Harry and Hermione stared at Ron. He looked back and forth between the two of them.
“Well? Why did you give that photograph to Harry?”
Hermione had been a wreck all through Potions after the photograph of her in the bikini had
been passed around. But now it looked to Harry like she was back to herself; he could almost
see the wheels spinning in her brain as she prepared to answer.
“I didn’t!” she cried. Harry opened his mouth in shock. This he was not expecting.
“What do you mean, you didn’t? That was your handwriting on the back. I’d know it
anywhere. And what did With love from Hermione mean?”
“Oh, for pete’s sake, Ron! Have you--” she turned to Harry “--or you ever received a card or
letter from me that wasn’t signed that way?”
Ron was clearly thinking about that. “No, I suppose not. Still--”
“Anyway, all I wanted to say is, now I know what happened to that photo! I’ve been missing it
since last summer!”
“What?” Ron and Harry said together.
“See, I had a pile of photos, and I thought I’d send one to Harry with his birthday card and
present, so I chose this nice shot of the three of us in front of the house where we were staying
on Corfu--really amazing, it was built right into the hill, steps going up to the top carved right out
of the--”
“Hermione!” Ron interjected.
“All right, all right. I had a couple of copies of the photo I was actually planning to send Harry. I
turned over one of them and wrote on the back. Then I did a few other things: wrapped the
present, wrote out the card. When I came back to the photo, I thought it felt a little thick, and I
discovered that there were two stuck together. I pulled them apart and put the one I’d written
on inside the birthday card. I suppose I never looked at the front. I just assumed it was the one
I’d selected. I was in a hurry. We were running late. I sealed the envelope and got everything
ready to send by owl post. Snuffles helped. I only missed the photo Harry has much later; I
assumed I dropped it somewhere. Then, after Bulgaria, worrying about where it was didn’t
seem to be important any more.”
Ron looked like he acceded this point; some things did pale in comparison to being kidnapped
by dark wizards. He turned to Harry.
“So why are you still carrying it around?”
Harry swallowed. They had been planning to tell Ron, and now Hermione was lying to him.
Should he tell the truth? Harry wondered. He looked at Hermione. Would she ever forgive him
if he did? If he told Ron now that they were a couple, chances were it wouldn’t be true in about
ten seconds...
“Ron,” he said, having made his decision. “When I got the birthday card, I opened it and that
fell out. Dudley picked it up and started--reacting to it. Then he asked me if she was my
girlfriend. Well, I was so sick and tired of that from the year before--you know, Rita Skeeter
and all--so I just grabbed it from him and told him no, she wasn’t my girlfriend. My potions text
was on my desk; I just opened it anywhere and threw the photo in and slammed it shut. I never
looked at it. Today was the first time I’d ever actually seen it.”
Ron looked at them through narrowed eyes. “So you’re saying that you didn’t know you sent it
to Harry,” he turned to Harry, “and you never looked at it?”
“That’s right,” Harry said, while Hermione nodded, her face grim. Ron looked skeptical.
“Because if you two were--you know--you could tell me. I’m not a baby. I could take it.”
Harry’s throat felt tight. We should have told him! He looked at Hermione. Now. Now. Let’s
tell him now! he thought.
But Hermione laughed. “Oh, Ron! We know you’re not a baby.”
“It’s just that--you seem to spend a lot of time together, and--”
“Well, we go running in the morning, sure, but we’d be with you more if you weren’t seeing
someone, so that mostly leaves just the two of us. Not that we begrudge you spending time with
Parvati,” she said a little shakily. “But--well, we do kind of miss you.”
He smiled now at both of them. Harry felt dreadful. “You’re right, I haven’t been around much.
What say we all go down to see Hagrid after classes today, like old times? I was going to spend
some time with Parvati, but I’ll make an excuse.”
Harry smiled feebly. “Sure,” he said, sounding more ‘sure’ than he felt. He started to hoist his
rucksack onto his shoulder when Hermione stopped him.
“Harry, now that I know where that photo has been--could I please have it back?”
He stopped in shock; he put down the bag and burrowed in it to find where he’d stashed the
photograph after Snape had handed it back to him. He gave it to her and she thrust it into the
pocket of her robes. She donned her own bag again and turned her back to them, heading up
the marble stairs.
“Come on, you two! We’re already late for Charms!”
Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder as they started to follow her.
“Hey--sorry about all that. Just me being stupid.”
No, thought Harry. Just you being spot on.
“S’okay,” Harry said indistinctly as they followed Hermione up the steps.
* * * * *
After Moody’s class, they took their books back to the common room, then went down to
Hagrid’s hut (after Ron spoke to a disgruntled-looking Parvati for a minute). He was delighted
to see them and started getting the tea things ready as soon as they were in the door. Hermione
helped him, getting out the milk jug and some cups and saucers while Harry and Ron set out
plates and checked Hagrid’s pantry cupboard for the least rock-like cakes and biscuits
available.
They all sat down to eat and drink their tea, laughing merrily about Hermione’s inability to not
reel off the history of the English and tea or Harry’s and Ron’s inability to correctly judge the
right moment to start drinking, inevitably getting burned tongues with the first sip, resulting in
slightly lisping speech for a while.
Then they settled down and looked at each other seriously. Harry raised his tea cup and the
others followed suit.
“To Neville,” he said quietly.
“To Neville,” Hagrid, Ron and Hermione responded, clinking teacups with Harry and each
other. They all drank, then continued with quieter conversation. When it was close to time for
the evening meal, they cleared up the tea things and prepared to go back to the castle.
“Coming to dinner, Hagrid?” Hermione asked him. But suddenly, Harry realized he couldn’t
remember the last time he’d seen Hagrid eat a meal in the Great Hall.
“Nah, I--I have other plans,” he said dodgily.
Harry said, “Oh, going to see your mum?”
Hagrid nodded. “How could I not? Ye know, now that she’s here an’ all, after all this time...”
“Of course you should go eat with your mother,” Hermione said with feeling.
“I do kinder miss the meals in the Great Hall...” he faltered, looking at them guiltily. “The elves
do sech ripping puddings...”
Harry smiled at him. “Any time you want us to nick you something from the kitchens, just let us
know. We’re happy to.”
“Definitely,” Ron agreed. Hermione made a face at him.
“You just like the house elves waiting on you hand and foot...” she said just a touch snidely.
“What’s wrong with that?” Ron sounded defensive.
“Say, Ron,” Hagrid interrupted. “Ain’t yer birthday comin’ up soon?”
“On the fifteenth.”
“That’s only a week away! Tell yer what, we’ll have another nice little party here like fer yer
sister, and ye won’t have to worry ‘bout folks surprising ye ‘cause I’m telling ye now.”
Ron shrugged. “Sounds good to me. That was great cake we had for Ginny’s party.”
“I’ll get Biddy to make the same again, if you like,” Hermione said.
“Sounds like a plan,” Hagrid said, showing them to the door. “Thanks fer comin’ ter tea.”
“Give your mother our regards,” Harry said as they were leaving.
“I will!” He started to go, then opened the door again. “Say--you three haven’t seen something
flying round the school groun’s lookin’ a lot like a golden griffin, have ye? Mum insists one was
flyin’ over the giants’ camp a couple of times, but I don’t see how. I mean, they don’ like this
part of the world; Dumbledore had that one brought in special...”
Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry, who looked very guilty.
“Uh, no,” said Ron. “It was probably something else. I mean, what are the chances?”
Hagrid laughed. “Yer right, Ron. Only--it’s hard to tell me mum she’s wrong ‘bout anythin’
when I been waitin’ so long ter see her. Nex’ time she mentions it I’ll jest change the subject.”
“Good idea, Hagrid,” Harry said shakily. They all said goodbye to him and he shut the door.
They looked at each other and heaved a collective sigh of relief. They started walking back to
the castle.
“What have you been doing, Harry?” Ron wanted to know as they walked. “Buzzing the
giants?”
“No, just practicing my flying, so it feels more natural.”
Ron stopped and stared at him. “What’s that like?” he asked softly, sounding a little awed.
“Flying under your own power, no broomstick?”
Harry looked over Ron’s shoulder at the evening sky, at the pink-tinged clouds scudding low
over the tree tops on the horizon. “It’s like--a dream. You know, the kind of dream where you
imagine you can just lift up your arms and fly. Only--I’m not asleep...”
Hermione grimaced. “For me, it was more like a nightmare...”
Ron laughed. “So, not going to try out for the Quidditch team openings next year?”
Hermione smiled sarcastically. “Very funny.”
They started walking toward the castle again. Ron looked like he was thinking about saying
something, then hesitating, then finally coming out with it. “Tomorrow morning, do you think--”
“What?” Harry said, lengthening his stride to match Ron’s long legs.
“Could I come running with you two?”
Harry stopped now. “Running? You?”
Ron looked down at him, obviously offended. “Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”
“Aren’t you the one always calling us mad for getting up early to run?”
Ron looked slightly embarrassed. “Parvati’s been telling me I’m too skinny,” he said quietly. He
glanced at Hermione, then back to Harry.
Harry shrugged. “Sure. We do warm-ups at six-thirty.”
“Six-thirty!” Ron made a face. Harry laughed.
“Or,” Harry said, “you could use an engorgement charm on your muscles and wind up looking
like the Incredible Hulk.”
“The what?”
“Sorry. Muggle comic book. Was a television show for a while.”
Ron shook his head, and they resumed walking for a few more paces, but then stopped again
when they were right outside the doors to the entrance hall.
“Harry,” Ron said slowly. “I just wanted to say again--I’m sorry for the way I reacted this
morning. You know, about that photo...”
Hermione jumped in, a nervous quaver in her voice. “Well, honestly, Ron, you could have used
your brain! If Harry thought that a picture like that were in his potions text, do you really think
he would have given the book to Neville, especially when he was working right next to
Malfoy?”
Ron looked at her with a strange expression at first, then began laughing. He shook his head and
put his hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“She has a point, Harry. Even you aren’t that daft...”
“Ha ha,” Harry laughed unenthusiastically.
Still laughing, Ron entered the hall, Harry and Hermione behind him. Harry frowned at her; this
was getting worse and worse, he thought. Ron’s going to feel like a complete idiot when he
eventually finds out. Harry hadn’t been with her for almost a month, but he was starting to feel
like it would be worth it to lose her by telling Ron the truth. Although then he would probably
lose Ron too, and no longer have any best friends...
* * * * *
Promptly at eight o’clock, Harry reported to Snape’s office. He went in through the classroom
this time, rather than the secret entrance. Everyone knew he had detention, there was no point in
sneaking around.
The door to the office was open, but he closed it upon entering. Snape was grading essays; he
put the one he’d just been marking on a large pile to his left, then grabbed one of the two to his
right. He was almost done. He didn’t look up or say anything to Harry, who went wordlessly to
the wing chair by the fire and sat to wait.
When Snape put the last essay into the pile of graded parchments, he looked up at Harry. “The
headmaster and Professor Moody will be away for a few days next week, from the fourteenth
to the sixteenth. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes will be canceled and Professor
McGonagall will be in charge of the school,” he said tonelessly. Harry swallowed.
“Why will they be away?”
“Avery’s and Nott’s trial. Moody’s doing preliminary testimony on the fourteenth, the actual
trial is on the fifteenth, and, if necessary, the sixteenth will be used for jury deliberations. Unless
they simply come back with the verdict on the fifteenth, and frankly, I don’t see how they can
take more than a few minutes to decide this one.”
Harry nodded. “Won’t Lupin have to testify too?”
“Remus doesn’t signify. Moody left him out of his report. He’s unofficial. For that matter,
Moody made out he was just visiting the village for the day, having a drink, when his magical
eye allowed him to see what Avery and Nott were up to. And since you came along after the
fact, Dumbledore convinced the Ministry to leave you out of it, too.”
“What will happen to them if the verdict doesn’t go their way?”
“They will go to Azkaban, although their sentences may be light due to the cushioning charms
preventing any dire injuries.”
“You say that like Moody should have let people get hurt to get the Death Eaters in trouble for
doing something worse.”
“No. But there are undoubtedly things that they have done that are worse, that had worse
consequences. Things we may never know about.”
Harry nodded. He couldn’t see them getting much for blowing up a pub that fell like pillows
upon the people within. Maybe they’ll have to make restitution to Madam Rosmerta, he
thought. Do wizards have lawsuits? he wondered. He realized he was dreadfully ignorant of
wizarding law.
Suddenly, Sirius’ head appeared in the fireplace. “Harry! Thanks for getting him here, Severus.
How are you, Harry?”
He smiled at his godfather. “Fine.” His voice shook a little; he was actually not feeling
particularly well since he and Hermione had told Ron what he now thought of as The Great
Flaming Lie. Rather like The Great Fire of London. Which, he felt, would prove to be the lesser
disaster by the time this was over. His stomach had been in knots all day, not particularly helped
along by the stale biscuits he’d had at Hagrid’s, plus Hagrid telling them about his having been
seen flying by the giants.
“Are you sure?” Sirius seemed to see something in Harry’s face which disturbed him. Harry
looked at Snape in desperation.
“I’m afraid I rather embarrassed Harry and Hermione in class today. Purely for the purpose of
giving him a detention, to get him here at this time. I’m sure he’ll get over it.” He looked at
Harry with one eyebrow raised, and Harry knew he’d better get over it now. He smiled feebly.
“I’m fine. Just--like he said. A bit embarrassed,” he told Sirius, who smiled sympathetically.
“Severus has to worry about his reputation, you know, Harry. You’re mature enough to
understand that.”
“Why did you need to talk to me, Sirius?”
He sighed and looked as if he’d rather be kissed by a dementor. “Harry, I know you won’t
want to hear this, but--I want to pull you out of school for the rest of the year.”
“What?”
“Hear me out. I said that I want to. I’ll give you my reasons in a moment, but if you don’t want
to, that will be that. But I want to tell you my thinking first. Please?”
Harry nodded, his throat tight. Whatever it was, it had to be bad for Sirius to want to take such
a drastic step. “Lucius Malfoy is getting very aggressive about recruiting younger people for the
Death Eaters. Percy Weasley has been targeted.”
“Percy!”
Sirius nodded. “He received an owl post last night. He is to report to Knockturn Alley next
Saturday to meet someone who will take him to another location to hear his answer. There’s no
chance of replacing him with an operative in disguise--since our little debacle on Christmas
night, the Death Eaters are doing elaborate tests now to ascertain the true identity of anyone
attending a meeting. If he goes and agrees, he gets the Dark Mark and becomes a Death Eater;
if he goes and refuses, he gets killed. If he doesn’t go--”
“What?”
“Well, we know of two families already that have been destroyed because a young man and a
young woman who recently graduated from Hogwarts were being recruited. They aren’t even
bothering with torture first, to coerce them. Just one chance is being given. One was a girl who
finished the same year as Percy, Penelope something...”
“Penelope Clearwater?”
“Yes. Did you know her?”
Harry swallowed. “She’s Percy’s girlfriend. Last summer, Ron told me they were seeing each
other again. What happened?”
“Well--” he sighed. “She received the letter, same as Percy. But she didn’t tell anyone. Just
panicked, then locked herself up in her flat when the time came and quietly killed herself. Left a
note explaining why.”
“No!” Harry felt tears streaming down his face. He remembered Penelope, in her black robes
and prefect badge. She had been petrified by the basilisk at the same time that Hermione was.
Percy was probably devastated, and now he was also being recruited.
“That’s not all. When she didn’t show, Malfoy sent Death Eaters over to her parents’ house.
They were all killed. The Dark Mark was over the house. We don’t know who did it precisely.
Mother, father, grandfather and a little brother. There was a big age difference between him and
Penelope. He would have started at Hogwarts next year. Memory charms specialists eradicated
witnesses’ memories of the Mark. The Ministry is still determined to cover up Voldemort’s
return to prevent panic. I say, sometimes it’s appropriate to panic...”
Harry was crying freely, hearing of the destruction of the Clearwater family. “Who else?” he
choked.
“A young man who was actually a Slytherin. Used to be captain of the Quidditch team. Marcus
Flint.”
“Flint? Flint refused to become a Death Eater?”
Sirius shook his head. “You can’t judge a wizard just by his house these days, Harry. Evidently
he was quite a good Quidditch player, got a job as a reserve player with Pride of Portree, the
team over on the Isle of Skye. The Prides are very good, have a very loyal following.” He
bowed his head. “All the poor kid wanted to do was play Quidditch, you know? His own dad
is a Death Eater, turns out. He went to Skye, where the team was having practice, and tried to
bring his son to Malfoy. Wound up killing him instead. There were witnesses. He’s gone
underground; there’s a manhunt on now for him, but the Daily Prophet won’t have anything
about it until tomorrow morning--this just happened last night--and I’ll bet you they just depict it
as a family squabble or something. Trouble is, because Marcus didn’t show up, some Death
Eaters went over to the Flint house and his mum and a houseguest staying there are dead now.
Malfoy didn’t know Marcus’ dad was going to try to fetch him to comply. Obviously the elder
Flint knew what would happen if Marcus didn’t. Now he’s on the run from Malfoy and
Voldemort and the other Death Eaters as well as the Ministry. And I thought I had it bad...of
course, I didn’t kill my own son while trying to convince him to become a Death Eater, so I’m
not going to waste any time feeling sorry for him.”
Not that it did Karkaroff much good to run from Voldemort, Harry thought. He took a deep
breath. He removed his glasses, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then replaced them. Even the
families of Death Eaters weren’t safe. He realized that Draco Malfoy had had no choice but to
get the Dark Mark on Christmas night. Otherwise, he too would probably have been killed by
his own father. He thought of poor Marcus Flint, whom he had never liked, but who had stood
up to his own father and refused to be a Death Eater, and died because of it. Somehow, he
thought, people had to find out about what really happened to him. People had to know what
really drove poor Penelope to kill herself, and who killed her family, who fired the Dark Mark
over their house, and the Flint house.
“Percy,” Harry said with a shaky voice. “What’s he going to do? And--what about the other
Weasleys?” He felt like he was going to throw up. He thought of the Burrow with the Dark
Mark over it; he thought of Bill, tall and handsome and laughing at the ceilidh; he thought of
Charlie with the dragons when he’d done the first task at the tournament the year before; he
thought of the twins and Ron and--
And Ginny.
“Why don’t you have Lucius Malfoy yet?” he demanded, practically sobbing it. Sirius heaved
another great sigh; he had dark circles under his eyes, Harry noticed.
“It’s not for lack of trying, Harry. Our operatives know Malfoy is doing these things, but we
don’t have any solid evidence to nail him. The Ministry is being very pigheaded about wanting to
find benign, non-Voldemort-related explanations for everything that’s been happening.”
“When they thought you’d killed that street of Muggles and Peter Pettigrew, they just hauled
you off without worrying about evidence.”
Sirius grimaced. “Those were different times. And it’s quite possible that even if a pack of
Aurors swooped down over Malfoy Manor this second, all they’d find is an apparently
respectful wizarding household with old money, maybe a few more Dark Arts artifacts than
there should be, but nothing connecting Lucius Malfoy to anything illegal. He’s covered his
tracks well, has Malfoy. Quiet a puppeteer.”
Harry tried to regain his composure, only partly succeeding. “Why do you want to take me out
of school? Shouldn’t you be worrying about Percy and the Weasleys?”
Sirius looked at him, not speaking. Harry looked back at him, then turned to Snape, who
looked grimmer than Harry had ever seen him--and that was saying something.
“What?”
Sirius began to speak slowly. “Harry. Brace yourself. One of our operatives saw a piece of
owl-post being prepared that you should receive tomorrow morning. It will be a letter in a
black-bordered parchment envelope. With a wax seal shaped like the Dark Mark.” Harry
sucked in his breath. “Yes,” Sirius nodded at him. “It’s official. You are being recruited.”
His head was swimming. “How long will I have?” he choked out.
“I don’t know. Percy received his letter last Saturday, so he’ll have two weeks total. I rather
get the impression they may accelerate your--schedule.”
“But even if you take me out of school, what good will that do? What about Ron and
Hermione? Won’t they still be in danger? And then there’s the whole Weasley family...”
“So you won’t leave Hogwarts?”
“Leave? It’s safe as bloody houses here, Sirius. We should move the whole Weasley family in
to protect them. And what about the Grangers? Are they still safe?” He saw Sirius look toward
Snape. Harry turned to him.
“I assure you that the Grangers are perfectly safe and that no one save I knows where they
are,” Snape said softly.
“You?”
“I am their secret-keeper.”
Harry’s jaw dropped open. They were hiding using the Fidelius Charm, and Snape was their
secret keeper! Well, Harry thought, certainly no one would suspect Snape of being the person
to fill such a role.
“Percy has met with Dumbledore,” Sirius told him. “If your deadline falls after his, he is willing
to get the Dark Mark and go undercover for us. Considering that he’s probably grieving for
Penelope, I think that’s a very brave thing to do. He is, of course, concerned about protecting
his family. The question is, how soon will Malfoy want you to decide...”
Snape stood and walked to the mantel. “Harry can come here after breakfast and before class
tomorrow morning and we can call you and discuss it once we know what is in the letter.
Perhaps Percy Weasley can contact Malfoy, indicate that he will comply, take care of it sooner
than next Saturday.”
Sirius looked like he was thinking about that. “Seems risky. Malfoy might suspect he’s up to
something. He likes to control the schedule. He’ll be suspicious of someone like Percy wanting
to move up the date for his getting the Dark Mark.”
Harry’s hands were shaking. It was all happening too fast. He’d wondered for months when
Voldemort or Malfoy would make their move, and suddenly they were, and he wasn’t
prepared. He didn’t even feel sane. He felt mostly like collapsing into a puddle on the floor.
Then he had a thought. It formed in his mind slowly, then took full form and became an actual
plan.
“Harry?” Sirius said. “You look odd. Are you all right?”
“Malfoy.”
“Yes, Malfoy’s doing all this, we just can’t prove it...”
“No. I mean Draco Malfoy.”
“Draco Malfoy?”
“Well, you know he’s been trying to figure out a way to catch his dad in some act that will get
him put away in Azkaban for a very long time. I need to talk to Malfoy--to Draco, that is, and
get him to fix the schedule. You’re right, Percy asking to get the Dark Mark early would be
suspicious. If he does go undercover, he shouldn’t look too eager. But Draco Malfoy could tell
his father that there’s a particularly opportune time to come and get me...only it would be a
trap.”
“I forgot about Malfoy’s son....And he certainly wouldn’t want his dad to harm Ginny’s family,
from what you told me of those two. Well, he certainly has the motivation to keep the Weasleys
safe. The question is, can he do it? Will his dad listen to him?”
“That’s what I don’t know.”
Sirius sighed again. “I think the first thing we have to do is see what’s in your recruitment letter
tomorrow.”
Harry nodded. Snape looked down at Sirius’ head in the firebox. “Will that be all, Sirius?”
“That’s all for now. Good night, both of you. And Remus says hello. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Sirius,” Harry said softly before his head vanished. He looked up at Snape. The
Grangers’ secret keeper. He’d had the thought before that he should have been his parents’
secret keeper. He hoped the Grangers would be all right...and the Weasleys.
Snape looked back impassively. “I’ve more essays to grade, Potter. Move along with you. Get
back to Gryffindor Tower.”
Harry nodded and went to the door. Then he remembered something and stopped, turning
around. “Oh--if anyone asks what I did for detention, what should I tell them?”
Snape sat at his desk and looked thoughtful. “Tell anyone who asks that you had to chop roots
or something for my stores. Surely you can think of something?”
Harry nodded; Snape was on edge. Perhaps he was remembering being recruited by Malfoy
during his seventh year.
“Good night, sir. And--thank you.”
Snape whipped his head up; his dark eyes shone in the candlelight. He looked surprised, and--
Harry was having a hard time identifying the emotion--touched.
“You’re welcome,” he said evenly. “Good night, Harry.”
Harry turned and left, closing the door behind him. He was climbing the marble stairs leading up
from the entrance hall when he stopped and realized that Snape had called him “Harry” when
talking to him and not about him for the first time. He smiled to himself. Snape was starting to
grow on him. He and Sirius didn’t even trade gibes any more; they were perfectly civil to each
other, even when making suggestions for action on which they didn’t agree.
He continued up the stairs, wishing he could use a Time Turner to go back to the morning, again
and again, live this day over and over, never having to go forward, never having to get to
tomorrow morning’s owl post and a certain black-trimmed parchment envelope...
* * * * *
The next morning, they walked considerably more slowly back to the castle after Ron came
along with them for his first run. The warm-down exercises had helped Ron somewhat, and he
was able to imitate the pull-ups Harry was doing under the Quidditch bleachers, but he wasn’t
succeeding in hiding how winded he felt as he walked beside the two of them, while they were
breathing normally and looking quite refreshed from the run. Ron tugged ineffectually at the
heavy front door to the castle, then stepped aside as Harry pulled on it and it pivoted open.
Then Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped dead; Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were loitering idly
near the foot of the marble stairs. Funny, Harry thought; first time I’ve seen all three of them
together outside class for a while. He wondered whether the two large boys had already been
recruited. Malfoy looked up with an evil grin when he saw the three of them, then he primarily
focused on Hermione in her running clothes. Now that it was warmer, she had gone back to
using a running bra and very tight bicycle shorts. After almost a year of running practically every
morning, Harry thought she looked more incredible than ever, and Malfoy was registering this
on his face also. I wish Ginny could see that, he thought. Then Malfoy’s evil grin shifted to the
exhausted Ron.
“So! Weasley! I saw that you got a real good look at that photo. Commit it to memory?
Because I know that I can conjure it up in my brain--” he tapped his temple “--any time I want.
And Potter, well...of course he can picture even more any time he wants...”
Harry froze at Malfoy’s words and looked at Ron, who was turning red. If he thought Ron
didn’t have the strength to attack Malfoy after the morning run, he got rid of that idea as soon as
Ron dove at Malfoy. He grabbed him by the upper arms and pushed him up against a wall.
Crabbe and Goyle started after him, but Harry pulled his wand out of his sock and pointed it at
each of them in quick succession, putting the Impedimenta curse on them. Now they were both
still heading toward Ron and Malfoy, but very, very slowly, so that their movements were
indiscernible.
Malfoy swallowed while up against the wall with Ron inches from his face. “What did you have
to do that for?” he said to Harry.
Harry gave him a lopsided ironic smile. “Yeah, I suppose slowing those two down is kind of
redundant, isn’t it?”
Hermione guffawed, and then after a moment Harry joined her. Harry had not told them about
the post he was expecting; he had tried to be cheerful all the previous evening and all morning,
not letting on that anything was wrong. Ron was still looking very serious. He told Malfoy,
“Harry and Hermione are friends. Not that you’d understand being friends with a girl. You think
they’re only good for one thing.”
“What would you know about my personal life? And remember--your sister is my friend. So if
what you’re saying is true, I should be seeing a lot more action from your sister than I have
been...oof!”
Ron brought his knee up into Malfoy’s groin; Harry flinched involuntarily. He thought he would
probably react that way even if it were Voldemort getting a knee in the groin. The very thought
was just too...
“You don’t talk about my sister! And you don’t talk to my sister, ever again, you dirty, slimy
little snake...”
Harry heard Sandy hissing at him, but he was distracted, so he asked her to repeat what she’d
said. Maybe it was important, something that was about to happen in the entrance hall...
“I said, tell your friend that snakes are some of the cleanest creatures there are,” she said with
an injured tone to her voice.
Ron whirled on hearing Harry speak Parseltongue, and then hearing Sandy’s hissing. “What is
it?” he wanted to know. “Is she--?” Ron looked at Malfoy, whose arms he was still holding
against the wall; he didn’t want Malfoy to know about Sandy’s Sight.
“Nah, it’s not that. She’s just--a little upset about what you said. She wants you to know that
snakes are actually quite clean.”
“Oh. Can you tell her I’m sorry?”
“He’s sorry, Sandy,” Harry hissed to her.
“I heard him. We’re also not slimy,” she hissed with that hurt voice again.
“Yes, yes,” Harry said a little impatiently. “He’s very sorry, Sandy.”
Malfoy scowled. “Do you wear that damn snake all the time, Potter?”
Harry scowled back. “Do you wear that face all the time, Malfoy?”
Even Ron laughed now, stepping back from Malfoy and letting him go. Malfoy rubbed both
upper arms simultaneously. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked up the marble stairs together.
“Hey!” Malfoy called after them. They turned; he stood at the foot of the stairs where Crabbe
and Goyle were still making infinitesimal progress toward where Ron had been back when
Harry had put the curse on them. “Aren’t you going to do anything about them?”
Harry looked back and forth between Crabbe and Goyle, who looked like very ugly statues. “I
see no difference.” He smiled at Ron and Hermione, who were laughing again, and they
continued their progress up the stairs, hearing Malfoy behind them saying, “Finite
Incantatem!” to remove the spell from his companions. Harry still felt heavy-hearted, but he did
his best to put on a cheerful face, he laughed with the others while feeling hollow inside. The
three of them going running together was a good idea. He was glad Ron had joined them; he felt
like they were pulling him back into the fold. Perhaps when they did tell him about their
relationship, he really would be okay about it...and hopefully, he could find a way to convince
Malfoy to accelerate the schedule for putting his father away.
* * * * *
Harry was having trouble eating his breakfast. He kept looking at the food on his plate, thinking,
This is my favorite breakfast, but he couldn’t eat a bite. He looked up at the open windows
just under the enchanted ceiling, showing a pleasantly blue spring sky with a few fluffy white
clouds scudding across it. Finally, it happened; one small dark owl flew in a window, then
several more owls fluttered in, then all at once it was the usual storm of wings and feathers and
packages and scrolls of parchment, as the messengers winged their way toward their
destinations. Then Harry spotted a falcon, not an owl, carrying a large crisp parchment envelope
edged with black. Here it comes, he thought, his heart in his throat. But it didn’t; the falcon
swept over to the Ravenclaw table and dropped the envelope in--Roger Davies’ hands. Harry
opened his eyes wide. Maybe it hadn’t been Roger sending the school owls to Draco Malfoy
before, but he was certainly being recruited now. This was getting worse and worse. He looked
at Roger’s face; he was sitting next to his brother Evan, who seemed to be asking him about the
mail he’d received. Roger shrugged and shoved it into his rucksack, evidently planning to read it
later. Perhaps, Harry thought, Sirius’ intelligence was wrong and I’m not the one being recruited
today. We need to help the Davies family, Harry thought, before they all get killed...
But suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder; it was another falcon, digging his talons in
(Harry was sure he’d drawn blood) and then dropping a large cream-colored parchment
envelopment with a black border on his lap. Harry winced again as the bird dug its claws in
even more to prepare to take off again. Harry didn’t watch it go; he looked down at the
envelope.
Mr. H. Potter
Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry
The Great Hall
Gryffindor Table
He broke the black wax seal, taking note of the image of the serpent and skull that had been
pressed into it. Then he opened the large creamy envelope and pulled out a heavy piece of
parchment. There were only ten words on it.
Touch your wand to this page and say your name.
Harry looked around. Everyone seemed to be too busy to take any notice of him. Hermione
was reading most of the Daily Prophet, except for the Quidditch page, which Ron was
perusing. Will was wolfing down his food hurriedly as usual. Ginny had her nose in a book,
while next to her, Amy and Andy bickered good-naturedly. Colin Creevey was talking football
to his brother Dennis, and Harry saw with interest that Jules Quinn was staring at Dean
Thomas’ sister Jamaica (who was very pretty, Harry thought, even at eleven). Ruth Pelta was
asking Zoey Russell about their Arithmancy homework, and Fred and George and the other
seventh years were talking about the upcoming N.E.W.T.s.
Harry surreptitiously pulled out his wand and said softly, “Harry Potter.”
The words on the page disappeared. New words slowly formed in place of the earlier
instructions.
Unable to verify identity due to whispering.
You must use a normal voice.
Change your location if necessary.
Then this message too faded. The parchment was blank. Then the original message slowly
reappeared, looking as if it had always been there.
Harry looked up at the staff table. He met Snape’s eye. He met Dumbledore’s as well. The
headmaster nodded at him. Snape rose and went to the door to the secret passage. Harry put
the letter in his rucksack and stood, swinging it on his back.
“Tell Hagrid I’ll be a little late,” he said to Ron, striding out of the Great Hall before Ron could
answer. He practically ran down the steps to the dungeons.
Snape’s office door was open. Harry walked in, not waiting for an invitation, then closed it, also
not waiting to be told. He took the letter out of the bag and laid it on the desk blotter. Snape
read it in a quick glance, then looked at Harry. He took out his wand and touched the page.
“Harry Potter,” he said in the closest thing to a normal voice he could muster, considering how
unnerved he felt. The ten-word message disappeared once more and the page was blank. Then,
slowly another message appeared.
You have been chosen to serve the Dark Lord. Be in the Hogwarts library at six-fortyfive
on Friday evening. Come alone. You will receive further instructions at that time.
Touch your wand to this parchment when you are done reading and say your name
once more.
Snape stared down at the parchment. He drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently. Then he
threw his hands in the air. “Gah! How long do we have to wait for another message to appear?”
Harry looked down at the parchment. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’” Snape asked, then looked slightly embarrassed by
how silly that sounded. “It’s still blank. How long do we have to wait for a new message?”
Harry looked down at the parchment, then back up at Snape. “It looks blank to you?”
Snape looked jolted. “It doesn’t look blank to you?” he asked Harry, then looked down at it
again.
“No,” Harry answered. “It says I’m supposed to be in the school library at six-forty-five
tomorrow night to get more instructions.”
“It does? Is that all?”
“Well, it also says I’ve been chosen to serve the Dark Lord and to touch my wand to the paper
and say my name again when I’m done reading it.”
“It must be charmed so that only you can see it once your identity is verified...well, do it. Touch
it again and say your name; let’s see what happens.”
Harry touched the letter with his wand and said his name again. Immediately, black flames arose
from the letter and envelope, consuming them both. Not even ashes remained to show that they
had ever existed. Even the wax seal was gone. The parchments that had been sitting nearby on
Snape’s blotter were unharmed; the blotter itself was not scorched either.
“Well,” Harry said, staring down at the desk. “There’s not much to tell Sirius, is there? I’d
better get to Hagrid’s class. Perhaps you could call Sirius for me?” Snape nodded and moved
to the fireplace. Before he left, Harry remembered Rogers’ letter. “Professor--” he said
suddenly, turning back. “I almost forgot. It looked like Roger Davies also got a letter. It was
also delivered by a falcon.”
Snape, if possible, looked paler. “You didn’t say yours was delivered by a falcon. Lucius
Malfoy keeps falcons. He’s recruiting our Head Boy while he is still in school?” He rubbed his
hand over his chin, frowning, deep in thought. “I’ll talk to the headmaster about keeping an eye
on him.”
“And his family,” Harry said. “They’ll be in danger.”
Snape looked levelly at Harry. “Only if he refuses.” Harry swallowed. Snape said that as
though it were unlikely.
“Are there Death Eaters in his family?”
“Not that I know of. I just--have a bad feeling about Davies.”
“What about his brother Evan? Do you think they’ll try to recruit him too?”
Snape shook his head. “Too young--”
“He’s in fifth year, like me and Draco Malfoy. And he’s a prefect too, and an even better dueler
than Roger.”
“You and Draco Malfoy are in the Prophecy. That is different.”
Harry nodded, accepting this. “Well, tell Sirius I’m sorry I missed him. We’re reviewing the last
three years of Care of Magical Creatures for the O.W.L.s, so I’d better go now--”
“Don’t--” Snape said abruptly. Harry jerked his head around. “Don’t tell anyone about that
letter. Anyone.”
Harry nodded. He meant Hermione. And Ron too. He wondered whether Snape suspected
how deeply involved he and Hermione had become. Then Harry remembered Snape looking at
the photograph from Corfu. He probably suspected. For Harry, it was actually becoming a bit
of a dim memory. It was as though he’d dreamt it all...
When he reached Hagrid’s hut, the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins were seated on benches
laid out in a semi-circle before Hagrid’s garden, taking notes about unicorns and hippogriffs.
Harry tried to catch Draco Malfoy’s eye before sitting down, but he wasn’t looking in the right
direction. He took a seat between Ron and Hermione which they’d saved for him. He listened
dimly to the things Hagrid said; only doodles seemed to come out of his quill. Mostly he looked
back and forth between Ron and Hermione. He hadn’t told Snape or Sirius, but he had already
decided, like Percy, that he would do whatever was necessary to ensure their safety. Even--
Getting the Dark Mark.
* * * * *
Harry walked to a table in the far corner of the library and sat down. He checked his watch. It
was six-thirty. He’d eaten dinner quickly, then slipped away and run up the marble stairs to the
library. The day had lasted forever. First there was Potions, with Snape throwing him worried
glances and Hermione giving Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy the evil eye whenever they started
ogling her, which was far too often for both Harry and Ron. They were still needling her about
the photo; Neville had apologized to her for handing it to Malfoy in the first place, but the
damage was done.
Charms was wall-to-wall O.W.L. review, and Harry was pleasantly surprised by how many
spells were second nature to him now, especially after he’d absorbed so much for the Triwizard
Tournament and now the Dueling Club. But he couldn’t help stealing looks at Flitwick, still
wondering who’d put that spell on the Charms doorway.
He could barely choke down lunch, and then Transfiguration was more review, and Moody’s
class was also. This was a little more difficult, though, since they hadn’t had the same teacher
the whole time, as they had for the other classes. Hermione was the only one who knew
anything about werewolves, Moody discovered, and nothing particularly useful had been learnt
from Lockhart during their second year. For reasons Harry understood all too well, Moody
didn’t even want them to use the Lockhart books for reference, which they could have done,
Harry thought. Even though he hadn’t banished any banshees himself, Lockhart had quite
accurately written down the methodology used. Harry thought he might refer to the books
anyway, without telling Moody. He could skip over the self-aggrandizing bits. After all, he’d
already paid good money for the books, and there was information in them he’d need to know.
Harry looked around the deserted library. It was six-thirty-five. He was on the verge of going
into spasmodic table-drumming mode if someone didn’t show up soon. He reached out toward
the shelves nearest him and pulled a random book down. He flipped open the cover and started
to read, just for something to do. The book was, not coincidentally, about dark wizards and
some of the things they’d done. Harry opened the book in the middle and started reading.
One of the most feared dark wizards of the sixteenth century was well known in the
Muggle world as well, but not as a wizard. Pere Juillet De Pems Marvolo was a direct
descendent of Salazar Slytherin and commanded great respect in the Loire Valley, where
he was the abbe of St. Jean Batiste, a Benedictine monastery. Marvolo began his reign of
terror with scourges to clear Jews out of the local countryside in 1537, exactly twenty
years after Luther posted his Ninety-Five Theses at Wittenberg, progressing to a minor
inquisition that targeted any remotely heretical sect, including many of Luther’s
followers, and evolved into witch burnings (although all of the accused were known by
the magical community to be Muggles).
Like many clerics of the day, wizard or Muggle, Marvolo kept a mistress and fathered a
number of illegitimate children, whom he openly acknowledged. He had hoped to
advance to the position of cardinal, and thence to the papacy, but with the rise of
Lutheranism and later the Council of Trent came a desire in the Church to at least
appear to frown upon such practices as priests keeping mistresses and supporting
families. In 1560, three years before the Council of Trent finally came to a close,
Marvolo was stripped of his post as abbe and excommunicated.
Having lost the means to acquire power in the Muggle world (we may be grateful he did
not become pope) Marvolo took on a new persona. Rearranging the letters of his name,
along with his clerical title, he was able to turn “Pere Juillet De Pems Marvolo” into the
statement, “Je m’appelle Sieur Voldemort,” or, in English, “I am Lord Voldemort.”
As Voldemort, Marvolo swept across the French countryside, wreaking havoc and
leaving behind his mark: a serpent and skull. The magical authorities were at a loss for
what to do about Marvolo. Finally, an Auror who had been hunting him for years killed
one of his sons before Marvolo’s very eyes. Marvolo immediately performed the Enuma
Elish spell to resurrect him. The Auror’s eyewitness account:
“He summoned the large snake which accompanied him everywhere and spoke to it in
Parseltongue. The huge creature put its tail in its mouth, forming a circle around the
Dark Lord and his dead son, whom he clasped in his arms. He raised his wand to the
heavens, saying, ‘Enuma Elish! Tiamat! Apsu!’
“As he spoke the words, a terrible rumbling emanated from the heavens. Dark clouds
gathered overhead and lightening flashed with the final word of the Dark Lord’s
incantation. A bolt of lightening struck the ground at his feet and seemed to create the
fissure which now opened there. The ground opened wider and wider, the sound of
thunder from overhead becoming so deafening that I had to cover my ears. Then, his son
in his arms, he jumped into the abyss. I waited, but they did not return. He did not
succeed in saving his son, or himself. The rift in the earth healed itself and the great
serpent slithered away. I spread the word in the countryside that the dreaded Voldemort
(for I no longer feared to speak his name) was no more, and there was great rejoicing in
the wizarding world.”
Some twenty years later, the same Auror claimed to have spotted Marvolo in an auberge
in Lyons, and tried to convince the magical authorities that he had been mistaken about
Marvolo being gone. However, even if it was the wizard who had styled himself
Voldemort, he no longer seemed to be a threat to the wizarding or Muggle worlds, and
the Auror was advised to retire, due to his advanced age (one-hundred seventy-three)
and delusional tendencies.
Harry swallowed; when had the book been published? It didn’t look especially old or worn. He
turned to the front. It was printed by Sweetbriar Publishing when he was five years old. Out of
curiosity, he turned to the index, looked for the P’s. There; he’d found the entry. Potter,
Harry, pages 532-534.
He thought about turning to those pages, to see what the book said about him, but he thought he
heard hissing. That’s strange, he thought. Have I lost the ability to understand Sandy?
“Sandy?” he said to her softly.
“Yes, Harry Potter?”
“What is it?”
“What is what?”
“What did you say to me?”
“I did not say anything to you. I was sleeping.”
“Oh. Sorry, Sandy. Go back to sleep.”
“Is that all? You woke me up to find out whether I was awake?”
“Not exactly, Sandy. Sorry.”
Harry looked around him; he heard the hissing again. He realized that it was a human making a
hissing noise, and it was coming from behind the shelves where he’d found the book he’d just
been reading. He picked up the book in his arms; he planned to check it out. Ron and
Hermione would be very interested in what he’d just read about the other Voldemort.
He went around the shelves and found Draco Malfoy waiting there. “About time, Potter. I
thought you spoke snake.”
“I do, Malfoy. You’re the one who doesn’t.”
Malfoy sneered. “Fat lot of good it’s done you.” Harry bit his tongue to keep from telling him
about Sandy’s Sight. “Listen, Potter. We have to talk.”
“About my recruitment letter?”
“Yeah.”
“All right, then. What are my instructions?”
Malfoy grimaced. “That’s just it. There are no instructions. You received the standard letter...”
“There’s a standard Death Eater recruitment letter?”
“Get over it. But you aren’t going to be given a time and place to come to and give your
answer.”
“Why?”
“My dad thinks of you as--a special case. Doesn’t want you to have any time to prepare. When
it happens, you won’t know ahead of time.”
Harry shook his head. “Listen, I don’t care about myself. I just don’t want anyone else hurt.
Can you at least tell me whether you think it will be before next Saturday?”
“No, I can’t. Why?”
“Because we need to get your dad put away before then. That’s when Percy Weasley is
supposed to report. He’s been recruited.”
“What?” Malfoy looked terrified. “How do you know?”
“I can’t tell you that. You look like you didn’t know.”
He shook his head, dazed. “I didn’t...Do you know what he plans to do?”
“No,” Harry lied. “But I do know that your dad has already had two families killed because he
didn’t get the recruits he wanted. You read about Marcus Flint, I suppose? It was in this
morning’s Daily Prophet.”
“It didn’t say anything about my dad or the Dark Lord...”
“Of course it didn’t, you prat! The Ministry’s still in denial about all this. Flint didn’t want to be
a Death Eater, and his dad killed him.”
Malfoy sank down. “Man...Flint...”
Harry looked down at him. “Can we get your dad before next Saturday? Before the entire
Weasley family is put at risk?”
He looked up at Harry. “I don’t know. I’ll see what I can do...” But he looked worried.
“Let me know when it’ll be...”
“No.” Malfoy stood again.
“No?”
“My schedule, Potter, not yours. Element of surprise. If you look the least bit like you’ve been
expecting this, my dad will kill me first and then you and whoever else happens to be standing
around.”
Harry looked at him shrewdly. “I’m still not sure why I should trust you...”
“Good. Keep thinking that. Treat me as anything other than your worst enemy, and my dad’s
sure to pick up on it.”
“Are you going to ask him about Percy?”
Malfoy shook his head. “Can’t afford to. He hasn’t been telling me about his other recruits.
You’re the only one I’m in on.”
“That might change.”
“Why?”
“I saw Roger Davies get a recruitment letter this morning.”
Malfoy snorted. “Well, that’s probably overdue, isn’t it? He’s probably more evil than my dad,
in some ways...”
“So you didn’t know? And you don’t know where and when he’s supposed to give his
answer?”
Malfoy shook his head. “No idea. This has gone on long enough. I should go before people
start coming in here again. Dinner’s almost over.”
“Right,” Harry said, turning and walking away from him with no other leave-taking. He went to
the desk and waited for Madam Pince to process the book he was borrowing, then left the
library, returning to the Gryffindor common room to wait for Ron and Hermione. He wished he
had something he could tell Snape and Sirius, but all he could say was that sometime in the next
week, he would be ambushed. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, and he felt another wave of
Moody-esque paranoia sweep over him. He opened the book to the middle and reread the
entry on the other Lord Voldemort. Somehow, the fact that Tom Riddle wasn’t terribly original
wasn’t especially comforting...
* * * * *
Hermione was in fact very interested in the book Harry had borrowed from the library. “Why
doesn’t Binns teach us this? All we ever seem to cover is goblin rebellions in England...”
Harry listened to her talk, wanting to be alone with her, to talk to her, figure out what they were
going to do about Ron, before he or she or Ron or all of them were ambushed and killed by
Lucius Malfoy, and went to their graves without telling Ron the truth. Had she somehow
decided that the night they’d spent together was a mistake, was she trying to forget it? Harry
wondered whether he could do the same, just go on as if nothing had happened.
The days dragged on, it seemed to Harry. Tuesday night, he wrapped Ron’s birthday present to
give him the next day. There wasn’t much time left before Saturday. He tried to picture Percy in
the circle of Death Eaters, having the Cruciatus Curse put on him, getting the Dark Mark. No. It
mustn’t happen. Percy was annoying, but he didn’t deserve that. Harry realized that Percy might
just feel he had nothing left to live for with Penelope gone. Snape had joined after losing his
mum. Was Percy really going to be a spy, or was he going to be a Death Eater in earnest?
Harry was so confused. He had no certainty in his life any more, nothing solid to hold onto.
Then, just before he went up to bed, Hermione tucked a piece of paper into his hand. He
crumpled it in his fist, watching her go up the stairs to her dorm. When he was upstairs in his
own bed, behind his bedcurtains, he finally looked at it by wandlight.
Common room. One o’clock. Invisibility Cloak.
Harry swallowed. She wanted to meet with him. It had been so long...but she didn’t want to
stop being with him. That was something. He felt a knot in his stomach undo itself, then found
memories of their night together swirling through his head, and he tried to stop that too, before it
overwhelmed him. It will be all right, he thought. But he wondered where they could go to be
alone. If she wanted him to bring the cloak, it must be someplace outside of Gryffindor Tower.
He checked his watch. One hour. It seemed like a very, very long hour. When it was almost
one o’clock, he stepped out of bed carefully and removed his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk.
He crept out of the dorm, then down the stairs, finding her waiting. She smiled beautifully at him.
“I couldn’t wait another minute either.”
And then she was there again, in his arms, and their mouths were connected as though drawn by
some supernatural force. He trembled as he held her face up to his, feeling nervous all over
again, as though they hadn’t already done this. She gently broke the kiss and pulled him over to
the portrait hole. When they had gone through, they donned the cloak and she led him
downstairs and through corridors to a familiar place; the girls’ prefect bathroom.
“Drovers,” she said to the shepherdess. The painting swung open and they entered. Candles
flickered to life on the walls and ceiling, revealing a bathing space identical to the boys’ prefect
bathroom. Harry removed the cloak from them both and smiled at her.
“What a great idea...”
She smiled back. “I thought you’d think so.” She went to the taps around the pool-sized tub
and turned on a few. Some warm water gushed out, already impregnated with various shades of
aromatic bubbles. As the tub filled, Hermione began to take off her dressing gown and night
shirt. Harry froze; she was so beautiful, and he could see her so much better now, with the
candles, instead of just the moon, like before.
She stepped delicately into the water, sighing as she did so, then looking up at Harry. “Come on
then. I rather hoped you’d join me.”
Harry suddenly felt like the most awkward person on the planet as he tripped over himself to
get undressed. I must have inherited my mother’s grace, he thought. Taking off Sandy, his
glasses and lastly the basilisk amulet, he also slid down into the warm water, at the opposite end
of the tub from Hermione, then swam over to her. She smiled at him as he put his arms around
her; here was a brand new sensation, holding her underwater, with warm bubbles brushing up
against them...
He leaned down to kiss her and she responded immediately. When he drew back, she looked
at him with narrowed eyes.
“You know, you look completely different without your glasses, Harry?”
Harry frowned. “I can’t tell if you mean that that’s good or bad.”
She smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. “Both are good. You just look like two different
people with and without them.”
He moved his hands down a little, making her moan. “Then are you cheating on your boyfriend
when you’re with Harry-in-glasses or Harry-without-glasses?”
“I don’t know,” she gasped, starting to kiss his neck and breathe more shallowly. “I’ll let you
know when I get my brain back...” He laughed and kissed her again. She pulled away from him
and went to the edge of the tub, pulling herself up on the side to get out. Harry gasped; he
thought the sight of her dripping wet was too fabulous for words...
She retrieved her wand from her dressing gown and put a spell he could not hear on the marble
tile floor near the tub. He pulled himself out of the tub also and walked over to her.
“Hermione, what--”
But she suddenly pushed him and he fell, arms flailing, onto the tile floor where she’d just cast
the spell. He winced, waiting for the pain from the hard tile coming in contact with his body,
wondering simultaneously why she’d done that, but he landed instead on a soft, bouncy surface
like a mattress. He pressed his fist against the tile floor next to where he was lying; it gave a
little. He looked up at Hermione, who was smiling at him.
“Cushioning spell.”
She joined him on the floor and he pulled her on top of him, kissing her deeply.
“My girlfriend is the cleverest witch on the planet,” he said, smiling at her.
“And my boyfriend is the sexiest wizard on the planet,” she said, kissing his neck, then moving
her mouth further down while he threw back his head and remembered George in the bed at the
cottage in Hogsmeade...
* * * * *
They had dozed off. Hermione’s leg was thrown over his hip and he had been pillowing his head
on his arm. He opened his eyes slowly, feeling a little disoriented. When he could place his
location, he looked down at Hermione, peacefully sleeping. He reached out his hand and
dipped it into the water in the tub; it had gone cold. He shivered. Then he had a mischievous
thought. He dipped his hand in the cold water again, then flicked it at Hermione, the cold drops
falling on her face.
She opened her eyes, crying out, sitting up, making Harry smile because he still couldn’t get
over how beautiful she was, and that he got to see all of her now.
“Harry--” she complained sleepily. He laughed.
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
She looked at him appreciatively. “You’re looking pretty irresistible yourself right about now...”
she said softly, leaning in to kiss him. He responded at first, then pulled back.
“Hermione, can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t we just tell Ron when he saw the photo from Corfu?”
She scowled. “You really think that was the time? He was furious!”
“And he’ll be even more furious when he eventually finds out that we were lying to him that day.
What are we going to do, tell him in a year that we’ve started holding hands and gee, we’d
never have thought of it if he hadn’t asked if we were already seeing each other...”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Harry. It’s rather spoiling the mood.”
“We need to talk about this, Hermione! He’s our best friend; it’s important.”
“That just wasn’t the time, Harry!”
Suddenly, there was a great splashing noise, and Harry realized that something had gushed out
of the one of the tub taps and fallen into the cold bathwater. The silvery image surfaced, then
rose up above the water, looking at them with great interest.
“Well!” Myrtle said in an offended tone. “I thought I heard your voice echoing down the pipes,
Harry, but I never thought you’d be here, and with her...”
Harry looked at Moaning Myrtle in shock, then Hermione fully woke up and screamed. Both
Harry and Myrtle covered their ears as the sound bounced around the hard marble in the
bathroom.
“Hermione!” he said, annoyed. “You’ll wake up half the school!”
She dashed over to where she’d thrown her dressing gown and pulled it on. Myrtle looked at
Harry as appreciatively as Hermione had. “You look different. You were more of a--boy last
year.”
Harry felt himself flush, remembering her spying on him in the boys’ prefect bathroom when he
was trying to work out the clue for the second Tournament task. He took his dressing gown
from the floor where he’d thrown it and put it on with his back to her. Hermione was pointing
her wand at Myrtle, looking angry enough to kill, if Myrtle weren’t already dead.
He turned around and spoke to Myrtle. “You shouldn’t be spying on people in bathrooms. Go
back to your toilet.”
“You were the ones having such a loud row. I could hear it clear down in the kitchen sinks.”
“We were not having a row!” Harry said, realizing after a second that this was a lie. He and
Hermione never fought; she and Ron did, but not the two of them. Had it been a row?
“It certainly sounded like a row to me...” Myrtle sighed. “Do you have any idea how boring it is
to be dead?” She wafted closer to Hermione, ignoring the wand pointed at her. “You were
making quite a racket, you know, even before the row. All that moaning and--”
“Anima tua, anima mea!” Hermione cried, finally losing it. Harry watched in shock as Myrtle
froze in mid-air. He looked at Hermione.
“What are you going to do?”
She looked thoughtful. “Maybe--let’s see, who don’t we like?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there’s Malfoy, and his goons, and Pansy Parkinson...”
“What about Roger Davies?”
She smiled. “Perfect.”
“Hermione; what are you going to do?”
“A little prank. Harmless.” She looked grimly at the frowzy ghost. “Myrtle!” she said
imperiously. “You did not see anything here. You will go to the Ravenclaw seventh-year boys’
dorm and wake Roger Davies up with a big, wet, sloppy kiss!” She started to laugh, but
managed to hold it in. Harry’s sides ached from not breaking out into laughter. She pointed her
wand at Myrtle again.
“Anima tua!”
Myrtle woke up, didn’t spare the two of them a glance, and went flying back up one of the taps
around the perimeter of the tub. In a blink, she was gone. Hermione drained the tub, then took
off her dressing gown again, making Harry shudder from the sight of her, but it was only so that
she could put her nightshirt and underwear back on. He knew he should do the same; they
shoul
