Another Prisoner, Another Professor

Harry had never thought there would be a day when he wouldn't relish Malfoy getting in trouble, but it seemed that day had arrived. He didn't feel particularly sorry that Malfoy was being punished for something he hadn't done - after all, Malfoy usually avoided being punished for things he had done - but he couldn't shake the feeling that Hermione's plan was going to backfire horribly at any moment. And when it did, Harry thought, Black was going to be furious.

"What about the handwriting?" he asked Hermione as Fred and George shot another round of purple sparks towards the ceiling. It was about an hour after Quidditch practice had ended, and the entire Gryffindor common room was in an especially good mood. There was a rumor going around that Malfoy was going to be suspended from the Slytherin Quidditch team. "What if they realize it's not Malfoy's handwriting?"

"They're not going to," Hermione insisted, adding a note in the margin of her Arithmancy book. "Have you ever taken a really good look at Malfoy's handwriting? It's easy to forge, he prints everything."

"Okay, forget the handwriting - why would Malfoy want to make all the Slytherin girls in our year hate him? Does that make any sense to you?"

Hermione exhaled sharply. "For the last time, it doesn't matter if it makes sense! They believe it - you should have seen them, they looked like they were about ready to kill him."

"Well, they're not going to believe it once they've calmed down and thought about it! And come on, Hermione, do you really think you're going to beat the Malfoys at lying and cheating? All they do is lie and cheat! You might as well try to beat Wood at being mental about Quidditch!"

"He's right, Hermione," said Ron, watching the purple sparks as they faded. "Look, I'm not saying you're not brilliant or anything, but you said it yourself, the Malfoys aren't stupid. All Malfoy's got to do is tell Snape he didn't write those cards and Snape'll start heating up his biggest cauldron so he can boil us alive."

"I don't care," said Hermione, scribbling another note. "He can't do anything unless he can prove it, and he's never going to prove it. Besides, what are you two worried about? You didn't make the cards."

Harry and Ron exchanged incredulous looks. "Because you're our friend, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "And if Snape does manage to prove it, it's not just him you'll have after you - Black's going to just about - "

"I don't care," Hermione repeated. "It's not like he's particularly fond of me in the first place."

For a moment, Harry stared in silence. "What are you talking about?" Hermione didn't answer. "You don't still think that because he doesn't say much about how good your stuff in class is - "

"He talked to you and Ron after class today but he didn't say anything to me," said Hermione. She had yet to look up from her book.

"That's because he didn't need to say anything to you! I told him about Pansy - "

"He didn't really talk to me either," said Ron, "I just answered when he asked if Harry had a good shirt for Easter. What's the matter with you? Have you gone completely mad?"

"Ask Black," Hermione said. "He's the one who said I was nearly hysterical."

Harry blinked, bewildered. "He did? When?"

"When we were in his office, after Lupin had been sighted."

"You're taking this all way too personally," Harry said, shaking his head. "He's just under a lot of stress - he gets sharp with people sometimes, you should have heard him when he was telling me off about sneaking out to Hogsmeade. Why wouldn't he like you?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, and suddenly there was a strange note of emotion in her voice. "Especially seeing as I tried to get you to talk to him for weeks and weeks before you did - "

Harry looked at Ron, who shook his head, mystified. Taking a deep breath, Harry tried again. "Look, Hermione, I know him better than you do - if he didn't like you, I'd've figured that out by now. I don't think he's got time to not like you. He's just not the over-emotional type - "

Hermione finally raised her head. "And I am the over-emotional type, is that it?" she snapped.

"No!" Harry was at a total loss; he couldn't begin to figure out how Hermione had got the idea that Black didn't like her, and he couldn't see why it was so important to her, either. Snape had never liked any of them, and even McGonagall, their own head of house, wasn't exactly the warm and friendly sort. Was it because Black was also Harry's godfather? Harry had never been particularly bothered about somebody not liking him, but then again, he'd been raised in a house where the fact that everyone hated him was no secret...

"Hey!" came a voice from the other side of the portrait hole. "Can someone let me in?"

"Bloody hell, Neville's forgot the password again," said Ron, and got up to help him.

Neville's cheeks were red, as though he'd been running. "You're never going to believe this," he gasped, pressing one hand against the wall to steady himself. "Malfoy - "

At the sound of the name, Fred and George both quickly leapt out of their chairs and were at Neville's side at once. "Oliver, get over here!" Fred shouted, and then said to Neville, "Malfoy what? Got expelled?"

Neville shook his head, still trying to catch his breath; Harry got to the portrait hole a second before Wood did. "Got kicked off Quidditch?" George asked. "Has detention until he finishes school?"

"Malfoy - " Neville gulped. "Malfoy's got off."

Wood stared for a moment, and then began to shout a long string of expletives.

"FILTHY ROTTEN SON OF A - "

"Are you sure, Neville?" Harry asked.

Neville nodded. "He's still got detention for trying to hex Millicent Bulstrode - everyone who was in the fight's got detention for that - but he's not being punished for sending the Valentines."

" - DUNG-EATING WANKER - "

"Why?"

" - LYING SACK OF - "

"Oliver!" Fred shouted. "Shut up a second, we can't hear Neville!"

Wood stopped, his face still contorted with fury. "Besides," added George, "I think one of the first-years just fainted. Go on, Neville."

By this time, Angelina, Alicia and Katie had joined the group, as well as several other people. "The Slytherins all ended up in the hospital wing," Neville said. "I ran into Justin Finch-Fletchley - he was there because of a funny rash he'd got in Herbology. Malfoy had blood all down the front of his robes from his nose and the rest of them were bruised and hexed and stuff. Snape and Dumbledore'd followed them in there - Snape was trying to argue that Malfoy ought to get just two weeks of detention, but then Pansy Parkinson started crying and said he always took Malfoy's side - "

"I knew I liked her," Ron said. Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

"Dumbledore said something about how what Malfoy'd done was more serious than two weeks of detention. Then he said that all of them could discuss it in his office later after the Slytherins were out of the hospital wing, and he'd just got up to leave when Black came in - "

"Black?"

"Yeah, when Black came in and asked if he could see the cards."

Several people began to talk at once. "Be quiet!" Wood yelled.

Neville took a deep breath and continued. "Justin didn't see this part - Madam Pomfrey realized he was listening in and pulled one of the curtains, but he could still hear everything - Snape said something like, 'I hardly think this situation needs any of your meddling' - "

"Git," whispered Ron to Harry.

" - and Black said, 'I was just wondering if anyone had thought to compare handwriting to make sure Draco really did write these cards.' Snape said they hadn't, and Black said he had Malfoy's last homework assignment with him - "

The voices broke out again. "Hang on," said Fred, loud enough to be heard over everyone else. "You're saying Black got Malfoy off?"

Neville thought for a moment. "Well," he said, "Justin said Dumbledore was the one who decided that the handwriting was too different to say for sure that Malfoy had written them, but - yeah."

"I can't believe it," Lee muttered. "I thought Black used to be in Gryffindor himself!"

"Yeah," said Fred bleakly. "Bloody lot of good that does us..."

Harry was tempted to blurt out that Black had been the one who'd given the team the Firebolts, but managed to stop himself.

"Why does he want to look out for Malfoy?" Angelina asked. "Malfoy hates him, everyone knows that - "

"Yeah, and Malfoy's parents - "

"I thought for sure the slimy git was going to be kicked off Quidditch - "

" - wonder how Black thought to - "

"Everybody shut up a minute!"

Harry looked; Wood had climbed atop one of the tables and stood over them all, nearly as tall as Hagrid. "Shut up!" he yelled again, and conversation ceased.

"Look," Wood began. His voice was much softer now that he had everyone's attention; even Percy, coming down the stairs from the boys' dormitories, had stopped in his tracks. "We were all hoping that Malfoy would end up suspended from Quidditch or even expelled, but it's not going to happen, and that's not Black's fault. If he thought Malfoy hadn't done it, he should have said something. He - "

"Snape never would have done it for any of us," said someone near the back.

"I know," Wood replied, "but Black's not Snape. He's better than Snape. We're better than Snape, and we're better than Flint and Bole and Derrick and that little piece of filth, Malfoy. No one on our team bought their way in, and no one on our team thinks they're better than anyone else because they've got a better broomstick. No one on our team cheats. No one on our team needs to cheat, and we're not going to lower ourselves to the Slytherins' level. If Dumbledore says it's too hard to tell if Malfoy wrote the cards, that's what we're going with. Unless," he added, lowering his eyebrows and sweeping his gaze across the crowd, "anyone here thinks they know better than Dumbledore?"

No one did.

"I don't want to hear anyone complaining about what Black did. If Malfoy didn't do it, he didn't do it. Knowing him, he'll probably do something stupider soon enough." Several people laughed. "And if it turns out he really did do it and Dumbledore figures that out, well, so much the better for us. Okay? Thanks."

A smattering of applause broke out as Wood climbed down from the table. Harry felt something tap his shoulder; he turned around to see Hermione standing behind him, her face ashen. "Wood's right," she whispered. "We can't lower ourselves to Malfoy's level. I'm going to go and tell Black I did it."

Harry glanced at Ron. "Okay," he said. "We'll go with you."

They walked quickly down the stairs and corridors, realizing that they only had another half hour until curfew. "I don't know what I was thinking!" Hermione moaned. "It seemed like the perfect idea, and if I'd stopped to ask you two I wouldn't have had time to get the cards done - what if I end up expelled?"

"Then Black's mental," Ron said. "No one's going to expel the best student in our year. The worst that'll happen is that you'll get detention and have to write home to your parents." Hermione didn't look particularly reassured.

Black's office door was closed. "Ready?" Harry asked Hermione. She nodded and knocked on the door.

There were a few seconds of muffled conversation, and then Black said, "Come in." Hermione took a deep breath and turned the doorknob.

To Harry's amazement, Pansy Parkinson was sitting in one of Black's armchairs with a cup of hot chocolate. She looked up at them and scowled. "Good news," Black said, rising from his seat. There was the barest hint of a smile on his face. "Pansy's going to testify."