Harry Potter and the Sect of the Serpent

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN -- Escalation

The shouting echoed three corridors away, and even before he could distinguish one word from another in the deluge of sound, Harry knew it was about him.

"I do hope you didn't call me here merely to discuss my instruction of Potter, because I have much better things--"

"I called you here to apologize to Mr. Potter!"

"You dare presume--"

"Presume! You're a fine one to talk! Taking an innocent boy in your tutelage and--"

"Innocent? I think not."

"Yes, innocent. He's only a boy!"

"Underestimating the basic maliciousness of your students is your first mistake."

Harry slunk unhappily up the hallway towards the angry voices. As much as he enjoyed hearing Snape taken down a peg, and Lindell seemed to be doing a fairly decent job of it, he wasn't particularly happy to be the subject of the argument.

"What you did was inexcusable. You didn't give him any way of protecting himself."

"You are hardly in a position to question my teaching methods."

"Teaching methods? What did you teach him? Hatred? Loathing? Mistrust? It was torture!"

Harry listened to the pregnant silence that followed as he hung back in the shadows opposite Professor Lindell's open office doorway.

"Has it not occurred to you that the torture you speak of might have been for the boy's own good?" Snape's voice drawled icily.

"You cannot convince me that it was the only way, or even the best way."

"Perhaps not. But it was the most expedient."

"You're talking about a young man's life, not some shortcut--"

"Indeed, it was hardly a shortcut. Even given the strongest impetus I could muster, Potter still showed no aptitude whatsoever for the art of Occlumency."

"Harry has proved quite a quick study in our lessons together," Lindell replied, a sharp edge of pride in her voice.

Harry winced. Hardly a wise move on Lindell's part, he thought. The silence that followed was so cold that Harry shivered.

"You are implying?" Snape asked softly. Lindell hardly waited for the last syllable to die on his lips.

"That perhaps you did not want Harry to block his mind. Perhaps you had other plans for him."

Harry felt a trickle of sweat roll down his neck behind his right ear. He'd said as much as the same thing to Remus, blaming Snape for Sirius' death, yet somehow, hearing Lindell say the words made Harry feel very guilty.

"I refuse to listen to any more of your baseless accusations," Snape said with finality.

"I know what you are, Severus Snape."

"You know nothing. And you understand even less."

"I saw you that day... at the funeral. I saw you." Lindell's voice was beginning to rise in pitch. She was wavering, losing her balance, and beginning to sound slightly hysterical. "You dared to show solidarity with him, to stand at her graveside, to mourn with the rest of us. I saw you."

Harry wasn't quite sure he was following the conversation entirely, but he continued to listen intently. Snape never said a word.

"I watched you kneel by her grave and toss a clod of earth down to cover her. I saw you try to wipe your hands of it, Severus... but some marks never come clean."

She spoke the words with such hatred that Harry could scarcely believe it was the same woman he saw every week in lessons, the woman who rarely smiled, whom he had never heard laugh, yet who never seemed sad or overly distraught either. Annoyance and shock were about the strongest feelings he'd ever seen her exhibit. It seemed as though she had been saving up all of her emotion for that one pronouncement and it chilled Harry to the very bone.

"I do not answer to you," Snape whispered.

"You do!" she countered angrily. "If anyone has the right to demand an explanation from you, I do. So explain yourself! Give me a reason for your continued existence -- I dare you to try!"

"You were still a child. You could never have understood--"

"She was still a child, too!"

"She was my friend!"

Lindell laughed, and the sound wasn't a pleasant one. "I didn't think you knew the meaning of the word."

"This conversation is over," Snape said in his most intimidating voice, the one that made students the school over quake in their very boots. "If you delight in rehashing old times, that is your business, but I refuse to do so with an audience."

Lindell didn't reply. When Snape spoke again, Harry could hear the sneer in his voice.

"Surely," he drawled, "you are a competent enough Legilimens to realize that Potter is even now standing outside your door, listening." He paused. "Perhaps it is no wonder that he finds Occlumency so simple with you for a teacher..."

Abruptly, Snape appeared in the doorway, and Harry shrunk back, trying to look like he had not been listening to their every word. Snape didn't even bother to glance at him; he merely swept off down the corridor in a black cloud of condescension.

Slowly, carefully, Harry slunk towards Lindell's office once again and peered cautiously around the doorframe. She was standing with her back to the door, staring at the assembled photographs on top of her cabinet.

"Come in, Mr. Potter, and close the door," she said in a controlled voice.

Feeling decidedly guilty for having been caught eavesdropping, Harry quietly pulled the door shut. The battered table from his previous visit was gone and the large old desk once again dominated the room. Harry sunk silently into the worn leather chair and waited for Professor Lindell to speak.

She seemed absorbed in the photographs, however, and Harry didn't want to disturb her. He watched as she ran a fingertip along the silver frame of the foremost picture; a young girl, maybe eleven or twelve years old looked up at her with a wise smile. The girl wore two long pigtails and thick glasses and was clinging happily to the arm of an older girl, who was tall and lovely, with light colored hair and a charming smile. Harry stared at them, wondering who they were, when Professor Lindell turned towards him. In that instant, seeing her standing next to the photo, Harry realized that the girl with the pigtails had once been her.

Professor Lindell's face was carefully impassive as she walked around behind her desk and sunk down into the chair. For a moment, it seemed as though she was avoiding his gaze, then abruptly, her cool grey eyes snapped up and looked directly into his.

"I would appreciate, Mr. Potter, if you would keep my conversation with Professor Snape to yourself," she said levelly. She made it seem as though he'd just walked in on them sharing a spot of tea rather than a blazing row, but he nodded all the same.

"I was hoping to convince your Potions Master to offer you an apology for his inexcusable behavior..." her eyes flashed momentarily, but she remained composed. "But he did not agree with my assessment of the situation."

"It's all right, Professor," Harry said quickly. "I've had time to think it over, and I reckon maybe he actually was trying to help me..." He couldn't believe the words were coming out of his own mouth. But there they were, hanging in the air of Lindell's office plain as day. Professor Lindell stared at him.

"Be that as it may, Mr. Potter," she said sternly, "it isn't his place to decide such things. If -- and I am not convinced that it is -- but if it somehow were the most practical way to teach you, he should have discussed it with Headmaster Dumbledore and your guardians first."

Harry snorted back an ironic laugh. "My guardians couldn't care less what anyone does to me here," he said. Professor Lindell regarded him with interest for a moment, before apparently deciding not to comment.

"I have your Centre for you," she said instead, reaching into a desk drawer and retrieving his purple crystal. She handed it to him, and he watched the little clouds inside eddy and boil within. He suddenly realized that he'd left the other in the dormitories under Neville's bed, and hoped she wouldn't ask him for it.

"Clear your mind," she said simply, "and we will begin."

Harry closed his eyes and fought to clear his mind, but before he felt even remotely ready, he heard Professor Lindell whisper "Legilimens!"

This time was different. It was as though the memories were flowing at random. He was on the floor in Professor Snape's office, rubbing his knees where he'd hit the ground; he was playing Quidditch at the Burrow with all the Weasley boys; it was Christmas at Grimmauld Place, and Sirius was singing off-key as he hung Father Christmas hats on the house elf heads mounted on the wall; Harry was having his wand weighed with Fleur, Viktor, and Cedric before the first Tri-Wizard task...

Harry tried to concentrate on stemming the flow of memories. At first, he couldn't distract himself from the flashing images long enough to do much of anything, but slowly, he found he could block them out, concentrate, and he began pushing with his mind.

The surge of memories began to slow. He was on the Knight Bus with Tonks, Remus and the others on the way to Hogwarts. The seats swayed and rocked with the movement of the bus, and he was trying not to look out the window at the scenery whipping past. Tonks, dressed as an old woman, was saying something to him about tipping the driver...

Then he was standing in the Room of Requirement watching Cho begin to cry. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her. He wanted her to stop crying. And then she was close to him. Much too close. She looked up, and he followed her gaze to see that they were standing under the mistletoe... Harry didn't want Professor Lindell to see this, and so he pushed -- hard.

Suddenly, he wasn't in the Room of Requirement anymore. He was standing in a graveyard. It was wet and cold, and there was a big, ugly, black hole in the ground in front of him. Across the hole, there were people gathered, all dressed in black, and he was staring at two men; one was tall and regal looking with short cropped blonde hair, the other was shorter and dark, with sallow skin, lank black hair, and a hooked nose. There was a voice, and he turned to see a woman and a man approaching him. The woman was pregnant and crying--

The memory ended abruptly. Harry blinked hard for several seconds. That last one wasn't his memory.

"How did you..." Professor Lindell demanded. She was staring at him very sternly over the tops of her oval glasses.

"I'm sorry..." Harry said, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for. It just seemed the right thing to say. Professor Lindell just stared at him, and he had the impression that she was trying to center herself.

"Mr. Potter," she said at last, "why didn't you tell me that Professor Snape had also been teaching you Legilimency?"

Harry stared at her. "Because he didn't," he replied. She raised an incredulous eyebrow at him. "I swear," Harry insisted. "I don't know any Legilimency."

"Then what, precisely, would you call what just happened?" she asked. Harry shook his head while Professor Lindell got up and began to pace.

"What is the last thing you saw?" she asked. Harry tried to picture the scene again.

"It was a funeral," he said slowly, "and Professor Snape was there, and..." he faltered slightly. "Was that my Mum?"

Professor Lindell whirled around to face him again. "It was," she said flatly. "Tell me, has this ever happened before? Have you ever broken into someone's mind before?"

Harry nodded slowly. "It happened once with Professor Snape," he replied. "But I didn't know I was doing Legilimency, I swear!"

Professor Lindell waved a hand at him dismissively and continued to pace. "I've never seen anyone with such a natural inclination towards it..." she said softly, more to herself than to him. "It's a dangerous tool, Mr. Potter. You'll have to be trained."

"I'm sorry," Harry said again, sensing that she was still upset with him.

Lindell stopped pacing and went back to her chair. "It's my own fault," she said dismissively. "I shouldn't have tried to break into your mind when my own was so... troubled." She reached up and took off her glasses, sat them on the desk, and rubbed her temples in a tired gesture. When she looked at him again, Harry was struck by the change the glasses made in her appearance; without them, her eyes were much more visible.

"I think you should go, Mr. Potter. We'll make up this lesson another time." Harry nodded quickly and turned to go.

"Professor," he ventured, "may I ask you a personal question?"

She looked up at him for a moment, and then inclined her head slightly in assent.

"Whose funeral was it?"

"My sister's," Professor Lindell said simply. Harry nodded and took another step towards the door.

"Mr. Potter," she said. He turned back. "Who was the man with the abysmal singing voice?"

Harry looked her straight in the eye. "My godfather," he replied. "Sirius Black."

He waited for the look of horror, the accusations, the questions, but they never came. Professor Lindell just looked at him for a moment, and then nodded.

Harry knew he had agreed not to tell anyone about Professor Lindell's "conversation" with Snape, but practically bursting with the new information, he convinced himself that telling Ron and Hermione didn't really count. He sat them down in a quiet corner of the common room after dinner and related the entire drama.

"The funeral you saw has to be the same one she was talking with Snape about," Hermione surmised after Harry finished telling them what had happened. "It was obviously on her mind, which would explain why you saw that particular memory."

"But why would Snape be at her sister's funeral?" Ron asked.

"He said they were friends," Harry said with a shrug. "But Lindell didn't seem to agree with him. What I really want to know, though, is why my Mum was there."

"Maybe she was friends with Professor Lindell's sister too," Hermione suggested.

"I can't imagine Harry's mum being friends with anyone Snape was friends with," Ron said with a shake of his head.

"Neither can I," Harry agreed. "But she was there, and she was crying."

"Was she there alone?" Hermione asked.

"I think so," Harry said, trying to remember.

"Mmmm..." Hermione frowned.

"What?"

"It's just, if she was pregnant with you, then that was at the height of Voldemort's powers. Do you really think your dad would have let her go out by herself, in her condition?"

Harry thought about this for a moment. "Wait a minute, there was someone..." He closed his eyes trying to remember the man who had been standing behind Lily in the memory. He had been very thin, with tousled tawny hair, and big, sad eyes...

"It was Re-- Lupin!" Harry exclaimed. "He was there with her."

"I definitely can't see him and Snape having the same friends," Ron decided. "But hey," he said suddenly, "Harry, he didn't act like he knew Professor Lindell at all -- remember? He was asking you what she was like."

Harry nodded. It didn't seem to make any sense.

"Who was the man Snape was supposedly showing solidarity with?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "He was very tall and he had blonde hair, but I only saw him for a moment."

"Sounds like a Malfoy," Ron said with disgust. "Could it have been Lucius?"

Harry frowned and shook his head. "Maybe, but I don't think so." He gave them a quirky smile. "They were all so young, it was hard to tell. And Lupin had a mustache." Hermione smirked and Ron frowned at that.

"Maybe you should ask Professor Lupin about it," Hermione suggested.

"His mustache?" Ron demanded.

"I don't know..." Harry said slowly, finally pulling out the homework they were supposed to be working on. "I don't want to annoy him."

"He said you should," Ron pointed out.

"Yeah, but he didn't really mean it," Harry replied darkly. "He meant, 'be sure and talk to me before you go off half-cocked trying to save my life.'" He regretted saying it the moment the words left his lips. Hermione was giving him one of her patented horrified sympathy stares, and Ron was staring resolutely down at his parchment, which seemed to have suddenly become fascinating.

"Harry..." Hermione began softly, but Ron cut her off.

"Hey, they put up the notice for the first Hogsmeade trip, did you see? It's Halloween!" Hermione gave him a look, but Harry latched onto the topic with gusto.

"Yeah? That'll be cool," he said encouragingly to Ron.

"So who are you going to ask, then?" Ron asked, an evil smirk reminiscent of Fred and/or George creeping across his face.

"What makes you think I'm asking anyone?" Harry asked in his most casual voice. "Can't I just go with you and Hermione, or were you planning on asking someone?" Ron turned rather red and sputtered a little.

"Aren't you going to ask Gwyn?" Hermione asked. It was Harry's turn to blush.

"Er... Hadn't really thought about it," he lied. Actually, he had thought about it. Quite a bit but he wasn't about to tell Hermione, Ron or anyone else for that matter, that when he couldn't sleep he sometimes thought about Gwyn, and taking her to Hogsmeade, and holding hands with her in Madam Puddifoots, and--

"You two haven't had another row, have you?" Hermione asked in an exasperated voice. "Honestly Harry, can't you leave well enough alone?"

Harry frowned. "What are you on about? I never said we had a row! And why would you automatically assume it was my fault if we had?"

Hermione gave him a patient stare.

"I asked her to come to the DA meeting," Harry said, trying to make his voice sound less guilty, "and she said no. That's all."

Hermione heaved a great sigh.

"What?" Harry demanded.

"Can't you even work out that that was about the worst thing you could have asked her?" she demanded. "Harry, you two are already at odds over that kind of thing and then you go and invite her to a Defense club meeting? And you really thought that was a good idea?"

Harry stared at her blankly. "I just wanted her to come to the meeting," he said defensively.

Hermione shook her head wearily. "Well, what's done is done," she said with an air of superiority that Harry particularly didn't like. "But if you ask her to go to Hogsmeade with you quickly, she might not have time to realize what a great lumbering idiot you are."

Ron laughed right out loud at this, but Hermione gave him a scathing look.

"I don't know what you're laughing at; when it comes to understanding girls, most of the time you're worse than Harry is!" She snapped her book shut and headed towards the girls' dormitories after giving them both a look of resigned pity.

By Monday morning, Harry had worked himself up into such an anxious lather that he seriously considered staying in bed and avoiding the rest of the school entirely. His sense of duty, however, won out in the end and he followed the others out into the pouring rain for Herbology, back to the castle for Charms, and then on to lunch. He hadn't yet worked up the courage to speak to Gwyn alone, so he stood resolutely between Ron and Hermione, managing only to say "Good morning," and, "Could you pass the Venomous Tentacula cuttings, please," directly to her all morning. Charms was uncharacteristically dull, as Professor Flitwick regaled them with a long lecture about independently mobile illusions, and so he didn't have a chance to speak to her then, either.

Harry poked at his shepard's pie through lunch and wished that he'd thought to snag a bit of Puking Pastille from his supply so that he could skive off Potions. For a moment, he entertained the idea of running back up to Gryffindor Tower to fetch one, but then decided that it would only make Hermione would frown. Loudly. She was already complaining on an almost daily basis of how many Skiving Snackboxes she'd confiscated. And anyway, the idea of spending a double period with Snape already had his stomach in such knots that the Pastille would probably be redundant.

"Gotta fly," Ron said as he scraped the last of his pie into his mouth. As he stood, he clapped Harry soundly on the back. "Good luck, mate," he said with a supportive grin. "If Snape murders you, I'll give your broom a good home."

"Ta Ron," Harry grumbled. "You're a real pal." Ron laughed and headed for the door.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione said as she began gathering her books. "There's no sense postponing the inevitable." Harry nodded and bent down to retrieve his satchel from under the table.

"Gawd, who died?"

Harry started and banged his head on the table in his hurry to straighten up. Gwyn was looking sympathetically down at him.

"You two look like you just found out you've got cancer of the puppy," she said, waggling an eyebrow at him.

"See you in Potions!" Hermione said quickly, and she shot him a mischievous grin as she dashed for the door.

Gwyn waited for Harry to finish getting his things together, and then they slowly followed her.

"So what's up?" Gwyn asked.

Harry sighed. "You're looking at a dead man. I... er, overheard Snape and Professor Lindell having a private argument," he said despondently.

Gwyn grimaced. "Yikes. Did he catch you?"

Harry nodded.

"You're right," Gwyn said. "You're screwed. Anything I can do to help? You want me to stand in front of you for the whole class? I bet he wouldn't hit a girl." She paused thoughtfully. "And if he did, I bet I could take him."

Harry had to laugh at the thought of Gwyn and Snape in a fist fight. "Actually," he said suddenly, "there is something you could do."

"Name it," she said.

Harry took a deep breath. "Say you'll go to Hogsmeade with me on Halloween."

"Harry, I'll go to Hogsmeade with you on Halloween." She grinned. "What's Hogsmeade?"

"It's the Wizard village near here. They let us go muck about in town a couple of times a year," Harry replied.

"Oh, right!" Gwyn's smile broadened. "Sure! That sounds like fun." Harry began to grin as well.

His happiness, however, was short lived.

On entering the Potions dungeon, Harry saw that Hermione was sitting near the back with Pansy Parkinson and looked decidedly miserable. Harry and Gwyn headed for a free table, but Snape intercepted them.

"Miss Griffiths, you will partner Mr. Malfoy. You," he said, without looking at Harry, "will work with Finch-Fletchly." Harry moved to the table directly behind Malfoy where Justin was already setting up his cauldron. He was actually a bit surprised; normally, Snape took any opportunity possible to pit him against Malfoy. He couldn't understand the sudden change in tactics.

"Allow me," Malfoy said, jumping to his feet and pulling out the stool for Gwyn. He held out his hand to take her backpack as well, but she clung to it, scowling. Harry watched as Malfoy put his hand possessively on the small of Gwyn's back, guiding her to her seat, and he noticed how Gwyn went rigid at his touch. Somehow, Malfoy had convinced Snape to partner them together, Harry concluded. That was the only explanation.

Snape gave them a short lecture on medicinal potions and set them to brewing a simple pain potion, but Harry hardly heard him. He was too busy keeping an eye on Malfoy, who seemed rather busy himself, keeping an eye on Gwyn.

"Did you read my letter?" Malfoy hissed at her as soon as Snape was occupied on the other side of the room. Gwyn stared resolutely forward, organizing their potions ingredients on the table in front of them. "Did you?" he pressed.

"I read it," she replied. "And then I burned it." Malfoy's face went slightly red, and his mouth set in a hard line.

"I was trying to apologize for offending you," he said darkly.

Gwyn shrugged, still refusing to look him in the eye. "You'll have to try harder than that," she said softly. "Apologies usually include the word 'sorry' somewhere in them."

Harry grinned to himself.

He slowly turned his attention back to Justin and agreed to begin chopping their rosehips, but a sharp movement caught his eye. He glanced over in time to see Malfoy reaching across the table in front of Gwyn, and Gwyn pulling back suddenly in disgust.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Draco!" she said loudly.

"Miss Griffiths!" Snape snapped. "Kindly keep your mind out of the gutter and on the task at hand." Gwyn glared at him, but quickly returned to her potion.

Malfoy grinned, and then he noticed that Harry was staring at them.

"Like to watch, Potter?" he hissed over his shoulder. Gwyn glanced back at him, but her expression was unreadable. Malfoy smirked. "Perv!" he spat.

Harry seethed. He was about to retort Gwyn caught his eye again. Her eyes were taking on that hard look again, and her expression made Harry reconsider. She obviously wanted to fight her own battles.

"Harry!" Justin whispered urgently. "Those rosehips have got to be more even. Look, this one's twice as big as the rest."

Harry nodded vaguely and continued chopping. Snape was hovering nearby, surveying the class with a look of intense distaste but avoiding Harry entirely.

"Let me do that," Malfoy said to Gwyn, his voice oozing like black honey. "Hands as lovely as yours shouldn't have to touch such things." He reached in front of her again to gather the ingredients she'd been preparing, and she shirked away from him, leaning precariously back on her stool.

"I'm perfectly capable of dissecting a few gallbladders," she said in a fierce whisper, attempting to take the jar back from him. "I'll just pretend they're your face."

"Nonsense. I said that I'll do it," Malfoy replied coolly, moving the jar out of her reach. Gwyn glared at him and tried to snatch the jar away again.

Her hand closed over the glass, and Malfoy smacked it, hard. Harry jumped at the sound and Gwyn stared at Malfoy in disbelief, clutching her hand to her chest.

"I said no." His voice was low and hard, and his eyes shone like pinpricks of blue flame. He flicked his eyebrows up once, and one side of his mouth curved into a hideous half smile. He leaned slightly towards her, his arm reaching out for her, his hand resting on her thigh. "You're very beautiful when you're angry," he said.

Abruptly, Gwyn launched herself up off of her stool, knocking it over in the process. It crashed to the floor loudly, and anyone who hadn't already been watching the interaction began to stare. Gwyn took several steps away from Malfoy, still staring at him in horrified disgust, and brushing her leg furiously where he had touched her.

"What is going on here?" Snape demanded, his robes swirling around him as he descended on Gwyn and Malfoy.

"I can't work with him!" Gwyn shouted. She never took her eyes off of Malfoy's face, which was carefully poised and composed.

"Miss Griffiths," Snape replied, "part of this exercise is learning to brew potions as part of a team -- a scenario which is not uncommon in the real world."

"I don't care!" Gwyn said fiercely, finally tearing her eyes away from Malfoy to glare at Snape. "I'll work with anyone else, but not with him! You can't make me!"

Snape stared at her silently for a moment, his face twisting into an ugly smirk.

"Oh, but I can," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. "You will take your seat, Miss Griffiths, or you will leave my classroom. Permanently."

Harry watched intently as Gwyn seemed to weigh her options. Just then, Malfoy stood up, bent over, and righted her stool. He yanked it back a few inches, loudly scraping the feet across the floor, and motioned for her to sit. Reluctantly, and still looking like she was about to spit nails, Gwyn took a step towards him. She glared, and Malfoy moved a pace backwards, holding his hands in the air in surrender, but wearing an expression of malicious triumph. Gwyn slumped down onto the stool.

"I believe Miss Griffiths has finished her histrionics," Snape said nastily, "so the rest of you gawking voyeurs can return to your work."

"Professor," Malfoy piped up in his most sycophantic voice. "When Gwendolyn jumped up so suddenly, I accidentally added far too much Flobberworm bile. I'm afraid our potion is ruined."

Snape walked briskly forward and leaned over to peer into the cauldron. He stirred it once or twice experimentally before flicking his wand and vanishing the entire contents.

"You are quite right Mr. Malfoy. Since it was an accident, you and Miss Griffiths may stay after and start again."

Malfoy smiled broadly. "Thank you, sir," he said. He glanced over at Gwyn and raised his eyebrows at her again. Gwyn turned towards Harry, her expression horror-striken. Her eyes were clearly pleading with him for help, but he didn't know what he could do.

Snape turned at walked towards him, his black eyes trained on Finch-Fletchly, but as he passed their cauldron, he stopped.

"What exactly is this?" he demanded, pointing at their potion. Harry and Justin stared up at him. "Do you not see in the instructions that the liquid should thicken and become viscous?" Justin nodded slowly. "Does this look thickened to you?" Snape demanded, ladling out some of their very watery potion and allowing it to slop back into the cauldron.

"Medicinal potions must be brewed with unfailing precision," Snape barked. "Lives are on the line." He flicked his wand, and the cauldron emptied before their eyes. Justin stared down at the empty cauldron dumbly, but Harry glared up at Snape, who was finally looking him in the eye.

"May we start again, Professor?" Justin asked weakly. Snape gave him a contemptuous look.

"Incompetence is not an accident, Mr. Finch-Fletchly," he said nastily. "The rest of you, bring a sample of your potions to my desk as you leave."

"I'm sorry!" Harry exclaimed softly as he and Justin began packing up their things. "I didn't mean to get you into trouble too."

Justin shook his head. "It's my fault. I wasn't paying attention, and when she started yelling, I stared stirring it clockwise instead of counterclockwise." He frowned unhappily. "Bloody potions," he grumbled.

"Bloody Snape," Harry added.

Harry loitered outside the potions dungeon for more than an hour before Gwyn and Malfoy emerged at last. Malfoy was saying something low and soft to her as they walked, but as soon as the door to the classroom banged shut, she broke into a run up the corridor. Malfoy laughed.

Harry stepped out of the corner where he'd been hiding and Gwyn practically collided with him.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were large, pupils wide like a frightened cat. She came to a stop so quickly that she nearly overbalanced.

"Are you ok?" he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders to steady her and keep her from falling over. She shied away from his touch.

"I'm -- I'm fine," she said sharply. "You didn't have to wait for me." She began to march determinedly up the corridor towards the Great Hall.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," Harry said, beginning to feel a bit foolish for hanging about for so long, when he was obviously unwanted.

Her pace slowed, and he took a few long strides to catch up to her. She glanced up at him sideways.

"Thanks," she said at last. "For waiting, I mean. But I think I'd just like to be alone now." They stopped as they came to a junction in the corridors.

"OK," Harry said, feeling rather annoyed, but trying not to show it. "If you're sure you're OK."

Gwyn nodded and took a few steps away from him. Then suddenly, she turned and rushed back. Her arms went around his neck and she buried her face in his shoulder. Instinctively, Harry wrapped his arms around her and held her close. They stood that way for a moment before Gwyn gave him a final squeeze and backed away.

"What was that for?" Harry asked.

Gwyn shrugged. "For being you," she replied. "And for being nothing like Draco Malfoy."