"As Slytherin is once more represented adequately in class," Snape announced the next afternoon, "we'll resume our practice of inter-house pairs. Arrange yourselves accordingly and decide how to apportion last Tuesday's Magma Potions." His black gaze swept across the classroom and alighted on Hermione's raised hand. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"But how will we be marked, sir? Each potion will have been brewed by at least three different students."

"I can always mark yours in its current state if that troubles you."

"No sir," said Hermione, glancing over at Harry as if she expected him to say something.

Ha, not likely.

"Well?" Snape crossed the classroom in a flurry of billowing robes. "Pair up!"

Nott caught Harry's eye, so Harry headed that way.

"Had me worried for a second there," the Slytherin boy quietly said as he began to organise his equipment. "Since you're sort of your own inter-house pair."

"Hadn't thought of that." Harry very nearly laughed. "I suppose I could have kept working with Hermione after all."

"Just as well you didn't attempt that, Mr Potter," said Snape in a low voice as he passed almost silently behind him.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and gave a little nod. "Yes, sir."

Nott laughed low under his breath. "It's a bit weird to see you two getting on."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he merely replied, "I'll go fetch my potion from the storeroom."

When he got there though, Hermione was already emerging, his cauldron in hand. "I need half of that," Harry said.

Hermione frowned slightly. "I'm a bit concerned about critical mass. I don't think this potion was meant to be split into such small quantities halfway through brewing."

She hadn't said no, exactly, and she was probably just talking for the sake of figuring things out--Hermione did a lot of that, Harry thought--but he still found the comment irritating. "Well, I'm working with Nott and he was out sick last Tuesday, so he doesn't have any!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Well, I'm working with Zabini who was just as sick, so you think he does?"

"He wasn't just as sick; Snape said Nott was one of the worst affected!" Harry wasn't sure quite why he let fly with that; he just knew that Hermione was still standing there grasping his cauldron with both hands as though it was hers and she would go down fighting or something.

The moment he finished speaking, she got a very strange look on her face; it didn't take Harry long to figure out why.

"Mr Potter," said a cold voice from directly behind him. "In class you're to address me respectfully. I believe I was quite clear on that."

Chastened, Harry smoothed his fringe down over his scar as he whirled around, but he still found time to give Hermione a good, hard glare. "Yes, sir."

Snape's gaze seemed to reach behind him, the black in his eyes glittering when he spoke next. "Is there a problem, Miss Granger?"

"No, Professor."

"Then I suggest you stop attempting to create one, and get to work!"

Harry waited until Snape had moved off before he said in a furious undertone, "I need half of that!"

"Oh, here, take what you want." Hermione thrust the cauldron into Harry's hands. "I never said I wasn't going to share, you know! I was just a bit concerned about being able to complete the potion properly!"

Harry curled a lip and walked away. After he'd warmed the potion to a liquid, he poured half of it into Nott's cauldron and handed the Slytherin boy his own one. "Go give that to Hermione, would you?"

Nott looked a bit bemused by that; maybe he thought Harry ought to do it himself. But he did it agreeably enough, even staying a minute to chat. That was sort of interesting.

Nah, Harry told himself. He wouldn't talk to a Muggleborn. He's just saying something to Zabini.

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After their potions were bottled, labelled, and lined up in a neat row on Snape's desk, and everyone was packing up to leave, Harry hung back to talk to his father. He waited until there was no one else left in the classroom, then wandered to the front and plunked his book bag down alongside his feet.

"Professor?"

Snape gave him what Harry could only think of as a rather pointed look. But since Harry didn't know what the point might be, that wasn't too helpful. "Yes, Mr Potter?"

"I have something to ask you." Reaching down into his bag, Harry drew out a mass of folded notes and parchments. Putting them on the counter between them, he began sifting through them, looking for the one he'd written his question on.

When he couldn't find it straight away, he glanced up in apology, only to see his father's eyebrows drawn together in a fairly ominous way. "I thought we had settled this matter, Harry."

Harry followed the man's gaze down and saw that Snape was staring at the half-slip of parchment that McGonagall had given Harry when she'd announced the Hogsmeade Saturday. The permission slip.

"Sorry, sir." Grabbing it, Harry swept the parchment back into his bag, the motion so frantic that he ended up strewing his notes all over Snape's counter. Half of them scattered across the floor. Harry fell to his hands and knees to gather them up. "Sorry," he said again when he finally stood up.

Snape gave him an exasperated look and all at once waved his wand, causing the doors to the corridor to swing quietly closed. "Please do stop apologising so incessantly. Now, why are you so nervous?"

Harry thrust his papers back onto his father's desk. "Well, I wouldn't want you to think I was asking again to go to Hogsmeade when you'd already said no, that's all."

Snape looked a bit unconvinced by that explanation, Harry thought. But it had been the truth, so Harry didn't know what else to say.

"Well, what was it that you wished to ask me, then?"

"It's about the well-wish for Draco." After finding the right sheet of parchment in his notes, Harry peered closely at his own writing, trying to remember what he'd needed to find out. "Oh, right, cactus, that was it. I think it represents both protection and chastity? Well, how do I make sure Draco interprets it the way I'd prefer? Because the mood he's in these days, I'm a little worried he'll think I'm saying something about his love-life. And that'll remind him of Pansy."

"A valid concern." Snape's gaze on Harry was steady. "The things Draco has been saying of late . . . he is in fact likely to read the worst possible meaning into your gesture of good-will."

Harry frowned, then tried to laugh it off. "Yeah, and then he'll make some snide remark about my background, I bet."

"Would you prefer I rebuke him every time he says something loathsome?"

Yeah, Harry thought, one part of him really would like that. But the other part of him, the one that wanted to be a good brother, could see it wasn't such a great idea. He shook his head. "Thanks, sir. But Draco really needs things to be even. Like the allowance thing--"

Though come to think of it, Draco hadn't wanted their allowances to be even, had he? He'd wanted at least as much as Harry was getting, which was a little different from demanding exactly the same.

What a total prat.

Snape evidently thought so, too. "That," he said an emphatic tone, "was abhorrent."

Harry was hardly going to disagree, especially since it was perfectly obvious that Snape had intended to include Draco in the allowance from the start. Why else would he have emerged from his room with exactly eighty-eight Galleons in his pouch? "Yeah, it was rude and demanding of him, but do you see what I mean? If you criticise Draco every time he insults me, he'll just feel like you're favouring me over him. I think it'll make his attitude ten times worse."

The Potions Master gave a sharp nod. "I must admit I concur. So then, cactus. Interesting choice. What is your source text?"

Harry peered at his notes again. "Um, looks like Wizard's Guide to Home and Family."

"A scholarly work indeed," drawled Snape.

For him, that was a pretty restrained comment on the reliability of the source. "What, is the bit on cactus not right?"

"A decent treatment of the subject would have mentioned that only flowering cactus is linked to chastity. As long as you give Draco any variety sans blossoms he will not fail to realise that your wish for him is protection."

Grimacing slightly, Harry started to put his notes away. "He'll probably still pretend I meant something mean."

"That is in fact likely." Snape paused. "I know that time spent with Draco is less than pleasant at present, but I would still like for you to join us for dinner this evening. And perhaps a round of Wizard's Scrabble afterwards. If you are at leisure?"

"Actually, I think I'd better go make up with Hermione."

"Another night this week then, perhaps."

Harry sighed then, thinking that he'd also better get a start on the essay his father had set him. Between his regular homework, and researching the well-wish, and finding the repelling charm for Sals' box, he just hadn't had time to work on it. Actually, he hadn't had much time for his homework, either. But Saturday was approaching fast and Harry wanted to have the essay completed as he'd promised. Besides, dinner was probably a bad idea in any case. Maybe if Draco got enough time alone with his new father, he'd stop thinking that Harry was some sort of threat, and then they'd all start getting along again.

Harry hefted his book bag over his shoulder as he shook his head. "Sorry, sir. I have a lot to do."

"Yes, loads. I remember." Snape's tone was rather dark, but then he seemed to shrug it off. "As I recall, your spell lexicon did not yet include duplication charms. Have you remedied that?"

"No, but I will, sir." Harry added it to the growing mental lists of tasks he had to somehow find time for. Just as well he'd insisted Ginny stay on as Seeker; there was no way he could fit Quidditch practise in as well.

Let alone D.A . . . Some of the students had asked him to start that up again, but Harry had decided it wasn't such a good idea. He didn't want to look like he thought he was some kind of expert . . . especially not now, when his magic was supposed to be so weak and wonky.

"Draco's professors are continuing to supply me with lessons schedules so that he can keep up with his schoolwork, but copies of your class notes would be efficacious. If you have trouble mastering the charm then please ask one of your friends to assist you." The Potions Master grimaced slightly. "I believe Miss Granger is the most likely to be competent."

"Uh, okay," said Harry, a little bit surprised. When he'd thought of Snape continuing Draco's education on his own, he hadn't realised that the Potions Master would go about things as though his son had never been expelled at all. That was good, though. It might help keep Draco's spirits up. "I'll owl my notes down every night as soon as I get copies made."

"Personal delivery would also be acceptable," said Snape with a gleam in his eye.

"And rub it in that I get to go to wander about while he's still stuck down there?"

"Hmm. You do perhaps have a point. " His father merely stared at him for a long moment. "Is the Elixir making any difference as of yet?"

"No . . ."

"You are using it as directed?"

"Yes, sir." Harry smiled, about to leave, but then he remembered the other thing he'd meant to ask. He looked back at the closed doors, then pulled out his wand and held it to cover his wandless magic as he performed a few analysis spells his father had helped him work out. When he glanced out of the corner of his eye, he thought Snape looked approving. That was nice.

The room turned out to be warded already, but Harry added his own silencing charm for good measure before asking, "Have you and the headmaster had a chance yet have a talk with Belladonna and Erik?"

Snape's eyes flashed. "Oh, yes. This is not for public consumption as we are still considering our options. But those two were administered Veritaserum without their knowledge, and--"

"Bella's not allergic?"

"I made certain she was not in advance," said Snape impatiently. "Though I did not believe she was, not for an instant. Mr Vanvelzeer maintained under quite strident questioning that he had in fact seen Draco rushing down the Owlery stairs the afternoon of the murder."

Harry felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Hard. "But . . . but that's not possible."

"You foolish boy," said Snape in those affectionate tones Harry loved so well. "Of course it is not possible. Your brother was unconscious."

"Then how did Erik resist the truth serum?"

"He didn't." Snape shook his head. "It is all very simple, Harry. Mr Vanvelzeer believed he was speaking the truth."

"So . . . hypnosis?"

"A memory charm is rather more likely, especially considering Miss Uwannawich. For she, you see, under intensive interrogation began to question her own recollection. Classic sign of a memory charm that didn't affix itself sufficiently. It also explains, by the way, why she got so upset at the thought of Veritaserum. Evidently whoever changed her memories realised that her mind was more resistant that Mr Vanvelzeer's. They implanted a suggestion that she was allergic to truth serum in the hopes that it would prevent any being used."

Harry frowned as he thought that over. "Why didn't they just put her back the way she was and . . . oh, because if her mind's resistant to interference, she's have remembered being messed with."

"Yes, by that time the perpetrator had made his bed and had to lie in it, so to speak."

The implications, when they came clear, startled Harry. "So she and Erik, they weren't lying at the hearing! They actually do believe they saw Draco that day!"

"Yes, though if you recall, even at the hearing Miss Uwannawich's testimony was a shade more tentative than Mr Vanvelzeer's. Evidently a result of the memory charm being more shaky in her case."

Harry sighed. "So . . . what, Lucius picked them at random? They weren't involved at all?"

Snape raised his shoulders, his robe flaring slightly as he shrugged. "That, I cannot say. However, by testifying they called attention to themselves. It seems unlikely that Lucius would have arranged for the actual murderers to do so. I suspect they are both victims of machinations beyond our current comprehension."

"But they might be involved."

"They might be," Snape conceded.

"Are we ever going to solve this, sir?" asked Harry in despair. "I want Draco cleared. I mean, really cleared. And that will only happen if the real murderer is caught. Until then, he's innocent only on paper. Look at the Governors, expelling him for something he didn't do!"

"We will solve it," the Potions Master promised, his eyes on Harry grim. Angry, almost. Harry didn't know what that was about, unless it had to do with Snape hating how long it was taking. Or maybe he was having a hard time dealing with Draco's current determination to be as rude as possible.

"Say hallo to Draco for me," Harry thought to say. "Well then, good night, sir."

Snape sighed; Harry wasn't sure why. "Good night, Harry."

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It wasn't until Thursday that Snape came to the Great Hall for a meal. Harry had been watching for him, and not just because he needed his father there if he was going to attempt something as potentially dangerous as sitting down with the Slytherins. Harry also wanted to be sure that Draco was getting plenty of time with Snape. And judging from Snape's absence from meals, it seemed he was.

On Thursday though, he made an appearance for lunch. Dumbledore gave him a reserved smile, his blue eyes twinkling as though he understood why Snape had been missing, but he was much pleased to have him at the head table once more. The Potions Master nodded stiffly as he took his seat.

Harry saw all that from the far end of the hall as he came in, Ron and Hermione on either side of him.

So then, this was it. His chance to eat with Slytherin.

All at once he didn't feel hungry in the slightest, though just a moment before he'd been ravenous. Actually, nausea was starting to roil through him, but he was hardly going to let that stand in his way. "I have to go eat with them," he told his friends in an undertone.

"You don't have to, Harry," Hermione said as she shifted her heavy load of books from one arm to the other.

"Yes, I do. I promised Draco. And anyway, Snape's watching, and he's the one who gave me this crest. To remind me that I'm Slytherin, too."

"Well then just go," said Ron, actually giving him a push. "Dithering isn't getting it done, is it?"

Harry backed up a step, startled. "What, you like the idea? Every time I talk to Nott you don't look as though you much like that."

"I don't like any of it, but I'm trying to be there for you like you asked, so just go get it over with, already!"

"Oh." Harry smiled, feeling a bit better. "Thanks, Ron."

Hermione hesitated a moment, then gave him a look of pure encouragement. Harry liked that, even after she murmured, "See if you can find out anything about the Slytherin plague. Or Bella and Erik."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, who cares?"

"Well, Ronald, there is still a murderer on the loose. Possibly more than one, right here at Hogwarts. Some of us might sleep easier knowing the culprit has been caught." With that, she flounced ahead into the Great Hall.

"Some of us might sleep easier if she'd shut up," said Ron, staring after her.

"I sort of thought you two would . . . uh, kiss and make up, sooner or later."

"Ha. She's just so full of herself, you know? She can go on for days about how I should have handled your adoption better, just as if she never wrote the most idiotic letter in the history of . . . well, letters!" Ron looked about to launch into a tirade over it, but then he just shook his head. "Go on and sit with your new friend Nott. I think he's waiting for you."

Harry didn't think so; when he looked that way, Nott was talking to Crabbe, who sat opposite him. "He's not my friend."

"Yeah, but he's going to be. I've seen this all before, with Malfoy."

"His name's Snape."

"Shite. I can't call him that. I guess it's going to have to be Draco after all." Ron made a face.

Harry laughed. "You'll get used to it."

"Maybe. Harry? I know you're nervous, but just go already!"

"All right." Harry caught his father's eye, then walked across the back of the hall and up alongside the Slytherin table until he reached Nott, who nodded and scooted to one side to make room for him.

Harry glanced around at the nearby sixth- and seventh-years as he slung a leg over the bench and sat down. "Hi."

He got no response but glares, though Nott had the grace to look ever so slightly uncomfortable about his house's behaviour.

Determined to act as normally as possible, Harry served himself a generous helping of roast mutton and runner beans, then set to eating as though nothing in the world was the matter. The silence around him was oppressive, though; even the other houses had fallen largely silent as they waited to see what Slytherin would do about Harry's having gone to sit with them.

When Harry chanced a glance at the head table, he saw Snape talking with McGonagall even as his gaze steadily swept over Harry and his companions, back and forth, back and forth, the surveillance so methodical that Harry shivered. He'd seen Snape on Samhain, and before that, he'd seen him at that horrid meeting in the pensieve, but never before had he got such a clear sense of what a formidable spy his father must have been.

Harry didn't know if it was his shiver that had done it, but after a moment of apparent indecision, Nott cleared his throat and said in a bright voice, "So, Potter. I don't imagine you've been to many matches this year, but it's looking more or less like Ravenclaw for the Quidditch Cup."

"Draco and I caught one of the Gryffindor-Slytherin matches, actually," said Harry, noticing Bella stiffening at the name. Ignoring Harry, however, she turned to one of her friends and began talking quickly.

"How's Draco?" said another voice, and Harry glanced to his other side, where Goyle sat.

"Well, I don't guess it's any great fun to be expelled for something you didn't do, but he's all right."

Goyle ate three entire rolls before he replied. "He used to help me a lot with my classes."

That was surprising. Harry wouldn't have thought that Draco had it in him to help anyone with anything. Well, not back then, anyway. But then again, there must have been a reason why Crabbe and Goyle had liked him so well.

Draco had called them sycophants . . . perhaps because he knew that their loyalty had been purchased. All in all, Harry thought it very sad.

"So how are you doing now in your classes?" he asked Goyle.

"Not so good." Goyle shrugged and went back to eating. Harry didn't really know what to say to that. At least, not until it dawned on him that this was a perfect chance to talk down his own magic and slide the topic of the Slytherin plague into the conversation.

Picking up his fork, he toyed with a bean, pushing around and around in circles on his plate. "Yeah, I sure can sympathise. Classes are really hard for me, too, now." Then, as if he'd just realised he'd said too much, he added, "After being away for so long, I mean. Say, are you still catching up from being sick last week? What was that like, anyway? Did anybody ever figure out what had caused it?"

Goyle answered while he was still chewing his last bite, reminding Harry a bit of Ron, actually. "Don't think they know what caused it. Those blisters-or-whatever really hurt. Bad enough that you were glad when you passed out . . . for me when I woke up things were much better. But Nott woke up screaming; he had it a lot worse."

"Oh yeah?" Harry turned to his other side.

For the briefest of seconds, Theodore Nott looked really irritated. Then his expression cleared and he casually said, "Yeah. Tell you about it a bit later, though."

With his friends, Harry might have pressed the matter, but the Slytherin half of his mind was telling him to drop it. Or . . . not drop it, but hold it in reserve and see if Nott ever did bring it up again.

The rest of the meal passed in more-or-less companionable silence, punctuated occasionally by a comment carefully worded to be neutral. Nobody questioned Harry's right to eat there, or said he wasn't welcome, but Harry didn't count that for much. These were Slytherins, and their Head of House was watching, so they were putting up with Harry.

For now.

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"Like the other one," hissed Harry, holding his useless wand as a cover while he gestured his fingers towards a blank sheet of parchment, his other hand pointing at his class notes from that day's Defence class.

When the door to his dormitory creaked open, Harry whirled around, ready to defend himself.

But it was only Ron, who tilted his head to the side. "You all right, mate?"

Harry grinned a little bit sheepishly as he pocketed his wand. "Yeah . . . Just concentrating and you startled me. Duplicaro, you know, for Draco. It's sort of hard for me to manage." He didn't need to say more; Ron had been there on Tuesday night when Harry had worked out how to make the spell succeed in Parseltongue. Harry needed both his hands to make it copy documents properly, which meant the even though he held his wand in one, a clever observer might deduce that a bit of wandless magic was going on. Harry had resolved to use the spell only in secret . . . which was turning out to be pretty inconvenient when you shared a dormitory with several other boys.

But he wasn't going to disappoint his father. Resigning himself to the lack of privacy, he decided he'd just have to ask Hermione to help him, tonight. Snape had been right; she was the only other Gryffindor who did a really good job with the spell. Better than Harry, in fact. "Is Hermione down in the common room?"

"She's still with her study-buddies in Ravenclaw," Ron sneered. "Getting ready for an Arithmancy quiz tomorrow. We're apparently none of us smart enough for her."

Harry tried to cheer Ron up with a smile. "Oh, come on. We aren't even taking Arithmancy! And anyway, you know her; she's got a little more quizzex than it's good to have--"

Seamus had just finished wriggling into his pyjama top. "A little more what?"

"Quizzex, you know. Test anxiety."

By then, the three other boys were staring bemused at Harry. "It's wizarding slang." A sudden suspicion blossomed in his mind. "Isn't it?"

"Never heard it before," said Neville. Ron was also shaking his head.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "He cheated, the sneak." And at his friends' puzzled expressions, Harry continued, "Draco. We were playing Wizard's Scrabble and we said slang was allowed and he cheated! He even said quizzex had two Z's so he could land one of them on a triple-letter tile!"

Seamus guffawed. "What a shock. Draco Malfoy, cheating. Have you owled the Quibbler yet?"

"Draco Snape."

"Shite Harry, we all know he's your brother!" Ron suddenly erupted. "You don't have to rub it in every time somebody mentions his old name! You think it's easy for us knowing you're brothers with that and liking things that way?"

"You think it's easy for me to deal with him having Lucius Malfoy's genes? Excuse me for not wanting to hear him called by that awful name!"

"Are you a nutter? Lucius Malfoy doesn't wear jeans! And anyway I thought your brother's clothes all vanished--"

Ron hadn't intended to lighten the mood, Harry felt sure, but that was what ended up happening. "Genes, not jeans," he exclaimed, laughter overtaking him. "It's got to do with how you inherit traits from your parents. Oh, never mind. You know, sometimes I think this school really has a weird curriculum--"

"Does not."

"Does too--"

Neville interrupted before another argument could get started. "How could Mal . . . I mean, Draco, make a word with two Z's, anyway? Doesn't Wizard's Scrabble only have the one?"

"He used a blank tile--"

For some reason, that struck Ron as incredibly funny. "He used a blank tile, and he just happened to need it for a Z, for a word you'd never heard in your life, that just happened to land that Z on a triple-letter tile, and it never occurred to you that the git was lying his Slytherin face off?" His face reddening, Ron plopped down onto his bed and gave in to his laughter.

"I wondered about it," Harry wryly admitted. "Well, serve him right if we start using the word."

"Like he needs to be any more conceited," groused Ron.

Harry thought better than to point out that he thought Draco was a pretty insecure person at heart. "All right, no quizzex then. Well, I'll head down to the common room, then. I have to get these copied and look at those other well-wish books Hermione dug up and work on that extra essay Severus set me and--"

"Planning to fit some sleep in there somewhere?"

Harry waved off that thought. "Oh, I'll be up later. After Hermione finishes copying my notes so I can send them to Draco."

Ron frowned. "That could wait until tomorrow, you know."

"No, I promised my father I'd owl down my notes every night," Harry insisted. Neville gave him a concerned look then, but Harry ignored it. Neville couldn't understand what Snape must be going through, dealing with Draco at his very brattiest. Harry owed it to his father to be as helpful and cooperative as he could.

"Well, all right," murmured Ron, shaking his head. "I'd do your notes myself, even if they are for Draco, but my copies always have those awful smudges."

"It's all right."

Sighing then, Harry headed down the stairs to the common room.

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He was halfway through his essay when Hermione finally walked in, her arms overflowing with books. "Just how late do Ravenclaws study, anyway?"

"Ha. I notice you're still at it," retorted Hermione as she flopped onto the couch on the other side of the table.

Harry sighed and pushed his essay across at her. "Tell me if that last part's clear, the bit about the wizard who strapped a magic floater to his broom and ended up being swept out to sea."

Hermione read his essay through from the start. "Looks all right so far. Though I can't think when Professor Snape has ever appreciated your Quidditch analogies, Harry."

"Yeah, he mentioned that." Harry took his parchment back and read a sentence or two, thinking they sounded depressingly like those first-year essays Snape had let him correct. Only with better spelling. "Maybe I'll just start over from scratch--"

"Harry, it's fine."

"Well, it needs to be better than fine. Severus was pretty upset with me and I want to show him that I understand why!"

"Harry . . ." Hermione shook her head. "No, never mind. You'll figure it out."

"Figure what out?"

"Having a dad." She paused as though weighing her words with care, but ended up not saying anything more . . . at least, not about Harry and Snape. Instead, she settled her books onto the table. "I'm late because of something one of the Ravenclaws said about well-wishes, actually. Did you know you're supposed to give some thought to the vase you use as well as the plants?"

Great, more research. Just what Harry needed. He was having a hard enough time trying to find wishes that Draco couldn't take the wrong way. "No, I didn't know that."

Hermione nodded sagely, despite the fact that she'd just found this out herself. "Whatever you pick, it's supposed to represent the father to the newborn . . . I mean, to Draco in this case."

"No wonder he gave me my well-wish in a potions vial," Harry said, thinking back. "I don't want to copy that though, so what's left? A model cauldron?"

"That'd be adorable!"

Figures a girl would think so, thought Harry.

"With a tiny fire underneath it--charmed to not really get hot, of course . . ." Hermione glanced at him through her lashes. "No? All right. Just as well then, that I went to the library and got these." She pushed a stack of books across the table. "Family histories. There's something about the Snape lineage in every one. The way you keep insisting the rest of us call your brother Draco Snape, I thought you might want to make his new name sort of central to the whole well-wish."

Harry flushed, remembering how Ron had reacted upstairs to the whole name thing.

"But what good are family histories going to do?" he complained. "I mean, unless there's some kind of vase that goes along with the name."

"There's a crest," said Hermione, flipping through one of the thicker books until she found it. She flipped the book around on the table so Harry could see. "Here."

The Snape Family Crest, the heading read. Beneath it was a full-page illustration of . . . well, Harry supposed it was some sort of crest, but it wasn't like one he'd ever seen, and not just because it was moving. No horses or helmets or feathers here . . . nothing anyone could recognise, in fact. The crest was shaped like a shield, but it bore no emblems of any kind. Instead, looking at it was like staring into a kaleidoscope. Abstract shapes swirled 'round and 'round in patterns, the colours cycling through greens and greys and blues, with an occasional hue from the rest of the rainbow. It was hypnotic, Harry thought. And weird.

But he sort of liked it.

"I don't think my Duplicaro is really up to transferring something like this," he murmured. A wanded spell might be powerful enough, he thought, but immediately discarded the idea. After the research he'd done for his essay, he knew it really wasn't worth the risk.

"I thought mine might be," Hermione said, smiling. She drew a piece of parchment out of another book, and passed it to Harry.

"Nice." Harry studied the copy closely. "A little too blue in places, I think . . ."

"Took me sixteen tries," admitted Hermione. "Each one was better, so . . ."

"Why would you go to all that work for Draco?"

"It's work for you, silly. You've been slaving away, putting off your schoolwork so you can figure out what to wish for Draco--"

"Well, he's hard to wish for, as it turns out."

"I bet."

"He's suddenly being a total snot, in fact."

Hermione giggled. "Suddenly, is it?"

Harry stuck out his tongue at her.

Hermione pushed her hair off her face. "Padma asked how you were, by the way. That's how this started. I said you were making a well-wish, and she wanted to know what sort of a vase would represent Snape. And when I realised you had to figure that out as well, I thought I'd try to help you out."

"Oh, you did," Harry assured her. "Snape family crest. It's perfect! It represents Severus like it's supposed to--well, I hope it does, no telling if this is the right branch of the Snapes, but anyway . . . see, I think Draco thinks I'm a little bit jealous that he has Dad's name and I don't, and maybe this'll help show him that I'm fine with it."

"Are you fine with it?"

"Yeah, of course," said Harry dismissively, his mind on other matters. Maybe he'd been going about looking for wishes all wrong. Maybe if he started with Draco's need to be seen as something other than a Malfoy . . . "You're brilliant!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, snatching up a pile of parchments and tearing them in half.

Hermione's brows drew together. "Well, yes . . . but Harry, your essay really wasn't that bad . . ."

"No, no, those were my notes for the well-wish," Harry explained. "I just had a better idea for how to go about deciding on the wishes. Not even Draco will complain about them, I bet, not if I . . . well, I don't know if it will work out so I won't go into it. But I have to start my research over."

"Over!"

"Yeah. But it'll be worth it. Hmm, if I have a list by morning I can see if Professor Sprout can get me the plants. Owl-order express, something like that."

"What's the rush?"

"I want it done by Saturday when I go down for my Potions tutorial," explained Harry. "Hmm, though I have to make time to finish another foot and a half of essay, too, not to mention catching up on all my other homework . . ."

"Not to mention sleep," Hermione said as she stood up, yawning.

"Yeah, that's what Ron said," mentioned Harry, fishing.

"Oh, Ron has quite a lot to say, doesn't he?" Hermione was frowning as she began to gather up her things. "Don't tell him I'm helping you with the well-wish, not unless you want to hear a lot of blather about how sweet I've gone on Draco."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Ron thinks you're sweet on Draco?"

Hermione slammed a book closed.

"Um . . . are you? You know, sweet on--"

"Harry Potter!" Hermione glared at him, her stance fierce. "I know you regard him as your brother so I've been careful not to say what I really think! I learned my lesson about meddling in family already, thank you very much. Your father still hasn't forgiven me. But really, am I sweet on Draco? Honestly, Harry--"

"You can say what you really think," Harry interrupted. "I mean, about Draco. I'd rather not hear some half-baked theory about my neediness or anything like that."

"Oh." Hermione's expression softened. "Well, I think he's lucky to have you on his side, and that you're worth ten of him, and if he hurts you he'll have me to reckon with. And . . . well, I also do think he's not quite as bad as he once was. And, that thing with his father . . . that was awful."

Harry resisted an urge to insist, Snape's his father. He knew what Hermione meant, and the scene upstairs had shown him that he'd been coming across a bit pushy on that matter.

"And, well, after seeing that," Hermione went on, "it was easier to understand what made him such a vicious little prat, you know? I mentioned that to Ron, who insisted on being an idiot, of course. But don't you go asking if I'm sweet on Draco, Harry. The idea makes me ill. Even though I do know he's been a big help to you this year."

"Right, he has." Harry poured himself a glass of water from the never-out pitcher Dobby had delivered earlier. "Well, I'm going to start over from scratch on my wishes and finish this essay. If you could put the crest on some sort of glass or vase tomorrow, I'd really appreciate it."

"What sort of glass or vase?"

"Um, probably something smooth-sided I guess. Doesn't matter."

Hermione nodded. "Shall I stay up and help you with the research?"

"No, you have that Arithmancy test you were reviewing for." Harry waved her away, blinking fast to try to wake himself up. "I'll be fine. Oh, but could you copy my notes? I tried to get through them earlier but . . ."

Hermione made the duplicates, rolled them up, and tied them with a bit of string, then left them on the edge of the table for Harry to owl. Hedwig knew the routine by then. All Harry had to do was call softly to have her fly out the window of his dormitory and in the window to the common room. "For Severus," he explained, and she hooted as she headed off.

Snape probably wouldn't get them until he went to class --or breakfast if he ate in the Great Hall-- but that was all right since he could floo the notes to Draco from his classroom or office, first thing.

As soon as Hedwig was gone, Harry fished Sals out of his pocket and draped her around his neck. She'd been a lot happier since he'd found the repelling charm for her box, though it had been Hermione who'd actually applied the spell. Sometimes, Harry thought, this Parseltongue magic is really inconvenient. It made mastering new spells a right pain, and this week, he just hadn't had time to spare figuring out something he'd probably only use once. Good thing he had a clever witch like Hermione as one of his best friends.

Moving to sit on the floor, the low table serving as a desk, Harry started hunting for the book that had alphabetised plants instead of listing them in broad categories by magical properties.

The Snape family crest kept calling his attention, however. It really was quite beautiful, Harry thought as he stared at the shifting colours and shapes. It was so captivating, in fact, that looking away became a challenge.

At least until his eye fell on the initials H.S . . . tiny letters in the lower right corner of the emblem.

Was this crest even for the branch of the Snapes he'd been adopted into, that was the question. Wanting to find out, Harry started reading.

The Snape lineage is an old and respected one in Wizarding Britain, though the exact origins of the family are unknown. The earliest ancestor attested to by means of genealogical spells appears to have been a cobbler who reputedly sewed shoes that would never wear out . . .

Harry grinned, imagining Draco's reaction if he found out he'd been adopted into a family of shoemakers. For his part, he found the history fascinating, though he did still wonder if he was reading about the right Snapes. Severus might know, he supposed, not that Harry planned to ask. Maybe someday, when his father eased up about discussing his family . . .

Why couldn't History of Magic have been this interesting?

The answer to that was simple, though. Harry hadn't cared about goblin rebellions. This, he cared about. A lot.

He read all the way through the article headed by the crest, then putting off his homework and essay and the well-wish for a while longer, flipped open a much thicker book and looked up Snape in that one too.

Oh, better, even if it didn't have any discussion of family crests. This book was one of those self-updating encyclopaedias; Hermione had checked out the volume covering Smo-Sni.

Snape, Severus, read the entry.

Descended from shoemakers, Severus Augustus Snape currently holds the coveted post of Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He has developed or made significant contributions to at least sixteen classes of potion still in use, including some highly regulated by the British Ministry of Magic. These are his known contributions. It is suspected his true accomplishments in the field of potions are more vast, though since Snape continues to decline an interview with the editors of this publication, it is difficult to determine the true acclaim he may be due.

Snape has an undeserved reputation as a Death Eater active during both the first and second Voldemort wars, the latter still ongoing. However, it has come to light that his true allegiances were to the forces opposing Voldemort, notably Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Snape was instrumental in saving the life of Harry James Potter on November 6, 1996, which led to his unveiling as a spy of long standing. Not long afterward, Snape, who remains unmarried, petitioned Wizard Family Services for permission to adopt Harry Potter. On March 21, 1997, he also became the adoptive father of Draco Alain Gervais Walpurgis Malfoy (see entry Malfoy, Lucius).

Draco, Harry thought, would be a little miffed to know that Harry had an entry of his own and he didn't. Maybe that was why the encyclopaedia hadn't updated his name to Snape . . . well, it didn't matter. Harry had found out what he needed to. The crest was for the right branch of the family.

He pushed the family history books aside before he gave into the temptation to keep on reading them all night, and pulled over the Alphabetical Guide to Plants and Properties. Sighing, Harry flipped it open to S.

One or two hours, he thought, to make his list of plants.

And then, he'd try to catch up on the three days' worth of reading and homework he'd been putting off.

------------------------------------------------------

Friday morning at breakfast, Harry almost fell asleep in his porridge. Well, no wonder; he'd been up all night working. The essay had taken so long to finish that he hadn't quite caught up on all his homework, though at least he'd made a cursory attempt to get through his required Potions readings. What a grim weekend this is shaping up to be, he thought, depressed. Not only did he have to miss out on Hogsmeade and probably put up with a full day of Draco being rude, he was going to have to spend his Sunday poring over tomes and texts and alternate readings!

No help for it, though.

"You guys go on to Charms without me," said Harry as he grabbed an oatcake and stood to leave. "Professor Sprout has a free hour this morning so I'm going to ask her to help me get the plants I need."

"Are they rare?"

"Uh, don't really know," Harry told Hermione as he fished the list from his pocket. "Sarsaparilla, nettle, alyssum, plantain, and Echinacea. What do you think?"

"I think she'll fix you right up on everything except plantain."

"I wanted the well-wish for tomorrow," grumbled Harry. "If owl-order can't get me the plantain by then . . . hmm, maybe I should come up with something else for P."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Why P, in particular? Oh . . . sarsaparilla, nettle . . . I get it. Why do that?"

"I'm trying to make a point. You know, I'm all right with his new name. Draco's sort of sensitive about it."

"Draco. Sensitive."

"Well, he is," Harry said, then tried to rein back his impulse to defend his brother. "Anyway, if Flitwick asks for me you can say I'm consulting Professor Sprout about some plants I need. I'll see you both at lunch."

"Harry," Hermione warned. "You aren't supposed to go anywhere alone."

Harry hadn't exactly forgotten that, but it was seeming less urgent to him all the time. Still, he hardly wanted to hand Snape even more reason to be annoyed with him. "Right. So you tag along and miss Charms, too."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "I can't skive off a class!"

Ron, Harry suddenly realised, was staring at him in a way that would have made him realise his gaffe even if Hermione's tone of voice hadn't. "Sorry," he mumbled, ducking his head. "Tired."

Hermione made a rather motherly noise. "Just how late were you up?"

"Uh, all night . . ."

She sighed, but only said, "Well, I can go see Professor Sprout with you during lunch. How's that?"

"Too late, that's what it is." Harry didn't want to be a pain, but Hermione didn't seem to understand. "I have to do the well-wishing ceremony tomorrow. If I don't, Draco'll think I don't wish him well."

"He won't be as silly as that--"

"Ha. You haven't seen him lately. But anyway Hermione, he had mine ready to go the instant my official adoption certificate came through. And the mood he's in, he'll see it as an insult if I delay any longer! For all I know, even Snape is wondering why I haven't got it together before now! So I can't wait until lunch to see if I need to order something. I have to go see Sprout now!"

"Are you more worried about disappointing your brother or your father?" asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow toward her bushy hairline.

"I . . ." Harry thought about it. "Not sure, actually."

"I'll go with you to the greenhouses," volunteered Ron with a nasty glint in his eye. As soon as he kept speaking, Harry realised the reason for it. "Some of us value our friend's needs more than an hour practicing charms."

"Well maybe what he needs is to be in class where his father expects him to be, instead of wandering the grounds with only you to protect him!"

Harry decided this was an argument he wouldn't win. "Ron, you coming?"

Hermione pursed her lips and waved a bit sarcastically for them to leave.

Harry and Ron were almost to the door of the Great Hall when Nott fell into step alongside them. "Have a minute, Potter? I'd like to talk to you." He paused. "Alone. There's an empty classroom a couple of halls down . . ."

Reflex had Harry glancing toward the head table, even though he'd noticed earlier that Snape must be breakfasting with Draco. Which was good, he hurriedly told himself. Of course it was good.

As for alone . . . well, Harry had talked to Nott more-or-less alone that day they'd walked back from Care of Magical Creatures together, but they'd been in view of several students at all times, including Ron and Hermione both. An empty classroom, though, that was a little different.

"Ron and I are actually a bit busy," Harry said, and felt Ron relax a bit beside him. That soon changed, for Harry added, "You could walk with us if you like."

Nott frowned. "I have to be in Transfiguration in ten minutes but . . . oh, all right." After that, though, he didn't seem terribly inclined to say much. Or maybe he was just waiting until they were well away from the Great Hall.

He stopped walking when they reached the bailey.

Glancing at Ron, Harry saw that his friend's hand was on his wand grip, ready.

"So what did you need to talk to me about?"

Nott looked left and right, then stared at Ron as though deciding something. "You asked me about the plague. About why I had it worse than practically anyone else, remember?"

Actually, Harry had asked him what the symptoms were like, but he was hardly going to quibble. When he thought back, he realised his question could have been taken that way. "Yeah."

"I couldn't say anything, not there with the whole house trying to overhear us," Nott confided, his voice dropping as he seemed to shrink in size, as though trying to hide. "But I thought you ought to know, so you could tell your father. Bella caused the plague. Well, Bella and Erik both."

Harry thought a little scepticism was called for. It actually wasn't too hard to dredge up. "Bella and Erik. Right."

"The thing is . . ." Nott looked furtively around. "I think it was a mistake, see. They were trying to do something else, and it went wrong."

"Well, what were they trying to do, Nott?" put in Ron.

Nott looked Ron squarely in the eyes. "Kill me, that's what."

"But why would they have wanted to kill you?"

"Because," Nott whispered, "they'd started telling Aurors that they'd seen Malfoy rushing down the Owlery stairs! Now, if one thing is certain, it's that Draco has a better sense of strategy than that. Even if he'd killed Pansy in a fit of oh, who knows, jealous rage or something, afterwards he'd look at every angle and pick the best one. No way would he do something that made him look guilty. And besides, I told you, I never could see that he had any reason to kill her anyway--"

"Is this leading to an actual point?"

"Well, yes, Weasley. Actually it is," insisted Nott, still in that low, cautious voice. "You see, I was sure that Bella and Erik were lying, and I wanted to know what was really going on. I watched them pretty carefully for a bit, but that didn't get me anywhere. So then, I confronted them. I . . . uh, well actually I told them that I'd been hanging out at the foot of the Owlery stairs and I didn't see Draco come down. And anyway, it wasn't too long after that I got sick, see?"

No, Harry didn't see. His expression must have said so.

"They cursed me! With some awful new spell nobody's ever heard of. My guess is they're working for Lucius Malfoy and got it from him! But they cast it together to give me a double dose or something, hoping to kill me like I said, but instead the extra power made the spell spread out all over the Slytherin common room and out as far as the dormitories. They ended up cursing themselves, even. But they must have meant to target me in particular, or else why would I have got so much sicker than most of the others? Or do you think it was a coincidence that the other students who were as sick as me happened to be the same ones who were standing right by me just a few minutes after I'd confronted Bella and Erik? My guess is, Lucius Malfoy gave them that spell to incapacitate anybody who might contradict their testimony at the expulsion hearing!"

"But it's just a guess?"

"Well, I haven't felt much inclined to confront them again, if that's what you're asking!"

Ron blew his breath out in a huffing noise. "If they meant to incapacitate witnesses then they did a pretty poor job of it. Slytherin was well on the mend by the day the expulsion hearing rolled around."

"Yeah," said Nott in the same kind of voice Hermione used when she thought someone was being stupid. "Because they didn't cast it right. They messed with it. It spread out over Slytherin instead of over time, something like that."

"And you're telling me all this because?"

Nott stared at Harry for a second, then barked a harsh laugh. "Well, shite. Did I read you wrong yesterday? Seemed to me you were pretty interested in the plague and trying not to show it. So I thought you might appreciate knowing what I've been able to figure out."

When Nott stepped closer, Harry stepped back. Had he really been that easy to see through? "Why would you care what I appreciate or not?"

"Because," Nott whispered, stepping closer yet again, "I turn seventeen over the summer! Do you know what that means, Potter? In my family, at least, it means this . . ." He thrust his left arm out of his sleeve.

Unmarked . . . but Harry still flinched back. Nott was standing too close for comfort by then.

"And why would you object to that?" questioned Ron in a harsh whisper of his own as he actually stepped between Nott and Harry. "Seems to me you used to think it was a fine idea!"

"Yeah, I used to think it was exciting and glamorous. Lure of the forbidden, you know." Nott backed off, then. "Well, it doesn't sound so attractive now. It's slavery. With torture tossed in for good measure. Who the hell would want that?"

"Oh, only just about every student in your fucking house!"

"What you know about my house wouldn't fill a teaspoon, Weasley!" Nott looked past Ron at Harry. "You might be surprised how many of us would rather just skip serving the Dark Lord now that Draco's given us a first-hand look inside a meeting. You tell your father that, Potter."

Nott hesitated a moment, then turned his back on them and headed into the castle.

"Told you we weren't really friends," said Harry. He still felt jittery inside from when Nott had come too close to him. "He wants to use me. I just can't figure out if it's for something good, like getting away from Voldemort, or if there's more going on than I know . . ."

"Well, there's more going on than I know," retorted Ron. "Draco's given us a first-hand look inside a meeting? What the hell was that about?"

Harry swallowed, not liking the tone of those questions. "Um . . . well, Draco was at the meeting on Samhain, actually."

Ron shoved his hands in his pockets. "Oh, great. Your precious brother watched you get your eyes skewered. That's just wonderful, Harry. And you never thought it might be good to mention this to me?"

"Well, it was really Draco's personal business . . . and anyway, I'm glad he was there. 'Cause that's what brought him over onto our side, Ron. He saw Lucius being a slave to Voldemort, and realised he was destined for the same if he didn't do something about it." Harry sighed. "And that's why Nott just might be telling the truth, see? Draco's spent the past few months trying to convince his house mates that what they're getting into isn't what they think it is."

Ron's eyes were still fierce with anger, but he managed to nod. "So you think he has it right, about Bella and Erik and the Slytherin plague? But wait, that doesn't make much sense, not really. You said your father had determined they were testifying based on false memories . . . that they weren't really working for Lucius Malfoy . . . well, at least not knowingly."

"You're right; it doesn't line up." Harry shrugged. "But Nott said it was just his guess. If he thinks that Bella and Erik cursed him, anyway, that probably counts for something."

"What?"

"I'm still figuring that out." Harry smiled. "Um, thanks for making him back off, anyway. The last few days I've felt a little bit . . . I don't know. Sort of jumpy."

"Yeah, I noticed. It started just about when Draco got adopted," Ron said with a pointed look. "Maybe you're not as delighted with that as you want us all to think."

"Maybe you should stop impersonating Hermione."

"Shut up, Harry."

Harry laughed, and said they'd better get down to the greenhouses before they ended up missing the class after Charms, too.

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"As we finished working with Magma Potions on Tuesday," Snape said that afternoon as he swept majestically into the Potions classroom, "we will today continue our study of charmed potions by brewing Waldenholfer's Acuity Draught, which is representative of the Senseo class of potions. As you are all sixth-year students, which hopefully means you have surpassed the academic level of first-year dolts, I will assume you have all done the readings I assigned at the close of the last session. If anyone has not, I strongly advise you to leave class now and do them."

Harry sort of gulped. He had done all the readings, of course. He just didn't remember too much from them.

Of course, this would be one of those days when Snape seemed to be a vicious mood. His black eyes were almost predatory as they swept over the class . . . just as if he wanted to find some poor hapless student or other who was unprepared.

Harry gulped again, hoping he didn't get called on.

"Mr Zabini," the Potions Master quickly rapped out, "what is the general purpose of an Acuity Draught?"

"Um, to increase acuity," Zabini said, though when the teacher frowned he quickly added, "Perception, I mean. To make you see better or--"

Snape spoke right over his answer. "And Waldenholfer's contribution to the Senseo class, Mr Potter, was . . .?"

Harry thought fast. Perception. Senses. Zabini had already mentioned sight so he took a stab in the dark and said, "His potion improves hearing, Professor."

Snape didn't say correct, but then again, he hardly ever did. You knew you had the right answer if he moved right on to something . . . or someone, else.

"And the reason why Senseo class potions require charms, Mr Nott?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, but was careful not to let it show.

After a few more questions and answers, Snape appeared satisfied that his students were ready to begin brewing. He waved a careless hand toward the blackboard and the instructions appeared. "You will note, ladies and gentlemen, that this potion requires no fewer than four separate applications of charms. The colour, viscosity, and magical aura of your potion must be perfect prior to each charm, so I suggest you follow the procedure precisely as written."

The Potions Master gave a thin smile. "Since you all now have sufficient experience in the realm of charmed potions, you will be brewing individually this afternoon. I expect, however, each and every one of you to summon me to check your potion before you apply the two most critical charms." He looked down his nose at them. "I trust you all know which two I mean? You may begin."

Great, Harry thought. Individual work. He'd been hoping Hermione would keep him on track, not to mention awake. Or at least Nott, if Snape made the houses mix.

He'd just have to manage by himself, though. Starting with watching his classmates closely as he brewed, since he didn't really know which two charms were the critical ones. If he asked anyone, Snape was sure to overhear and know he hadn't studied enough.

Yeah, better to bluff it out . . .

Things went all right at first. He pulped his wild carrot roots to a fine mash--though weren't carrots supposed to be good for your eyes? Harry almost giggled, which was warning in itself. He was too exhausted to be brewing, and definitely shouldn't be working by himself, but he didn't have any choice. He wasn't about to go tell his father what a poor student he'd been this week.

So Harry soldiered on.

He prepared several more ingredients, only adding them when he noticed Hermione doing so as she hovered over her own cauldron. She tossed in the anise seeds and stirred three times clockwise, then carefully lifted her stirring stick from the bubbling brew and let every last drop of honey-coloured potion drip back down into her cauldron. But she didn't move to the next step, which would be extinguishing her fire. Instead, she raised her hand.

Harry checked the instructions. Waste not want not, which was Snape's bizarre way of saying to keep your potion completely in your cauldron, was followed by the first charm.

Which meant he only had to figure out which one remaining was the other critical one.

"A bit thin," said Snape as he tapped Hermione's cauldron with a fingernail and watched the liquid within react. How he could tell anything when the potion was at a full boil was beyond Harry. Perhaps it had to do with smell as well; he certainly seemed to be inhaling a lot, his large nose engulfed in fumes as he evaluated Hermione's work. "One more anise seed, Miss Granger."

After Hermione dropped it in, Snape tapped the cauldron once more. "Adequate. You may proceed." He turned away, his dark gaze checking on his other students' progress.

Harry thought his potion was perhaps a bit thin as well, so he dropped in an extra anise seed before raising his hand.

Snape nodded that he'd seen him, but first saw to Parvati, who'd had her hand up longer. Then he walked over, the motion so smooth he seemed almost to glide, and gave Harry's cauldron a single, strong tap. "Just a shade too much anise," he commented.

Harry's brain froze. Not that he'd expected his potion to be perfect, of course --when was it ever?-- but because he couldn't remember how to counter too much anise. He wanted to hit his head on the desk. Why, oh why had he thought it would be such a good idea to toss in that sodding extra seed?

"Neutralise the excess, Mr Potter," Snape calmly recommended, turning his face toward Harry's, his dark eyes intense.

"Yes, sir." Occluding just in case his father might be able to see more than Harry wanted, Harry reached his hand toward the shreds of ginger he hadn't used. Snape nodded and moved on.

Whew. Close call.

Harry gently lowered a shred of ginger and floated it on the surface of his potion, letting the boiling action mix it into the brew. He tapped the side of the cauldron himself and thought it looked all right. Putting out his fire as directed, he glanced up at the board.

Apply the appropriate freezing charm, it read, and maintain your potion in a semi-frozen state until the edges turn grey.

Freezing charm.

Yeah, he'd read--at about 5 a.m.--that one would be required. The other three charms he had to do were more familiar. And really, a standard freezing charm wouldn't tax him too much, but this was one specially designed to turn viscous liquids into sort of a slush. He'd meant to practice it beforehand so he got the Parseltongue version down, but Sals had been asleep and he'd been dead tired and he'd still had most of the chapter to read.

He'd meant to go back to it, he really had.

Well, nothing for it now.

Harry turned his back on his father and slid a hand into his pocket, letting Sals wrap around his fingers so he could pull her out. Snape would probably hear the Parseltongue but then again, he would just think Harry was performing the required charm, not trying to figure out how the heck to make it work.

"Sals," he whispered, bringing her up close to his face and talking as low as he could, "I want ice . . ." Damn, he'd just tried to say slush and it had come out as ice. Okay, try again. "I want my stick to make some soft ice. Like, almost frozen but not quite. Do you have any ideas?"

Sals' little tongue lapped out against Harry's cheek. "Like sleet?"

"Yeah, sleet," Harry said. "That's about right. Thanks, Sals."

Harry pointed his wand at his cauldron but held it so that a standard freezing charm wouldn't flow through it. Then, fingers in position, he steadied his gaze on his ring and said, "Be sleet."

Nothing. When he put his hand on the side of the cauldron it hadn't even cooled. Well, he was used to trial and error for new spells, by then. "Become sleet." No. Maybe he should charm the cauldron instead of the potion itself; that sometimes worked. "Make what you are holding into sleety sleet."

That was what he got for trying to say slushy sleet.

He felt a zinging sensation shoot through his wand instead of his fingers, and realised that he hadn't changed the angle when he'd switched to talking to his cauldron. Uh-oh . . . wanded magic.

It seemed to be all right, though. No sparks flew from the end of his wand; nothing catastrophic. Nothing unexpected, even. His potion started to change, that was all. Like it was supposed to. The contents of his cauldron took on a bluish sheen that got darker and darker, shifting towards black. Harry kept a close eye on his potion, waiting for the edges to turn grey.

And then . . .

Oh, no . . .

The potion stayed mushy, Harry could see that, but it must have got way too cold even if it didn't harden into ice. Must have, because nobody else's cauldron was silently cracking through, the contents somehow muffling any noise.

Slushy sleet, just like he'd asked for, spilled out onto his workbench. That in itself might not have been so bad, but his workbench was still covered with things he'd chopped and diced and mashed. Tired as he was, Harry knew that was an accident waiting to happen. He pointed his wand at the mess, more careful this time to keep his magic wandless, and hurriedly hissed his version of an Evanesco.

But his potion didn't vanish, it just kept oozing towards his shredded ginger.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, then.

Harry reached out his hands to sweep his ingredients out of the path of the potion.

Sals, dangling from his wrist by then, hissed as she came near the freezing slush.

Reacting instinctively, Harry yanked that arm back to his chest while his other hand shoved ginger and carrot and anise, among other things, onto the floor.

Snape shouted something, then. Harry registered the sound, but not the words, past his panic. Because any second now the potion was going to ooze right off the desk and onto the floor, and then there might be an explosion or worse--

A spell zinged past his ear, so close it seemed to burn him, at the same times some words did come clear. Well, one word. "Evanesco!"

Snape, trying to contain the damage before it was too late. But his spell failed, as Harry knew it would. It took a Parselmouth to affect Harry's wanded Parseltongue magic. Snape knew that, but he didn't know Harry had used his wand . . . really used it. "Helare!" Snape incanted, hoping no doubt to freeze the oozing potion solid to keep it from spreading.

"Sir," Harry began, but Snape spoke right over him.

"Out!" he abruptly shouted. "Everyone, out!"

Students dropped stirring rods and ladles and rushed for the doors, just as the oozing potion reached the edge of the desk and began to form a drop that hung for a moment, lengthening as it struggled to separate itself from the potion above.

In that moment, Harry's panic snapped through his exhaustion and he knew what to do. He lifted his wand to put an end to this, wanded magic to undo wanded magic, that was it; he'd been too tired before to think straight but there was no way a wandless spell could hope to undo the wanded magic previously applied--

"Harry, out!" Snape yelled, grabbing him by the arm and flinging him towards the door, the Potions Master stepping between his son and imminent disaster. "Evanesco!" Snape yelled again, this time pointing his wand at the ingredients scattered on the floor, instead of at the mass of potion.

Ginger and carrot and anise vanished just as a single drop of potion hit the floor and sizzled strangely.

Then a huge glop fell and the floor started to smoke, granite dissolving beneath the onslaught of magic woven through the potion, the room quaking slightly as a crater appeared where before there had been solid stone.

Snape raised an eyebrow and backed up a step, then appeared to come to some sort of conclusion. His wand flashing left and right, he began incanting spells to coat the remaining floor with marble. When the potion oozed onto that, it finally halted its slow march forward and became nothing but a blackish blob. Hard to imagine it had caused such havoc.

Harry was hovering near the door, biting his lip, when Snape stomped his way. Stepping past him, the Potions Master announced to the students in the hallway, "Class dismissed." But then he turned to Harry, his brows drawn together in a furious line. "You, however, are decidedly not. Come with me!"