Dolores Umbridge's compact wand twitched back and forth, almost in regular rhythm, as the Fifth Years departed Hogwarts castle for the steep trek down toward Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures class. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike flinched as Umbridge's spells tightened ties, tucked in shirttails, lengthened skirt hems, and forced several handholding couples at least three arms-lengths away from each other. Above the groans and grumbles, Umbridge continued to smile her tight, self-satisfied smile, while her devoted cohort, caretaker Argus Filch, smirked admiringly in the background.

Ron Weasley shot an angry look over his shoulder at the aggravating woman, and once he had descended below the pink pain-in-the-arse's line of sight, he wrenched loose the tight knot of his necktie.

"I'd thought she'd let up after the first few days," he muttered, his sausage-scented breath fogging slightly in the chill September morning air. "But this is the second week…" He struggled against the weight of his school bag and finally succeeded in yanking his shirttail out of the waist of his uniform slacks. "D'you think old toadface will be this bad all year?"

Harry Potter shook his head, partly in answer to Ron's complaint, partly to assist his fingers in loosening the tie around his own neck. "It doesn't look promising," he said gloomily.

Ahead of them, Hermione Granger's brown hair flounced with every downward step. A small cloud of fog formed around her head, and as Harry and Ron passed through the thin brume, her words seemed to still hang in the misty air: "…-try was interfering."

"Yeah, you told us," Ron conceded grumpily.

Down, down, down the hill they went. Every so often, Harry cast a quick glance back over his robed shoulder to keep track of the Slytherins uphill of them. Granted, the worst of the lot – Draco Malfoy and his usual goons – were walking ahead of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but Harry couldn't really trust any of the Slytherins not to suddenly decide to shove someone over, causing the entire group of students to topple like dominoes down the steep, narrow path. He was surprised it had never happened in the previous four years he'd been at Hogwarts, but his rather bizarre experiences since starting school had taught him emphatically that there was a first time for everything.

Hermione stopped abruptly and Ron nearly walked into her, almost setting off the domino effect on the spot.

"'Mione! What the – "

And then he saw what she was pointing at. Or, rather, whom.

"Snape!" she hissed under her breath. "Down there with Professor Grubbly-Plank."

A tall, elderly witch with close-cropped gray hair stood in front of Hagrid's hut, smoking a pipe while she awaited her students' arrival. Exhaling a thin stream of smoke, she leaned her head intently toward that of the younger, dark-haired Potions Master. As the students approached, she waved her wand to extinguish the pipe and tucked it into a pocket in her dusty-hemmed blue robes.

The trio of Gryffindors stepped aside to allow several other students of both Houses to pass down the path before they brought up the rear of the straggling line of pupils arranging themselves in a semi-circle in front of Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Harry could tell that his friends felt as he did, missing Hagrid's vast presence, and the hut's smokeless chimney only emphasized the half-giant's absence.

Professor Wilhemina Grubbly-Plank lifted her prominent chin and ran a practiced eye around the group of students. "Miss Greengrass?"

"She will be joining us later," Severus Snape's deep baritone informed the other teacher. "Her absence is excused, due to a prior appointment."

Ron snickered quietly, and Harry knew it was due to the same sight which had just caused Hermione to cough into her cupped hand: Snape's breath had fogged even more than the students' or Professor Grubbly-Plank's. Seeing was believing, and on this chilly morning, Snape had inadvertently just proved that he was full of hot air!

"Very well," said the CMC professor. "Class, we have a new, and somewhat disturbing, Magical Creature to study today. This one is not covered in your textbook, so I shall expect you to listen closely and take detailed notes."

She waved her wand and a double row of benches arranged themselves in a semi-circle. The Gryffindor and Slytherin Fifth Years quickly sat and pulled parchment and quills from their school bags. When the bustle had died down, Professor Grubbly-Plank announced, "I am turning this part of the class over to our guest lecturer, Professor Snape. He has done more research about this creature than any other member of the Hogwarts staff, thus far. Professor Snape," she said, gesturing him forward, even as she seated herself on an end bench with the students and organized her own parchment and quill for note-taking.

"Thank you, Professor," Snape said quietly. His black eyes slid carefully over the faces of the assembled students, and the gravity of his expression caused several of the teens to shudder slightly. They were accustomed to a sneering, sarcastic, overbearingly-snide Snape; this serious side of Severus Snape struck an uneasy chord deep within the students.

"As you know, my field of expertise is Potions. However, it is precisely due, in part, to the illegal use of a particular potion that this creature even exists today. To put this information into a historical context: Back in 1984, during an ill-advised experiment, a particularly-dunderheaded Frenchman used a Dark potion – which I shall NOT name – to facilitate illegal Magical crossbreeding between two non-Magical creatures, namely a common gray squirrel and a vampire bat."

The collective gasp from the students created a small fogbank beside Hagrid's hut.

"Quite," said Snape, assessing their shocked expressions.

Hermione's hand shot into the air.

Snape's lips tightened. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"But WHY? WHY would anyone do something that … bizarre?"

"I just stated that he was a dunderhead, Miss Granger. A graduate of Durmstrang, no less."

Hermione's eyes grew round, but she kept her silence this time.

"Suffice to say, this French … 'scientist' … did not stop with a single experimentation. The idiot became so enamored with his success that he REPEATED the process. MULTIPLE times."

Snape allowed the students to absorb the implications.

Once again, Hermione raised her hand, but this time it crept upward, almost as if afraid of the question she needed to ask.

When Snape merely nodded his dark head in her direction, she licked her lips before speaking. "What… What happened to these creatures, Professor? Did they … survive beyond the experiment?"

Uncharacteristically, Snape sighed. "Unfortunately, they not only survived under laboratory conditions – they thrived. The French wizard discovered rather quickly that these new creatures were quite capable of breeding true to type, and they continued to do so under his devoted care for several years."

When he whirled in anger, Snape's robes kicked up a bit of dust from the hard-packed dirt in front of Hagrid's doorstep. "Eventually, Le Bureau des Affaires Magiques – the French equivalent of the British Ministry of Magic – got wind of this imbecile's doings. Following an extensive investigation, they ordered him to destroy the creatures, which numbered several hundred by that time."

Hearing gasps of dismay from several of the female students from both Houses, Snape growled, "Don't misplace your sympathy too soon."

Harry finally spoke up, asking, "What happened to the creatures, Professor? Did he … "

"He did not destroy them, Potter." Snape's trademark sneer mingled with fury, but for once, his anger was not directed at the boy. "He RELEASED them from the laboratory. Into the French countryside. Where they continued to feed and breed, and the creatures quickly began to create a nasty reputation for themselves."

"What kind of reputation?" blurted Ron.

Though Snape's glare grew ominous, the entire class could tell that the man was not angry at Ron, but at the French imbecile.

"Le Bureau des Affaires Magiques began referring to the creatures as 'les écureuils fatals' – the Fatal Squirrels."

"They KILL people?!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson, dropping her parchment and quill to the dusty ground. "Merlin preserve us!"

"Calm yourself, Miss Parkinson," ordered Snape. "There have been no reports of the Fatal Squirrels killing people. Yet. Thus far, we know that, individually, they have killed smaller animals, while group attacks have successfully destroyed mammals as large as horses."

"But COULD they kill people?" Harry asked urgently. "If they can kill a horse…"

Snape launched into full lecture mode.

"The Fatal Squirrels were released from a laboratory in the south of France, in the Provence region south of Lyon, specifically, and they were first spotted in the wild on the lower western slopes of the French Alps in 1987. They seem to have migrated steadily northward, keeping west of the Alps and following the Saone River, then crossing it and the Seine before traversing the Champagne region. The squirrels reached the area surrounding Reims around 1990. From there, they turned northwest, bypassing Lille, and headed for Calais. By 1992, they had achieved the British coast at Dover. Within two more years, there were also confirmed sightings near Folkestone."

Harry raised his hand. "You said squirrels were crossed with vampire bats?"

Snape nodded.

"Do they have wings? Did they fly over the French rivers and the English Channel?"

One of Snape's eyebrows rose, a sign of surprise at the Gryffindor's astuteness, blended with reluctant approval, although, in this case, the boy's supposition was off target. "They do, indeed, have wings, Potter. However, according to their French creator, the wings will not support their body weight for sustained flight. They can gain the treetops from ground level, and they are capable of gliding for short distances, but extensive winged flight is not possible."

Frowning, Harry pursued his line of inquiry. "So, how did they get here from France?"

Snape's frown mirrored his own. "The Magical Ministers from both countries speculate that they likely could have crossed rivers via bridges or by stowing away on boats. As for traversing the English Channel, our governments believe that the animals made use of ferries, or to a lesser degree, the new Chunnel trains."

"The what?" Draco looked utterly lost upon hearing the word "Chunnel".

Smirking, Snape replied, "Last year, in 1994, the Muggle train line operating between London and Paris began operation."

Draco snorted. "You can't run a train between London and Paris. There's no bridge. My father works for the Ministry of Magic. He knows these things."

Harry guffawed. "I guess he doesn't know everything, Malfoy, because the Muggles built a tunnel under the English Channel, and trains do run through it!"

"You're full of dragon dung, Potter! There's no such thing!" The blond Slytherin glowered up at Snape's looming dark figure. "Tell him, Professor! Put the half-blood in his place!"

Linking his hands behind his back, Snape strolled leisurely toward the nearest pumpkin. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Malfoy, but the Muggles DID build a channel railway tunnel, and they refer to it as the Chunnel. Despite their care to avoid unwarranted transfers of wildlife from Britain to France and vice versa, no system is foolproof, particularly among Muggles, and it remains possible that a small number Fatal Squirrels may have hitched a ride on the trains running through the Chunnel, particularly since the Calais to Folkestone line went into operation."

After contemplating the pumpkin at length, the man continued, "Given the degree of Magic conferred upon the animals during their diabolical creation, it seems likely that they may embody a Muggle-oriented Notice-Me-Not spell or even a Muggle-repelling charm, either of which would prevent Muggles from spotting any furry stowaways inside the trains. However, we believe it more likely that greater numbers arrived unseen aboard Muggle ferries during the past few years. And, once here, they continued their northward migration through England toward Scotland."

"Scotland?" whimpered Ron. "Here? They're coming HERE?"

"In fact, Mr. Weasley, the Fatal Squirrels have already arrived north of the Border."

Harry swallowed. "How long until we could see one? Sir."

The dark man shook his head, causing his ebony hair to swing against his cheekbones. "Unknown, Potter, but the best estimate is near the end of October or the beginning of November."

"Are…" A new voice sounded behind Harry, and he turned to see Daphne Greengrass slowly sitting down beside Blaise Zabini. "Are you sure they're coming to Hogwarts?"

Snape sighed deeply. "Most likely, that will be the case."

"But why here, sir?" asked Daphne. "Why not London?"

"These creatures apparently feel an affinity toward Magic, Miss Greengrass. Though their ancestors were – for lack of a better term – Muggle animals, Magical spells, combined with potions containing Magical components, created the Fatal Squirrels, and – as Magical creatures – they tend to veer toward concentrated Magical power. They DID pass through London, and those which congregated in Diagon Alley were disposed of, for the most part. Several other locales with Wizarding populations have reported similar influxes, while neighboring Muggle towns have shown little evidence of their presence. Estrella's Strand, Godric's Hollow, Hangtree, and Corbin's Firth have encountered a disturbing number of Fatal Squirrels. And, given that Hogsmeade has an all-Wizarding population, with Hogwarts castle containing the most concentrated level of Magic outside of the Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo's Hospital, it is a fair bet that the Fatal Squirrels will ultimately head to this area."

"Did they get into the Ministry?" asked Ron. "Or St. Mungo's?"

"No. Both are top-security facilities, employing both strong wards and full physical lockdown."

"What about Hogwarts?" demanded Draco. "Can they get into the castle?"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "The wards on both the castle and the grounds have been strengthened, and they will be constantly monitored. However – with students routinely entering and exiting the castle for classes and other activities – Hogwarts does not enjoy quite the same level of security as the Ministry or St. Mungo's. The Headmaster has already conferred with the Head Goblin of Gringotts about their security, since several Fatal Squirrels managed to enter the bank's main lobby."

For the first time since they'd sat down, the entire class chuckled quietly, envisioning the scene of a battle between winged vampire-squirrels and outraged Goblins.

Hermione raised her hand. "What do they look like exactly? How do we identify a Fatal Squirrel?"

Snape's lips twitched. "They are essentially the same size as a gray squirrel, although their fur is verdigris in color, with a paler green belly."

"What?" asked Ron. "Verd-what?"

"Greenish-gray. Or grayish-green," Hermione whispered. "It can vary."

The redhead stared at her in disbelief. "Greenish … squirrels…"

"The animals have standard squirrel-like bodies, complete with bushy tail, but they also have the leathery wings typical of bats," Snape continued. "When not in use, the wings fold tightly into thin, twin 'sticks' attached just below their shoulder blades. Without the spreading wings, you would need to see the verdigris fur and pointed, bat-like ears protruding from the tops of their head as identifiers. The Fatal Squirrels also possess vampire-like fangs in the upper jaw, which they use to pierce their victims in order to lap up their blood. Combine these fangs with an ordinary squirrel's naturally-sharp teeth, and the Fatal Squirrels have been known to rip open raw flesh during their attacks."

"So they live on blood?" Harry asked, screwing up his face in revulsion at the thought.

"A mixed diet of nuts and blood, for the most part," Snape informed him, "depending on availability. Sources mention that the Fatal Squirrels appear to favor nuts, but if the supply runs short, they will then resort to attacking animals – mainly mammals – for sustenance."

Pansy looked up from her scribbled notes. "You said earlier that they hadn't killed anyone yet. But have they ever attacked people?"

Snape nodded, and the class moaned.

"In their migration, there have been various attacks on humans. For some reason, they have attacked more females than males, and all of the human victims have been Magical, rather than Muggle. That seems to emphasize their attraction to Magic, but it does not explain the gender differentiation. The animal victims have been primarily 'Muggle' – possibly due to greater availability – although several attacks on Magical creatures have been reported though the years."

Snape watched these latest facts find their way onto parchment. "You may also note that their eye color – according to human victims and witnesses of attacks – turns blazing electric blue when they become agitated, but is a dark blue, otherwise, when they are calm. They feed both by day and by night, so do not consider yourselves immune to attack based on daylight or darkness. As for defending yourselves, be aware that the Fatal Squirrels seem unaffected by Stupefy and Impedimenta." He sighed deeply, looking more disturbed than any of the students could ever remember seeing him. "Early reports also indicate that the squirrels seem relatively impervious to most Magical spells, be they defensive or offensive."

"What do we use, then?" asked Harry, clenching his quill in consternation.

"The Goblins at Gringotts reported that ordinary water seemed to slow them down, for some reason, so I would strongly recommend that all students practice Aguamenti."

And suddenly, Snape's wand appeared from nowhere, with a powerful jet of water spewing forth to wet down the dusty ground.

"The water doesn't kill the animals, but it appears to slow them down rather drastically. Since the Fatal Squirrels locomote as quickly on the ground as their Muggle counterparts, you would be well advised to master this Charm."

The Potions Master waited once again until all of the students' quills ceased scratching across parchment. Then, with a wave of his wand, he levitated a small log table which had been standing next to Hagrid's hut. He positioned the table directly in front of him. Upon the table sat a bulky, cloth-covered rectangular object.

"This," he said, placing his hand upon the cloth, "is a Fatal Squirrel."

Slowly, he lifted the fabric, and the students craned their necks to stare at the creature within the sturdy metal cage. Greenish-gray in color, the only aspect markedly different at first glance were its pointed bat-ears. Snape dropped a walnut through the top of the wire mesh of the cage, and the creature immediately snatched it up and began methodically gnawing at the shell in squirrel fashion. "You may observe the vampire fangs, which the animal often employs in breaking through the nutshell, as well as puncturing a mammal's skin."

Snape gently prodded the creature's left thigh with a twig, and the Fatal Squirrel turned sideways, away from the slight pressure, so the students could see the "stick" attached to its lower left shoulder blade. "Watch," instructed Snape, and he teased at the underside of the animal's "stick". Immediately, the wings expanded widely, bracketing the bushy tail tucked up against the animal's furry back.

"Wow!" breathed Ron. "That's wicked! But they still can't fly all that well? The wings look pretty big to me."

"A squirrel's body weight is far heavier than a bat's would be for that same wingspan, Mr. Weasley. Fatal Squirrels depend on their leg muscles for running, climbing, and jumping, just like ordinary squirrels. The wings give them only a small added advantage over their Muggle

cousins, no more."

Hermione half-raised her hand, then pointed at the cage. "What will happen to that squirrel, Professor?"

Snape exchanged glances with Professor Grubbly-Plank. "My colleagues and I shall study it, Miss Granger. We shall attempt to learn as much about it and its habits, strengths, and weaknesses, before the horde descends upon the Forbidden Forest."

"Horde!" Pansy's shriek rose by at least an octave.

"Forbidden Forest?" asked Harry.

Snape inclined his head. "Indeed, Potter. Regardless of the countryside through which they passed during their migrations, the Fatal Squirrels always prefer a wooded area to open grassland. Undoubtedly, they will be attracted to the Forest, not only for the trees, but also by its strong Magical aura. Numerous warm-blooded creatures – some Magical, some not – reside here. In any case, due to last spring's late freeze – not to mention the summer's drought – we have a vastly-reduced supply of nuts on the trees this autumn, and the squirrels will be looking for other sources of sustenance. I would advise everyone to stay well away from the edge of the trees."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "It goes without saying that – as always – entering the Forbidden Forest is strictly prohibited." The man's black eyes glared in turn at each of three particular Gryffindors, before he added, "If you should spot a Fatal Squirrel while you are out upon the grounds, do not attempt to approach it."

Ron muttered, "Is he trying to make a joke?"

"Run immediately for the castle, and remember – Aguamenti." Again, Snape's wand spurted water, wetting down the toes of Ron's trainers.

"Bloody hell!" The redhead jerked his feet back underneath his bench as the Potions Master smirked.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for language, Weasley."

The man's black robes twirled through the dust as Snape spun around to face the class as a whole. "Questions?"

"How many Fatal Squirrels are coming, Professor?"

"Unknown, Mr. Zabini. We'll have to wait until they begin arriving before we can estimate accurate totals. Expect several hundred at the very least … and possibly several thousand."

Pansy covered her face with her hands and moaned something that sounded like, "Merlin, Merlin, Merlin…"

"What about Hogsmeade weekends?" Draco asked.

Snape shook his head. "Suspended until further notice, Mr. Malfoy. We cannot risk anyone being attacked walking to and from the village."

Harry raised his hand.

"Potter?"

"How will we get updates on information regarding the Fatal Squirrels, sir?"

"Announcements will be made at mealtimes in the Great Hall. The same information will be posted daily in common rooms. As we learn, we shall pass known facts on to the student body, for their own safety." He paused, then added, "Ordinarily, I should refrain from passing on items involving mere speculation. However … since we still know relatively little about these Fatal Squirrels, the Hogwarts staff may decide to offer ideas which are based on LOGICAL deduction. Whenever that may be the case, we shall make it very clear that we are speculating and that the information has not yet been proven to be factual."

Snape grimaced. "I imagine, given the fiasco involving the Fatal Squirrels in Diagon Alley, that the Daily Prophet will be rife with unproven rumors and wild speculation. Do bear in mind that the so-called journalism appearing in the Prophet very seldom encompasses LOGICAL deduction."

The students laughed aloud.

"Any further questions?"

Silence.

"Professor Grubbly-Plank…" Snape ceded his position as guest lecturer.

The gray-haired CMC professor stood, brushing off her robes. "Thank you, Professor Snape. Chapter Three in your textbooks for next time. Class dismissed."

Although Harry and his friends – not to mention at least a third of the class – would have liked a closer look at the Fatal Squirrel, Snape had already gently lowered the cover over the cage before they could approach.

Ron nudged Harry's ribs with his elbow. "You notice how he's so much nicer to that squirrel than he is to us students?"

Harry shrugged, taking up his school bag. "Oh, I don't know, Ron. He really wouldn't want to antagonize it, especially when he needs to study it. Besides, Snape wasn't so bad today. Not as bad as usual, you know?"

"That's what worries, me," said Hermione as they began trudging back up the steep path to the castle. "If Snape loses his … snark … over the Fatal Squirrels, then they must pose an extremely serious threat." She shook her head, bushy hair bouncing. "I'll bet it's only a matter of time before they kill someone."

-:- -:- -:-

Over the next month, most of the Hogwarts staff put their heads together and collaborated on studying and running experiments involving the Fatal Squirrel residing in Hagrid's hut.

Certain teachers, however, did not take part. Dolores Umbridge felt that the task was far beneath her and best left to lesser witches and wizards. Sybill Trelawney refused to leave her tower, saying surely she must be in the only safe place in the entire castle – the Fatal Squirrels could never fly that high, and as long as she kept her ladder drawn up, they couldn't climb…

As caretaker, Argus Filch, was exempted, as he had nothing useful to contribute, although he offered an endless running commentary to the effect that it was bad enough having to clean up after students, and he hoped to Merlin he'd never have to clean up after a pack of bloody vampire-squirrels. To top it off, Filch had taken to wearing Mrs. Norris draped over his shoulder as he patrolled the corridors; the news that a Fatal Squirrel could kill a small mammal had him brandishing his push-broom at every other shadow.

Snape absolutely refused to allow students near the caged Fatal Squirrel; however, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had discovered that Professor Grubbly-Plank proved more welcoming, and they took to visiting the hut when Snape was teaching a Seventh Year Double-Potions class each Thursday. Sadly, in mid-October, Hagrid's chimney still showed no sign of smoke, but they resolutely trekked down the steep path to get the latest update on the Fatal Squirrel from their substitute CMC teacher. While the announcements in the Great Hall and on bulletin boards concerned basics about what was known and suggestions for students concerning defending themselves, the three Gryffindors knew that Professor Grubbly-Plank would discuss some of the actual experiments with them, giving them a slight edge over the rest of the student body.

"Can you imagine," Harry said, interrupting himself long enough to pop a peanut into his mouth, chewing as he negotiated the path, "if Hagrid were in charge of a Fatal Squirrel?"

"Harry!" squealed Hermione. "Don't even THINK such a thing!"

"No kidding mate," agreed Ron, grabbing the packet of peanuts dangling from Harry's hand. "As if a baby dragon wasn't bad enough!" He poured out a handful of peanuts and crammed them into his mouth. "A Fmmff Sqrrmmph omphf vrrmmf…"

Harry snatched his remaining peanuts away from Ron. "You wouldn't care to repeat that after you swallow, would you?"

After crunching the nuts into jagged fragments not quite large enough to choke him, Ron swallowed painfully several times, coughed slightly, and repeated, "I said, a Fatal Squirrel would be the worst! Hagrid would probably let it out of its cage for some fresh air and exercise, and it would make a beeline for the Forbidden Forest."

Hermione nodded grimly. "I love Hagrid – we all do – but he lacks good judgment when it comes to dangerous creatures."

"Lacks common sense, too," muttered Harry. "Just because he's bigger than average doesn't make him immune to danger. A Fatal Squirrel might not be able to kill him single-handedly, but it could still seriously injure him. I guess it's just as well he's still away, but I wonder where he is?"

Ron shrugged. "Well, Dumbledore and the other teachers aren't saying, but we'll pump Hagrid when he finally shows up. You know he'll never be able to keep a secret!"

"Who knows," sighed Hermione. "It might not even be top-secret – just something the teachers feel doesn't concern students, and that's why they're not telling."

They'd arrived at the hut's doorstep. Harry raised his hand to knock upon the open door.

"Come in, children," called Professor Grubbly-Plank.

The Gryffindors winced at the word "children" – they were Fifth Years, after all. In fact, Hermione had just turned sixteen.

"Good afternoon, Professor," greeted Harry, stepping over the rough doorsill. "How is the squirrel getting along?"

"About as usual, Potter," she replied, heating Hagrid's large kettle with a quick Charm. As she laid out cups and saucers – her personal regular-sized set, instead of Hagrid's soup-bowl sized cups – the Gryffindors slowly approached the large enclosure set against the back wall, from which Hagrid's huge bed had temporarily been relocated to the castle.

In place of the original smaller cage, the Fatal Squirrel now lived in a sizeable area where it had more room to move around. The floor was now grass covered, and Hagrid's ceiling had been enchanted like that of the Great Hall to allow the squirrel to experience sunlight and darkness, instead of living in the perpetual candlelit gloom of the hut. Two smallish trees stretching up to the sunny ceiling gave the animal a place to climb and perch. Or to hang and swing, the students were started to discover. The Fatal Squirrel dangled upside down from a thin limb, front paws drawn tightly against its pale green chest.

"Does he do that often?" Hermione asked. "Sleep upside down, like a bat?"

"She," corrected Grubbly-Plank, "apparently has a set of retractable claws on the back of her heels. I've never seen anything like it." She shook her head. "It makes me wonder if there might not be a third type of creature crossed into the squirrel/bat scenario."

"Wow!" breathed Ron, watching the Fatal Squirrel gently swinging by her heels. "That's … amazing."

Professor Grubbly-Plank snorted. "It only makes it more difficult to get a grasp of the animal's true nature."

"But it hangs like a bat because it's part bat?" guessed Harry.

"Presumably, that would be the root of her inclination," agreed the professor. "Although, she doesn't actually sleep upside down. For sleeping, she built that nest." The woman pointed to a rough bundle of leafy twigs which had been woven into a typical squirrel-type nest high up in the left-hand tree. "We charmed the tree to keep replacing the twigs she harvested so she'd have sufficient building material."

"What else have you learned, Professor?" asked Hermione. "We really haven't heard a lot in the castle, despite Professor Snape saying announcements would be made. Aside from suggestions for how to defend ourselves, there hasn't been a lot of information coming our way."

The CMC professor gestured for the students to join her at the table for tea. "Honestly, we don't know that much more than we did a month ago. It's a shame we can't study the Fatal Squirrel in the wild, because we'd obviously learn far more, but that is simply out of the question." The woman poured out tea and passed a plate of shortbread wedges. "We have learned that, in addition to most types of nuts, the animal will eat dried maize, and also seems fond of catching moths to eat at night. She refuses all types of fruits except raisins and pineapple, but she adores sunflower seeds, Brussels sprouts, shiitake mushrooms, dandelion greens, and marshmallows."

The students chuckled at the idea of a greenish-gray vampire-squirrel eating puffy marshmallows.

Professor Grubbly-Plank shook her head. "In the wild, an ordinary squirrel would eat a wide variety of plant foods – various wild greens and field mushrooms, for example – and if a garden is handy, it may even raid vegetables, leaving its mark upon various members of the cabbage family, cucumbers, green beans, cherry tomatoes, and various types of squashes. It will also indulge in nibbling pinecones and certain types of flowers, such as carnations and chrysanthemums. Regular squirrels – whether wild or captive – also love many types of fruits, both native and tropical."

"Wow!" said Ron. "They sound like regular pigs!"

Harry heard Hermione mutter something that seriously sounded like, "You should know…"

"Also, she willingly eats earthworms if given them, but she will not dig them from the ground."

"That's WEIRD," commented Ron.

Harry frowned. "I didn't know squirrels ate fruit, but I thought bats would."

The professor shrugged and sipped her tea. "It really depends on the type of bat, Potter. And even if ordinary squirrels do eat certain types of fruits, this poor creature probably exhibits a grossly-restricted diet, which includes highly-atypical tastes, simply because of the dastardly hybrid genetics in her background. There's a reason that Magical crossbreeding is illegal – you can't predict what the end result will be, much less how adversely the creature itself will be affected. You can't count on getting the best of both worlds."

"What about blood?" wondered Ron. "How do you test that? Put it out in a bowl like earthworms?"

Professor Grubbly-Plank looked pointedly at the teapot and the shortbread. "Are you certain you'd want to hear the details while you're eating?"

The Gryffindors stared at each other.

"Well," ventured Harry, "this is really the only time we can come. And Professor Snape will be out of class before long, so you'd best tell us now."

His friends nodded agreement, although their expressions revealed trepidation.

"Very well," said Grubbly-Plank, setting her teacup in its saucer. She patted her lips with a napkin, took the time to light her pipe, and leaned back in her chair.

"All of the experiments we've done have been non-invasive on the part of the Fatal Squirrel. We simply observe behavior under various conditions. As long as the animal is well fed on nuts and other non-meat sources, it will ignore living creatures. We introduced small animals – like mice, rabbits, hamsters, a Niffler, and a Welsh Conebagger – into the enclosure."

"What's a Welsh Conebagger?" asked Harry. He half expected for Hermione to supply the answer, but his friend looked as puzzled as he did.

Grubbly-Plank answered, "It's a Magical creature barely larger than a rabbit. It's a marsupial which lives on pine nuts and is quite fond of collecting them and carrying them in its pouch to store at home in a hollow tree. On occasion, the Conebagger has been known to shove an entire pinecone into its pouch. Thus, its name. A Conebagger's digestive tract secretes an enzyme which interacts with the pine nuts, rendering the animal's droppings to possess soporific qualities."

"Soapy?" asked Ron.

"Oh, no!" squeaked Hermione. "I just remembered. I saw it in 'Moste Potente Potions' in Second Year! Powdered Conebagger Scat – it's used in Sleep-Eze Potion! Animal droppings!"

Harry's eyes bugged. "That's – Is that the same as Dreamless Sleep?" How many times had he taken THAT?!

Hermione suddenly blushed, looking unaccountably guilty about something, but she shook her head reassuringly, saying, "No, it's just an ordinary, though powerful, sleeping draught."

Harry blew out his breath in relief.

"Soapy?" repeated Ron. "Soapy qualities?"

"Soporific, Ronald," huffed Hermione. "They make you sleepy, not soapy!"

"But what if you wanted to sleep in the bathtub – "

Harry cut in, "What happened with the animal experiments, Professor? The rabbits and such?"

Grubbly-Plank glanced at the Fatal Squirrel's enclosure. "We believe that Fatal Squirrels may possess a faster metabolism than ordinary squirrels, which – if necessary – can go several days without food. As long as this Fatal Squirrel had plenty of plant-based foods, she ignored the animals, but when we withheld plant-based foods completely for more than twenty-four hours, she would attack the other animals in the enclosure with her."

"Oh, no!" gasped Hermione. "That poor Niffler! They're so sweet. Did it … did they…?"

The CMC professor sighed sadly. "The Fatal Squirrel went for the Magical creatures first, beginning with the Conebagger. She ripped its throat and drank the blood for immediate satiation, and when no plant foods proved forthcoming in the next six hours, she eventually consumed its flesh."

"And the Niffler?" Harry asked with dread.

"We kept close watch after the Conebagger incident. The squirrel had stuffed herself on meat and slept for two full days afterward."

"Because of the soporific aspect?" inquired Hermione, curious in spite of her revulsion.

"Excellent question, Miss Granger, but we have been unable to determine the answer to that. It may simply be that the squirrel had overeaten to the extent that she needed to 'sleep it off' while her system digested the Conebagger."

Something occurred to Harry. "Did you test the Fatal Squirrel's droppings?"

Professor Grubbly-Plank laughed aloud, exhaling a burst of fragrant smoke. "Spoken like a true scientist, Potter! Professor Snape has taken charge of the squirrel's droppings. I imagine he's running every possible test he can think of, but I don't yet have any results to report."

"And the Niffler?" He returned to his earlier question. "What happened?"

"When the Fatal Squirrel awakened, she searched the enclosure for plant-based foods, and when she could find none, she launched herself at the Niffler."

"No…" Hermione moaned.

"Like I said, we were monitoring very closely, and we rescued the Niffler – literally conjured it out of the enclosure before the Fatal Squirrel could do more than land upon it. The Niffler was terrified, but uninjured."

"Don't tell Hagrid!" Ron warned. "He'd never forgive you for endangering a cute little Niffler."

Grubbly-Plank shrugged. "I understand your sentiments, Mr. Weasley, but we had to know. And that experiment seemed to bear out the idea that Fatal Squirrels are drawn to attack Magical creatures over non-Magical, when the choice exists. Only after the Conebagger was killed and the Niffler was removed, did the squirrel attack, drink, kill, and eat one of the rabbits."

Tears formed in Hermione's eyes. "Poor little bunny…"

"Once we resumed feeding nuts, maize, sprouts, etc., the Fatal Squirrel ignored the remaining animals – until several days later, when we withheld plant foods once again. This time, with no Magical animals in the enclosure, the squirrel did not hesitate to attack the remaining rabbit."

"That's so sad," said Hermione. "So very, very sad."

The professor reached over and laid a sympathetic hand on the girl's arm. "Yes, it is. But without any other way to learn about the Fatal Squirrel, it was necessary."

"Have you discovered any weaknesses?" asked Harry. "Or any means to stop it from attacking?"

Grubbly-Plank drew contemplatively upon her pipe. "We've tried various non-lethal Charms, Hexes, Jinxes, Spells, and Curses, but the Fatal Squirrel seems fairly oblivious to them all." She shook her head in puzzled frustration. "We're assuming that whatever Magic went into their creation also works to render the animals impervious to Magical intervention. Professor Dumbledore reports that Ministry officials were forced to resort to using Avada Kedavra to destroy the squirrels captured in Diagon Alley. But indiscriminate use of an Unforgivable is out of the question, particularly here at Hogwarts. We're still attempting to devise some effective means of repelling the creatures, but so far, we have only duplicated the Goblins' solution of spraying the Fatal Squirrel with ordinary water. For some unknown reason, the animal cannot function well when soaking wet."

"What about regular squirrels?" asked Harry.

"Not as much of a problem for them, although they'd prefer to be under cover during a bad storm. Even ordinary squirrels, when soaked, can quickly take a chill, which may prove fatal. No pun intended," the elderly witch added with a wry smile.

"Weird," said Ron. "So, we're still supposed to use Aguamenti if they come at us?"

"Yes," said Grubbly-Plank. "Water is our main weapon, believe it or not. We've experimented in a large outdoor enclosure, and we've found that the squirrel's wings absolutely do not function to fly or glide when wet. The Fatal Squirrel is earthbound when wet to the skin. It even experiences difficulty climbing trees when wet, which is not typical of ordinary squirrels."

"So," said Harry, "squirt them with water, and they can't fly, glide, or climb easily. And being wet also slows their running along the ground? I think that's what I remember from Professor Snape's lecture that day?"

"Yes," confirmed the CMC professor. "Aguamenti is the only effective Charm we've found to use against the Fatal Squirrel."

Harry got up and walked over to the Fatal Squirrel's wire mesh enclosure. "Aren't you a mystery?" he said under his breath, watching the squirrel, who had swung upright, then climbed to perch on a higher tree branch. Near Harry's feet, a hamster scurried by. The Fatal Squirrel seemed to be watching its progress along the grassy floor. Not wanting to witness a violent, bloody death, Harry called to Professor Grubbly-Plank, "Is it okay if I feed her some peanuts?"

"By all means, Mr. Potter. She's quite fond of them. Just don't get attached to her, and do NOT even think of giving her a name."

"Right." Harry dug into his pocket and pulled out his half-empty packet of peanuts. "Here you go," he called softly to the verdigris squirrel. He poised the peanut in an opening of the wire mesh. The squirrel's bat-ears twitched visibly. She was no longer watching the hamster. Harry flipped the peanut into the enclosure and was treated to the startling sight of the leathery wings suddenly spreading wide, before the Fatal Squirrel glided gracefully down from near the twelve-foot-high-apex of Hagrid's ceiling.

The squirrel's wings quickly contracted into stick-like appendages as she bounced across the grass in typical squirrel fashion. Harry smiled sadly as she approached the peanut. Based on Professor Grubbly-Plank's warning, he surmised that this Fatal Squirrel would eventually have to be destroyed. It was the least he could do to give her a few treats during what remained of her short life. Especially after the poor creature had been hit by so many magical hexes. Even if she appeared unaffected, it still couldn't have been a pleasant experience, and possibly quite frightening. By "non-invasive", it seemed like Grubbly-Plank meant that their experiments had merely excluded vivisection and other equally-grisly surgical procedures.

The Fatal Squirrel's bushy verdigris tail twitched appreciatively as she sniffed at the roasted peanut. Eagerly, she reached out with both front paws to grasp the peanut…

The creature emitted a high-pitched, rasping screech, which Harry could only interpret as a shriek of severe pain. The Fatal Squirrel dropped the peanut from her smoking paws, screeching in obvious agony. Instinctively, she attempted to soothe away the pain by licking the pads of her paws, only to scream even louder as a trickle of pale smoke seemed emanate from her mouth.

Harry stumbled back from the enclosure, even as Grubbly-Plank leaped from her chair and rushed toward him, shouting, "Potter, what did you DO? What did you DO to that poor creature?"

"WHAT is going on in here?" demanded a stern voice, as the doorway darkened ominously.

Snape, thought Harry. Just my luck. And, of COURSE he'd come at the worst possible moment…

"Potter, what did you DO?" repeated Grubbly-Plank, grabbing Harry by both biceps while she stared at the squirrel, who had desperately leaped into a shallow puddle intended as drinking water for the animals in the enclosure. The suffering animal gulped water while holding her front paws deep in the cooling liquid.

To Harry, it appeared that the squirrel was intent upon relieving the pain of a sudden burn.

"I – I didn't do anything, Professor," he stammered. "I just tossed her a peanut… She grabbed it, then screeched, and it looked like smoke was coming off her paws … then her tongue…"

"Smoke?" Snape had plowed past Ron and Hermione, and now he alternated between glaring at Harry and staring at the Fatal Squirrel, who was tenderly licking the flesh of her wet front paws as she sat upright in the middle of the puddle. Even from this distance, her skin appeared damaged.

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. Smoke. Almost like her paws had caught fire…"

Snape silently whipped his wand in several quick patterns, and the Fatal Squirrel suddenly found herself encased in a sturdy protective sleeve, with her head completely covered, except for a breathable stiff mesh to allow air to penetrate. Another wave of his wand conjured the animal, sleeve and all, from the enclosure into his hand. The stiffness of the sleeve prevented the animal from maneuvering, attacking, or getting away, and while she was gently incapacitated, Snape and Grubbly-Plank carefully examined her front paws.

"Burned," announced Grubbly-Plank. "Without a doubt. Second-degree blisters, and a couple of areas of third-degree blackened flesh."

Hermione, peering over the CMC professor's shoulder, appeared sickened.

"Potter, I'll ask you once more: WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?" Grubbly-Plank demanded fiercely.

"I just tossed her a peanut, Professor! That's all."

"Accio peanut!" Snape didn't even bother with his wand. He simply pointed a pale finger and caught the peanut after it whizzed through the mesh of the enclosure. He examined it carefully, then held it out to Grubbly-Plank. "Notice anything?"

She took the peanut, turned it this way and that, rubbing it between her fingers… "Potter, this isn't one of my peanuts. Mine are raw. This one has been roasted. Where did you get it?"

Harry held out his packet. "I brought them down from the castle. Actually, I brought several packets to school with me in my trunk. I bought them last summer in a Muggle store…"

Snape and Grubbly-Plank examined the printing on the heavy plastic wrapper, which proudly advertised its contents as "Salted Peanuts".

"Merciful Merlin! That's it! That's IT!" gasped Grubbly-Plank.

"What's it?" asked Harry, somewhat shakily.

"Salt, Potter," said Snape in his best Addressing-the-Dunderheads voice. "I believe you may have given us our first major break in formulating a defense against the Fatal Squirrels."

The Gryffindors stared at the dark Potions Master, wide-eyed.

"I don't understand, Professor," admitted Harry. "Salt? How? Why?"

Snape sneered at the boy before speculatively regarding the squirrel in his hand. The creature's eyes were just fading from agitated electric blue to a more normal dark, almost-purple, blue. "I could give an entire lecture on the history of salt and its uses in purification from evil, as well as its employment in fighting against Dark Magic and other Dark forces, including human vampires. Suffice to say that, upon contact, salt – ordinary table salt – apparently causes severe burns to the flesh of the Fatal Squirrel. At long last, we may be able to devise a form of squirrel repellent and possibly a means to weaponize it."

"But Professor," inserted Hermione, "Isn't there salt in blood? And the Fatal Squirrels drink blood. Sometimes."

"Astute observation," agreed Grubbly-Plank before Snape could do more than glare at The-Girl-Who-Still-Believed-She-Knew-It-All. "However, if the squirrels are capable of drinking blood without suffering adverse effects, obviously it requires a far higher concentration to inflict physical harm. A stronger solution, or direct contact with a granulated form of the chemical."

"Chemical?" wondered Ron.

Snape turned his dark sneer in the redhead's direction. "Sodium chloride, Weasley."

The boy shrugged slightly, still frowning in puzzlement, causing Hermione to hide a smile, but Harry grinned openly at her behind Ron's back. It would appear that Wizarding home-schooling didn't always bother with certain aspects of science.

Professor Grubbly-Plank was waving the tip of her wand in tightly-controlled small circles above the Fatal Squirrel's paws, and the blistered, blackened flesh slowly resumed a more normal appearance. Using further magic to open the squirrel's mouth without risking being bitten, the CMC professor successfully healed the animal's swollen tongue and lips. "Give her a day to recover from the trauma," she advised Snape, "and we can begin running salt-based tests."

"Indeed." Snape waved his wand to return the Fatal Squirrel to her enclosure, Vanishing the protective sleeve once she was safely contained by the wire wall.

The teachers and students watched as the squirrel flapped her leathery wings and flew jerkily up to the highest tree limb in the enclosure. Once safe upon her perch, she leaned forward and rasped a scolding at the humans. Even from that distance, they could clearly see that her eyes had returned to electric blue as her body jerked angrily.

"Day after tomorrow," said Snape, narrowing his own dark eyes at the Fatal Squirrel. "First thing in the morning."

"Poor thing," whispered Hermione, feeling her stomach clench in dread for the squirrel.

Within a few days, after various other experiments, Snape and Grubbly-Plank had learned that the Fatal Squirrel would not cross a line of salt which was broader than she could jump horizontally. For some unknown reason, she appeared to use her wings only to fly up or glide down, but she would not – or could not – employ her flying ability to move forward horizontally at ground level.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled when he learned of this peculiarity. "Excellent!" he declared. "It would seem that we might protect the castle itself by creating a giant salt ring upon the open grounds. The castle would be surrounded, and the Fatal Squirrels could not cross the salt barrier to enter the castle."

"Presumably so, Headmaster," Snape agreed cautiously. "However, seeing as we've had only a single squirrel to study, we do not yet know whether all of her kind are unable to fly horizontally at ground level."

Dumbledore waved a gnarled hand. "Quite so, Severus. However, in light of this development, I shall cast a salt barrier around the castle this very day. It's the best hypothesis we've developed thus far, and I intend to employ it. Better to err on the side of caution, and if it doesn't work, I daresay we shall learn that at some point."

Snape refrained from rolling his eyes. How presumptively overly-generous of Dumbledore to include himself in saying "we", when the old man had had nothing to do with formulating the hypothesis that salt would repel the Fatal Squirrels. As for finding out – the hard way – that the hypothesis might fail… Snape could only hope that the "we" would not suddenly segue into "you", meaning himself, or possibly the plural including Grubbly-Plank.

The two professors were standing with the Headmaster, silently observing the frustrated Fatal Squirrel in the two-hundred-foot- [65 metres-] long, twenty-foot- [6 metres-] tall glass enclosure stretching toward the shores of the Black Lake. A plethora of nuts, dried maize, and sunflower seeds were arranged near the far end of the enclosure, upwind of the squirrel, and a thirty-foot- [10 metres-] wide barrier of salt bisected the length of the enclosure. The squirrel had received no food for more than fifty hours, although she did have access to water. She kept running agitatedly in short bursts to and fro in her end of the long enclosure, approaching the salt barrier that separated her from her favorite foods, which she could clearly smell upon the light breeze. But the salt barrier repelled her advances every time. The glass walls were too smooth to climb, and she would not spread her wings to fly over the salt to reach the food she so desperately wanted.

At Dumbledore's nod, Snape conjured a rabbit into the far end of the enclosure, and upon detecting the scent of a warm-blooded creature, the famished squirrel's behavior became even more agitated. She ran from side to side in her end, desperately trying to climb the glass walls so as to get past the salt barrier, but she slid down the glass after every vertical leap.

"Vanish the glass ceiling, Severus," Dumbledore ordered. "I'll Accio the squirrel if she flies up out of the enclosure."

Professor Grubbly-Plank also stood tensely, her own wand at the ready, as the Potions Master Vanished the top of the glass enclosure.

The Fatal Squirrel seemed to sense the freedom above, but with no inviting treetop to encourage or entice her, she still did not fly upwards. Instead, she continued to fling herself bodily up the sheer glass walls, sliding down again and again in defeat.

"Fascinating," murmured Snape, intrigued with the complexity of the squirrel's behavior. "Apparently, she needs a nearby visual element to stimulate a flight response. The clear glass does not provide that. And yet, in the enclosure in Hagrid's hut, she has repeatedly flown up into the tree."

"Replace the ceiling," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "I want to try something." As soon as the Fatal Squirrel was once again safely enclosed, the wizened Headmaster waved his wand, and the nest-bearing tree from inside Hagrid's hut appeared in the far end of the glass enclosure, poised above the nuts and the rabbit, which had begun nosing around in the pile of sunflower seeds.

The squirrel immediately spotted the tree and launched itself into renewed futile attempts to scale the glass walls.

"You thought the squirrel might fly toward the tree, Albus?" asked Grubbly-Plank. "Over the salt barrier?"

Dumbledore nodded. "It was a thought. And an idea which needed to be tested. But it would seem that a tree at that distance doesn't inspire horizontal flight. Now … let's try … this – " And he waved his wand once again, and suddenly the squirrel's familiar tree was in HER end of the enclosure.

Immediately, the verdigris creature flapped her wings to jerkily ascend into the lower branches overhead. She ran to the end of a limb, seemed to gauge the distance to cross over the salt, hesitated, then climbed quickly up the rough trunk to a higher limb. After rejecting that limb as well, she climbed to the very top of the tree, balanced precariously for a second, then – with her eyes blazing electric blue – she flung wide her leathery wings and glided from the treetop across her end of the enclosure, over the width of the salt barrier, and landed in the grass beyond.

Before the humans realized her intent, the Fatal Squirrel had leapt upon the hapless rabbit, causing it to scream in terror as needle-sharp fangs pierced its tender neck.

Grubbly-Plank gave a gasp of horror and conjured the bleeding rabbit out of the enclosure. While she set about trying to heal it, the Fatal Squirrel peered sharply around, seeking its missing meal. When it failed to spot the rabbit, the squirrel bounced over to devour the long-withheld feast of nuts and seeds.

Which suddenly Vanished. Including the cob of dried maize, which the squirrel had eagerly snatched up and begun gnawing.

Enraged, the squirrel screeched, sniffing frantically at the ground where the scent of food still lingered upon the grass. And then –

"She's spotted it," said Snape, who'd been almost as startled as the Fatal Squirrel when the pile of nuts had disappeared, only to reappear beneath the tree in the squirrel's original end of the enclosure.

Dumbledore nodded, pleased. "Now that she's had a taste of it, let's see if she'll fly back over the salt. She can see the tree, she knows the food is over here … how much visual incentive will that be this time?"

Grubbly-Plank had finished dressing the rabbit's wounds, hoping that the non-Magical creature would recover from injuries inflicted by a Dark-Magic creature. She stood silently beside Snape and Dumbledore, watching as the squirrel recommenced flinging her body up the glass walls to no avail.

At length, Dumbledore murmured, "One more thing…"

In increments, he slowly adjusted the food's position, moving it ever nearer the salt barrier. The squirrel's actions became increasingly frantic, but she did not attempt to fly across the salt

Back and forth she ran, from one glass wall to the other, repeatedly trying to climb, and failing miserably every time. The wizard returned the food pile to the far end of the enclosure.

"And finally…"

At Dumbledore's direction, the tree repositioned itself a few feet closer to the salt barrier. After a minute had passed, a few more feet. And a few more. The Fatal Squirrel began to contemplate the tree's position, crouching near the salt barrier, raising and lowering her body as she watched the tree's slow approach. Yet, she made no attempt to fly toward it until the tree had moved within twenty feet [6 metres] of the salt barrier, at which point the tree stood about fifty horizontal feet [16 metres] from the squirrel's side of the salt. Peering up at the inviting branches surrounding her nest, the Fatal Squirrel finally spread her wings and launched herself upwards to the safety of the treetop. But she paused for only a second or two on her favorite limb before gliding down to the far pile of walnuts and quickly snatched one up, ripping at the shell with her vampire fangs.

"Headmaster, if I might suggest…"

Dumbledore chuckled and repositioned the tree at the farthest end of the squirrel's side of the enclosure, where the green branches loomed over the feeding animal. Then, he pointed his wand and the Fatal Squirrel suddenly blinked out of existence, only to reappear a second later in the vacant end of the enclosure, separated once again from the nest-tree and food by the salt barrier. Startled, the squirrel hunkered down, frantically clutching her nut, but with a soft "pop", the nut itself Vanished from between her paws.

Screeching in furious dismay, the squirrel scouted around, desperately trying to locate the missing nut. When Dumbledore sent a gentle breeze toward her from the pile of food beneath the distant tree, the Fatal Squirrel raised her verdigris head and sniffed the air. Bat-ears twitching, tail jerking, she approached the salt barrier, but instead of flying over it as she had only moments earlier, she rasped an angry scolding before trying to climb the glass walls once again. Without a doubt, she was unwilling to fly horizontally toward a tree just over one hundred feet [30 metres] away.

"I guess that sums it up, Professors," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "This Fatal Squirrel does not fly horizontally over a salt barrier, so I shall endeavor to cast a broad salt ring around the castle grounds." His blue eyes twinkled brightly over his half-moon spectacles. "I would suggest allowing the squirrel to enjoy a long, uninterrupted meal, once she's returned to Hagrid's hut. She has certainly earned it!"

"I'll second that," agreed Grubbly-Plank, as Snape smirked.

So saying, the CMC professor waved her wand and relocated the nest-tree, the pile of nuts, maize, and seeds, and finally the Fatal Squirrel herself to the enclosure inside Hagrid's hut. When the people entered the hut, the greenish creature had already begun stuffing herself.

After watching in silence for a while, Snape frowned and commented, "I must say, Headmaster, that I was surprised when the squirrel attacked the rabbit even though her favorite plant-based foods were right in front of her. It was as if – once her hunger had surpassed a certain level – the blood-food took precedence over the nuts and seeds."

"I concur," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes suddenly very serious. "That IS disturbing."

-:- -:- -:-

Harry and his fellow Gryffindors had not been privy to the various experiments that the teaching staff had conducted upon the Fatal Squirrel. The area surrounding Hagrid's hut was now declared off limits unless the CMC class was actively in session, and Professor Grubbly-Plank had quietly advised Harry, Ron, and Hermione that she could no longer host Thursday afternoon tea. Or any other day of the week, she'd hastened to add before Harry had tried to find a loophole.

"They're probably torturing that poor squirrel and don't want any witnesses," Hermione said angrily, staring down from the Astronomy Tower at the three robed figures standing near the glass enclosure.

"Just try not to think about it," said Ron. "They need to find out all they can about the verdi-green squirrel, and we need to figure out what to do about the pink toad."

"Verdigris, Ronald. 'Verdi' means green. 'Gris' means gray. Essentially, you called it a green-green squirrel."

Harry adjusted his omnioculars, watching the tiny image of the Fatal Squirrel repeatedly hurling itself up the glass walls. "Take a look," he said, passing the omnioculars to Ron, who looked, then passed them in turn to Hermione.

"Poor little thing," she whispered.

Ron rolled his eyes. Harry shook his head.

Hermione watched the professors' various experiments in consternation as the tree was magically relocated time and again, and she punctuated her anger by slamming her hand down upon the stone parapet when the Fatal Squirrel attacked the hapless rabbit. "Take them!" she snarled, shoving the omnioculars back at Harry. "I don't want to watch anymore."

"I wonder where Hagrid is?" Harry mused, unconsciously rubbing Umbridge's scars on the back of his hand before raising the omnioculars to his eyes.

"I wonder what's for supper," Ron said, sniffing the breeze. "Sometimes I can catch a whiff of kitchen smells coming out of one of the chimneys when I'm up here."

"Now what's Dumbledore doing?" asked Hermione, for the elderly wizard had paused partway across the open grounds, standing with his arms spread wide, wand in hand, while his tangerine robes rippled in the breeze coming off the darkening lake.

The Headmaster, closely observed by Snape, whose own robes were rippling blackly in the breeze, began to chant something which the Gryffindors couldn't quite make out. But from Dumbledore's wand emerged an undulating, thick white stream, which took wing upon the breeze, snaking a glistening trail through the air, curving around the castle at some good distance.

"What IS he doing?" Harry pressed the omnioculars to his eyes. "It looks like… It's SALT! It has to be! Remember how Snape and Grubbly-Plank were going to run salt-based tests with the Fatal Squirrel?"

"It's a barrier!" squealed Hermione, running to the opposite edge of the Astronomy Tower. "See? Here it comes!"

Sure enough, the stream of salt had coursed around the entire castle, and it sped toward Dumbledore and Snape, who were being joined by Grubbly-Plank. The gigantic salt ring had even encompassed Hagrid's hut, far enough distant from the Forbidden Forest that no Fatal Squirrels could glide over the salt. Upon reaching Dumbledore, the head of the salt stream joined its own tail, hovering momentarily before Dumbledore gave a sharp downward motion with his wand, which caused the salt to fall to the ground, creating a thirty-foot- [10 metresr09;] wide barrier upon the grass.

Harry saw Snape and Grubbly-Plank nod in satisfaction before they followed the Headmaster up to the castle.

"Let's go," said Harry, and they pelted down the stairs, eventually joining other Gryffindors on their way from their Common Room to the Great Hall for supper.

Dumbledore's announcement before the House tables automatically filled with food gave the entire student body fodder for endless gossip and speculation.

"I have cast a large ring of salt around the castle to form a barrier against the Fatal Squirrels," he said, his eyes devoid of any hint of twinkle. "We HOPE this barrier will be sufficient to repel the squirrels, if they should happen to approach the castle. It goes without saying that no student or staff member is to tamper with the salt ring." His eyes seemed to slide from one end of the Slytherin table to the other, before crossing the Hall to settle upon the Weasley twins. "The salt barrier is in place to help protect lives. Any attempt – magical or otherwise – to circumvent this protection will be dealt with MOST severely." He looked sternly down the full length of each House table to allow his words time to sink in. "And now, Professor Snape has an announcement."

As Snape stood, a pillar of ebony beside the Headmaster's bright robes, the students stared at the dark man expectantly.

"I would ask all students, in addition to becoming proficient in casting the Aguamenti Charm, to practice a second, more challenging Charm. The incantation is 'Eruptum Sal', and the wand movement – " He demonstrated a whipping blackslash motion of his wand, and a stream of salt spurted from its tip, cascading over the Head Table. "Needless to say, this Saltburst Charm is NOT to be used in the Great Hall, or in any classroom, except for practice during Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Nor is it allowed in the dormitories, Common Rooms, or corridors. Or stairwells." He glared ominously at the student body for emphasis.

Harry muttered under his breath, "As if Umbridge would permit us to practice in her class…" He sneered in disgust, before adding in a barely-audible saccharine falsetto, "There's NOTHING out there, dear! Especially not vampire-squirrels. Wands away!"

Ron snorted in agreement with Harry's sentiments toward Umbridge, and even Hermione unbent enough to add a quiet snicker.

"'Eruptum Sal' is permitted in the paved exterior courtyard only," Snape continued. "And ALL participants and observers MUST wear protective goggles at all times. These goggles will be distributed to all Common Rooms before classes begin tomorrow. It is your responsibility to take them to the appropriate classes and courtyard for practice."

Snape watched the students exchange glances with each other before he expounded in more detail. "We have learned that salt will burn a Fatal Squirrel's skin on contact, and it is particularly effective on the pads of their feet. A squirrel's thick fur will make it more difficult for salt to penetrate all the way to the skin. However, our experiments have shown that two people – one casting Eruptum Sal and the other Aguamenti – may prove an effective team in … disabling … a Fatal Squirrel."

"Disabling?" hissed Ron. "What's he – "

"Be warned! This type of defense is to be used ONLY if you have no other recourse. Always retreat to the castle first, cast Aguamenti second, to slow the squirrels down, and cast Eruptum Sal if you have no other means of defense. For the inexperienced caster, a Fatal Squirrel would have to be nearly on top of you before you could cast sufficient salt to be effective against attack. And remember, it would require an accompanying Aguamenti to wet down the squirrel's fur to help the salt penetrate to the skin."

Snape's black eyes seemed to lock momentarily with each and every student's, even though there were hundreds seated in the Great Hall. "Be warned…" he repeated, this time in a voice so low that the students almost had to strain to hear him. "The results of Eruptum Sal can be … disturbing … to witness. The squirrel will experience extreme pain. It will vocalize. You well may find it overwhelming to witness. But never forget – your very life may be at stake. DO NOT RELENT."

Without a further word, Snape Vanished the salt which he had spewed across the Head Table and reseated himself. Dumbledore waved his usual grand gesture, the food appeared, and then the Headmaster also sat as conversation rose to a louder-than-average hubbub over the dinner tables.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked from Snape to Dumbledore; both men's faces bore unusually grim expressions. Then Hermione whispered, "I KNEW they were torturing that poor squirrel. And it must have been awful! Look at Professor Grubbly-Plank."

The CMC professor's face had gone a sickly shade of green.

-:- -:- -:-

The Fifth Year Gryffindors did not have Charms until afternoon, but they packed their new goggles into their school bags before heading down to Care of Magical Creatures on the following morning, right after breakfast. The salt ring gleamed whitely in the distance, and beyond it, late autumn leaves colored the canopy of the Forbidden Forest. A thin mist crept from the Black Lake, seeping slowly toward Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Less than a week before Halloween, Hagrid's chimney stood as a smokeless, cold sentinel over the sloping roof of his hut.

"Where could he be?" asked Harry for the hundredth time that term, but before anyone could answer, the students heard a woman's anguished sobs pervading the chilly mist.

"Is that – Professor Grubbly-Plank?" gasped Hermione.

The sobs continued – raw, despairing, and rising in volume.

"Behind the hut!" urged Harry. "Hurry!"

The CMC students – Gryffindors and Slytherins alike – rushed down the remainder of the steep, narrow path and hurtled around the side of Hagrid's hut, only to stop dead at the sight which met their horrified eyes.

Professor Grubbly-Plank was kneeling on the ground, hunched over a wailing child who seemed covered with blood.

"It's a centaur," whispered one of the Slytherin girls.

And indeed, two grown centaurs hovered above the professor, anxiously shifting their hooves. The female centaur continued to sob uncontrollably, as the male put his steadying arms around her bleeding shoulders. "Please!" she gasped, reaching out imploringly toward the keening child, whose shrill sobs each seemed to end in a frail, despairing whinny. "Please help him!"

Grubbly-Plank grabbed her wand in a bloody hand and cast three Niffler Patroni, which zoomed upward through the mist toward the castle. Several more flicks of her wand Summoned vials and bandages from her CMC stores inside the hut.

"She said they came out of nowhere," the white-blond male centaur informed Grubbly-Plank in a low voice. "Without any warning. They also attacked her husband, but he fought them off to give Fayleene and their foal a chance to escape. They stumbled into my glen about an hour later, and I brought them here. Their wounds are too numerous and beyond my skill to heal."

"You did right, Firenze," said Grubbly-Plank in a soothing tone. Although the male centaur's torso was also bloodstained, it was not his own blood, but that of the mother and her child. Still, his own voice shook in reaction to the devastating situation.

The female centaur had a most beautiful face, framed by long, waving chestnut hair. But her features crumpled with grief as she sobbed anew, trembling all over from head to tail.

Most of the female students had begun to weep sympathetically, and Harry could see that many of the male students of both Houses wore expressions of helpless anger on their faces at whatever could have attacked the centaur family so viciously.

Grubbly-Plank's hands moved gently as she worked on the whimpering foal. Horrible gouges had been ripped into the baby's tender flesh, both on his skin-covered torso and arms, as well as his roan-hided haunches. The gray-haired witch had cast spells to stop the bleeding, and now she was trying to urge him to swallow a centaur-formula variant of Blood-Replenishing Potion. The tiny foal kept turning his head away, screaming his reaction to the potion's foul taste. Grubbly-Plank looked up at the mother. "Please – he needs to swallow this. He's lost far too much blood."

The female centaur carefully lowered herself to the ground, cradling her baby in her bleeding arms. "You must drink, my son. It will help you to heal." The tiny foal whimpered and shook his head, but Fayleene insisted, "You must drink. Here, I'll hold it for you." Tears flowed down her anguished face as Grubbly-Plank handed her the vial. "Shh … mother is here, Braeden. Drink quickly and it will be all gone." She held the vial to her son's clamped lips with a trembling, bloodstained hand. "Hold your breath and swallow quickly, my love," she whispered, her voice catching. "There's a good boy…"

The roan foal took two quick breaths, held the third, gulped down the Blood Replenisher, and burst into tears again. "Mama…" His helpless, desperate whinny rent the air, and Fayleene tucked his sobbing face against the bloodied, laced turquoise vest she wore. "Mother's here, Mother's here," she crooned, her tears wetting her son's pale red hair.

Footsteps pounded around the corner of the hut, followed by a lighter set. Snape and Madame Pomfrey had arrived, and they were followed mere seconds later by Dumbledore.

"It was the Fatal Squirrels, Albus," said Grubbly-Plank without preamble, ignoring the horrified gasps from several of the students as they realized what had caused the carnage before them.

Pomfrey quickly knelt down and began casting diagnostics with a wand which Harry – despite his numerous stays in the Hospital Wing – had never seen before.

"Firenze said Fayleene, her husband, and their son were all attacked without warning. The child is…" The CMC professor looked at Pomfrey, whose tight expression was not encouraging.

"The bite gouges are too numerous for dittany," said the Medi-witch. "He could never stand that degree of pain. The child is already in shock, and that could…" Pomfrey's voice trailed off.

Fayleene sobbed in anguish and clutched baby Braeden to her breast. "Oh, please! Please! Somebody help him! Somehow … somehow…"

Dumbledore clapped his hands once, causing everyone to flinch at the loud crack. And in the next second, Fawkes appeared in a burst of golden flame, alighting on the Headmaster's arm. The elderly wizard carried the crimson Phoenix over to where Fayleene lay embracing her son.

"My lady," he said gently, "Fawkes would be pleased to assist your child."

Wordlessly, the beautiful centaur nodded, biting her lip lest sudden hope be thwarted. Fawkes balanced carefully on Dumbledore's wrist and let drop a single tear upon each of the foal's ragged wounds. Before their very eyes, the ripped flesh began to heal, both in his skin as well as his pale roan hide.

At length, little Braeden looked up into his mother's clear turquoise eyes and sniffled, "No hurt, Mama." He managed to hook his small thumb between rosebud lips before he sagged in exhaustion, and – drawing his tiny hooves up beneath him – fell asleep.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Fayleene choked out, caressing her son's soft red curls. "Thank you so much!"

Before anyone could speak, Fawkes had tilted his head and trilled musically to get Fayleene's attention. Carefully, he hopped onto her chestnut equine body and began healing her wounds, one tear at a time. The centaur mother began weeping her own tears of gratitude as her pain finally began to subside.

"WHAT is going on here?"

The sleeping foal excepted, everyone turned to see Dolores Umbridge standing imperiously at the corner of Hagrid's hut. As the morning sun's rays lit her bright fuchsia suit, students, staff, and centaurs alike squinted against the blinding pink glare.

Dumbledore approached the self-proclaimed High Inquisitor. "We've made the unfortunate discovery, this morning, that the Fatal Squirrels have arrived in the Forbidden Forest. A centaur family was attacked, and the child suffered serious injury."

"Serious, you say?" Umbridge strode over and sneered down at the sleeping foal. "I fail to see anything I would call a 'serious' injury, Dumbledore. Merely a few smears of blood."

"He was too injured!" burst out Harry. "He was covered with bite wounds – " A hand on his shoulder cut off his protest. To his shock, he realized the pressure he'd felt was Snape's hand, but it was gone just as quickly, even as the dark man's frown urged caution.

Snape spoke up quietly, his voice carefully neutral. "The Headmaster did not overstate the case, Professor. As you can see, his Phoenix is still in the process of healing the child's mother."

Umbridge scoffed as she dismissed Fawkes' efforts. "I don't understand why that senseless bird would even bother. Centaurs may be creatures of near-human intelligence, but they're hardly worth the waste of Phoenix tears."

Behind the Headmaster, Firenze's jaw clenched and his hands knotted into fists over the toad-woman's insults. Behind Umbridge, many of the students' jaws had clenched, and suddenly, numerous wands had appeared, not quite pointing at Umbridge's back, but only because the students exerted extreme self-control. Their show of solidarity did not escape Firenze's notice, or anyone's notice, except for Umbridge herself. And, of course, baby Braeden.

"Fawkes heals as he pleases," Dumbledore stated firmly. "If he did not feel someone deserved help, his eyes would remain dry."

Hoofbeats cut short Umbridge's response, and all turned to see another male centaur galloping toward Hagrid's hut.

"Bane!" called Firenze, lifting his arm in greeting, but his expression fell when he saw the grim countenance on the approaching black-haired centaur. He glanced down at Fayleene and saw equal dread suffusing her tearstained features.

Bane slowed to a trot before walking the final few steps to the female of his herd. Bowing his head, he said quietly, "My deepest condolences on your loss."

Many of the students looked momentarily confused, as baby Braeden continued to slumber peacefully, but then they realized that Fayleene had begun gasping for breath, her face white with shock, and probably only the child sleeping in her arms kept her from screaming aloud. "Paltarre…" she moaned, "Oh, Paltarre…" Her tears flowed hot and heavy, despite Fawkes trilling gently as he rubbed his crimson head against her bare shoulder.

"Where did it happen?" Dumbledore addressed Bane.

"About six miles south, a mile or so inland from the eastern shore," Bane responded, his black tail slapping his dark haunches agitatedly. "After Firenze raised the alarm, we went to search for Paltarre, but it was too late when we found … him. What was left of him," he added in a barely-audible voice, glancing at the weeping widow.

Dumbledore nodded at Snape to follow as Bane and Firenze walked a few steps away to converse with the wizards privately. Harry would have given anything for a pair of Extendable Ears, though they would have been impractical in this situation. A quick lift of the breeze did carry a snatch of the low-toned conversation between the centaurs and wizards, and Harry wasn't the only student who caught Bane's "…stripped near to the bones…" before the breeze died down.

A muffled "mmphh!" caused several horror-stricken students to turn around, and to Harry's surprise, Draco Malfoy had clapped his hand over Pansy's mouth, cutting off what would have been some shriek invoking Merlin. Before he could think, Harry nodded at Draco for his consideration for Fayleene, and Draco responded by rolling his eyes and shrugging, as if to say in regard to Pansy, "Women!"

"…far fewer nuts this year … trees stripped … stored for winter … local squirrels…" Dumbledore's quiet observations rose and fell, subject to the vagaries of the breeze. "…turning to blood food … salt ring … herd welcome at Hogwarts – "

"Excuse me, Dumbledore – did I just overhear you saying that a … centaur HERD … would be welcome at Hogwarts?" Dolores Umbridge's aghast expression reflected her initial disbelief, but seconds later, her jaw set and her eyes held a glint of steel.

The Headmaster turned to face the pink-robed High Inquisitor. "Yes, indeed, Dolores. Hogwarts has a centuries-long history of offering refuge to those in need – "

"To wizards, Dumbledore," Umbridge interrupted. "Not to half-breed animals."

Bane's face darkened as he took two threatening paces toward the offensive human, but Firenze grasped Bane's arm in warning. Bane shook off his grip, but he allowed Dumbledore to interpose himself between the centaurs and the pink toad.

"Dolores, the situation in the Forbidden Forest has grown extremely critical. As Headmaster, I offer hospitality to those in need. Hogwarts is open to ALL of those who seek shelter from the Fatal Squirrels."

The High Inquisitor smirked, distorting her face into a visage ugly enough to be worthy of a Muggle Halloween mask. "Enjoy your position, Dumbledore … while you can." She sniffed disdainfully, her upper lip curling as the breeze carried the centaurs' scent in her direction. "The Minister shall hear of your ridiculous idea of hospitality before the day is out. I shouldn't be surprised if he decides to put someone more responsible in charge of this school."

As the students, staff, and centaurs watched silently, Umbridge whirled on one pink-shod heel and began marching toward the castle, only to stop abruptly at a high-pitched screech coming from within Hagrid's hut.

"What, in Merlin's name, is that unearthly noise?" she demanded, striding over to stand in the open doorway. The morning sun glared a blinding pink off her fuchsia suit and robes, but the light failed to penetrate the still-shadowed interior of the hut, where the frantic screeching rose into ear-splitting shrieks of fury.

Grubbly-Plank shoved past Umbridge, followed closely by Snape and Dumbledore. Keeping their distance from Umbridge, the students edged toward the vicinity of the doorway so they could hear what transpired within. After giving several affronted "harumphhs", Umbridge herself entered the hut, shouting to be heard over the shrieks. "WHAT is going on, Dumbledore?! I demand an explanation!"

The Headmaster and the other two professors stared at the Fatal Squirrel, who had launched herself at the wire mesh of the enclosure, her eyes blazing electric blue as she darted this way and that across the mesh, shrieking so loudly within the confines of the hut that the adult wizards winced to hear her.

"I don't understand it, Dolores," Dumbledore shouted into the toad-woman's ear. "I've never seen her behave this way before."

Umbridge's lips twisted. "Another useless half-breed taking up space at Hogwarts," she sneered. "Destroy it." And she turned to make a hasty exit from the hut.

Amazingly, the moment Umbridge had disappeared from sight, the Fatal Squirrel calmed, her eyes darkening toward a normal shade. She clung to the mesh for another moment or so, then hopped down to retrieve a walnut from her pile. Spreading her leathery wings, she jerkily propelled herself upwards into her nest-tree, where she began gnawing at the nutshell as if nothing untoward had just happened.

"It's as if she carried some personal grudge against Umbridge," remarked Snape, and the other adults laughed, echoed quietly by several of the listening students.

Grubbly-Plank gestured toward the Fatal Squirrel. "Do I obey her orders, Albus? Do I destroy it?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not yet. I need to have a word with Cornelius…" So saying, he took a handful of Floo powder from Hagrid's mantel crock and tossed it into the cold fireplace, where green flames erupted from thin air. "Minister of Magic's office," Dumbledore called into the flames.

In a moment, Cornelius Fudge's harried face appeared, asking abruptly, "Yes, Dumbledore? I'm in a meeting – this had better be important."

Dumbledore smiled. "In fact, Cornelius, this matter IS quite urgent."

"Yes? Well, go on – what is it?" The Minister turned his head, glancing impatiently at the unseen occupants in the office behind him.

"The Fatal Squirrels have reached the Forbidden Forest," Dumbledore informed him, watching the Minister's Floo-green complexion go as pale as a Fatal Squirrel's belly. "They killed an adult male centaur and badly mauled a female and their foal. As a result of this tragedy, I have informed the centaurs that their herd may seek protection at Hogwarts as long as this deadly threat remains in the Forest."

Fudge was nodding, "Yes, yes – very generous of you, I'm sure. Was there anything else, Dumbledore?"

The Headmaster's features hardened. "Yes, I'm afraid there is. Dolores Umbridge took exception to the centaurs being offered refuge. She implied that she would have me fired for taking such protective measures on the herd's behalf." Before Fudge could say anything, Dumbledore continued, "In addition, Dolores became upset when our only test subject screeched at her from within the security of its cage. Despite the fact that it remains absolutely imperative that we learn everything we can about Fatal Squirrels from this test animal, Dolores arbitrarily ordered us to destroy it. She seemed to feel that she spoke for the Ministry in this matter?" Dumbledore's face gentled into a mildly-inquiring expression. "However," he held up a forefinger, "I thought I should double-check with you, Cornelius, before I rashly destroyed our only firsthand source of information. It could be that the Fatal Squirrel's screech simply made Dolores' ears ring temporarily."

Dumbledore contrived to appear crestfallen, while Snape turned his back to the green flames, his black robes shaking slightly with a silent chuckle. Harry grinned at Snape, amused to see that the man actually did have a sense of the absurd, and the Potions Master returned an unexpected wry smile. Between the two men, Grubbly-Plank snorted audibly, causing the other students pressed into the doorway to snicker.

"Merlin's beard, Dumbledore! The Ministry has always left it up to the Headmaster's discretion as to whom to offer refuge at Hogwarts, and as for the test squirrel – I can't believe Dolores would be so irrespon – as unwise as to suggest its destruction. Keep that Fatal Squirrel alive at all costs, until we have learned how to defeat them all."

"Yes, Minister. Thank you very much." Dumbledore smiled broadly. "Have a pleasant day."

Cornelius Fudge simply rolled his eyes, grimacing as he withdrew his head. The green flames died upon the cold grate.

"Nice going, Albus," Grubbly-Plank stated admiringly.

But Dumbledore frowned. "It might work only this once," he warned. "If I continue to go over Dolores' head, it may quickly prove counterproductive. But this – " He waved his hand at the Fatal Squirrel, then out the door at the waiting centaurs. "This was crucial."

He swept through the open doorway, students scattering out of his way, and approached Bane and Firenze. "The Minister of Magic has overruled Professor Umbridge's opinion about the suitability of the centaurs seeking shelter at Hogwarts during the Fatal Squirrels crisis. All of your people are welcome."

Bane gave a loud, equine snort. "What about the restrictions the Ministry has imposed on our territory, Dumbledore? What of that?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Fudge did not offer any comment. But for the moment, I think it best to fight one battle at a time, and the Fatal Squirrels pose a far greater threat than a territorial dispute."

With a toss of his head, Bane shook his long mane of black hair over his shoulders. "I shall inform my herd of your offer, Dumbledore," he said, a fierce light burning in his eyes. "But I doubt many will accept. We look after our own and refrain from meddling in the affairs of men." Half rearing, he spun on his hind hooves and galloped away into the thinning mist, disappearing at last into the ominous cover of the Forbidden Forest.

Dumbledore turned to Firenze and Fayleene, who still cradled little Braeden in her embrace. "All of you are welcome in the castle. Or, if you prefer, on the open grounds within the perimeter of salt. We believe that the Fatal Squirrels will be unable to cross the salt barrier."

The centaurs exchanged searching looks before Fayleene nodded and said shakily, "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I accept your kind offer of hospitality for my son's sake. I've already lost…" Her voice choked into a mere whisper. "I can't lose Braeden, too." She looked at the open grounds with its distant gleam of salt. "I'd feel safer inside the castle, if that's acceptable? I've heard tell that your doors can be locked against intruders… I'd feel safer behind a locked door. I know that sounds silly – "

"Not at all," Dumbledore assured her. "We have many vacant rooms on the ground floor, and I'll see that appropriate accommodations are arranged immediately."

The centaur mother nodded wordless thanks.

"And you, Firenze?" inquired the Headmaster.

Firenze hesitated, his blue eyes troubled. "I may accept your invitation later, but for the time being, I should like to see if I can persuade other members of the herd to accept. I agree with Bane's sentiments in general. However, when lives are at stake, I believe we should avail ourselves of assistance when it is offered, even if it does come from men. Several other foals were born this year, though they are all slightly older than Braeden. Perhaps I may persuade their mothers to bring them to the castle. The females could provide company for Fayleene, as well."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, a hint of a twinkle showing above his spectacles. "Just inform Professors Grubbly-Plank or Snape, if I'm not around when they arrive."

Firenze nodded, laid a gentle hand on Fayleene's shoulder, and after a quick whisper in her ear, turned his palomino body and slowly cantered away, his long pale hair bouncing rhythmically against his tanned back, which caused a number of the Fifth Year girls to sigh in admiration.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore extended his hand to Fayleene, who quickly gathered her hooves beneath her and gracefully rose, baby Braeden still cradled snugly in her strong arms.

"If you would allow me to assist you, my lady?" Dumbledore waved his wand and levitated the sleeping foal to float between them, relieving Fayleene of his awkward weight.

"How old is your son?" asked Hermione, curious, but wondering if she should even speak at such a time.

The centaur turned her head, looking down to meet the girl's brown eyes with her own turquoise ones. "Almost three months."

Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise. "And he's already talking?"

Fayleene gave a sad smile as she looked down upon her sleeping foal. "He would be the equivalent of approximately one year old in a human," she explained. "He has acquired a few words. His father loves to teach… Loved…" Her voice trailed away.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, and Fayleene nodded silently as she followed Dumbledore and the floating foal away from the group of students up to the castle, negotiating the steep hill with surprising ease.

Professor Grubbly-Plank cast a quick Tempus, then shook her head. "Class dismissed. Review the assignment we should have covered today for next time. We'll try to make it up then." Amidst a chorus of "Good-bye, Professor" and "Have a nice day, Professor", the CMC professor bustled back into Hagrid's hut to tend to the reprieved Fatal Squirrel.

"Professor Snape?"

The Potions Master, who had been lost in thought as he watched Dumbledore and the centaurs, jerked slightly and turned his head to glare down at the waiting Gryffindor.

"Yes, Potter?"

Harry's green eyes stared up at the dour man. "Um … I had a question?"

"So I would presume." Snape folded his arms across his chest, waiting.

The three inseparable Gryffindors exchanged glances, before Harry continued. "We were wondering, Professor, if the Fatal Squirrels will attack the unicorns, too?"

Snape's eyebrows rose momentarily as he considered. It was actually quite a good question, especially considering it had come from Potter, he decided. As for the answer…

"I would surmise … possibly not," he said somewhat cautiously. This was uncertain territory, but based on known facts, he was willing to offer reasoned conjecture.

"But unicorns are horse-like mammals, aren't they?" Harry asked, frowning. "And the squirrels – packs of them – have killed regular horses, haven't they?"

Snape nodded slowly, but he held up a forestalling hand. "There have been several incidents involving larger mammals, including two horses, but unicorns may not offer the same type of lure to the squirrels as ordinary horses, or even centaurs. Can anyone tell me why?"

Harry heard Ron mutter something that sounded like, "If we knew that, we wouldn't be asking…" He could only hope Snape himself hadn't heard the barely-audible comment.

"But they're Magical," Harry insisted, his mind working in a different direction than the one upon which Snape seemed to be focused. "The squirrels seem to go after Magical animals and people first, right?"

The dark professor cast his eyes around the tight knot of students, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, none of whom had yet left after being dismissed by his colleague.

"Consider the unicorn's blood." Snape automatically slipped into lecture mode. "Unicorns do not share the same type of blood as horses, centaurs, or any other creatures – including humans – Magical or non-Magical. I believe several of you had occasion to see the spilled blood of a wounded unicorn during your First Year. Others of you may have seen this precious liquid at an apothecary shop, or perhaps in my personal stores." His lips described a flat line at the last part of his statement. "What color is unicorn blood? Mr. Malfoy?"

"Silver, sir. It looks like liquid silver."

"Quite," agreed Snape. "And why is it silver?"

Silence.

"Any educated guesses?"

More silence.

"Any wild ideas?"

As the silence continued, Snape frowned in annoyance. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione jumped. "I didn't raise my hand, Professor."

"Wonders never cease," the Potions Master sneered nastily as Hermione's cheeks reddened.

"So, why IS unicorn blood silver, Professor?" Harry asked quickly, trying to divert the man's attention from his fellow Gryffindor.

Snape regarded the waiting CMC class. "Unicorns' blood is absolutely pure. Unlike other Magical creatures, unicorns are comprised of pure Light Magic, not the combination of Light and Dark carried by other creatures, including witches and wizards. The blood of a unicorn is purest Light Magic in liquid form. For an ordinary creature – or person – to drink the blood of a unicorn condemns the imbiber to a half-life. Due to the presence of a certain degree of Light Magic within all of us, we would not be instantly annihilated by the pureness of the unicorn's blood, were we unwise enough to drink it. However, due to the accompanying presence of Darkness within us, we are condemned for our villainy."

The students stared at Snape in wide-eyed silence, the original question still lurking just below the surface.

"I do not believe that the Fatal Squirrels will put the unicorns at risk," Snape said at last, "given that the squirrels were primarily fabricated through the use of Dark Magic and Dark Potions. The Fatal Squirrels carry far more Dark Magic within them than does the average Magical creature. As a result, I seriously doubt whether these squirrels could tolerate the blood of such a pure Light Magical creature as the unicorn. Most likely, the Fatal Squirrels will even go out of their way to avoid unicorns."

"Like they're repulsed by the opposite kind of Magic?" asked Harry. "Like two magnets pushing away from each other?"

Again, Snape's eyebrow rose, but he conceded the point that the black-haired boy was making. "A somewhat inexact comparison, Potter, but one could generalize that the idea is parallel."

Harry's jaw dropped. Snape had practically offered him a compliment! Of course, he did not expect the man to follow up with points awarded to Gryffindor…

Almost as if he could read Harry's thoughts, Snape sneered very slightly as he said, "Twenty points to Slytherin for Mr. Malfoy's correct answer regarding the color of unicorn blood."

When no further points appeared to be forthcoming, Hermione asked, "So, the unicorns will be safe, due to the purity of their blood?"

"I believe that is what we have concluded, Miss Granger."

The group of students exhaled as one, most looking visibly relieved.

Snape cast a Tempus and smirked with pleasure. "Five points per person per minute for every minute that he or she is late for Potions."

Gasping in dismay, the students fell over their own feet and each others', scrambling up the steep path to the castle, through the tall main doors, down the stairways, through the dungeons, their shoes pounding the stone floors in a frantic stampede. As they burst through the doorway into the dimly-lit Potions dungeon, Snape was already seated calmly at his desk, pointedly looking at the ticking wall clock.

"Greasy git!" groused Ron, flinging his school bag onto the lab table and himself onto his stool. "He must have Flooed from Hagrid's fireplace!"

Fear stole through Hogwarts castle during the next few days, passed from student to student faster than a contagious virus. The very idea that a centaur – far larger and stronger than a human – had been attacked, killed, and then eaten down to his bones, terrified the castle's inhabitants. Raised with the belief that Magical defenses could handle nearly every threat – except, possibly, for Voldemort and his Death Eaters – the students and staff felt virtually helpless at the knowledge that Aguamenti was their only likely defense, with Eruptum Sal as a less-likely last resort.

Professor Flitwick patiently coached the younger students in casting both Charms, although Aguamenti normally did not appear on his syllabus until O.W.L. year. Eruptum Sal was mentioned in N.E.W.T. readings, but casting it had never been required on actual exams. Even so, under Flitwick's tutelage, and with older students assisting the younger years, every Hogwarts student was soon casting Aguamenti, and all but the First Years had managed to produce at least a tiny burst of salt from their wands.

"Barely enough to salt my dinner," complained a frustrated Second Year Hufflepuff, but Filius Flitwick was quick to praise her efforts, and he gave the young girl's shoulder an encouraging pat.

Umbridge, of course, was a different story.

"Wands away," she admonished, as Harry had predicted. "With the castle wards in place, not to mention that ridiculous salt ring, there is no perceivable danger. Today, you will copy out Chapter Nine."

As the Fifth Year Gryffindors and Slytherins despondently took out parchment and quills, the pounding of multiple footsteps in the corridor distracted them, followed by excited shouts of, "They've been sighted! They've been sighted!"

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Umbridge, her pink shoes tapping firmly upon the polished hardwood floor of the classroom as she strode to the door.

Several N.E.W.T. students with a free period had been rushing past the DADA class, but they stopped short, eager to impart urgent news of gloom and doom.

"The Fatal Squirrels, Professor! They've come out of the Forbidden Forest onto the grounds!"

Instantly, the Defense classroom exploded into activity, students rushing, pushing, climbing over desks to get to the windows overlooking the Black Lake and one edge of the Forest.

"MERLIN!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson. "THERE THEY ARE!" Her trembling finger pointed through the sunlit glass of the leaded window.

And there – way, way down the hill, beyond Hagrid's smokeless chimney, beyond the gleaming barrier of salt – tiny forms bounced across the fading autumn grass. The students gasped at the sheer numbers, for there must have been more than two hundred of them! From this distance, except for their color, they could easily have been mistaken for ordinary squirrels. Suddenly, however, one squirrel sat up tall, its attention caught by –

"A rabbit," whispered Lavender Brown. "Oh, please run…"

But the rabbit continued to nibble at some tasty greenery until an unearthly screech caused it to freeze. The horde of Fatal Squirrels had swarmed into action, speeding across the grass toward the hapless victim. The approaching verdigris storm finally galvanized the rabbit into motion and it took off, running a spasmodic zigzag as if hoping to throw the bounding squirrels off its trail.

"This way! Come this way!" urged Hermione, pounding her fist on the window sill.

Almost as if it had heard her, the rabbit swerved and headed away from the shore, running frantically toward the castle. But just before the imperiled prey reached the salt barrier, the undulating blanket of bunched squirrels overtook the rabbit, and it vanished beneath the ravenous verdigris swarm.

One Fatal Squirrel overran the downed rabbit and blundered onto the edge of the salt barrier. To the students' horror, the squirrel began to smoke, and its shrill shrieks of obvious agony could be heard, even at this distance and through the heavy glass. Stumbling over its flaming paws, the Fatal Squirrel fell headlong into the thick salt, writhing wildly in unbearable pain as its leathery wings torched into flapping flames. The animal's panicked movements forced salt grains through the verdigris fur, all the way to its sensitive skin. Within seconds, the entire squirrel had combusted, screaming in uncomprehending terror as it flopped agonizingly in live cremation upon the gleaming salt.

Just a couple of minutes later, the poor creature had been reduced to a smoldering black clump, which contrasted sickeningly with its pure white surroundings. Several other squirrels, who had been unable to get close enough to feast upon the rabbit, stared at the smoking remains of their former companion. None seemed inclined to approach it, simply observing the blackened lump with puzzled curiosity, as if trying to figure out what had happened.

"As I said," stated Umbridge coldly, "there's nothing to fear out there."

Slowly, the students turned away from the windows to stare at the nightmare in pink. Had she NO compassion? No EMPATHY?

"Take your seats, please. Wands away." And she firmly swung her own wand to shutter all of the windows.

-:- -:- -:-

In the few days following brave Paltarre's death and before the advent of an ever-increasing number of Fatal Squirrels onto the Hogwarts grounds, Firenze had urged the remaining centaur mothers with young foals to take shelter inside the castle. Several other juvenile centaurs of both genders accompanied them. Under the age of four solar years – the equivalent of about sixteen human years - these young centaurs were not yet considered adults. But the rest of the adult centaurs, male and female alike, continued to inhabit the Forbidden Forest, standing watch both day and night, ready to flee the Fatal Squirrels if an alarm was sounded.

Dumbledore had transformed a number of large, unused rooms into a series of connecting suites, complete with grassy floors, leafy trees, and enchanted ceilings to reflect the actual skies above the castle. The largest room contained a gently-sloping pool for bathing, with an enchanted waterfall splashing tranquilly into the deepest end. The centaurs' favorite foods were made constantly available, and their other needs were met by either the house elves – who cooed over the small foals – the Headmaster himself, or even Magic, such as the turf which had been spelled to automatically Vanish unnecessary waste. Although the juvenile centaurs seemed delighted with their unusual holiday from the forest and took an interest in becoming acquainted with any students who chose to pay them a friendly visit, the older females tended to keep their distance from the Wizarding population, all except for Fayleene. Despite her grief, the young mother tried her best to return the open hand of friendship extended by the sympathetic staff and many of the students.

It was after Hermione and several other female students had paid a visit to Fayleene and Braeden on Halloween morning that they heard some astonishing news being discussed in a vacant alcove amongst the members of the teaching staff, all except for Trelawney, who remained tightly locked up in her tower.

"Pink!" exclaimed Minerva McGonagall. "Are you certain, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded, a gleam of humor in his eyes. "That's what the French Ministry just passed on to Fudge, who passed it on to me. The color pink, they recently learned, incites the Fatal Squirrels to raging violence." He peered at Umbridge over his spectacles. "Doubtless, Dolores, that is exactly what happened the other day when you visited Hagrid's hut. Your pink robes caused the squirrel to 'go off', as it were."

"Nonsense!" blustered Umbridge. "I've never heard of anything so ridiculous."

Grubbly-Plank frowned thoughtfully. "It might explain the gender difference in the squirrels' attacks upon humans. More females than males wear pink."

"That does make sense, Professor," Snape concurred. He smirked unpleasantly at Umbridge. "Might I suggest, madam, that you refrain from attiring yourself in pink until after the crisis has passed?"

"Excellent recommendation, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps a sedate navy, Dolores?"

"Or hunter green," put in McGonagall.

Umbridge puffed herself up indignantly. "That's absurd! I don't intend to give up wearing pink. It's my signature color!" She whirled around and flounced away, her fuchsia robes swinging defiantly.

"Well, Albus," said Pamona Sprout, "It was worth a try. Too bad our eyes won't get a much-needed break."

Filius Flitwick nodded sadly, adding, "With a signature like that, she should have been a Healer."

Dumbledore chuckled before he sobered. "Quite seriously – I do hope Dolores has the sense not to show herself outside the castle, at least during daylight."

Shaking their heads, the various staff members went their separate ways, while the eavesdropping girls rushed to spread the news that the color pink would incite the Fatal Squirrels.

Less than an hour later, desperate screams were heard from the front steps of the castle. Pansy Parkinson, her face suffused with horror, kept shrieking and pointing toward the top of the path which led down to Hagrid's hut.

Responding to the source of the high-pitched screams, Severus Snape rushed onto the outer steps, grabbing the hysterical girl by her elbow. "Miss Parkinson!" He had to shake her arm to get her attention. "Calm yourself! What is the meaning of your unseemly behavior?"

"It's Draco! It's Draco!" she sobbed. "Merlin help him! He's going to die!"

Snape stared in the direction which her shaking finger indicated.

Classes had just ended before lunch, and it seemed that half of the student body was squeezing through the castle's main doors in an attempt to find out what this latest fracas entailed. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had just come from History of Magic, and when Harry looked past Snape's billowing black robes to see what Pansy was pointing at, he burst out laughing.

"Harry! It's not funny!" Hermione remonstrated with him, but the green-eyed Gryffindor kept guffawing at the bizarre scene playing out before them all. Once Ron figured things out, he joined in the laughter, as did at least half of the male students around them.

Just on the rim of the steep slope, Draco Malfoy and his usual brainless companions, Crabbe and Goyle, were all waving bright pink pieces of some sort of fabric, which seemed festooned with white lace. The three Slytherins' attention was focused toward the farthest end of the grounds, beyond the salt barrier, near the shores of the Black Lake, where a group of Fatal Squirrels were nosing through the grass.

Incensed, Snape waved his wand and silently Accioed the pink "signal flags", leaving Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle abruptly empty handed. The lacy items whizzed through the air too quickly for the other students to identify them, until they landed in Snape's outstretched hand. Pandemonium then ensued, with some students bursting into laughter, others gasping in horror, or – in Pansy's case – shrieking louder than ever in her mortification, as she watched the dark Potions Master hoisting aloft her bright pink nightie, knickers, and bra.

Without a word, the man tossed the offending items to the Slytherin girl, then wielded his wand once more to Summon the three Fifth Year idiots back from the top of the path. As they sprawled painfully on the uppermost step of the castle, Snape loomed menacingly over them.

"What the… WHAT, in Merlin's name, were you IMBECILES trying to DO?" he snarled, glowering down at the boys.

Unbidden, the thought crossed Harry's mind that this may have been the only time he'd ever heard Snape ask a totally redundant question. To him, and to every other student crowding onto the steps, the Slytherins' actions were entirely self-explanatory.

Crabbe and Goyle both looked at Draco, waiting for him to explain the situation for the three of them.

The blond teen shrugged at the irate man's furious question. "We were just trying to get the Fatal Squirrels to run across the salt, Professor. We saw what happened to that other one, and we thought it would be one way to get rid of the rest of them, since nothing else seems to work against them."

Snape stared at the boys in disbelief. "Mr. Malfoy," he said heavily, enunciating every syllable. "We do not begin to know everything about Fatal Squirrels. When we tested the animal's ability to cross a salt barrier, we simply used food as a positive enticement. We did not know at that time that the color pink could incite absolute rage in the creature – perhaps sufficiently to induce it into flying horizontally across the barrier."

Draco suddenly seemed to pale as he realized what his Head of House was saying.

"Had your experiment succeeded better than ours did," Snape hissed fiercely, "you could be dying now. Or you could already be stripped to the bone." He glared at the three Slytherins. "Detention. Tonight."

"But the Halloween Feast – " Draco's whine was instantly cut off.

"NOT. For. You. Three." Snape glared again for good measure. "The Potions Dungeon. At the beginning of the supper hour. Don't. Be. Late." Whirling to face Pansy, he added, "Miss Parkinson, please get your undergarments under cover. Immediately."

"Yes, sir," she mumbled, her face flaming as pink as her knickers.

-:- -:- -:-

To Dumbledore's surprise, in early afternoon on Halloween, he received an urgent firecall from Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France. After informing McGonagall and Snape that he needed to leave and might not return until the following morning, Dumbledore threw Floo powder into the flames of his personal fireplace, watched them flare green, and stepped quickly in, giving a destination, which was not, in fact, Beauxbatons. The occupants of the framed portraits in the Headmaster's office watched him disappear from view, leaving his office empty, except for the now-yellow flames and a crimson Phoenix.

Barely an hour later, the thickly-overcast skies opened, drenching the ancient stones of Hogwarts' edifice with a heavy downpour which gave no indication of stopping.

Minerva McGonagall came across Severus Snape as he stared out a rain-smeared window toward the Forbidden Forest, which was all but lost behind the dense curtain of rain. "Knut for your thoughts, Severus."

He sighed and turned to look at the Deputy Headmistress. "I just heard the weather report on the Wizarding Wireless. This heavy rain is supposed to last through the night, into late morning tomorrow. There's danger of flooding in low-lying areas."

McGonagall chuckled. "If that's so, then I'm glad the Founders decided to build Hogwarts on a hill!"

Snape's lips twitched. "Also, I've been thinking about the Fatal Squirrels."

"They'll be bogged down by the rain, won't they?" she asked.

"They should be," he nodded. "And that's all to the better, given that this rain will probably wash away the salt barrier. We'll need to recast it in the morning, if Dumbledore does not return before the rain stops. As for the squirrels' mobility – a light sprinkle might not have much of an effect on them, but a heavy rain this steady should cause them to hole up somewhere under cover until morning."

"Good," said McGonagall. "One less thing to worry about, with Albus away. Now – the Feast. What are you going as?"

A loud, derisive snort echoed along the length of the corridor.

-:- -:- -:-

"It's really pouring!" said Ron, pressing his nose to the dormitory window in Gryffindor Tower. Darkness lay beyond the rain-splattered pane.

"I guess we can use the rain," Harry commented as he buttoned a clean shirt to wear to the Halloween Feast. "It's been a really dry fall. We don't need a forest fire to break out."

"I'll bet that would work to get rid of the Fatal Squirrels," Ron chuckled.

Neville Longbottom rolled his eyes. "More creatures than the squirrels live in the Forbidden Forest," he pointed out. "You wouldn't want to kill off innocent creatures, would you?"

Ron shuddered. "Well, Aragog wasn't exactly innocent, regardless of what Hagrid thought of him. But, yeah, you're right about the other things, like unicorns, centaurs, bowtruckles, and other stuff."

"Well, at least the rain should keep the Fatal Squirrels from moving around too much," said Harry. "They can't fly or glide when they're wet, and they find it harder to climb, too."

"What about the salt ring?" asked Neville, frowning in concern. "Do you think it'll hold up to this rain?"

"Dunno," said Harry, frowning himself, now. "But if it doesn't, they can always make a new one when the rain stops, right?"

"I suppose so," nodded Ron. "But can you believe Malfoy and his goons? What a bunch of morons!"

"Harry, are you guys ready?" Hermione's voice filtered up the stairs from the Common Room. "We can say goodnight to the centaurs on our way to the Great Hall."

After telling Neville they'd see him at the Feast, Harry and Ron trotted down the steps to meet Hermione.

"I take it the centaurs aren't coming to the Feast?" asked Harry.

Hermione shook her head. "Fayleene says the other centaurs don't want their youngsters to get too involved in 'human rituals', as she put it. She says they're all planning to lock up and have an early night of it. If it weren't raining, they'd stay awake and stargaze, but since the enchanted ceilings are just showing the rain tonight, they're planning to go to sleep early. But she did say they'd stay up until we came by. Braeden is eager to see us."

The Gryffindors made their way down seven flights of steps until they reached the main floor, where they turned into a wide side corridor which led to the "Centaurs' Wing", as people had begun to call it. Harry supposed that it might always be referred to as such in the centuries to come, as future students read a revised edition of "Hogwarts, A History" detailing the Fatal Squirrels crisis and the fact that centaurs had sheltered down this wing of the ground floor.

"Mama! Mama!"

Little Braeden had caught sight of their human visitors and broke into a gallop to greet them. Excitedly, his short little tail swished to and fro as he grinned from cheek to chubby cheek. Gleaming in the flickering torchlight, his little roan haunches quivered with each prancing step as he led them back to Fayleene, who was waiting in the doorway to their naturized chambers.

She reached out a tender hand to caress her son's silky red curls. "My little one has been waiting for his 'tall friends' to come by," she said with a hint of a smile.

The Gryffindors smiled back at Fayleene and then grinned at Braeden, who took to kicking up his heels in joy, bucking and laughing.

"It's good to see him healed," Harry said quietly, looking up at Fayleene, whose human head topped his by a couple of feet. Baby Braeden's head was not yet on a level with the human teenagers', but Harry suspected it wouldn't be long. Foals grew quickly, and those born earlier in the spring were already able to look the students straight in the eyes.

"Braeden!" Fayleene admonished, but the foal was gone already, galloping up the corridor, only to turn around and gallop back past them to the other end before returning once more. "He likes the sound his hooves make on the stone floor," his mother explained wryly. "Earlier, all of the foals were racing each other. I've never heard such a clatter!"

"I suppose it's good exercise," Hermione tried to look on the positive side.

"Yeah," added Ron. "It must be hard for them to be shut in the castle like this. Kids are always full of energy. That's what my mum says."

Fayleene smiled at Ron, the first full smile any of them had seen her give, and her face shone with a sudden, glowing beauty.

Ron blushed at her smile and looked unaccountably flustered.

Harry tried to help him out. "I'll bet your mum would also say that Braeden will sleep well tonight after a good workout."

The roan foal galloped past again, his high-pitched giggles echoing off the walls.

"I certainly hope so!" exclaimed the centaur mother. "Braeden! Come here!"

"He'll probably calm down after we've gone," Hermione said with a smile, "so we'd better say goodnight, now." To the little centaur, she called, "Braeden, we're going now."

The roan foal stopped suddenly, then came clip-clopping slowly back, practically dragging his hooves, his tiny tail hanging limply in disappointment. "Go bye?" he asked, his dark blue eyes sad. When the students nodded, he sniffled and poked his thumb into his mouth for comfort.

"I'll come back tomorrow," Hermione promised, "but you have to have a good night's sleep, okay?"

"'Kay," Braeden mumbled past his thumb. Suddenly, he flung both of his arms around Hermione's waist, startling her before she laughed. "You nice," he said, hugging her, and then moving on to hug Ron. "You nice," he repeated, causing Ron to chuckle. As Braeden squeezed Harry around the middle, Harry's stomach growled loudly, causing the foal to jump back in alarm.

"Don't worry, Braeden," laughed Harry. "I wasn't growling at you. My stomach was growling because it's hungry."

"Hun-gee?" asked the foal. When Harry nodded, smiling, Braeden said, "Mama feed," and he began pulling loose the laces of Fayleene's vest.

"Oh, no!" blurted Harry, feeling his face heat up as if he were making a firecall. "I – uh – we – um…"

"We have to eat people food, Braeden," Hermione rushed to Harry's aid, while giving Ron a solid thump on his bicep. The redhead looked ready to completely lose it. "That's why we have to leave now. We're going to eat."

"Bye!" said Harry, not able to even look at Fayleene. He turned and walked away as fast as he could. As his friends caught up to him after their own good-byes, the Gryffindors heard a most gratifying sound echoing off the walls behind them.

Fayleene was laughing her head off.

-:- -:- -:-

"Well, it WAS cute," Hermione insisted as they entered the already-crowded Great Hall, where glowing jack-o-lanterns floated above the House tables. Multiple festive orange-and-black banners with animated designs hung down from just below the numerous high owl windows nearly all the way to table level along each side of the long room. As usual, the house elves had outdone themselves, filling every table to groaning with an unimaginable array of sweets.

"Anyone get the idea that Halloween is Dumbledore's favorite holiday?" asked Ron. "Not that I'm complaining!"

"But it was good to hear her laugh," continued Hermione, as they headed for their usual seats at the Gryffindor table. After surveying the nearby treats, she selected a chocolate éclair.

"Huh? Who?" asked Ron, as Harry helped himself to a heaping slice of pumpkin chiffon pie slathered with a thick layer of whipped cream.

"Fayleene, Ronald!" Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently. "Her husband was killed only a few days ago, and I imagine she's felt as if she'd never laugh again. And then Braeden offered – "

"NOT HERE, Hermione!" Harry glared at her fiercely, a smear of whipped cream on his upper lip lending a comical element to his pained expression.

Ron kept piling pumpkin ice cream into a large bowl until he'd accumulated almost a quart (1 litre) of it, then doused the orangey mass with warm caramel sauce, toasted walnuts, and miniature marshmallows. Ignoring the teaspoon in his place setting, the redhead began shoveling gobs of ice cream into his mouth with the large serving spoon. Several marshmallows rolled off the spoonful before it reached his mouth, landing on the front of his shirt, sticking to the fabric with caramel sauce.

"Oh, Ron…" Hermione sighed, eyeing the mess with a combination of amusement and disgust.

"That's weird," said Harry.

"Talk about an understatement!" she retorted.

"I mean Snape," Harry clarified, watching as the black-robed Potions Master approached between the House tables, heading for the Head Table. "I thought he'd be in detention with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle."

The Gryffindors quickly searched the Slytherin table, but did not spot the three detainees.

Harry didn't realize that he was staring speculatively at Snape until the man stopped across from his seat. "Something bothering you, Potter? Or were you simply attempting to catch flies with the half-masticated food in your gaping maw?"

"Where's Malfoy?" Harry blurted before realizing Snape would never answer an impertinent question about something which was clearly none of Harry's business.

But he was wrong.

"Not that it's any of your business, Potter – "

Well, sort of wrong.

" – but Mr. Malfoy is in the Potions Dungeon."

"Alone?" Harry could hardly imagine Snape allowing anyone – even his favored Slytherins – to serve an unsupervised detention.

Snape's lips twisted his face into a sneer. "I hardly think the fact that he is spending the evening in the company of Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, and Mr. Filch is any of your business, either, Potter." The Potions Master swept away toward his colleagues already seated at the Head Table, where Sybill Trelawney's chair sat vacant and Dolores Umbridge's fuchsia robes served as a blazing beacon.

The three Gryffindors stared at each other, then dissolved into snickers of quiet glee.

"Filch!" whispered Hermione. "That's even worse than a detention with Snape!"

They laughed again, before Harry observed, "I guess Mrs. Norris must be with them. Filch hasn't let her out of his sight since we first learned about the Fatal Squirrels."

"Just as well," said Ron, scraping the large spoon around the bottom of his empty bowl. "Remember last year, when Mrs. Norris came to the Halloween Feast? She ended up jumping onto the Hufflepuff table and got a popcorn ball stuck in her fur! Colin Creevey's photo of her careening around on top of the House tables made the front page of the Daily Prophet!"

The students' laughter blended with the general loud hubbub in the Great Hall, rising above and beyond the floating jack-o-lanterns. What nobody noticed – neither students, nor staff – was the enchanted ceiling. Black as the Scottish night, the downpour amongst the rafters had gradually tapered off. By the midpoint of the Halloween Feast, the rain had stopped entirely.

Upon the Hogwarts grounds, several hours of relentless, heavy rain had dissolved, diluted, then washed away completely the remnants of the protective ring of salt.

-:- -:- -:-

Had researching Wizards in either France or Great Britain had sufficient time to discover it, they would have known that Fatal Squirrels will shelter in a hollow tree during heavy rain, if one is available. To avoid the handicap that comes with a severe drenching, the squirrels will pack themselves into a hollow trunk, or even a hollow log, so tightly that they barely have room to breathe. Thus protected, they will wait out the storm, emerging only after the rain has ended. Rather than allowing desperate hunger to force them out of shelter during several days of rain, Fatal Squirrels will turn cannibalistic, feeding upon each other in the tightly-packed tree trunk, where few could hope to escape such a grisly fate.

Had Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, been in residence, instead of off on a mission known only to Albus Dumbledore, the gamekeeper could have pointed out every hollow tree and log going nine miles (13.5 kilometres) deep into the Hogwarts side of the Forbidden Forest, having learned every tree, shrub, hollow, cave, spring, and creek by heart over the past half century.

But neither Wizarding researchers nor Hagrid himself could have predicted the inexplicable lull in the downpour. Yet, when the rain quit pounding against the squirrel-stuffed trees, one by one, the Fatal Squirrels emerged into the black night where residual dripping pattered onto the fallen leaves littering the wet Forest floor. Aside from a few individuals unlucky enough to have been sheltering closest to the weather-exposed entrance holes in the trees, the squirrels were dry and ready for action.

Spreading their wings, they glided to the ground, calling through the darkness to gather their comrades. Bat-ears twitched at hearing the beckoning, and dozens gathered, then hundreds, and by the time the Fatal Squirrels had reached the thinning trees on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, nearly two thousand of the verdigris vermin were congregated in a gigantic pack. Some were newcomers, having arrived from the south just before the rain hit, while others had been in the vicinity for the past week. But all could feel the pull of the castle, the Magic throbbing within the pile of ancient stones.

Magic called to them, causing their blood to tingle, and the black ground at the edge of the Forest began to glow with an unearthly bluish light as thousands of eyes blazed electric blue through the darkness of Halloween night.

Slowly, the band of blue light crossed the wet grass, drawn by the Magic, but leery of the memory of that white barrier which had thwarted previous attempts to approach the pile of stones. A number of squirrels had suffered burnt paws and mouths, and one poor soul had gone up in flames. But tonight, new leaders emerged. Newcomers who had never encountered the white barrier led the way, bounding faster and faster toward the castle. And when the remaining squirrels realized that the ring of burning snow no longer impeded their passage, they followed hard upon their compatriots' clawed heels.

Up the wet hill … over the low walls… Their blazing eyes lit their impassioned advance like blue lanterns of doom. The squirrels froze momentarily as a high-pitched shriek rent the black night from one of the highest points of stone, and the opening they had sensed was there, through which the sound had issued, was suddenly closed with a bang.

Never mind, never mind…

There were other openings into the stone pile. High up, as high as birds could fly. Openings through which the Magic throbbed, and through which the scent of hot blood wafted, spilling down the stones upon a gentle downdraft. Ignoring the faint shiver of the protective wards through which they passed unhindered, the eager creatures reached the stones at last.

The Fatal Squirrels began to climb.

Rough stone, weathered, centuries old – easy to find clawholds. The vertical stones were as easily scaled as the trunk of a walnut tree. Higher and higher, past glowing golden light … the Magic throbbing, throbbing, throbbing, a tantalizing heartbeat within the stones … the scent of blood, an anticipation of a taste hot and sweet upon their tongues…

Searching for access, a way past the flat overhang … there!

Now on a slanting pile of slate, higher than any tree they had ever climbed – the golden opening to the Magic and the blood lay just above their heads … throbbing, throbbing, throbbing…

And the moon fell from the black sky and sailed whitely through an opening just ahead of the swarm of squirrels…

-:- -:- -:-

A frantic screech high above the revelers made Harry's messy hair stand on end. His hand automatically massaged his traitorous hair follicles as his eyes searched the blackness amidst the rafters of the Great Hall.

"What's Hedwig doing up there?" he wondered aloud, as his snowy owl circled against the enchanted ceiling, screeching repeatedly. No letter or package was tied to her foot…

"It sounds almost like she's trying to warn us about something," mused Ron.

Harry's blood went cold. He lurched to his feet, holly wand in hand, and shouted to the Head Table, "Snape! Snape! The rain has stopped!" He pointed up at the vaulted ceiling soaring beyond the hovering pumpkins.

Realization shot across the Potions Master's features, followed by horror, which was reflected in the faces of all of the teaching staff at the Head Table. Harry's head swiveled around to see what they saw, as all had drawn their wands…

Dozens of verdigris squirrels – no, hundreds! – no, there must be THOUSANDS! – had flung themselves through the numerous owl windows and were gliding relentlessly down on widespread wings, their blazing blue eyes fixed upon their panicking prey. Hedwig circled high enough to stay out of their reach, screeching, screeching, screeching… But the layers of descending horror took no interest in a mere owl – not when there were hundreds of warm-blooded Magical beings gathered below, ready to supply their feeding frenzy.

"Aguamenti!" screamed Harry, aiming his wand high overhead. "Aguamenti!" A huge jet of water shot forth, knocking several Fatal Squirrels out of the air. Two thudded to the stone floor, and another plopped into the bright orange frosting of a towering multi-layered pumpkin cake.

As other students followed Harry's lead in frantically casting Aguamenti, a tremendous thunderclap suddenly rocked the Great Hall. Still fending off the swirling cloud of squirrels with his squirting wand, Harry looked over his shoulder to see Snape's long arm thrust toward the rafters, a brilliant spiral of white Light spinning upwards, barely missing Hedwig before his spell slammed into the enchanted ceiling.

The Great Hall was still raining squirrels when the deluge began, great sheets of water cascading down from ceiling to floor the entire length and breadth of the room, while Snape held the spiral of white light steady. Hundreds of students screamed as the squirming bodies of Fatal Squirrels fell against them beneath the onslaught of a veritable waterfall.

And while the sudden flood may have slowed the squirrels' mobility after hurling them to the tables and floor, those which had landed on or near warm-blooded humans had not hesitated to attack, despite the downpour, sinking fangs into shoulders and legs, ripping tender flesh to bleeding shreds wherever they could reach it.

"Get on the tables!" Hermione was shouting at the top of her lungs. "Get on the tables!" She yanked a sobbing Second Year Slytherin off the writhing, squirrel-infested floor and shoved him atop the Gryffindor table. "Get on the tables! Kick the food off!"

Students nearby who could actually hear Hermione over the blend of shrieking children, squealing squirrels, and the roar of the ceiling's torrent, scrambled up onto the House tables. They began kicking squirrels and the Feast overboard onto the flooding floor, making room for more students to jump up. Those farther away saw what was going on and immediately followed suit, struggling up to get away from the squirrels, many of which now floundered amidst a mélange of waterlogged desserts disintegrating upon the flat stones in the downpour.

The Weasley twins had transfigured teaspoons into Beaters' bats and were smashing Fatal Squirrels across the Great Hall with practiced precision. "Take THAT! Take THAT! Take THAT!" And THUMP, THUMP, THUMP – sodden verdigris bodies got pummeled into oblivion.

But still the squirrels came on, pulling themselves relentlessly onto the long benches, and from there up to the tabletops…

Students kicked away every squirrel that made it onto the tables, sobbing in anger, fear, and frustration. The ceiling was POURING rain – WHY hadn't the squirrels stopped yet? COULD they be stopped? Terrified screams continued to fill the Great Hall as the irresistible greenish-gray force kept encroaching upon the near-helpless humans.

A Ravenclaw First Year swung her foot at a squirrel hoisting itself onto her table, and to everyone's horror, the girl lost her balance and fell, bouncing painfully off a hard bench before landing in the disgusting goulash covering the floor, where the Fatal Squirrels instantly engulfed her small form. And then the girl was flying through the downpour toward the Head Table, Accioed by McGonagall, who beat nearly a dozen squirrels off the child with her bare hands.

The teaching staff seemed to be trying every sort of Magical defense, and Harry recognized the wand movements for Incendio, Confringo, and Evanesco, but the Fatal Squirrels could not be Magically incinerated, blasted, or Vanished. At some point, Harry became aware through the chaos that Umbridge had disappeared, and he could only assume that the sadistic toad had fled the Great Hall like a coward, while the remaining teachers bravely stood their ground. Even tiny Professor Flitwick was still there, standing on the Head Table, waving his wand through a litany of spells and curses as if conducting an orchestra.

Harry decided to try a new tactic against the squirrels. "Eruptum Sal!" he shouted, but the salt spurting from his wand dissolved in the downpour before it could even reach the squirrel that had just poked its head over the edge of the table. Maybe, if he fired at point blank range… After kicking that squirrel away, he leaned over in preparation for the next attack, carefully aiming his wand, allowing for the backslash movement… "Eruptum Sal!" he shouted, ending the backslash with the wand tip pointed directly into another oncoming squirrel's face.

Salt spewed forth, some actually hitting the squirrel, and he had the sickening view of the blazing electric-blue eyes cooking into curdled blind lumps, but the squirrel itself was not dead, though in its shrieking agony, it fell off the table, splashing into the messy flood undulating across the ancient flagstone floor.

That gave Harry a new idea, and he moved carefully forward along the top of the Gryffindor table, trying not to lurch against anyone else, hoping he wouldn't knock someone off. He finally reached the farthest end and shouted up to the Head Table. "Professor Snape! Hey, Snape!"

The man's black eyes glared at him, and Harry realized at that moment what a strain he must be experiencing to have kept the deluge going for this long. Snape said nothing, but was obviously waiting for Harry to continue.

"Professor, I tried Eruptum Sal," Harry shouted, "but the salt just dissolves in the downpour. Since the squirrels are already wet, would it work to stop the ceiling raining and just squirt salt at them? And what about the flooded floor? How much salt would it take to make a strong enough solution to burn the squirrels?"

McGonagall, who was doing battle alongside Snape, raised her eyebrow and spared a quick, inquiring glance at her tall colleague encased in sodden ebony robes.

"Let's find out!" shouted Snape. He released his spiral command of the enchanted ceiling, and following a few seconds of delayed reaction, the deafening waterfall roar ended, leaving the Great Hall eerily quieter in one sense, although the air remained punctuated by constant screams and splashes.

"Eruptum Sal!" shouted Snape.

"Eruptum Sal!" chorused McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Grubbly-Plank, and all the other Hogwarts staff.

"Eruptum Sal!" yelled Harry, followed closely by Gryffindor, then the other Houses.

Gouts of salt burst forth, some hitting squirrels, and some hitting wounded students, who screamed in pain as the salt burned their unprotected eyes and the ragged gashes in their flesh.

"Eruptum Sal!" shouted Fred, aiming at a single squirrel.

"Aguamenti!" George's wand shot water, blending with the salt to soak into the squirrel's already-wet verdigris fur.

The squirrel they had ganged up on began to thrash around, its saturated wings fizzling as salt hit them. The twins continued their double-barreled attack. "Eruptum Sal!" "Aguamenti!" Shrieks pierced everyone's ears as the Fatal Squirrel's body began to smoke. "Eruptum Sal!" And the squirrel burst into flames.

A few cheers went up nearby, but most students were too busy dealing with their own attackers, given that squirrels outnumbered humans about five to one.

"This will take too long, Severus!" shouted McGonagall.

"Then try for the floor," the Potions Master commanded. "But forget Potter's idea about creating a saline solution – we won't have enough Magical energy for that. Let's just Vanish everything on the floor, and since the squirrels – " he paused to send one sprawling with the toe of his boot, "can't be Vanished, we'll salt the dry floor."

"All together now," said Filius Flitwick. "One, two, three – AQUA EVANESCO!"

With a low swooshing sound, the watery mess covering the entire floor seemed to roll back from the Head Table, like the shoreline water being sucked out to sea prior to a tsunami. Faster and faster it rolled, disappearing beneath the length of the House tables, and Vanishing entirely as it reached the closed doors at the far end of the Great Hall. Wet squirrels floundered awkwardly across the suddenly-dry stones, dragging soggy wings behind them.

"Eruptum Sal!" shouted Snape.

"Eruptum Sal!" shouted the staff and students.

Salt spewed forth from nearly every wand, this time aimed at the floor.

"Eruptum Sal!" And the squirrels screamed, scrambling desperately through the salt on smoking paws.

"Eruptum Sal!" And the squirrels shrieked, flames bursting forth from their feet and fanged mouths. Frantic to escape, they futilely attempted to deploy sodden wings to fly upwards, but the leathery appendages had already begun to blacken and shrivel from the salt-storm.

"Eruptum Sal!"

And all over the Great Hall, two thousand Fatal Squirrels combusted upon the salt-strewn stones, their high-pitched screeches of agony forcing the students to cover their ears.

But the cacophony ended quickly, and the towering room lapsed into near-silence at last, broken intermittently by quiet sobs and a faint residual sizzle emanating from the roasted, blackened remains of the squirrels.

"I suppose we could have tried the salt to begin with," McGonagall observed ruefully, "but I never thought of it."

Snape shook his head, long strands of ebony hair plastered wetly to his cheeks. "Nor did I. My immediate goal was to attempt to immobilize the animals as much as possible by grounding them to the floor with heavy rain."

A voice broke into their quiet discussion. "Professors, is Madam Pomfrey here?" Harry looked from one exhausted teacher to another. "Some students are injured, some worse than others. They could use her help."

"They'll need to wait, Potter," said Pomfrey's voice from behind the Head Table. It sounded as if she was down on the floor.

"We'll go," volunteered Pamona Sprout, and she and Flitwick slipped off the tabletop and headed out across the smoking remains of incinerated squirrels to begin tending to the injured students.

Harry rounded the corner of the Head Table to check on Pomfrey, then wished he hadn't. Madame Pomfrey was kneeling next to Professor Grubbly-Plank, and both of them were waving wands over what remained of someone who had been utterly ravaged by the Fatal Squirrels. Most of the person's clothing and visible skin had been gnawed away, leaving nothing but bloody raw flesh beneath. And was that stiff-looking thing a bit of bone…? Harry's breath caught in his throat as he tried not to gag; he couldn't even tell at first glance whether the victim was male or female, student or staff…

And then he caught sight of a small fragment of fabric which had not been stained by blood. Fuchsia fabric… And then the victim groaned, an unearthly sound, as if hell had opened to admit one of the damned.

"She's – she's still alive?" Harry whispered in horror. "Like … THAT?" Half of her actual muscle tissue must be missing… And the flesh of her face … and an eye…

"Dum … ble … dore…" groaned Umbridge, her strained, guttural voice barely audible.

And so suddenly that Harry couldn't even assimilate it, Dumbledore WAS there, passing Harry's frozen figure to kneel by the downed Defense teacher.

"I received your Patronus, Minerva," said the Headmaster, "and I returned as quickly as I could."

At his knees, Dolores Umbridge's remaining eyelid fluttered, and she seemed to be squinting through tears, as if trying to put Dumbledore into proper focus.

"Dum…" she moaned.

"I'm here, Dolores."

"F … F…" Her breath slipped between the shredded vestiges of her lips.

Dumbledore sadly shook his head. "I couldn't make out what you said, Dolores."

"F-Faw – kes…"

"Fawkes?"

"Y … esss…"

"Of course I'll call Fawkes, Dolores." He snapped his fingers, and the Phoenix burst into being, glowing with golden flames. He alighted upon Dumbledore's arm.

"B … Beau … ful…" whispered the raw remains of the High Inquisitor, her lone eye blurrily finding the crimson bird.

Dumbledore turned to the Phoenix. "I believe Dolores would appreciate your assistance, Fawkes."

The shattered woman managed to focus momentarily. "T-Tears…" she grunted. "G-Give … me … your … t-tears…"

The crimson Phoenix looked down upon her fang-mangled living carcass disdainfully.

"T-tears…" urged Umbridge's fading whisper. "H … elp … m … ee…"

In response, Fawkes turned around on Dumbledore's arm until he faced completely away from Umbridge.

"I'm sorry, Dolores," Dumbledore said gently. "As I told you, in regard to the centaurs, Fawkes heals as he pleases. Apparently, the thought of healing you does not please him at all."

To Harry's amazement, anger seemed to give the dying woman a momentary burst of energy. Her watery eye burned with a final fury, and she said quite distinctly, "Bloody bird."

Fawkes squawked indignantly, raised his elegant tail, and let drop a loud splat on the floor next to Umbridge's head. With a flap of his long, crimson wings, the Phoenix disappeared in a burst of golden flame.

As the Phoenix-fire dissipated, so did the light in Dolores Umbridge's eye. Her throat gave one horrible rattle before her bloodied remains fell completely still.

"And that, as they say, is that," muttered McGonagall. "I'll call the Ministry to collect her mess. And stop looking at me like that, Albus. I'm not sorry she's gone, and I won't pretend, no matter how horribly she died, whatever you may think of me for being bold enough to say so."

Collecting Poppy Pomfrey and Professor Grubbly-Plank, McGonagall cast a drying charm on her bottle-green robes before sweeping surefootedly across the salty, squirrel-littered battleground of the Great Hall to tend to Hogwarts' injured students. Professors Flitwick and Sprout had already made headway in organizing triage, with the least-injured students assisting them with other victims. Dumbledore conjured a covering which he laid gently over Umbridge before – nodding to Snape – he moved to join them.

"I never liked her," said Harry, looking down at Umbridge's concealed remains. "Hated her, even. But I never imagined that she'd die like this."

"And you feel guilty, do you, Potter?"

Harry glanced up in surprise at the absolute absence of sneering sarcasm in Snape's voice.

"Yeah. I guess I do." He frowned. "I feel like it's my fault, somehow."

Snape cast a drying charm on himself, and after a moment's hesitation, he sent one Harry's way as well.

"Because you wished evil upon Umbridge?"

The Gryffindor nodded.

Snape took Harry's shoulders in his hands, forcing him to turn his view away from the deceased and outwards to the rest of the Great Hall. "Look around you, Potter. Do you honestly think you are the only person in this castle who wished something bad to happen to her? The only one out of hundreds?"

Harry shrugged beneath the firm weight of Snape's grip. "Maybe not."

Snape snorted. "I assure you, Potter, you are not alone. If you feel it necessary to assume personal responsibility for Dolores Umbridge's death, you have my permission shoulder part of the burden, but to accept it all is overly egotistical, even for you."

Harry emitted a strangled chuckle, despite his acute awareness of the dead woman lying a couple of paces away. "I suppose so, Professor."

Snape's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the aftermath of the Night of the Fatal Squirrels. "At least now we know that we have a genuine weapon we can use against these foul creatures."

"Salt."

"Salt," Snape concurred.

Harry looked up at the Potions Master. "Do you really think there are more of the squirrels out there, Professor?"

"I wouldn't bet against it, Potter. This may well be only the first wave of terror. Time alone will tell. For the future… We will need to devise a way to bait a trap ... then salt them down…" The man in black walked away, still thinking aloud. His robes billowed with their usual grace across the whitened floor, catching occasionally on a protruding, blackened corpse.

At the far end of the Great Hall, the tall doors abruptly opened and Argus Filch marched in, Mrs. Norris draped furrily over his narrow shoulder. "Headmaster, we heard shrieking! From all the way down in the … dungeons…" The squib caretaker's eyes bulged as he slowly took in the scene before him.

Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle had followed closely in Filch's wake, and all four stopped dead when they caught sight of hundreds of soaking wet, bleeding students sitting atop tables bereft of the expected leftovers of a Halloween Feast. Through the damp, smoky atmosphere, they could see the floor covered with salt, some of it ankle deep. As for the blackish things…

"What the hell happened in here?" demanded Draco, his gray eyes wide with shock.

Goyle experimentally prodded a shriveled black lump with the toe of his shoe.

Hedwig – a rather wet Hedwig – swooped down to land on Harry's arm, as Filch began muttering imprecations to the four tall walls. "I knew it! I just KNEW it! I knew I'd end up having to clean up after a pack of damn vampire-squirrels!"

Fred Weasley waved his wand and transfigured one of the squirrel bodies into a push-broom. He passed it to George, who handed it to the caretaker with a grin. "Here you go, Mr. Filch."

The cantankerous man glared at the redheaded twins, then shrugged and accepted the broom. "Might as well get started," he grumbled. And with Mrs. Norris watching wide-eyed from his shoulder, Filch slowly began pushing against the salt, sweeping up the charred remains of the Fatal Squirrels.