Harry Potter and the Flying Squad

Two days later, sitting at the breakfast table, Harry saw Hedwig coming down toward him, a letter at her leg. Mr Ollivander had responded, pretty quickly, but there was only a single parchment.

As eager as Harry felt to read Ollivander's reply, a glance at the Ravenclaw table told him that Almyra was watching the scene, smiling, making it impossible to open the letter while the owl was waiting to be fed. And Hedwig was leaving no doubt what she wanted. He knew, afterwards he would have to carry Hedwig upstairs to the Owlery - she didn't like flying with a full stomach, not even up the building.

It was remarkable what the owl could stow away. Harry could almost feel that only Hermione's presence prevented Almyra from coming over, to watch closely, help him, perhaps knowing some special treat that never had crossed his mind.

Finally, Hedwig was sufficiently fed. He fetched her and stood up. "All right, you meat bag, let's go."

And sure enough, he hadn't made a dozen steps yet when Almyra was at his side.

"Morning, Harry - morning, Hedwig, how was your night?" Turning to him, Almyra asked pleadingly, "Do you mind if I take her upstairs?"

"No, definitely not." Harry laughed. "Look at her, she's waiting for it. Take her - it gives me an opportunity to read that letter."

At once, Almyra grabbed the owl, who seemed more than satisfied with the change. Harry walked back to his seat and sat down, about to unfold the letter.

"Poor Hedwig - not even your owl is safe from her, Harry." Of course - Hermione had watched the scene.

Harry couldn't suppress a grin. "Yeah, right - Hedwig is so frightened, she keeps still while Almyra's pinching her all over."

Hermione looked horrified. "With needles??"

There was no sense in talking with Hermione about anything that involved Almyra.

"No, not with needles," he answered, rolling his eyes.

Hermione seemed relieved, so Harry could finally open the letter from Mr Ollivander.

A source more than four hundred years old? Harry sighed. He would have to fight with that awful old English of those times. On the other hand, maybe he should count himself lucky - might have been Latin, after all.

Well, the letter was certainly better than nothing. Without Mr Ollivander's information, he would never have found that paper ... Would he find it? The Hogwarts library could surely be called well-stocked, except that he would have to wait until late afternoon before he'd be able to ask Madam Pince.

* * *

In Transfiguration, it was McGonagall's turn to start something new. "Today," she said, "we'll begin with the first exercises of transfiguring ourselves - at least, parts of ourselves."

Excited murmurs ran through the class.

In Harry's mind, a picture came up in which he was able to transfigure into an animal by himself. What would be his choice - another dog? Certainly not a bird like Almyra - for Harry, air space seemed inseparably linked with broomsticks ... Not a cat either, at least not such a small one like McGonagall ... On the other hand, why not something bigger? A black panther?

It would fit nicely with his hair, a panther with a lightning-shaped pattern on its forehead - except it was so exotic, not practical at all. Sirius could walk everywhere without getting noticed ... What about a Centaur? Was it possible to transfigure into a Centaur? He wouldn't be able to use that shape in the streets of a city, but still ...

McGonagall's next actions brought him back and also made it clear that there was a long way to go before he could think seriously about the animal of his choice.

She had placed a large, wooden box on the table. The front side revealed a hole, about two inches diameter. Then she turned to the class and waited for silence before starting to speak.

"Your first task is to get something out of that box. To do this, you have to transfigure your hand - or maybe your arm - into a shape long and thin enough to pass through the hole, but you must still be able to grab a small item and to hold it!"

She held up a glittery coin. "The first student who can manage will find this Galleon inside - plus ten points for Gryffindor!"

Ron asked, "Can he keep it, Prof?"

McGonagall smiled. "Yes, Mr Weasley - this will be the only time in Transfiguration that you can win something other than points."

New excitement grew among the students. Harry saw a determined look in Ron's face. But his friend would have to beat Hermione; usually it was her role to win such contests.

McGonagall was holding another coin. "The second student will find this - a Sickle, plus five points for Gryffindor."

Her announcement was greeted with moaning and scoff remarks.

"Better than nothing," called Ron.

He was right, although - compared to the Galleon, a Sickle seemed ridiculous.

"The third one" - McGonagall help up a new coin, this one coppery - "will find this Knut, plus one point for Gryffindor."

Laughter in the class.

Seamus asked, "Prof - can we do some bidding on the winner? It'll add some more money to the game."

"Mr Finnigan!" McGonagall looked indignant. "This is Transfiguration, not a Quidditch game. It's a good old tradition to offer one coin of each kind at this significant step in your magical education, but no more!" She glanced around. "Now, who wants to give it a try first?"

The students glanced at each other. How to do that without being taught?

Ron was the first to protest loudly, "Prof, you didn't show us which spell to use! How can we take it out without knowing what to do?"

"Oh - that's part of the challenge; what did you expect?" The witch showed an expression not too different from Snape in humourous mood. "If someone has an idea, I will show him how to do it ... And that student has the first try."

Seconds later, the air was full of arms; everybody had an idea how to transform his arm into something that would catch the Galleon.

Ron was the first; he wanted to reshape his arm into a long, thin one.

McGonagall demonstrated Ron's idea: her spidery arm went into the hole, came out with the coin, and finally put it back into the box. Then it was Ron's turn.

He did manage to make his arm thin - unfortunately, he wasn't able to control his movements in that shape.

Next came Hermione. Her idea was a bird's claw - not unlike the falcon claws Harry had seen only yesterday.

Hermione could make her hand into claws immediately. She reached into the hole, and an instant later everybody could hear the coin drop inside the box. Hermione hadn't found the proper claw movements to hold it.

Neville Longbottom surprised everybody. His idea was to transform the arm into a snake, and the snake was supposed to catch the Galleon with its mouth.

McGonagall did it first. It was a spectacular sight - a snake at the witch's right shoulder, gliding into the hole, returning with the coin in its fangs.

Then her arm was back. "Mr Longbottom, please - your turn."

Neville concentrated, murmuring, and really, his arm turned into a snake! Whispering went through the seats while Neville tried to command his snake arm.

He had difficulties. The snake turned its head first left, then right, apparently not knowing what to do.

Stifled shouts of encouragement were heard, the sympathy of the class was on his side - Neville beating Hermione, that would be the day to remember forever!

The snake's head moved close to the hole, testing, probing ...

"Yeah - do it, Neville!"

Harry had called out, with his eyes hanging on the scene. The effect was disastrous.

The snake turned around, looked in his direction ... Other heads had snapped around, too. Every student was looking at him!

Harry went deep red. Glancing at Ron, he whispered, "Did I ..."

"Yes," confirmed Ron. "I don't know what you said, but for sure it wasn't English."

Neville's concentration was broken; anyway, his snake no longer followed any of his commands. A short wave of McGonagall's wand, and Neville's arm looked like an arm again.

Neville slumped back to his seat.

"I'm sorry, Neville ... I wasn't aware ..." Harry felt deeply embarrassad - not for his Parseltongue speaking, only because he'd spoiled Neville's try.

"It's okay, Harry." Neville smiled, the only face in the class looking friendly at him. "I was surprised by myself that I could hold it so far - anyway, I don't think I would have taken the Galleon."

Although Neville's attempt had been the one closest to success, no other student seemed ready to try the same - not with Harry in the same room.

Harry was sitting there, contrite, thinking about his stupid Parselmouth ... At least he'd have something to discuss with Almyra, she would be delighted - another proof how involuntarily his weird ability came and went -

"Mr Potter - I'm waiting for your try!"

He twitched. McGonagall was looking at him.

He walked forward, feeling watched by many eyes. Of course, they all expected him to repeat Neville's trick, only with more success. Could he do it? ... Somehow, he felt no doubt about his snake gliding into the box and coming out with the Galleon ... And then? Should he give it to Neville? It wouldn't help much.

"What do you want to try, Mr Potter?" McGonagall looked at him expectantly.

"I'd like ... I want to try it with a Goblin hand."

A little surprise showed in her eyes, replaced by approval.

McGonagall's hand changed shape, showed long, thin fingers. The fingers went into the hole, but stopped.

"A normal Goblin hand is still too thick - or the fingers are too short ... Just a second, Mr Potter ..."

The hand narrowed more; now the wrist was tiny. McGonagall reached into the box - some movement inside, then the fingers came out, the Galleon between index and middle finger.

"Your turn, Mr Potter."

He pointed his wand at his right arm. "Gracilongiorem!"

An awkward feeling, though not painful ... His fingers were thinning, stretching, reaching almost twice their normal length, his wrist spidery, seemingly unable to hold these long fingers. He tried to move them. It worked! Funny feeling, as if his nails were endlessly long. Now let's see ...

The Goblin fingers went into the hole. He could feel the piece of wood on which the coin was placed, waiting to be won. There was the edge ... His feeling in the fingertips normal, he touched forward, felt the Galleon ... Could he grab it? It was difficult, bending these long fingers - especially the thumb, not used to such weird proportions ... He had it!

Now the last part - holding the coin while those endless fingers were coming out ... In a second, he would have won ten points - yes, and a Galleon, and a second later, the others would boo on him; he knew it. For Hermione, it would be just another proof that a Voodoo curse enabled him to do things he couldn't do otherwise ... like beating her in a new spell.

Slowly, he moved his fingers out. When the tips with the coin reached the wood of the box, he let go. A clank - everybody in the class heard the coin dropping inside the box.

"Almost, Mr Potter." McGonagall was looking at him - had she watched? It didn't matter; she wouldn't talk about it, might even understand him.

He walked to his seat.

"All right," said the teacher, "the prize is still waiting for you. Your only homework - practice! Next time, I hope those coins are going to find new owners."

* * *

Harry and Ron were in Divination. Generally speaking, Harry would agree any time that selecting this was probably his biggest mistake at Hogwarts. Today, however, Divination offered an advantage that could hardly be overrated these days: Hermione was somewhere else.

Ron didn't cause a problem. While it was still unclear whether he believed in Hermione's version of things or accepted Harry's statement that his relation with Almyra was innocent, uncursed, and - most of all - his private business, at least Ron treated Harry like a normal human.

Moreover, he refused to help Hermione in her quest to rescue Harry. Initially, Hermione had been able to gain Ron's support - until Harry had warned, "Ron, it's going to turn into a second house-elf strike, that's all I'm saying." Since then, terms between Harry and Ron had returned to a slightly cooler version of normal.

Divination also ran a new topic which had started a week before: Tarot cards. Professor Trelawney had introduced the cards and their meanings; now the students were ordered to learn at least their basic meaning.

Twenty-two Major Arcana, fifty-six Minor Arcana - an awful lot of cards as, in addition to suit and value, each of them represented a complex set of meanings, hints, and symbols, to be interpreted for good or bad depending on the question and on their position in a pattern. Compared to that, planetary courses and constellations looked straight and predictable.

So far, they'd worked on simple divination patterns of three to five cards, no more. Today, Trelawney presented the most advanced pattern, which was called the Celtic Cross. It included eleven cards! To find the answer to a question, in particular a question that involved future events, each of those eleven cards had to be interpreted according to its function.

Working in teams of two, the students were ordered to deal Celtic Crosses in order to hone their skills and their fluency of interpretation. Professor Trelawnay was moving around, to listen and help where required. As always, most of her attention was caught by Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown; shrieks of surprise and delight kept coming from that table.

Neither Harry nor Ron took the cards seriously. True, Tarot had more appeal than tea leaves. It also felt more familiar than I Ching with its exotic remarks about crossing the big water; only the new method suffered the same weakness as all the other techniques: predicting the future was a ridiculous concept.

Luckily, they'd found a way to kill the time in a more amusing style. When talking the other day with Fred and George, the twins had shown them a game that had been played by generations of Hogwarts students. It was called Parrot Tarot or, simpler, Sixty-Six. A two-player game, and what was wonderful, it could be played in class! Of course, only as long as Tarot cards were natural items on a table.

The game required a full deck of Tarot cards. With respect to that, Harry and Ron had taken care to arrive with a spare deck - after all, their table had to look as if they were working hard on a Celtic Cross.

In Parrot Tarot, a player hand contained six cards; a thirteenth card, laid open, indicated trump. The second player in a trick had to follow suit, otherwise, he could play a trump card to make the trick.

Ace was highest in a suit but counted the least - one. King, Queen, Knight, Knave followed in descending order but rising point value, from two to five. Tens counted ten, Fives five - as much as a Knave, while the other cards had no point value. King and Queen of a suit formed a Marriage, which counted twenty, or twice that much for the Trump Marriage.

After every trick, the catching player could say "Stop" to end the game. If he really had sixty-six points or more, he scored once. Otherwise, his opponent would score twice.

These were the basic rules, covering just the Minor Arcana with fourteen cards per suit. The Major Arcana added a flavour of bluff and poker.

Laid out before the next trick, any of them could double the point value - no matter which player would make it. Of course, normally it was the opening player who would bid that way, however his opponent could do the same. A Marriage could only be doubled with the Fool. The Magician, laid out after a game, would double the score.

By far the most malicious card was the Wheel of Fortune - playing it at the end of a game moved the score from the winner to the loser, with doubling and all.

Harry and Ron had laid out a Celtic Cross for cover and then, without even checking what it showed, had started playing Parrot Tarot. Ron was in the lead, almost beyond reach. When it was his turn to shuffle the cards, he touched the deck with his wand and whispered, "Manglopaginae." Then, with a low rattle, the cards arranged themselves in a neat stack.

Harry, to his great annoyance, hadn't mastered the shuffling charm yet. When trying, the cards would spill all over the classroom. He wondered if Ron had learned a bit more than shuffling by random, although he had to admit that Ron kept winning games no matter who had shuffled and dealt.

Ron dealt a new game, Pentangles was trump. Harry took his cards and arranged them. They should be good enough to close up a bit - King and Queen of Pentangles sitting side by side, two Major Arcana ready, one of them the Magician. With such a hand, the game should be a quick blow.

He was about to open with the Knight of Cups when a voice from behind made him freeze.

"My - what a lovely set!" Professor Trelawney took the cards from Harry's hand, which suddenly felt powerless, and placed them on the table. Then she did the same with Ron's cards.

Her eyes showed amusement. "The Potter Parrot against the Weasley Wager ... I haven't seen that pattern for quite some time."

Heads were turning to the scene.

Ron, his face darkening, stared down at the table. The heat in his own face told Harry that he didn't look any different.

Trelawney examined both hands more closely, then turned to Harry. "Dear, dear - what a pity - for once, the cards are promising you luck, and now it's not going to happen ... Tsk, tsk."

Harry sat silently, waiting for the inevitable. Fred and George had warned them - at Hogwarts, being caught playing cards in class meant detention.

Trelawney took her time, letting them sweat. Eventually, she said, "Detention - really, my dears, giving detention is such a mundane business ... Besides, the thought of you two cleaning up for me isn't exactly entertaining. As for the alternative, Mr Filch's attitude in general, and toward Divination in particular, simply prevents me from lending him a helping hand - not even yours."

No detention? Harry was gaining hope - but only for a moment.

"There's a better way," continued the witch. "It's called the Trelawney Treat. Each of you will take a card from the talon, and its value will tell us how many pages I expect from you by next Monday. You'll write an interpretation of the Celtic Cross here - the one you ignored so deliberately. I'll lend you a book or two that may be helpful."

Harry heard giggling. Without turning, he knew that most of it came from Parvati and Lavender.

Trelawney was reveling in the scene. "I'll be a sport," she said. "If the card has no point value, you come out free."

Both Harry and Ron looked at her with surprise.

Trelawney's smile turned malevolent. "On the other hand, if you catch a Major Arcana, it counts twenty. Mr Potter, pick your card, my dear."

Harry tried to make his fingers appear steady. He grabbed half of the talon and turned it ... the Five of Cups! Exhaling deeply, he relaxed. Five pages - bad, though manageable.

"Mr Weasley, please."

Without hesitating, Ron took the card from top of the talon and laid it open, looking triumphantly - the Nine of Bats!

"Close run, my dear ... Mr Potter, five pages Monday morning! You should have checked your Cross - even if it was just pretense, the cards should have warned you."

For the first time, Harry paid attention to their Celtic Cross. Nominally, he had laid out the cross by asking how to solve his trouble with Hermione. Now he wrote down the card values for his five-page assignment. So far, the pattern didn't tell him anything.

.-----.
                                        !     !
                                        !Tower!
                                        !     !
                                        '-----'
                .-----.                 .-----.
                !  8  !                 !  3  !
                ! of  !                 ! of  !
                !Sword!                 !Pent.!
                '-----'                 '-----'
.-----. .-----. .-----. .-----. .-----. .-----.
!     ! !  4  ! !  5  ! !Knave! !  8  ! !Queen!
!Force! ! of  ! ! of  ! ! of  ! ! of  ! ! of  !
!     ! !Cups ! !Sword! !Bats ! !Cups ! !Pent.!
'-----' '-----' '-----' '-----' '-----' '-----'
                .-----.                 .-----.
                !  3  !                 !  7  !
                ! of  !                 ! of  !
                !Sword!                 !Bats !
                '-----'                 '-----'

For the rest of the hour, Harry was in a bad mood. The expression on Ron's face, barely avoiding glee, was no help either.

While the other students left the tower, Harry waited for the book from Professor Trelawney. Coming back, he found Ron gone.

Today was Friday. Harry had planned an evening of some library research, with a closer inspection of Ollivander's essay, then some time lounging in Gryffindor Tower. Tomorrow would be his third interview with Almyra - if he didn't finish the paper this evening, it would spoil his Sunday completely. What a bloody mess.

After lunch, equipped with sufficient parchment and even more rage, he went to the library. To his annoyance, Hermione was sitting there, probably studying some counter-curses she would try on him. He retreated quietly and climbed the stairs to the lesson room.

Five pages about a Celtic Cross ... that would mean about two cards per page, in other words, droning on about each of the eleven cards for nearly a half-page.

It also meant that he had to write down his question, and Professor Trelawney would read it. So what? Quarrels with Hermione Granger were nothing new to her. He examined Trelawney's book. Treasure Tarot - Thousand Tricks to Tamper Tacky Tables, by Theophrastes Tuckery. Thunder and tempest - this Tuckery tended to T's.

Yes, the Celtic Cross was mentioned, and was even represented with a nice little diagram.

.-----.
                                        ! 11  !
                                        !Fact-!
                                        ! or  !
                                        '-----'
                .-----.                 .-----.
                !  5  !                 ! 10  !
                !Chan-!                 !Influ!
                ! ces !                 ! ence!
                '-----'                 '-----'
.-----. .-----. .-----. .-----. .-----. .-----.
!  6  ! !  2  ! !  1  ! !  3  ! !  7  ! !  9  !
!Past ! !Posi-! !Signi! !Nega-! !Futu-! !Hope/!
!     ! ! tive! ! fier! ! tive! ! re  ! ! Fear!
'-----' '-----' '-----' '-----' '-----' '-----'
                .-----.                 .-----.
                !  4  !                 !  8  !
                !Roots!                 !Summ-!
                !     !                 ! ary !
                '-----'                 '-----'

Scanning through the book, Harry was surprised. The author wrote pretty much to the point, gave examples, and altogether provided something totally different than what Harry had expected to find in a book from the Divination teacher. So maybe it wouldn't take the full evening.

He began to write.

The first card, the Signifier, represented the question itself. He had asked, How to solve the trouble with Hermione?

What was the first card? Five of Swords. He browsed through the book ... Swords ... Five of Swords: Superficial Knowledge - well, you could say that again. Useless quarrel, based on insufficient information or bumbling, said the book.

He could almost copy the text, it was a perfect fit, only he had to write down a few more personal details than he'd planned. Would Trelawney really read that paper? Not very likely ... Even so, writing it down felt almost as good as speaking it out aloud.

Next card. Number two, Positive Factors, was - what? The Four of Cups. And that meant ... Reflection. Learn to be alone, said the book, without feeling lonely. It also said he should use the minor and not so minor disasters of his everyday life to think it over. He had done that already; there was no reason to do it again, the Trelawney Treat wouldn't change his mind. The scene this morning with Neville's snake arm had shown him again how other people would respond to hearing about the case study.

That settled, he only had to find a half-page of nice words about positive factors.

The third card should be simpler because it represented negative factors. In the cross, the Knave of Bats occupied that position: Playing with the Fire. Little surprise - Hermione and a challenge, challenged by another girl ... Suddenly, Harry had an image of Hermione capturing him and starting to de-curse him, or to make him drink some dangerous potion.

Well, it wouldn't be that simple. He wouldn't succumb to an Imperius curse. Of course, Hermione could stun him, but a stunned person wouldn't drink a potion. Somehow, Tarot seemed less stupid than he'd expected; the possibilities of what might happen could easily fill an entire page.

He came the the fourth card, which represented the Roots. It was the Three of Swords in his cross: Learning Processes. True, he had learned how to live with Hermione's attitude. It had taken time, much more time than with Ron, there had been a lot of ups and downs.

Had Hermione learned, too? Yes, he had to admit that for her, ignoring a rule, even breaking a rule, had been a new and probably painful experience. Okay, now she had to learn something else - that he, Harry, wasn't a book, lying open to be read on demand.

Chances, the fifth card, had the Eight of Swords ... there were a lot of swords in that pattern. Chances, or Danger, depending on how he preferred to look at it. The book said, You become aware that you have many abilities but you are tied.

Was he tied? Sure - he was tied to Hogwarts, Hermione too, a rather trivial fact. Luckily, the previous cards had given sufficient text, but this one didn't provide much.

Number six stood for the past. What was the difference between Roots and Past? He didn't know, maybe the card would help. A Major Arcana - one of two in the pattern. Force - representing Vitality. The book spoke about challenges, about a tendency to overestimation. Was he prone to it? Counting the results, the answer was no.

Was Hermione prone to it? It couldn't be denied entirely - the story with the time-turner was clear proof. She had started Divination, only to drop it.

He didn't want to write that, there was a slight possibility that Trelawney would read it. So he had to find some other blah-blah.

Then what was lying in the future? The Eight of Cups was in that position: The Mystery of the River, whatever that meant. He had to leave familiar ground, reach new horizons. Adversary, according to the book, was a possibility of missing the point.

That wasn't the future, that was present - Hermione had been missing the point entirely. Well, certainly so, because he hadn't told her. New horizons - he had no idea what it could mean for him; however, it wasn't complicated to write some nonsense which filled almost another page.

That brought him to card number eight, Summary. The Seven of Bats was what? Energy or Activism, depending on how he looked at it. It didn't tell him anything new and in particular, it didn't answer his question.

But then, had he really expected an answer from Tarot? Not initially, except that after the first cards had matched so precisely, he'd developed some expectation. Stupid of him - he only had to fill five pages.

Eight done, three to go, slightly more than one page missing. The ninth card stood for Hopes and Fears. That card was - Harry looked at it - the Queen of Pentangles, which stood for Rooted in the Middle. It was clear as mud; checking the book, Harry found statements which could fit everywhere and nowhere.

In that case, a little copying had to fill in the lines. At least, it took him to the last page.

The tenth place in the Celtic Cross represented Influence from the Environment. In his pattern, this was the Three of Pentangles: Profession or Position. Suddenly the cards fit again, his position as the subject of a case study had started the trouble.

According to this card's function, it could solve the problem, and would at least help solving it. Certainly - provided you believed in Tarot ... At any rate, he had keyword to fill another half-page.

The eleventh and last card was supposed to represent a special factor that might have an impact, for better or for worse. What was it? ... Oh yes, the Tower, the worst card in Tarot - Shock or Release, depending on how you looked at it. The titles could be combined, liberation through a shock, and that should be good to fill the last lines.

Done. Harry put down his quill triumphantly. He was ready to meet Professor Trelawney Monday morning.

Had he learned anything how to solve his problem with Hermione? If so, he wasn't aware of it. Anyway, he could test his new knowledge right now; there was enough time left of the evening to join the others in Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

After a late and leisurely breakfast next morning, Harry strolled to the library. He wanted to have a look into the Ollivander essay. To his surprise and dismay, there was no such paper in the Hogwarts library.

"Let me check with my colleague in Beauxbatons," said Madam Pince. "They might have a sample, although I have little hope - after all, if an English wizard's paper isn't found in our library, why would it be available in a French school? You may ask again on Tuesday, Mr Potter. By then I'll know whether Beauxbatons can help. If not - well, then, only the NLML can help you."

"The what?"

"The NLML - National Library of Magic Literature; if it's not in there, it simply doesn't exist. It's in London, where else?"

"Can we borrow it from them?"

Madam Pince laughed. "Oh, no, Mr Potter, none of those books ever leave that building. Either the book is quite common, then you can read it in any normal library like ours, or the book is rare and precious, then the only way is their Reader Service. But that's expensive."

"Reader Service - how does it work, Madam Pince?"

The face of the Librarian witch was shining; obviously, she would leave Hogwarts immediately if offered a job in the NLML.

"They have spector cabins. To read a book, you rent such a cabin. Then, the book is placed on a table in a protected room, and a spector camera transfers the picture of the current page. Very nice, that system - you can magnify the pages, you can zoom - "

"And what if I want to turn the page?"

"You press a button," replied Madam Pince. "Each cabin - that is, each book - has an associated servant who turns the page. Those people are trained to take care of the delicate material."

"Servants!" Harry felt consternation. "You mean - wizards?"

"No, Mr Potter," laughed Madam Pince, "not wizards - house-elves!"

That was another piece of information he'd better not tell Hermione. Well, currently there was small risk he would spill any secret to her.

"There's still another possibility," explained Madam Pince. "The NLML has produced some spector movies of important books. These movies can be rented; they need spectors with a stand-by function. For what I've heard, all new systems offer that, so our own spector should do - but frankly, Mr Potter, I don't expect that essay to be found in the list of available movies."

Harry thanked the Librarian and left.

He wondered how expensive that Reader Service might be. Sitting in a cabin for hours, the poor house-elf somewhere down in the building, waiting for the next button press ... it didn't matter, he would never get the permission for a visit to London. If the result on Tuesday was as expected, he would have to contact Drilencu.

Coming to the lunch table, Harry found his seat occupied - by Charlie. The only seat left free was at the other side of the table, right next to Hermione.

What was worse, sitting next to her or looking in her face? Whatever - he was hungry.

"Hi, Charlie. How are your dragons?"

"Thanks for asking, Harry - good so far, except for the Chinese Fireball; she's a little cold."

"Cold? What does that mean?"

Hermione, at Harry's side, snorted. Probably she knew, probably she thought every fifth-year should know - well, probably she was right but what the -

"She doesn't breathe fire," replied Charlie.

Ron giggled. "Shouldn't be Harry's problem. If he needs a Chinese Fireball breathing fire, he'll find supply here in the building."

Harry could grin at that - even ostentatiously so, might Hermione have something to feel upset about.

Charlie chuckled. "Ron - if someone ever curses that big mouth of yours, don't be surprised."

"No, I won't," agreed Ron, then he grinned more broadly. "As long as it's just the mouth. Other people - much politer than me, actually - are suffering from full-body curses."

Charlie didn't understand. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ron pointed. "Harry - he's cursed by a Voodoo witch. Ask Hermione, she'll tell you everything about it."

Smiling, Charlie examined Harry. "He looks quite normal. Harry, where did you meet a Voodoo witch?"

Harry felt uneasy and didn't know what to answer.

Ron solved the problem for him by telling his brother, "You met her at the ball. It's Almyra Benedict."

Charlie burst out laughing. Having calmed down again, he said, "That's a coincidence. To tell the truth, I wanted to ask her for the next ball. What do you think, Harry - is that still a good idea?"

Again, someone else was faster answering for him - Hermione. "The question is whether she'll accept. I wouldn't be surprised if she's already set her mind who'll be her ball partner for Beauxbatons."

Charlie's eyes narrowed a bit. "After such profound advice from two sides, I'd like to hear it from the people you're talking about." He looked at Harry. "What's your comment?"

This time, Harry could answer for himself. "Don't worry about me," he said, "neither because of Voodoo nor because of my ball partner, because it'll be Cho. So if Al says no, it's for some other reason."

Charlie eyed him. "Al, huh? Sounds as if I should ask you to ask for me - you seem to know her quite well."

"That's got nothing to do with - er, balls and so," replied Harry.

"It's Harry's big mystery," explained Ron in a dramatic voice. "He won't tell anyone."

Charlie glanced at his brother. "Listening to you, that seems the best proof that Harry's perfectly normal - I wouldn't do it either."

Harry felt pleased, in particular since Charlie had quite pointedly not looked at Hermione during his remark, raising another snort from her side. If Charlie would ask him ... He had a better idea: he would meet Almyra shortly after lunch for the third interview, then he would ask her to tell Charlie about the study. Every unprejudiced person who knew the background was a help.

Entering the interview room, he found Almyra sitting at the table, busy with her parchments.

She looked up and smiled. "Hello, Harry."

"Hi, Al. Say, did you see Charlie?"

"Charlie?" Almyra blushed a bit. "No - why?"

"Oh, I thought you would." Still unsure whether it was appropriate to announce the news before Charlie had found an opportunity to talk with Almyra, Harry realized that any more information hiding would only create a real chaos. "Well - er, we talked at lunch, and Ron was joking about me - you know, Hermione's obsession with me under a Voodoo spell. Anyway, Charlie said he wanted to invite you for the Beauxbatons ball ..."

Almyra blushed more.

"... and then Hermione came with her nonsense, and Charlie asked me what they meant, but of course I wouldn't tell at the table. What I'm trying to say is if - if you talk with Charlie, and Charlie asks about me - please tell him about the study, and that it's only for his ears. He'll understand immediately."

Meanwhile, Harry's cheeks felt as flushed as Almyra was looking.

"Okay, Harry." She didn't glance up.

"There's something else I have to tell you - it has to do with the case study, so I guess you should start that steno quill first."

"What is it?"

"I used Parseltongue again."

Almyra's embarrassment disappeared in an instant. When the quill was activated, Harry explained what had happened in the Transfiguration class. He finished, "I felt like an idiot - Neville, of all people!"

"Isn't there any sign telling you that you're talking a different language?"

"No, I don't hear it. I have to ask other people whether it was English or Parselmouth ... it's a nuisance, really!"

"I think I know why," said Almyra. "You learned it still before you could talk normal English - that means, it's even more natural to you than your mother language - and that's of course a strong indicator that you've learned it - more exactly, received it - when Voldemort attacked you as a baby."

Harry made a face. As Almyra had told him, today's interview would concentrate on that accident, on his memory of it, which had developed through many encounters - with Dementors, with Voldemort, with dreams ... It would be awful, he was sure of that.

Almyra saw his expression. "Relax, Harry. The interview won't be as bad as you expect because I've prepared something. It's a little surprise."

"Please - not another surprise. That's the last thing I need, really."

Almyra's face was shining. "This one's helpful. It was clear to me how painful it would be for you, talking about the event. So I got some help, a technique to calm you down - "

Seeing Harry's expression, she added, "No - not Voodoo, it's a standard technique in medical examinations. Harry, if you want, I can put you in a trance."

"A trance? What - "

"It calms down the patient, and what's more, it activates memories that aren't available when fully awake. You're not dazed, not sleeping - it's some kind of hypnotization, like a mild version of the Imperius curse."

"In that case, it might not work," said Harry.

"Why not?"

"I'm immune to the Imperius. Nobody can curse me that way."

"Really? Not even ..."

"No." Harry looked grim. "Not even Voldemort."

Almyra seemed impressed. "Well - it's not the Imperius curse, it's totally different. Anyway, there's just one way to find out. But first, medical ethics require that you agree. Do you?"

"Sure."

"That was the unofficial version. Now comes the official one."

Almyra started the steno quill, then said, "This is for the record. Harry, you have been informed that a trance is unharmful but makes the patient speak out things he might not speak about when fully awake. Do you confirm that?"

"Yes, I know."

"Do you agree to be put in a trance and then interrogated by me, Almyra Benedict, about your accident as a baby?"

"Yes, I agree."

"Thank you." Almyra stopped the quill and took her wand. "Harry, find a comfortable position on that chair, so your head isn't lolling around ... Ready?"

He nodded.

She pointed her wand at him. "Mesmerisio!"

The room swam. Harry lost focus; Almyra's image faded and melted into a diffuse mist. He was nowhere ... He heard voices - no, a single voice, echoing in - where? Maybe his mind ... Disoriented, he followed that voice, now he had a direction to turn. The voice grew louder, then stopped, but he knew how to reach it, his mind crossing a shapeless space; he could feel a presence, somehow familiar, and aimed toward it ... He closed in.

He was near it, all he had to do was make contact.

The mist faded; contours appeared, then colours ... He was in a room. He saw a fireplace, with fire burning in it, a chair - empty, put aside ... he'd seen this place once. In front of the fireplace, on a hearth rug - a snake! He'd seen her before, too -

"Harry Potter."

The snake was speaking to him! A large snake, a brilliant pattern covering the body, the head slightly up in the air, two eyes were motionlessly staring ... at him?

"Who are you?"

"My master calls me Nagini. You may use this name as well, it's as good as any other."

"Where are we?"

"This is the place to which you have been invited for quite a while, Harry Potter. And you came - except it's only your spirit that came. Why didn't you bring a body with you? Then I could show you the other rooms."

Harry tried to move, or to turn his head. There wasn't a head to be moved; his perspective was fixed on the gigantic snake. But he could speak, or maybe just think, whatever - the snake understood. And he could remember.

"It's safer that way," he replied. "I remember the last time we met, when you couldn't wait to eat my body. Didn't work out, did it?"

"My master intended to kill you. I was waiting for your corpse. It would have been rightfully mine. But you are alive, Harry Potter, because my master failed again."

The snake spoke almost without emotion, although her last words seemed to indicate contempt.

"Your master - that's another reason for me to stay away. He would kill me on the spot."

The snake's voice was definitely sneering. "He might try - certainly with the same result as before, or worse. Even if he's successful, a surprise will await him."

"What do you mean?"

"Your blood helped revive him. Killing you is the worst he can do."

"I don't believe you. You're just trying to get hold of me."

"You came on your own. You ask, I answer your questions. Believe it or not, it doesn't matter."

He didn't agree with that - not for himself, and he had his doubts that it was true for the snake. "Where is he?"

"My master is out, doing what he called 'Collecting a guest that needs some convincing.' He will not be back before the night, or the morning. We have time to talk, Harry Potter."

Trying again, he noticed that at least one thing was true: he wasn't able to change anything of his state. "About what?"

"Possibilities. Plans. Do you want to kill Voldemort?"

Of course, except ... "What I want is one thing, what's possible is something different. Why do you ask?"

"For you, Harry Potter, it might be possible to kill my current master - if you can do it. Then you can become my new master."

"Why should I do that?" That would be the day, thought Harry: appearing at Hogwarts with a snake, chatting with her during lunch. "But I might instead set you free - you wouldn't be the first snake I set free."

"It is in my nature to serve a master, and to be rewarded by him. Voldemort uses my services and my liquids, while his rewards are little. He has broken many promises - you, Harry Potter, are the better master for me."

"You would betray Voldemort? That's hard to believe."

"My master commands me. I have no choice. It doesn't mean I have to think what he thinks. My willpower is bound, but my spirit is free."

A serpent, said the Bible, invented the first lie.

Harry said, "If Voldemort had instructed you to ensnare me with that story, you'd say the same, right?"

"Yes."

"Then how do I know whether it's you speaking or your master's command?"

"I don't know." The snake seemed quite indifferent to that question. "Perhaps you cannot. It's my own spirit now."

"Can you prove it?"

"No. But you came unexpected; my master had no instructions how to treat you, or your bodiless self."

Good argument, that. However, hard evidence looked different. "When he's back," asked Harry, "will you tell him that I've been here?"

"You are here."

Could he change it? Again he tried to move, or at least change his perspective. No success. If he couldn't move, what could he do to return, or to reach another place? He tried a new approach: disappearing without a specific target.

Without thinking of any particular place, he concentrated on not being here.

Nagini's contours wavered, the place faded, then he heard a voice. Was it Nagini again? He couldn't identify it ... if it turned out to be Nagini, he'd have to try once more. Passing the space again, he oriented himself toward the voice and followed its call ... felt closer, near ... It was another room, different: no fireplace, a face, hanging above him, two faces ... His focus returned, and his sense of his body: he was sitting in the lesson room, and the two faces above his own were those of Madam Pomfrey and Almyra.

Almyra looked frightened, almost desperate. The doctor witch was shaking him and slapping his face.

"Ouch! Madam Pomfrey - no!"

The slapping stopped. "Finally - he's back." Madam Pomfrey turned to Almyra. "Go - get his Head of House."

Almyra hurried to the door and disappeared.

Madam Pomfrey examined Harry's eyes. She held a finger before his face. "Follow my finger." The finger moved from side to side.

Harry followed its movement for a moment. "I'm okay," he said. "You can stop it."

"That's what I like most, patients telling me what to do." But Madam Pomfrey's voice was friendly. "Mr Potter, what happened to you?"

"I was - " A thought struck Harry. "How long have I been out?"

"Since I was here and started trying to wake you up - about five minutes. Altogether - I don't think it was more than a quarter of an hour. Now tell me, young man - did you feel something while you were out?"

"Er - yes, I spoke with a snake."

"A snake!" It stopped Madam Pomfrey's questions for a moment: whatever she had expected, his answer was something she hadn't been prepared for.

A sound came from the door; next second, McGonagall rushed into the room. "Mr Potter - Harry - are you okay?" Anxiety was visible in McGonagall's eyes.

Before Harry could answer, a new sound came from the door. "Harry! Are you okay?"

It was Hermione. Had she been lurking somewhere outside this room?

Before he could try to answer both questions at once, Almyra's voice rang through the room.

"GET LOST!" She was looking furiously at Hermione, her hand ready to catch her wand.

Hermione glanced at Almyra, back at Harry, then at McGonagall. "Professor - she's cursed Harry, she's a Voodoo witch, she's doing it all the time - "

"Miss Granger! Stop that nonsense!"

"It's true!" Hermione was pointing at him, an instant later at Almyra. "Look - she's hurt him! That's a Voodoo ritual, except she's messed up - "

McGonagall looked almost as furious as Almyra. "I say stop! Miss Granger, one more word of that rubbish, and you'll get detention. Do you hear me?"

"But ... what's she doing here, with Harry?"

"Miss Benedict is doing a case study of Parseltongue, and Mr Potter is helping her. It's certainly not difficult to see that he is the case. That's none of your business, Miss Granger, but obviously there's no other way of stopping your madness. And now please let us alone - NOW!"

Hermione stopped as if hit by a blow. She looked at McGonagall, finding a sparkling glare, then at Harry, finding a cold stare.

She turned. Slowly, dazed, shoulders sagging more with every step, she walked to the door and disappeared through the frame.

After a second, Almyra hurried to close the door. The faces of the three women turned to Harry again.

"I'm fine," he said. To Almyra, he asked, "What happened here?"

"After the trancing spell, I started the quill. Then I asked you a question, and you answered it - it's recorded. Then, before I could ask another question, you started to - I think it was Parseltongue, Harry - a hissing - not a normal language. Of course, the steno quill didn't record it. First I thought it was the answer to my question, but it didn't stop. You were - er, talking, stopping, talking - always in Parseltongue. It sounded - well, frightening."

Almyra looked guilty. She, the calm scientiest, had been frightened by her study object.

"And then?"

"After a few minutes, I thought I'd better wake you up; I just didn't know what was going on. I said the spell that was supposed to finish the trance, but you didn't stop. Nothing changed ... I tried again, and then - then I went for Madam Pomfrey."

McGonagall turned to the doctor witch. "How did you wake him, Poppy?"

"I'd like to know for myself." Madam Pomfrey looked doubtful. "See, Minerva, I tried the usual spells in such a situation, only he didn't wake up. When he came back, it seemed more because he was fed up with my treatment, rather than from the effect. He says he spoke with a snake."

Four eyes widened in astonishment, although with different undertones.

"A snake?" McGonagall, suspiciously.

"A snake?" Almyra, excitedly.

Harry stood up. "Yes. Her name's Nagini, and she's Voldemort's snake. I guess we should see Du - Professor Dumbledore; otherwise, I'll have to tell it again."

To Almyra, he added, "Take your steno quill, for recording."

Madam Pomfrey said, "I don't think you'll need me any longer. Mr Potter, if there are any symptoms left - a headache or something like that - come to me. Otherwise, be careful with trances."

Almyra remembered her manners. "Madam Pomfrey, thank you for your quick help. I wouldn't have known what to do without you."

The witch smiled drily. "The same thing I did - wait until this stubborn young man felt like coming back to us normal people. Goodbye."

After Almyra had collected her parchments and quill utensils, they headed for Dumbledore's office. Passing the door, Harry looked around; he wouldn't have been surprised to see Hermione in some corner. But she wasn't there.

Dumbledore smiled at their entrance. "Minerva - lately, it seems to be developing into a habit - Saturday afternoon visits from you and Harry, but the third visitor seems to change. Miss Benedict, how are you?"

"Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore."

Almyra looked around. Suddenly, her troubled face lighted up - she had spotted the phoenix, which gave a sweet sound of welcome then fluttered through the room. For a second, it looked as if Fawkes was coming to Almyra, but then the bird changed course and landed on Harry's shoulder.

"Hello, Fawkes." Grinning, Harry whispered to Almyra, "That's the only bird who prefers me even if you're around."

They sat down.

Dumbledore said, "I'm eager to hear what exciting news brought you here, my dear Minerva - good news, I hope."

"I don't know yet, Albus." McGonagall pointed at Almyra. "Miss Benedict can explain the first part."

Dumbledore looked toward Almyra. "Might it have to do with your Graduate Work, Miss Benedict?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore. We - that is, Harry and I - had started another interview. I wanted to ask him about his accident as a baby, and - er, to make it easier for him, I offered a trance, and he accepted, so I tranced him. But then he started to speak in Parseltongue, and I couldn't pull him back. Then I called for Madam Pomfrey, and she came, and then Harry woke up ... Well, I think that's all I can say."

Dumbledore's expectant look changed target. "Where have you been, Harry?"

"In a house - in Voldemort's house. I spoke with Nagini - she's his snake."

The amusement faded from the Headmaster's face. "Please tell us everything you can remember, Harry."

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore. I think I can remember it all. I asked Almyra to bring her steno quill so she can record it."

Watched by Dumbledore, Almyra activated the quill, then Harry tried to explain how it had felt to cross that shapeless space, and how he'd followed a voice that was calling him. He repeated the conversation with Nagini - not always the exact words, though at least the meaning.

When he'd finished, Dumbledore asked, "Were you called back, Harry?"

"No, it didn't feel like that." He tried to find the right words. "It wasn't like when you called me back from that - er ..."

"Pensieve?"

"Yes, the pensieve. When Nagini said, 'You are here,' I tried to move, to reach another place. First it didn't work. Then - then I tried to be not there, and that brought me back into this - this nothing. Then I heard a voice - I wasn't sure who it was, it could have been Nagini again, but I thought I'd give it a try, and I followed that voice ... Yes, and then I was back in the room, and Madam Pomfrey was shaking me."

McGonagall said, "Poppy doesn't think it was her treatment that brought him back, Albus - she thinks it was his own decision."

"What do you think, Harry?"

"There was no pulling ... I heard the voice only after I'd left that room. In that nothing, I didn't feel anything - only when I woke up, I felt her slapping my face."

"You could see only that single picture, Harry - is this correct?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore. It wasn't the first time I saw that room."

Suddenly, a glitter was in Dumbledore's eyes. "When did you see it before?"

"That's what I'm trying to remember ..."

Dumbledore seemed to calm himself. "A standard means would be a trance to help your memory, Harry - but it's obvious that we can't use that. Have you been in that room personally?"

Harry shook his head. "No - I couldn't say - " Suddenly he remembered, his eyes getting bigger.

Dumbledore had watched his expression. "When was it?"

"The dream ... Wormtail, Nagini, and that old man. I woke up because my scar was hurting so badly."

"When did you have that dream, Harry?"

"Last year - before term started. I was still in Privet Drive - a few days before the Quidditch World Cup Final."

Dumbledore nodded. "That old man - what do you know about him?"

Scanning his memory, Harry absent-mindedly stroked Fawkes, with an effect very much like what Almyra had planned with her trance: he felt calm and could think clearly ... Yes of course!

"I saw him again - he came out of Voldemort's wand. He was the first who came out - no, the first was Cedric, then him - he was a Muggle!"

"And your dream was when Voldemort killed him - right, Harry?"

"Yes, I think so." The touch on Fawkes' feathers smoothed the memory. "It was the killing that made my scar hurt."

"Good, Harry - that's enough."

Dumbledore was full of excitement. "With this information, we can do a little research. I guess we can - " He interrupted himself. "Harry, Miss Benedict - I think you'll agree that a trance isn't appropriate in this case, not as the means of easing an interview."

"Of course not, Professor Dumbledore." Almyra seemed frightened at the thought of a second try.

Harry smiled. "Fawkes - he's the best tranquilizer: safe, reliable ..."

Dumbledore examined him. "Harry, would you be ready to visit Nagini again?"

McGonagall's head snapped up. "Albus! You shouldn't do that! Imagine - what if he's caught there?"

Dumbledore patted her hand. "Don't worry, Minerva - let's hear what he thinks of it."

Harry hesitated. "Well - I wouldn't do it for fun, Professor."

"Agreed - there must be a good reason." Dumbledore didn't smile. "Moreover, you must feel safe. If you think it was just by a lucky accident that you came back, we won't try again. On the other hand, if you think you have enough control to return to us, calling you - I would like to know for which guest Voldemort was out."

A frightening thought ... In his own way, Dumbledore appeared as merciless as their enemy.

An idea crossed Harry's mind. "Professor Dumbledore - if I say yes, would you agree to lend us Fawkes for an interview? With him on my shoulder, I feel as if I can walk through my memory like a library."

Dumbledore looked pleased. "I'll do more: I'll lend you this office for the interview about the accident - provided you accept me as a silent listener in the background. Miss Benedict?"

"Er - yes, Professor Dumbledore." The thought of the Headmaster listening to her performance wasn't exactly calming to Almyra's nerves, everybody could see that, while the prospect of meeting Fawkes again, and for a longer while, was obviously exciting for her.

"In that case" - Dumbledore looked serious again - "can we do it tomorrow? I'd suggest before lunch - it might be the proper time to meet Nagini alone, without Voldemort around. It should be done like it was today - in the same room, with Miss Benedict as the one to trance you, Harry. Eleven o'clock, is that convenient for you?"

Almyra nodded. Harry nodded also, although not very excitedly. He hadn't expected such an early repetition; however, Dumbledore was right - meeting Nagini without Voldemort being present in the same room was certainly preferable.

Almyra collected her parchments, then she and Harry walked down the staircase, leaving McGonagall to discuss the plan, or to argue more with Dumbledore about the uncalculable risks involved.

Reaching the hall, Almyra looked at him. "I'm sorry - if I had known what was going to happen, I never whould've tried it."

"It's not your fault. How could you know?"

Almyra shook her head. "That's no excuse. It is my fault - in research, not knowing what will take place is the worst that can happen. I should have been suspicious - remember, you've warned me. You're immune to the Imperius, you said, only I didn't listen. And now ..."

Almyra sounded so miserable, Harry had the feeling any other girl would have started crying by now. He did something he couldn't have done with anyone else - he took her shoulders and turned her toward him.

"Al, cheer up! I should have passed Fawkes over to you, then you'd feel okay now. I feel okay - thanks to him."

"Really?" A shimmer of hope rose in her eyes.

"Yes, really ... Fawkes has helped me so often - with him, the interview will be better than a table conversation." He giggled. "Talking about table conversations, look what we have: Dumbledore has a lead to follow, we get Fawkes when we try again, and there's someone who's no longer moving around and shouting, Voodoo, Voodoo!"

Almyra's jaws tightened. "Hermione - "

"Give it a break," said Harry. "You know, she's still my friend. It'll be an interesting conversation with her, I'm sure of that."

Almyra asked, "Who's going to tell Cho?"

Without hesitation, Harry answered, "That's your job! A fair share - I have to talk with Hermione, and you have to talk with Cho."

"Oh God - she's going to kill me," muttered Almyra.

Harry grinned. "Well - to quote somebody, if she raises her wand, run."

* * *

He had to find Hermione - the sooner, the better. In a few hours, the events of the afternoon might appear totally different in her memory, he had to talk with her as long as their both versions matched - as far as that was ever possible.

She wasn't in the Great Hall. She wasn't in the Entrance Hall. He went up to Gryffindor Tower - nothing. For a second, he considered asking Ginny to look for her in the girls' toilets, then dismissed it, as there were still one or two possibilities.

Library - crowded, though no Hermione. Ron's office? Unlikely. Viktor? Maybe ... Another possibility struck him.

He walked to the lesson room, opened it, peeked in - and there she was, sitting at the table, books all around, although it didn't look as if she was making noticeable progress.

Watched by Hermione, he crossed the distance and sat down opposite her. "Hello, Hermione. I was looking for you."

"Harry - " Her voice sounded as unhappy as she looked; her eyes were still reddened. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm all right - although that's not what I wanted to talk with you about. Okay, before another rumour starts to spread: Al tried to trance me for an interview - about the accident when I got my scar. It failed - no, it didn't fail, but the effect was that I found myself talking with Nagini - that's Voldemort's snake."

"Oh my God - Harry, you must - "

"CUT IT OUT!"

Hermione twitched, then looked as if she'd been hit.

"We were in Dumbledore's office until some minutes ago. He wants me to try it again - tomorrow. And that's all about what happened to me today, Hermione - know what I mean?"

"Yes."

"Then let's come to the other big event of today - the scene with you and Almyra and McGonagall."

Hermione reddened. "Er - I don't think I want to talk about it ... Not now - "

Harry's voice turned sharp. "That's all you have to say?"

"No - probably not." Hermione was glancing at the table, one hand kneading the other. "Only - I don't know what to say ..."

"It's a new experience, huh? Well, those who climb highest fall deepest. Anyway, I can offer a few suggestions what to say."

"Harry, I ... I'm sorry ... I didn't want to ..."

"See - not bad for starters, Hermione - sounds quite okay to me, so far."

Some of the old defiance returned in her face. "But - why didn't you tell me? It would have saved - "

"Are you trying to blame me?"

Her face reddened again. "No - sorry."

"If it makes you feel better, I had a similar conversation with Drilencu, not so long ago - only today I'm on the other side of the table, so I can quote him."

Hermione looked up. "What - "

"He said, 'Accepted, Mr Potter.' So I say - accepted, Hermione."

"Thank you, Harry ... but, please - why didn't you tell me about that study?"

He shrugged. "I was in no hurry to tell that news. Parseltongue ... your and Ron's reactions hadn't been that much better then those of other students. You looked at me as if I had a disease - so I didn't feel like bursting out at the next breakfast."

Hermione's expression made it clear that for her, Parseltongue was still closer to a disease than to good health.

"It wasn't planned that way," said Harry, "not as a lesson in minding your own business, although I don't mean you to forget it, not at all - it's just, when we met in the corridor and you asked me what I was doing with Al ... do you remember what I said?"

Hermione nodded.

"It was the truth, only you were just too clever, and knew better. Okay, I thought, if she's that smart, let her guess. And guessing you did - oh my, how you did!"

The red in Hermione's face deepened. "Please ..."

"Okay - I'm not going to rub it in. But that's all - I didn't lie to you, I always told the truth. Only it wasn't the full truth."

After a moment of silence, Harry asked, "What I'd like to know is, Hermione, what did you think was going on?"

"Well ... " Hermione's face was glowing. "Before ... before that evening we met, when I was watching her toward you - or you toward her ... It was always so awkward, like people very embarrassed, especially from her side. And then, suddenly, you two were talking, and laughing - I just jumped to the wrong conclusion."

Harry chuckled. "And then you heard the word Voodoo, and love potions, and it just fit so nicely - right?"

"Yes."

But Hermione couldn't go without a little negotiating. "On the other hand, Harry - you didn't mind heating it up. Remember that scene with your owl? You said she's pinching her all over!"

Harry grinned. "Even that's been true - really! If you want to know what it means, ask Almyra."

"Oh God ..." Hermione glanced to the door, back at him, her voice careful. "Harry, is she really - you know, a Voodoo witch?"

"Her mother is a Voodoo priestess - it's her trade, doing some magic or other other for Muggles. As a kid, Almyra had to do errands for her, so she developed some tricks for her own protection - we've seen some of them, remember?"

How well did Hermione remember!

"Otherwise," said Harry, "I don't think she's hanging onto it. Al's too much involved with her scientific work - takes all of her time and interest."

"Now, now," protested Hermione, "a sixth-year student and scientific work - Harry, it's a bit early to call it that."

Harry's voice was suddenly cool. "I see: the lesson lasted for just five minutes, Hermione, then once more, you know better than myself what I should say."

Her hands flew up. "No - please, no - I didn't mean ... Yes, I did, but ... Sorry, Harry, it won't happen again."

He grinned. "Be realistic - let's say it won't happen before tomorrow morning, then it's okay."

She smiled guiltily. "Yes ... So you really think what she's doing is serious work?"

"If you want to know, ask her, then take your own judgment."

"Oh no - how could I do that? She'll spit at me, or laugh at me ... It's so embarrassing ..."

"You can't keep it that way - do we agree on that?"

"Yes, certainly - if I knew how to do it ..." She looked at him hopefully. "Harry - can you help me?"

"Sure."

Her face lit up. "Really? Oh, super, would you go to her and - "

"No."

"But ..." Hermione looked flabbergasted. "Didn't you just say you could help me?"

"Yes."

"Then why - " Hermione stopped herself, then smiled. "Okay, I get it ... Sorry, I did it again - how long did it last, two minutes? At least, this time I noticed by myself."

He sat there, grinning.

"Dear Harry - "

He laughed. "Please - no overkill!"

"Good." She was serious now. "What could you do to help me?"

"Just to be sure: you're ready to apologize to her, right?"

Hermione nodded, not looking happy.

"Then I have a suggestion - actually, it's better than it sounds."

"Better?" With a careful voice, almost timidly, Hermione said, "Erm - it didn't sound yet."

He grinned. "I know - I said it in advance to support somebody's learning process."

"Oh ... Please tell me."

Harry held up a finger. "The first thing we need is Ron's owl - Pigwidgeon."

"An owl? That small - " Seeing Harry's expression, Hermione stopped herself. "Sorry - please go ahead."

"Pigwidgeon, yes. It has to be him, but I think Ron'll agree to it."

"Why only Pigwidgeon, Harry?"

"Because he's so small, and so funny."

This explanation wasn't enough for Hermione; however, she had no choice but to listen.

Harry continued, "You'll write a small letter that you want to meet her, to apologize for your wrong accusations. Okay so far?"

Hermione nodded.

"So you'll invite her to Gryffindor Tower. I'll add a postscript in which I'll extend the invitation to Cho."

Hermione smiled archly. "Are you grabbing opportunities?"

"It's the other way around," he answered. "Some days ago, I was invited to Ravenclaw Tower ..."

This surprised Hermione considerably.

"... and I was looking for something on which to hang my own invitation. This was the best opportunity."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Cho will accept the invitation, no doubt about that, but - do you think Almyra will come?"

Harry grinned. "I have something that'll catch her. In your own part of the letter, you'll write something like, Harry told me that my current project for Professor Snape is of great interest for your study. Then you say - "

"Is that true?"

"Yes, of course it's true! If you'll ever let me finish, and if Almyra will accept the invitation, you'll find out why. What - oh yes, you must say that you don't know why, but as a sign of your apology, you would like to tell her the details. That's it."

"You're talking about the werewolf cure, right?"

"Yes, what else? Did you start another project for Snape?"

"No ..." Hermione's mind was racing, trying to solve the riddle.

"All that," said Harry, "will be done tomorrow. You have to send Pigwidgeon so that the letter is delivered at breakfast - will be a short flight from the Owlery to the hall. And the invitation is for tomorrow evening. Okay?"

Hermione seemed to shrink. "So soon?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Would you feel better to wait another week?"

"No - not really ... I wish the first moment was already over - Harry, are you sure it will work?"

He smiled. "Want to bet?"

When Ron heard the news at the supper table, his comment was short and concise. "Harry, don't get me wrong, but - your Parseltongue is frightening to everybody. You should hear yourself - it gives me the creeps. And for your talking with that Nagini, well, I don't think it's a good habit. There's just one benefit: it's a relief that you and Hermione are talking again."

* * *

Sunday morning, Harry woke early. He had dreamed something bad, except he didn't remember details. Did his scar hurt? Not really, maybe a bit ... He was tired but sleepless, felt cold, and his body was hurting like after hard work, or a fight.

He tried to sleep again, but was unsuccessful.

Was this a late effect of his encounter with Nagini, something he should contact Madam Pomfrey for? Not now ... he'd try to sleep once more; if that didn't help, he would go take a long, hot shower, then have an early breakfast. At least he wouldn't be late for Pigwidgeon's arrival.

The hot water warmed him up. After a while, he felt almost normal, and the knot in his stomach had to be hunger. He took his time dressing, thought of cleaning up a bit, but stopped when some sleepy grunts told him that the noise would wake the others.

Armed with the book about the magical dance rituals, he walked down to read at the table, waiting for breakfast.

Slowly, the hall filled, first and second-years the earliest students after himself, older students following. They looked at him but didn't dare talking to him.

Ron arrived. "Mornin' ... Something wrong? Did you fall out of bed, Harry?"

"Yes."

Ron nodded, satisfied with the answer, obviously not fully awake.

Harry started to eat, feeling better with each bite.

The twins arrived, then Seamus, Katie and Alicia, drowsy faces, not sociable before their first cup.

He saw Almyra arrive, Cho seconds later. He would like to know what Cho had said, how she had reacted after hearing Almyra's story. So far, all he could see in their faces was Sunday morning sleepiness.

Hermione was coming through the door - from the Entrance Hall, not from their tower. The letter had been prepared the evening before. She reached the table, slightly panting.

Harry greeted her. "Did you send the owl?"

"Yes. Should be here any second now."

Harry watched the air above the tables. There he was - Pigwidgeon, looking ridiculously small, fluttering excitedly, sailing through the hall toward the Ravenclaw table.

A second later, he could hear a squeak of delight - Almyra's voice.

He looked at Hermione. "So far, so good."

Hermione kept her eyes to the table.

Harry, feeling less restrained, watched the other table. He saw Almyra glancing over in his direction, smiling, beaming. She seemed busy with the little owl. Would she send him back with an answer?

Minutes passed. No owl answer.

The nervousness in Hermione's face grew by the minute. No owl arriving with an answer left two possibilities, and obviously Hermione couldn't decide which of them to consider worse: Almyra not answering at all, or answering personally, any second now! Harry's sense of pity with Hermione was barely above zero.

"It's not working," muttered Hermione. "She's not answering ... She won't come."

Watching, Harry said, "Wrong. Here she comes."

Almyra had left her place and was coming over, followed by Cho.

Harry could see Pigwidgeon in Almyra's hands, an ungraceful lump of feathers and legs - the first time, as far as he could remember, that the tiny owl was calm and quiet.

Almyra reached their table. She smiled at Harry, then looked at Hermione, who looked back at her, at Pigwidgeon, showing anxiety, mixed with surprise.

"Hello, Hermione."

"Erm - hello, Almyra."

"I got a letter from you. I would've sent a letter back, except I just couldn't let go of that cute owl - so I thought I'd come personally, to deliver the answer and the owl by myself. By the way, is it yours?"

Hermione shook her head, pointed at Ron. "It's his - his name's Pigwidgeon."

Almyra laughed. "Poor thing - such a name! What I wanted to say was - well, yesterday, I still would have thought it impossible, me accepting an invitation from you, but - somehow ..."

Hermione straightened herself. "Almyra, I'm awfully sorry - for what I said and - "

Almyra interrupted her. "It's okay - you know, after this little thing arrived, I couldn't be mad at you any longer. A clever trick, I have to admit - the owl and your offer." She looked at Harry, who just grinned.

"You think it might be interesting for you?" asked Hermione, her curiosity gaining control even at this embarrassing moment.

Rather than answering, Almyra asked back, "Can you give me a hint?"

"It's a cure," explained Hermione, "for - a werewolf cure."

"I had a feeling it would be that." Almyra's eyes were shining. "I'm very interested."

Hermione looked relieved. "That's good. I'm glad I can offer something for - er, compensation. To be honest, I'm also very interested to hear what you're doing - Harry didn't tell me more than - "

Harry stood up, looked at Cho, and strolled toward the Entrance Hall.

After a few steps, Cho was at his side. "Morning, storyteller. Yesterday's story wasn't too nice."

He grinned. "No, not really. That's why I had Almyra tell it to you."

"That was really foul play - Al was so upset and so miserable, I couldn't even shout at her."

Harry shrugged. "You know how it goes: I'm not looking for trouble - "

"Yeah - trouble finds you. And because it wasn't exciting enough, Dumbledore is going to do it again!" Cho sounded angry.

The next test, in little more than an hour ... Harry didn't like the idea either. Then a thought struck him. "Cho, come with Almyra. If you'll be the one to call me, then nothing will be able to hold me in that house."

Cho beamed. "Really? I'd like to be there ... and I like what you said."

* * *

An hour later, Harry arrived at the interview room. Almyra was there, Cho with her. A minute later, somebody knocked at the door. Harry went to open it.

It was Dumbledore. "Good morning, Harry. Good morning, ladies."

Harry pointed at Cho. "Professor Dumbledore, I asked Cho to be here for when it's time to call me back."

Dumbledore smiled. "An excellent idea, Harry - I'm sure you'll follow that call better than Madam Pomfrey's."

Harry grinned; Cho blushed a bit.

Dumbledore said, "Before we start - Harry, do you feel safe enough to try? I don't want to push you into something you're not up to."

"I'm not frightened at the thought," replied Harry. "Otherwise - it's very strange. I don't even know whether I'll find it again - at least, I'm sure that I'll return."

"Good." Dumbledore's hand was on Harry's shoulder. "I left Fawkes in the office because I thought it best to keep the beginning situation as close as possible to that of yesterday - with the notable exception of Cho, that is. However, we'll have him ready in a minute. I'd say we'll call you back after ten minutes, Harry - as long as we don't know more, that's the maximum."

Harry nodded, then sat down on the same chair as the day before and found a comfortable position.

Almyra was already pointing her wand at him. "Mesmerisio!"

The image of the room faded. He was in the mist again, immediately trying to listen. How clear had the voice been yesterday? He couldn't remember, and didn't hear a voice calling now. He tried to turn his mind around, extending his senses ... Something like a mark, giving a direction.

He concentrated on it, felt it coming closer - or him closing in, there was no sensible movement. It was near now, although nothing to see or to step on.

His mind touched the something.

Countours, gaining sharpness ... almost no colours ... a wall, a floor, dim light; it looked like the floor of a dungeon, iron bars - something like a cell, inside, a shape on the floor, a figure - a man, motionless. Before him, curled on the floor, Nagini.

"You come again, Harry Potter?"

"I wanted to see whether I can find you again. Where are we?"

"Still in the same house, only today I have to be here in this cold cellar."

The complaint could only be felt in Nagini's choice of words, not in her voice. Not overly sympathetic, Harry asked, "Why, Nagini?"

"My master commanded me, to guard his guest."

"His guest? The man in the cell, is that the guest?"

"Yes."

"Why do you have to guard him?" Harry felt genuinely astonished. "He's in a cell, behind iron bars - not very hospitable, actually."

"It's my master's command. That man is a wizard, and he was difficult to catch. He might find ways through the bars, but he cannot find ways past me."

"Why's he a prisoner? Who is it?"

"A wizard who caused my master trouble, so my master went out to catch him. I saw him for the first time. His name - my master called him Lupin."