidy work. As he came to the last inch of his parchment, he told himself that it would be the last time he paid any attention to the test, or to his heart, which kept telling him to recheck his answers.

He placed both of his feet on the floor before crossing his left over to his right, nervously fiddling with his white-feathered quill. Now that he had forced himself to think about something else, he wondered how his rival had fared during the practical test. Harry had been immediately ushered into a waiting room with some students who had completed the tasks before him. Draco happened to be the last person to attempt the practical. All Harry and Draco managed was to nod their heads in greeting before the tiny professor escorted them into another classroom.

Why am I worrying about him? Even if he failed the practical, I’m sure that this – he stared disconsolately at the two sets of documents on his table – will pull his grades up. Unconsciously, he started drawing abstract things on the back of his test paper. He was so self-absorbed in thinking about nothing at all that it took him a moment to realize that Flitwick was announcing that their time was up.

As though on cue, there was a loud noise of someone clearing his throat. That someone turned out to be Dumbledore, using the Sonorus charm to make himself heard like the PA systems the Muggle schools used. “Ahem … may I have the students’ attention? Your presence is required in the Great Hall.” This was all that the Headmaster said.

What is that all about? His puzzlement was shared with Hermione, and when he turned to look behind him, he could see Ron exchanging questioning glances with Dean.

“All right, class. You heard the Headmaster,” Professor Flitwick said brightly. “Go on, go to the Hall!”

Harry and Hermione waited for Ron and Dean to catch up with them, and together they walked out of the classroom and headed straight for the magical staircase. Soon other students joined them; Ginny waved at them even as the girls around her herded her away. Their line was then united by some of the younger students who looked quite relieved to be out of the dungeons. They were probably attending Snape’s lesson before the announcement. The professor stalked after the students, scowling darkly at their backs.

“So, the teachers have no idea what Professor Dumbledore is up to,” Hermione commented upon seeing the storm cloud in human disguise.

“You two are Prefects; you sure you have no idea?” Dean asked doubtfully as they passed under the arch, with the two great doors flanking on either side. Both Hermione and Ron shrugged. It took several minutes for the entire school to settle down.

Dumbledore was already there, along with the Deputy Headmistress. After a moment, she tapped her crystal goblet twice to get everyone’s attention. The murmurs of conversation stopped immediately. Using the sudden wave of silence as a signal, the ancient wizard stood to address them.

“Thank you for coming down at such short notice; I hope the professors do not mind the interruption,” Dumbledore said, his wheezy voice projecting clearly out to every corner of the Great Hall. The wizard straightened his shoulders and gave the Potions Master a very sardonic look from behind his pair of half-moon glasses. Snape met Dumbledore’s light cerulean eyes and flushed, breaking eye contact and fuming instead at the brass goblet in his hand. Then the Headmaster turned his attention back to the students.

“I’m sure that you have all noticed the lack of Halloween decorations around the school,” he continued, and several students nodded in agreement. There were speculative looks all about the Hall, but no one gave voice to their thoughts. “Before I can put them up – or should I say, conjure – I need your cooperation to stay out of the spacious courtyards and the Great Hall itself.” That sparked the students’ excitement and puzzlement for the teachers, save the Transfiguration teacher.

Hermione raised her hand tentatively and Dumbledore nodded his permission for her to speak. The Muggle-born witch drew a deep breath and her melodious voice filled the air, “If we are to stay out of the Great Hall, where are we going to have our meals?”

The old wizard smiled kindly. “By the lake, of course. I’m sure you’ll be glad for the excuse to have a picnic down by the water.”

“What?” some students exclaimed in disbelief.

“Won’t it rain?” another asked.

“If it rains, then we’ll eat indoors,” replied another with a touch of sarcasm.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “As Miss Bulstrode pointed out, there are other venues where you may lounge. Your common rooms for example.”

“A cautionary note however,” Professor McGonagall interjected swiftly. “Please ensure cleanliness after each of your meals.”

“Yes.” Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “I’m sure that all of you are wondering; why such drastic measures? The reason is that each and every one of you is going to participate in a masquerade!” he said, his aged face beaming with pleasure.

Harry stared at the old man as if he had gone crazy. He swiveled quickly to see the same astonished look on his friends. This was surely the first time anyone had held a ball during Samhain in the history of Hogwarts. However, it would be a great time for the students to relax, and, since Halloween was on Friday, it was not particularly surprising if the students organized private parties after that.

“Essentially,” the old wizard was speaking again, “I want all of you to be as creative as possible, but please, do not take … unexplainable risks for this event. And your professors –” The Headmaster stared hard at each of his employees. “Are no exceptions; including myself.”

There were some horrified gasps, and Harry shook his head at the girls who did it. Surely, they wouldn’t think that the Headmaster would disguise himself as a young wizard, he thought with amusement.

“But I won’t be wearing a mask or disguise myself for obvious reasons,” Dumbledore added. “The main event will take place in the Great Hall, but if you feel that the walls are closing in on you, you may go to the outdoor venues. Do come with your partners.”

“More details to the events are already available on your notice boards, so do read them carefully,” McGonagall inserted.

“Well, I believe that is all,” Dumbledore exclaimed, and he fumbled with his pocket watch. His face brightened and he smiled benignly at his audience. “Well; it's noon and time for your luncheon!” He clapped his hand once, and food, though not extravagant, materialized on the long tables.

Harry started helping himself to the pieces of tuna sandwiches available while Seamus poured pumpkin juice for them. Students chatted animatedly about the masquerade, and Harry heard Lavender ask her friend Parvati about what they were going to wear.

“They should have told us earlier!” Parvati said with a pained expression. “I hate to ask my parents to send me over some clothes!”

“I wonder what my parents will say about this,” Lavender opined. “We’re supposed to be studying for the NEWTs after all.”

Harry didn’t notice that Ron, Dean and Seamus were looking at him strangely until Neville started coughing. Green eyes flicked over to his coughing friend, and he watched in horror as Neville stiffened and suddenly in his place was a tree stump.

“What in the hell?” Harry and Ron shouted at the same time, but Neville returned to normal in less than a minute. The teen was visibly shaking and he looked wane.

“Are you all right, mate?” Seamus placed one arm around Neville’s shoulders and peered into his face in concern.

“Yeah … I’m fine, I guess. It was a bit weird though, turning into a tree,” Neville reassured all of them.

Hermione was looking at the Slytherins in suspicion and Ginny wore the same expression. The red-haired witch quickly came over to her brother’s side and whispered something too soft for Harry to catch. Ron listened patiently to his sister, and, with a troubled look, whispered something into Hermione’s ear.

“Then how did they manage to get the product?” she asked, and Harry looked at her in puzzlement. She did not pause to explain to him, but continued to question Ron. “Fred and George told us that no Slytherins ever came to their shop, unless they weren’t aware of who were Slytherins.”

“But Moody and Remus helped devise the door alarm, remember?” Ron replied. “It basically alerts the twins the general potential in one person.”

“Then maybe someone friendly with the Slytherins sold the product or exchanged it for something else,” Hermione finally said. “Neville is all right so … no harm done.”

Harry looked at Ron thoughtfully. “What did the alarm say every single time I enter the shop?”

Ron and Ginny exchanged looks but it was the witch who answered. “It depends; sometimes when you’re up to mischief, a green light shows, but when you’re very moody, a red light shows.” She smiled cynically at him.

“AAAAHHHHH!!!” Several boys screamed and there was a quick blur of movement over at the Slytherin table. Harry’s eyes widened when he saw his tutor scramble out of his seat and trip over his huge bodyguard, Goyle, who was also trying to get up. Hermione, who had been sipping on her pumpkin juice calmly, spluttered the moment she saw the silver-haired Slytherin toppling over, to be squashed by the giant oaf.

“A hag!” a very young Slytherin girl screamed in horror.

“Who turned into a hag?” Professor Snape demanded, as he strode quickly over to his panicky students.

“Pansy, sir!” Millicent Bulstrode choked.

“Sir! Do something!” Pansy wailed. She had covered her hands to hide her face, but Harry could see how hideous her skin was and how her hair had become as frizzy as Hermione’s.

“You should have checked what you are eating, Miss Parkinson,” Snape replied acidly. “What, precisely, are you learning in my classes?” he continued, as he stared down at his students. “Haven’t you learned enough to apply your extensive knowledge to make sure that your food wasn’t poisoned?” The Potions Master smirked. “I see no reason why I should waste my time setting you aright, or ferreting out the culprit who is responsible.” Then he turned around and proceeded to walk out of the Great Hall. Parkinson’s wails grew louder.

“Second-years! You’ll be making up for the class you have happily walked out today on Saturday morning,” Snape barked imperiously just before he left for his territory.

There were groans all around and Harry sympathized with the second years. “Did you do it, Ginny?” he inquired without seeming to look at her. He didn’t need to; her satisfaction felt quite palpable to him.

“Why do you always ask me first?” Ginny replied before turning the tables on him. “So, who are you going to partner for the masquerade?”

Draco. The name flashed into his mind unbidden. Harry gazed at his friends gravely. Should I say it like a joke? He just smiled in the end.