“Silence please, Gryffindors! I have an announcement.”

Professor McGonagall took up a position near the fireplace and looked sternly over the top of her square spectacles. The House hushed. There was an air of suppressed excitement. Was she going to tell them the date of the next Hogsmeade weekend, or about a forthcoming Quidditch tournament or the Halloween Ball?

“Professor Dumbledore has received a communiqué from the Ministry of Education…” a groan rippled through the students. What now?

“Following the publication of a recent White Paper on the subject of underage pregnancies amongst the wizard population…” She looked distinctly uncomfortable; one of her long fingers absently twisted a wisp of dark hair that had escaped from her bun.

“…we have been informed that all students of NEWT level are required to participate in a series of compulsory lessons in Practical Parent-craft.”

The age divide became instantly apparent, with years one to five gloating in unrestrained glee, while the year sixes and sevens gaped at one another, frankly appalled. Professor McGonagall held up her hand,

“Quiet now. The first lesson will take place today, and I, as Deputy-head and Head of House, have volunteered my senior Gryffindor students to take the first turn at this ‘parental role play opportunity’,” she quoted from a pamphlet bearing the Ministry crest.

“Professor Grubbly-Plank has been raising a litter of Dranda Bear cubs, which I have transfigured into ‘human infants’ for the purposes of this ‘learning experience’. Each student will be issued with a cub which will become his or her responsibility for the entire day. They will accompany you to lessons and meals; you will be required to dress, feed, change and, if necessary, bathe the ‘infants’ and show concern for their well-being at all times. You will be marked on how well you succeed in caring for these babies. If you forget them, ignore them, injure them, neglect them or show a lack of care and compassion in any way, it will be evident and you will lose marks. I shall be back in five minutes.” She left the room rapidly.

The hubbub in the common room became deafening.

“What is a Dranda Bear?” asked Harry, dismayed.

“They’re quite cute,” said Ron. “They’re about the same size as Crookshanks, but bear-shaped, except for the long tail, and the snouty nose and the pointy ears…”

“So, not much like a bear at all, then?” said Harry.

“They are furry, with paws. But if you part the fur they tend to be a bit, kind of, scaly underneath.”

“OK. But do they bite?” Harry was not happy.

“Bound to,” said Ron, cheerfully.

Professor McGonagall returned, accompanied by Madame Pomfrey who was pushing a large, coach-built pram. Sitting up in it were seven babies, apparently human and about six months old.

“Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Neville, Harry, Ron and Hermione!” called the Professor. “Come and choose a child. Then go into the annexe. Madam Pomfrey will give you each some supplies for the day. One further point: no magic. If we find that you have been using Peaceful Potions or Hushing Hexes or even,” a smile tweaked her lips, “Cleansing Charms, you will be disqualified. It need hardly be said that the marks will go towards your House totals.”

After an hour or so of ‘baby basics’ with Madam Pomfrey, Harry’s head was overloaded with information on sterilizers, preparing bottles, nappy rash, teething, nap routines, burping, bath toys and a mysterious substance called ‘posset’.

His baby, whom he had unimaginatively named ‘Bear’ had howled non-stop all morning, despite his clumsy attempts to shut it up. Hermione, whose little boy, Lancelot, had been asleep for two hours, was unsympathetic.

“What can you expect if you give him a silly name like that,” she said. “How are you ever going to ‘bond’ with him?”

For reasons that he refused to go into, Ron had christened his baby girl ‘Troi’. She sat placidly on his lap sucking her thumb and being generally winsome, while Ron cooed and chatted to her in a high, sing-song voice. He appeared to be telling her a long and complicated fairy story about an encounter with giant space jellyfish at some place called Farpoint.

Harry, already harassed since he had just identified Bear as the source of an extremely noxious odour, was suddenly dealt a double-whammy.

“Oh no!” he groaned. “We’ve got Potions this afternoon.”

“You know what McGonagall said about ‘neglect being evident’…?” Harry remarked as they staggered down the steps to the dungeons, struggling with the pastel, padded ‘baby essentials’ shoulder bag (‘converts into a multi-textured playmate and machine-washable changing mat, water-proof backed’), their books, their Potions equipment and the babies themselves. Lavender and Hermione, Harry had noticed, both instinctively carried the cubs supported by one arm and sitting on their hip on what, he assumed, must be some invisible child-bearing shelf. When he had tried it, Bear had immediately slithered down his leg, screaming, and would have crashed to the ground if Harry had not grabbed him by his long, whiskery, pointed ears…

Hermione gasped in horror.

“You mean the Transfiguration wears off?” she exclaimed.

“I think it’s more a case of getting diluted by negligence,” said Harry.

With a show of bravado they entered the classroom. There was no sign of Snape; Harry exhaled in relief. He dumped his bags and extricated Bear from the back-pack in which he had been riding like a papoose – for once reasonably serene – and propped him up on the desk.

“I can see the family resemblance, Potter,” Malfoy drawled, “especially about the ears and snout.”

Harry did a double-take. He could have sworn that Bear’s nose had been quite normal a minute ago. Hannah and Pansy crowded round to give him a friendly stroke.

“I’LL TAKE THAT!” Snape had emerged from the store cupboard.

“Potter. Granger. Give me the creatures,” he demanded in a glacial tone.

“They’re not creatures, Sir, they’re babies.” Hermione remonstrated.

“Are you arguing with me, Miss Granger?” You would need to be very bold or very stupid to argue with Snape. “Whatever these objects may look like, essentially they are still immature Drandas. Do not mistake appearance for reality.”

Harry’s stomach gave a sickening jolt.

Grasping each infant firmly by the scruff of its knitted cardigan, and holding them at arm’s length, Snape deposited Bear and Lancelot in a wooden playpen which had materialised at the far end of the classroom. The dungeon reverberated with their screams of protest.

“You can’t put them in a cage!” Hermione objected.

“I can and I will. I do not intend my lesson to be disrupted by grunting animals for the sake of paying mindless obeisance to some fatuous Ministerial dictat.”

The babies’ wails grew ever more piercing.

“Silencio!” Snape shot his wand at the noise. The quiet was stunning.

“But we’ll be disqualified if we use magic!” Hermione cried, outraged at the injustice. The Potions master addressed her coldly.

“Get your facts straight, Miss Granger. First, you have not used magic. I have. Second, the creatures have not been damaged. If you lose marks it will be because your ‘maternal instincts’ were insufficient to defend your ‘young’ from my intervention. You have simply been negligent in your care.”

Harry, who had been listening in mounting disgust, could contain his rage no longer.

“So that’s your speciality, is it? Childcare?” he spat angrily.

Snape pivoted to face him, his dark eyes venomous.

“What did you say?” he hissed.

Harry swallowed and bit his lip. Now was not the time. Not yet.

“Nothing, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” Damage limitation. Snape gave him an inscrutable look.

“I will not be spoken to in that manner. Twenty points from Gryffindor. Now, to work!”

It was impossible to concentrate on brewing the Insatiable Appetite potion while, out of the corner of their eyes, they could see Lancelot and Bear thrashing, flailing and bawling silently in their soundproof cage. By the end of the lesson both ‘parents’ were emotionally exhausted.

Harry hoisted Bear up by his scaly tail and shoved him under his arm. Hermione’s face was wet with tears as she nuzzled Lancelot’s downy grey fur.

“I could kill Snape!” she sobbed. Harry said nothing.

Back in the common room they sadly placed their babies on the floor where they trotted off on all fours to join three other recognisably Dranda cubs gambolling on the hearth rug, uttering squeaky growls and gnawing the chair cushions. Neville was still dandling a child on his knee: it was a pinky green colour and only slightly hairy, but otherwise human.

“I’ve had a lot of practice at looking after things,” he told them. He didn’t need to elaborate. Harry touched Neville’s shoulder in wordless commiseration.

“Yeah, mate,” he said.

“Sshhh!” Ron put his finger to his lips and hushed them. “Troi’s just had her bottle, and I’ve only this minute got her to sleep,” he whispered, his eyes glowing with paternal pride.