Harry Potter and the Flowers of Mimas

Chapter 3: A Little Knowledge, in the Wrong Hands

Harry took the plain, brown cardboard box from his school trunk and carefully placed it on his bed. He had asked for it to be sent to him with all possible discretion. He was pleased that the box showed no sender's address. In fact, there was nothing to identify its origins at all. It was simply a cube shaped parcel, tied shut with twine.

The dormitory was empty, but Harry still felt nervous about opening the box. His fingers fumbled with the string. The bow was impossible to untie. Eventually, he was able to loosen the twine sufficiently to slip the package out.

Suddenly, the cardboard panels of the box flew up into the air and dissolved into a flamboyant shower of red and orange sparks. Harry fell backwards onto the floor as two familiar voices yelled in unison:

THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING TO SHOP AT WEASLEYS' WIZARDING WHEEZES! THE SHOP FOR ALL YOUR WILD AND WICKED WIZARDING NEEDS!

Harry stumbled back to his bed to check that the contents of the box had not also been incinerated. Thankfully, these were intact - three slim volumes and a short letter. He picked up the books and inspected them. Each book could not have been more different from the others.

The first was a staid and boring Ministry of Magic publication entitled The Apparation and Disapparation Regulatory Code. It was staple bound, printed in black and white and had no illustrations. It also looked as though it had never been opened.

The second book was a paperback. The picture on the cover showed a wizard wearing an oversized, polka-dot bow tie and a wide smile, who was Apparating out of (and then Disapparating back into) an umbrella stand. This book was dog-eared and had been underlined in parts. Fred and George had also scribbled some notes about its contents inside the front and back covers, such as "Only try the suggestion on page sixteen if you don't mind arriving with no clothes on." This book rejoiced in the title, Snap, Crackle and Pop: Barnaby Wibble's All Time Best Party Tricks For Apparators.

The third volume was very much older than the other two. Its cover was made of dark leather that had cracked along the spine. The corners had been worn down by frequent opening. The book smelt not only of dust, but also of wax and candle smoke, as though it had only ever been read in closed rooms at nighttime. The title, which had been engraved into the leather, was Curse Ye Welle by Evelyn Crewelle. Harry held this book for the longest time but he did not open it. Just holding it was enough to create a sense of unease, causing Harry to doubt whether he had done the right thing in writing to Fred and George.

He placed the third book cautiously, almost reverently, on his bed. Then he picked up the letter, which appeared to have been a joint effort from the proprietors of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. It said:

Harry,

I think we managed to lay our hands on everything you asked for. Which just goes to show what a thoroughly professional operation we're running here!

The Apparating stuff is our own, but you're welcome to have a loan for as long as you need it. Don't worry too much about the M.O.M.'s rulebook - you can't go wrong with Barnaby Wibble. Of course, you do know you're not supposed to start Apparation until you're seventeen? (Wink Wink) Mind you, practicing at Hogwarts is impossible - there's some ancient ward or other on the castle and grounds that stops it.

But, we've always been of the belief that a little knowledge, in the wrong hands, is a jolly good thing. So, off the record, this is how we learnt to Apparate when we were at school.

First of all, you have to get down to Hogsmeade. Go at night - you don't want anyone to see you. The Honeydukes tunnel is best for this. Next, find an open space - like the village green. You're bound to be wildly inaccurate, even on short hops, when you start to Apparate. So you need to give yourself lots of room. Following the trail left by a Portkey's good for your first attempts. You can't really Splinch yourself too badly that way. Although, getting a Portkey with all the Ministry rules that are about at the moment is pretty much impossible.

Of course, after you've popped about on the village green for a little while, the next step will be to run like hell. You'll have set off all sorts of alarm bells at the Ministry because of your flagrant breaches of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. The Department of Magical Transportation will also be after you because you don't have an Apparating licence. So, you'll have to make sure that you are once again safely tucked up in your little bed when Fudge sends his goons around.

We've also sent along the book on curses you wanted. This was surprisingly tricky to get. Flourish and Blotts have been made to close down their whole Dark Arts section by the Ministry. I guess they think people will pick up a book (like Gilderoy Lockhart's "Gadding With Ghouls", maybe) and suddenly be seized with a mad urge to become a Death Eater. Can't have that, can we?

Luckily, we have a business contact who runs a knick-knack shop around the corner. He helped us out when we were starting - took a couple of overstocked items off our hands. Our contact was able to get the Evelyn Crewelle book for us (which looks as though it is sufficiently nasty for your purposes). He also charged us one Galleon, three Sickles and eleven Knuts.

We've put the cost of the book on your account. Hope it's what you need,

Fred & George Weasley

Directors of Mayhem

Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes

P.S. We're prepared to offer a ten percent discount on your account if you put Ronniekins under Imperius, and make him kiss Hermione.

P.P.S A further five percent discount will be offered if you Crucio Snape.

Harry was smiling when he finished the letter. He did not know whether it was the thought of Ron kissing Hermione, or the prospect of using the Cruciatus Curse on Professor Snape, which was making him smile. He imagined himself, sitting in Potions, about to be humiliated. Maybe Snape had just used another Vanishing Spell on Harry's potion. Maybe he had said something sarcastic to Hermione. Harry would stand up, and shout one word, and Snape would collapse to the ground in excruciating pain. Students would cheer, and all would be right with the world.

Or would it? Harry's thoughts returned from the happy fantasy to a much grimmer reality. He did not want to make anybody writhe in agony. Not even Snape. He was profoundly doubtful that he could do it even if he wanted to. He had never yearned to hurt anybody so much as he had wanted to punish Bellatrix Lestrange, but he had not been able to curse her. However, he would have to learn how to cast the Cruciatus Curse. And, he would have to teach himself to do much worse.

Professor Trelawney had claimed that Harry had "a power the Dark Lord knows not." Dumbledore had insisted this power was within Harry's heart. But Harry had searched there the whole summer and had found very little of interest. Harry needed to find his secret weapon. He looked down at the picture of Barnaby Wibble, who was continuously Apparating, Disapparating and wearing a silly grin. Harry felt his eyes sting, and blinked several times, before picking up the three books to put them away. He did not know how he was going to defeat Lord Voldemort. But he suspected he would need to do a something far more terrible than popping in and out of an umbrella stand.

He started when he heard the dormitory door open. Neville and Dean entered and, to Harry's surprise, Ginny followed them.

"Hi, Harry," Ginny said idly, as though there was nothing at all odd about her visiting the boys' dormitory. She was holding an inkpot, some scrolls and a quill, all of which she set out on Neville's bed. Harry greeted her in what he hoped was his least shocked voice and tried to surreptitiously stow the three books in the bottom of his school trunk.

Neville and Dean had both walked directly to the window. Neville was now carrying his pot plant, the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, carefully back to his bedside table.

"See?" Neville pointed at the spongy grey plant. He sounded like a proud parent as he continued. "Not only has it been growing heaps, it's got these fantastic new buds here."

Harry glanced over at the plant. He thought it looked as unimpressive as ever, even if it was perhaps a bit taller. It was still covered in unpleasant looking boils. Harry once had the misfortune to discover that these boils could shoot putrid and malodorous Stinksap. Nothing about the plant should, in Harry's mind, be described as "fantastic."

"So," Ginny observed, with a barely disguised giggle. "This is how a Mimbulus Mimbletonia heralds the age of prosperity and abundance?"

Neville nodded earnestly. "At first I thought it was just all the rain we had in August. But since we came back to school, I've checked star charts and everything. I really think this is it."

Harry's curiosity had now been piqued. "This is what, Neville?" he asked.

Neville had put the plant down and was intently turning its soil with a teaspoon. So Dean answered instead. "Ginny has to do a Herbology essay on the life cycle of a magical plant. Neville said she could take some sketches of his cactus."

"But you have to remember," Neville warned Ginny, "that you can't tell Professor Sprout you saw my Mimbulus Mimbletonia here." He turned the pot slightly, so that Ginny would have the best view of all the plant's wonderful, lumpy and grey features. "If she finds out it's going to flower, she'll make me keep it in the greenhouses." Neville's finger stroked the top of the cactus tenderly while he whispered, "It might fret if we're separated."

"Why would Professor Sprout do that?" Harry wanted to know.

"Ignorance," Neville confidently answered. "She doesn't know this plant as well as I do." To Ginny, Neville added, "So, if Sprout asks, you must tell her I left my plant at home this year."

"Your dark secret's safe with me," Ginny replied with mock seriousness. She flicked her long hair behind her shoulders, unrolled a piece of parchment and began to draw. Dean sat on the bed next to her, admiring her work and occasionally offering suggestions. Trevor the toad burrowed out from behind a pillow so that he too could inspect Ginny's sketches. Neville stayed where he was, petting his plant. The thing began to pulsate happily.

Harry felt out of place among this contented band of botany and art enthusiasts. He found his History of Magic textbook in the pile beside his bed and started answering the eighty-seven questions Professor Binns had set for homework, all on the life and achievements of Burdock Muldoon. He had reached question forty-two, which read: Why did Burdock Muldoon, after the Wizards' Council of 1364, cause Porlocks' dung to be declared a banned and illegal substance?

Realising that he did not have a clue why Mr Muldoon disliked Porlocks' poo so much, Harry decided he should take his homework down to the common room. Maybe Hermione would be back soon. She was sure to know. Hermione was as unwilling as ever to let Harry and Ron copy her homework answers, but she sometimes pitied her friends enough to point them in the right direction.

Harry had just collected up his books and writing things when he heard Ron's voice on the boys' stairs. He did not sound pleased.

"Of course I'm going to do my homework now," Ron was shouting to somebody in the common room below, probably Hermione. "What else would I want to do, after two hours of amazing fun like that? Just let me get this idiotic glue off my hands first!"

When Ron entered the dormitory, a frown had already darkened his brow. The sight of Ginny and Dean, sitting close beside each other on Neville's bed, only made things worse.

"What are you doing in here?" Ron demanded of his sister. "I should give you detention, right now! Girls are never allowed in this room."

Ron and Dean were enduring a strained relationship since their return to Hogwarts. Most of the time, they seemed satisfied to remain on cordial terms. As long as their conversation did not stray from schoolwork, Quidditch and other Muggle sports, they appeared to still be friends. However, this brittle civility could fracture without warning, whenever Ron remembered that Dean was Ginny's boyfriend. Unfortunately, Dean was justifiably chuffed with his status as Ginny's boyfriend and never lost an opportunity to remind anyone, including Ron, of the fact.

Dean now threw his arm around Ginny's shoulder in a provocatively affectionate gesture. "It's okay," Dean said casually. "I told her to come up here." Harry braced himself and waited for Ron's temper to explode.

"RIGHT!" Ron shouted. "Out of here. Now!" He stood, red faced, holding the door open. Harry noticed that Ron appeared to have pasted long strips of paper to the hand that held the doorknob.

"But Hermione comes in here sometimes," Ginny argued. "Don't tell me you've forgotten she's a girl again." Dean made the grave mistake of chuckling at this jibe.

"They're just doing homework," Harry said, not sure if this would help. Ron had gone very red in the face. It was clear that something had to be done, and soon, to calm him down.

"Well, they can do it in the common room," Ron said. He yanked his hand from the doorknob, where it had stuck, and stomped towards Neville's bed.

"Er, I'd rather they didn't," Neville said hesitantly. "Ginny's doing some Herbology work that I don't want people to see."

"It's Neville's Mimbulus Mimbletonia," Ginny explained, showing her brother the drawing. Harry thought that for an illustration of a boring, bumpy plant, the picture was very good. Then Ginny drew her wand from her pocket and said, "Hold your hand steady, Ron. Scourgify." The strips of paper vanished from Ron's palm.

"Thanks," Ron said begrudgingly. "I could have done that myself, but the glue was all over my wand hand."

"And it sounds like you're too angry with Hermione to ask for her help," Ginny said quietly, as she returned to her work.

"Well, don't be doodling all night," Ron growled. "Harry and I might want to get some sleep soon." He ignored Ginny's last remark.

"No, I've got heaps of homework still to do," Harry said. Ron snorted in a way that suggested he did not think Harry was being very helpful.

Without looking up, Ginny said in an offhand way, "And you probably want to show Ron the stuff that Fred and George sent you."

"How did - " Harry was too surprised to complete the sentence. He was also dreadfully disappointed that Fred and George had betrayed his confidence so soon.

Ginny's quill continued to scratch away as she spoke. "I saw Hedwig drop the parcel off at the end of breakfast. It looked just like one of their Combustible Cubes. And, of course, that was the twins' copy of Snap, Crackle and Pop you put in your trunk."

"They sent you Barnaby Wibble?" Ron asked in awe. "I tried to use that book all summer - but Mum was on to me every time I got near it."

"Did they send any fireworks?" Ginny had put down her quill and turned to face him. Harry hoped Ron was too distracted by thoughts of Mr Wibble to notice that Ginny had also slipped her hand around Dean's waist. "Or Dungbombs? They've made some brilliant triple-strength Dungbombs. The stench lasts all day."

"Their last mail-order catalogue had some really cool stuff, too. Strawberry Snotblasts and Levitating Liquorices," Dean chimed in enthusiastically.

"Uncle Algie bought me one of their new model Headless Hats for my birthday," Neville said. "It makes your head invisible and, when you take it off, your face is completely upside down!"

"And they've been working on magnetic stuff since July," Ginny said excitedly. "It's all pretty lethal."

"Er, Harry." Ron shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "If they've sent you anything really dangerous - you know, explosive - McGonagall says I'm supposed to confiscate and disarm it."

"Which is another reason I'm glad I'm not a prefect," Ginny announced in a self-satisfied way. "Imagine - disarming Dungbombs! What a waste!"

"They didn't send that sort of stuff," Harry replied, hoping this would quell everybody's interest.

Unfortunately, it only made things worse. Ginny's eyes narrowed in suspicion as she asked, "Oh, yes? I wonder what you're so keen to hide, then?" Her eyes immediately widened and her mouth opened in a look of dawning comprehension. "Oh, gosh! You didn't ask them to send you something for Hermione, did you? Because I'm not sure that Hermione thinks all Fred and George's tricks are funny."

"Why would Harry be getting anything for Hermione?" Ron's expression was most ill-natured.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You honestly don't know? Something about next week, perhaps?"

"Next week?" Ron managed to sound as confused as he looked annoyed.

"Hermione's birthday is next week," Harry said. He was glad that the conversation had shifted from the true contents of his Combustible Cube. But he was not enjoying the look of despair spreading across Ron's face.

"Don't worry, mate," Dean said, much too cheerfully. "Even if you've forgotten to buy her anything, I'm sure Viktor Krum will get her something really good. Did you read that bit about him being the richest man in Bulgaria?"

Viktor Krum had recently renewed his contract as Seeker with the Vratsa Vultures for an undisclosed, but reputedly princely, sum. The sports pages of the Daily Prophet had been full of the news for a week. Ron was normally keen to discuss every paragraph of the Quidditch reports in the newspaper with Harry. Yet Ron had been curiously silent on this point.

Even Ginny realised that mentioning Krum was going too far. She promptly removed Dean's arm from her shoulder, rolled up her scroll and capped her inkbottle. "I'll finish this tomorrow, if that's all right, Neville," she said. "That way, I might be able to get a sketch of that big bud at the top opening."

"Good idea. It's a beauty, isn't it?" Neville agreed.

Harry found a History of Magic text in the tangle of parchment and dirty clothes beside Ron's bed. He shoved it in his friend's hands. Ron was still glowering at Dean, but had not said another word. "We should finish Binns' homework," Harry suggested, steering Ron towards the door. "Maybe Hermione will help us."

"Hermione?" Ron said in a distant voice, while Harry herded him out. "Oh, yeah. She's waiting for us in the common room."

* * * * * * *

It was three hours later, when the boys were cleaning their teeth before bed, that Harry found the chance to talk to Ron alone. Seamus and Dean had hung up their toothbrushes and departed the bathroom, so Harry tried to rid his mouth of EverFizz Tooth Bleaching Potion as quickly as he could.

Harry's mouth was still foaming like a rabid dog's when Ron asked, "So, what did you get Hermione for her birthday?"

"A book," Harry said, froth spewing forth all over his pyjamas. He wiped it off with his towel. "The one on Runic Acrostics she wanted last year. Hedwig picked it up for me before school started."

"Oh." Ron sounded slightly surprised. "You didn't get it through Fred and George?"

"No, that was just the Apparating stuff. And - another book." Harry put his potion bottle and toothbrush on the shelf without looking at Ron. He did not know how to tell Ron about Curse Ye Welle.

"You're not supposed to try Apparation yet," Ron said firmly. "I don't want to sound like Hermione, but it is dangerous. And, there's nowhere you can practice at Hogwarts -"

"Fred and George went to Hogsmeade," Harry interrupted.

"What if you get caught?"

"Fred and George stayed one step ahead of the Ministry."

Ron shook his head sadly. "It's not the Ministry catching you I'm worried about." Ron's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper as he added, "It's not as though You-Know-Who wants to kill Fred and George." He smiled and added, "But I guess, he hasn't met them yet."

"But it's because Voldemort wants to kill me that I have to learn this stuff," Harry insisted. He didn't bother to conceal his irritation. After all they had been through, how could Ron still fear that name too much to say it? "Think about it, Ron. If we could Apparate, how easy would it have been to sort things out last June? We could have gone to London in an instant. We could have gotten away without fighting anybody. Nobody would have been hurt..." Harry felt his mouth go dry and knew that he did not want to say any more. Thankfully, his friend responded with a look of perfect understanding.

Ron scratched his long, freckled nose in contemplation. Harry noticed the welts on Ron's wrist, another permanent reminder of the Department of Mysteries battle. "You're right," Ron said simply.

"And, it's not just Apparating," Harry continued urgently. "I need to learn to fight, Ron. Really fight. Attack."

"Curses?" Ron asked warily. "How strong?"

"As strong as they come."

Ron let out a low whistle. He stood silently for a while. Harry began to wonder whether his friend would be spending the rest of the night inspecting the bristles of his toothbrush. Then Ron said, slowly and deliberately, "You're absolutely right, mate. But it's just not possible." He looked away from the mirror, where Harry's reflection was glaring. "Do you think nobody'd notice if you started casting Unforgiveables about the place?" Ron reasoned. "They'd put you on detention from now till doomsday."

"I need to find a way." Harry felt determination welling up inside him and forming a hard knot in his stomach. "And, when I find a way, I'm going to want your help."

"I'll help if I can," Ron said quietly as he hung his towel. "But - I won't stand by and watch you do something stupid."

Harry followed Ron back to the dormitory. They got into their beds, not saying any more on the topic. Harry rolled over and pretended to go to sleep right away. Ron took his moneybag from the drawer of his bedside table and counted out his coins. It was obvious, from the very few clinking noises, that Ron did not have much money. Ron's drawer slid closed again, he blew out his candle and settled under his blankets. Harry lay awake for a long while, listening to Ron's breathing drop into the slow and regular rhythm of sleep.

Harry's resolve had not wavered, but Ron's reaction had brought him back down to earth. He was no longer just the hero who had defeated Voldemort single-handedly three times, who had inspired and taught Dumbledore's Army, or who told The Quibbler the truth about Voldemort's return. He was also the reckless idiot who had taken five students on a fool's errand to the Department of Mysteries, who had needed to be rescued by Dumbledore and who had caused Sirius' death. Of course he could not expect Ron to leap at the chance of helping him now.

* * * * * * *

Thursday had started out well enough. Ron and Harry arrived at the History of Magic classroom with enough information about Burdock Muldoon to understand most of Professor Binns' lesson. They did not even ask Hermione for her notes afterwards, a fact that Ron pointed out to her with some pride. Ron looked especially pleased with himself when he departed for a free study period in the library, leaving Harry to reluctantly trudge downstairs to Divination.

Divination was as hideous as Harry expected it would be. Only a handful of students were taking the subject for their N.E.W.T. examinations, so all four houses held their classes together. It appeared that Harry was not the only student who had discovered what scatomancy involved before the class began. However, he was virtually the only student who had neglected to take any precautions. Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil and many of the other girls had brought the dragon-skin gloves they used for Herbology. Terry Boot cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself to keep the smell out. Draco Malfoy, the only Slytherin student in the class, adopted the most complete protection from the foul business of all. He sat on a tree stump in the corner of the sylvan classroom, sulking and refusing to participate in the lesson in any way.

When the lunch bell rang, Harry filed past Malfoy and headed straight for the boy's bathroom. Malfoy's lip curled in distaste as he stepped aside, but he said nothing. Harry smiled to himself and remembered how, in earlier years, walking past the pointy-faced git was simply asking for trouble. Walking past him with dung slopped down your robes and stuck under your fingernails should have inevitably attracted a sneering remark. However, in those days Malfoy went everywhere flanked by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Now that his oafish henchmen had departed Hogwarts, Malfoy's sarcastic wit did not flow so freely. In fact, in the week and a half they had been back at school, Harry could not recollect hearing Malfoy say a word.

When Harry had nearly reached the bathroom, the corridor became more crowded. The staircase from the Potions dungeon came up here. Many students were filing up from the underground classrooms and a noisy group of Hufflepuff girls blocked the whole hallway. As Harry waited, he heard Professor Snape's voice echoing in the stairwell, delivering detentions to anybody blocking his path. It was only then that Harry realised Malfoy had been following him.

"So, you're going to wash all that lot off, are you, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was scarcely more than a whisper. He was standing very close behind Harry.

"That you, Malfoy?" Harry asked casually. He did not bother to turn around. "Haven't heard much from you this year. I was beginning to wonder whether you left your tongue on the luggage racks of the Hogwarts Express last summer - along with all your mates."

"I was only asking," Malfoy continued, ignoring Harry's taunts, "because I wondered if you liked smelling like that. It must make you a bit nostalgic. Bet it smells just like your dirty Mudblood mother -"

Even though Snape was now in full view, Harry drew his wand and swung around. But Malfoy was no longer there. Harry spotted him, squirming through the Hufflepuff girls to the safety of the Potions Master's side.

Harry stormed across the corridor, entered the boys' bathroom and slammed the door behind him. He began to scrub his hands furiously. He was too angry to clean his robes effectively, so that even after he had shouted half a dozen spells the odour of Divination clung to him stubbornly. Shortly afterwards he drew a few nasty looks from the students waiting to enter the Great Hall. However, a group of Ravenclaw girls who stood beside the giant hourglasses on the walls were too busy arguing to notice Harry's unhygienic smell.

The Ravenclaw hourglass, which normally began to fill with sapphires as soon as the school year started, was completely empty. Cho Chang, Marietta Edgecombe and Padma Patil were blaming Luna for this sorry state of affairs.

"This is all your fault, not Cho's," Marietta said shrilly. She was wearing a Tutshill Tornadoes scarf, which she had tied across her forehead like a bandanna.

"Is it?" Luna almost sounded convinced. "That's funny." She began to giggle in a most unsettling way.

"No, it isn't funny," Cho said crossly. "We've got no house points. You've taken them all away. You're not even allowed to take house points!"

"Oh yes," Luna drawled. "That's right. I took them from you for sneaking about on the seventh floor last night. Professor Flitwick told me I could."

"He told the prefects that in extraordinary circumstances we could take house points." Padma was twisting her long plait around her wrist in an agitated manner. "But, you shouldn't have taken all of them. Nobody would ever be allowed to do that - at least, not to their own house."

"Only an idiot would take more than five points for something so trivial." Marietta's voice had risen even higher.

"But five is a very unlucky number," Luna countered sombrely. Then she began to clap her hands and sing in a childish voice,

"Five legs on a Quintaped,

Five ghouls beneath my bed,

Five jiggers of sneezewort to addle my wits,

Five blasts of a Skrewt's end to blow me to bits!"

Harry walked through the doors of the Great Hall. He could hear Marietta shrieking, but could not tell exactly what she was trying to say. However, Marietta's general message seemed to be that she believed Luna had eaten an extremely large amount of sneezewort indeed.

Parvati and Lavender must have taken less time to wash after Divination than Harry. They were already sitting in the Great Hall, at the Gryffindor table, but they had not started to eat. Instead, Parvati was spraying a liberal amount of perfume on Lavender's robes and hair.

"It's not enough!" Lavender squealed. "I can still smell it!" She began to fan her hands over her face franticly. Then, looking up, she spotted Harry. "Oh, hang on," she said as her hands fell still. "It's not me anymore. That stink is Harry."

Harry slunk by, as Parvati handed the perfume bottle to Lavender and waited to be doused.

"Why don't you do a Bubble-Head Charm, like Terry?" Hermione asked. She was sitting next to Ron, on the opposite side of the table from the other Gryffindor girls. "Then you wouldn't have to smell anything." Hermione nodded towards the Ravenclaw table, where Terry Boot's charm had apparently not yet worn off. It was making eating his lunch extremely difficult.

"Showoff," Parvati replied in a jealous, complaining voice. "I suppose he thinks he's clever, strutting about with a N.E.W.T. level charm stuck on his head."

"Oh gosh!" Lavender exclaimed. She was squirting the perfume atomiser vigorously. "There's nothing left! And, I haven't done your hair yet."

"Bother!" Parvati folded her arms peevishly. "I can't go about all afternoon with my head smelling like a stable floor."

"Can we borrow your perfume, Hermione?" Lavender asked hopefully. "You've got that big bottle beside your bed you never use -"

Ron stopped eating and shot Hermione a sideways glance. "What, never?" he mumbled.

Hermione bit her lower lip, and then said, "No, I'm - I'm saving that. For a special occasion." This seemed to satisfy Ron, who went back to the serious business of eating. However, when Harry sat beside Hermione he got the distinct impression she was trying to change the subject. She said very loudly, with exaggerated disgust, "Honestly Harry! You can't come to the table smelling like that!"

Parvati and Lavender both giggled and Harry could feel his ears getting warm. "I cleaned my hands and robes," he said grumpily.

"Check your shoes," Ron suggested. Sure enough, Harry's right shoe had somebody's scatomancy project stuck to the sole. Ron cupped his hand over his nose and exclaimed a very muffled, "Blimey!"

Harry's cheeks were now burning. He drew his wand and caused the mess to vanish, but the aroma lingered.

Ron started to laugh and told Harry (as he had told him often) how pleased he was to have escaped from Divination. He was still gloating over the numerous free study periods he now had, and how he had almost used this free time to make a start on the counter-counter jinx essay which Professor Moody had set for homework, (but had instead decided to read the new edition of Which Broomstick?) when Professor McGonagall walked up behind him.

"I'm pleased to hear your timetable meets with your approval, Mr Weasley," she said, in a voice that sounded not a bit pleased. "However, from next week, there will be changes." A sheaf of parchments hit the table between Hermione and Ron with a thud. "Hand those out to everyone in fifth, sixth and seventh year," McGonagall commanded. Without waiting for any argument from Ron, she strode towards the High Table.

Ron and Hermione both fixed their eyes on the top page in the bundle. Hermione's mouth opened in horror as she began to read. When she had finished, she looked as stunned as if she had taken a Bludger to the back of her head. "They - they can't do this!" she squeaked in protest. Then she turned to Harry and implored, "Surely they can't. Can they?"