“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione said, closing her book. “It really does look like he’s the only one who can remove it— it’s so that only the owner can take it off, to prevent people stealing their pets.”

Harry thumped his head on the library table, bell jingling. “This is awful ,” he groaned. 

It certainly was irritating. The other Gryffindors were avoiding him completely, because whenever he moved the bell round his neck rang. They’d tried shooting silencing charms at it, but those simply bounced straight off. His other professors had looked at it disapprovingly— “why did you have to provoke him?” Sinistra had said, exasperatedly— and by the end of each lesson had thrown many irritated glances at it. 

“You’re actually quite lucky, though,” Ron said, doodling on a spare bit of parchment. 

“In what possible way could I be lucky, Ron?” Harry asked, sarcastically. “No— don’t tell me— at least he didn’t conjure up a lead.”

Hermione looked like she was struggling not to laugh.

“No, really, Harry,” Ron insisted. “He could have used the spell for objects. When Ginny was little she tried to borrow Great-Aunt Muriel’s diamond earrings for dressing up, and it was all like—” He screwed up his face, and sang “ I belong to Muriel Prewett! I belong to Muriel Prewett!” in a high-pitched voice. “Imagine! You’d be dead after a few hours, because we’d all have killed you to escape the noise.”

Harry shuddered. He flipped his shirt collar up to see if that would hide the thing, but then decided it would simply make him look like an idiot. It hadn’t worked to cover it, anyway.

Back in the Hospital Wing when Madam Pomfrey had first told him what had happened, Harry had (rather too optimistically, in hindsight) thought he would just be able to detach the slim band of brown leather with its little attached bell himself, perhaps with a pair of scissors. But nothing he’d tried had worked— not even Hermione’s attempt at a neat little severing charm had been able to remove the thing.  

Hermione had pursed her lips and headed straight for the library, of course. Her findings didn’t make Harry feel any better.

“Perhaps a scarf?” she said now, tilting her head. “Here, try this one—” She unwound the Gryffindor one from her own neck, and draped it round Harry, covering the collar. But then—

“How odd,” Hermione breathed, staring. The scarf was slowly unlooping itself, loosening until the band round Harry’s neck was visible, bell gleaming. “How odd.”

Harry leaned forward to put his head in his hands, and the bell dangling from his neck gave an extra-loud peal, as if protesting the attempts to cover it up and thereby muffle it.

“Dunno, Harry, maybe you could ask Dumbledore to get Snape to remove it,” Ron said, pushing his quill away. “But we’d better get down to dinner, else all the food’ll be gone— you need your strength, Harry.”

So they made their way out of the library, Harry noticing that Madam Pince was shooting dark glares at him as he went. It was probably something to do with the jingling as he moved, disturbing the peace of the library...

After dinner, Harry reluctantly headed down to the dungeons for his detention with Snape. If anyone had wanted to locate him, they wouldn’t have had the slightest amount of trouble, because they all would be able to hear Harry coming. That awful Zacharias Smith from Hufflepuff had passed Harry by and made a rude comment about it— and Draco Malfoy had pushed past Harry on his way to the Slytherin common room. 

“Want me to magic up a leash, Potter?” he’d crowed. “Crabbe here can take you down to that half-breed’s hut and tie you outside. About time we finally put you with all the other animals.”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry had snapped. 

Crabbe and Goyle, never far behind Malfoy, had both knocked into Harry at the same time, then. Letting out an oof , Harry had been left with Malfoy’s parting comment ringing in his ears.

“You’ll fit right in with that slobbery coward of a dog!”

“Prat,” Harry muttered under his breath. 

At the door to the potions classroom, Harry raised his hand to knock, but the door was wrenched open before his fist landed on the wood. 

“Inside,” Snape said, his top lip curling. Harry slowly jingled his way inside. “Sit.”

Harry sat at the desk that was obviously for him, having as it did a large tub full of dead toads on it. It looked like he was going to be disemboweling them for his detention. Great. He reached for the scalpel—

“Not yet, Potter,” Snape ordered. “I have a bone to pick with you first. Tell me, do you recognise this?” He placed something on the desk in front of Harry.

“No,” said Harry, confused. “It’s an empty jar. Sir—”

“How convenient a denial,” Snape hissed, leaning across the desk. “But believe me, Potter, the theft of my boomslang skin has not gone unnoticed. I know just who was wandering around after curfew— and when I find that brew of yours you and your little friends will wish they had never been born.”

Harry shifted an inch back in his seat, trying to move himself as far as possible from the man without seeming to do so. “I didn’t steal anything,” he said. “I didn’t— and— and you’re not going to find anything on us, because we haven’t done anything,” he added in a fit of bravado, only realising that this would probably make the man suspect him more after the words had already come out.

When had Snape ever believed him?

The man curled his hands deliberately round the jar again, picking it up. “Get to work, Potter,” he spat. 

The bell on his collar, Harry had decided, was a form of torture. 

“I said I can’t help it, you know,” he yelled, banging at the closed door to the fourth-year boy’s dormitory.

“Go away, Potter,” came the muffled shout. “Go sleep in the common room.”

Trying the handle again, Harry cursed Snape for about the hundredth time since he woke up in the hospital wing. When it didn’t open, he kicked at it. “Let me in!”

“Potter!” came a shocked voice behind him. Harry turned around and saw Percy Weasley there, dressed in striped pyjamas. “What’s all this racket?”

Harry rammed his shoulder into the door. “They won’t let me in.”

“Why not?”

“Because of this bloody bell, that’s why!” Harry shouted, fed up with it all. “It keeps ringing and they say the damn jingling is keeping them awake—”

“That’s enough!” Percy said loudly. “You’re disturbing the whole tower. I’m going to report you to Professor McGonagall in the morning, and if you don’t stop shouting I’ll tell her now. And ten points from Gryffindor.”

Harry resisted the urge to swear at him, but it was a close-run thing.

“I better not hear any more noise tonight,” Percy threatened, puffing himself up. And then he went back up the stairs to his own dormitory.

Wanker. Why hadn’t he made them let Harry in? The whole reason he was shouting was because they’d thrown him out of the dormy. Ron hadn’t even stood up for him— granted, the red-head had been asleep, and it took more than a jangling bell to wake him.

“We’re not going to let you in, so just go to the common room,” someone inside the room said. It sounded like Dean. “Sorry, mate, that curse of Snape’s is nuts, and it’s doing our heads in.”

Harry gave up, and grimly walked down the stairs. They thought they had it hard? Harry was the one with it round his neck!

The fire in the common room was low. Harry dragged a long couch over near the flames, then poked at the coals until it flared up again. With some of the blankets from the cupboard draped over him, Harry lay down and tried to sleep.

The next morning Harry woke up earlier than usual, disturbed by some chattering first-years going out the portrait to breakfast. 

“Why are they so perky?” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. 

He certainly didn’t feel cheery at all, especially when he entered the dorm to get dressed and had a pillow thrown at him by a sleepy Seamus because of the noise of the bell on his collar.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, backing out of the room. 

Walking down to breakfast, Harry resolved that he would ask Snape again to do something. It was untenable to go on like this— he’d probably be lynched by half-past three. If there were other teachers present, they’d probably be on Harry’s side. All the ones who’d had him in class would be, surely. Perhaps they could put some pressure on the man to remove it— after all, the man would never do any favours for Harry, especially not now he suspected him of the potions ingredients theft. 

Entering the Great Hall, Harry was relieved to see Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sinistra and Snape sitting up on the high table. He hadn’t had Charms yesterday, but Sinistra and McGonagall had experienced the annoyance of the sound first-hand themselves. He hurried up to them, the sound of jingling accompanying him like he was a bloody reindeer. Removing the thing took precedence over breakfast, by far.

“Good morning, professors,” he began. Flitwick was eyeing his neck curiously, while McGonagall and Sinistra both exchanged pained looks. Snape merely looked suspicious as Harry turned towards him.

“What is it?” he growled. “I told you yesterday—”

“Please, professor,” Harry begged. “I know you said you wouldn’t, but everyone’s about ready to murder me now. If you can’t take it off, could you change it so it doesn’t do it in— in class, or when we’re trying to sleep, or something?” The bell gave out a jingle as he finished, as if to mark his words.

“If you don’t, Severus, then I won’t have him in class,” Sinistra snapped. “It’s a pointless nuisance. I’ll send him down to sit in on yours— or if it's a practical he can go sit outside your door like the lost cat you seem to think him to be.

“It is terribly annoying, Severus,” said McGonagall. “The other students will be ready to riot about it soon.”

Snape sighed, then drew his wand out of his sleeve and flicked it in a complicated pattern. “There,” he said. “I’ve modified it to only make noise when you think you are doing something you shouldn’t be. So stay in line, Potter.” The look on his face made it clear that he still thought Harry was the one who’d taken his potion ingredients.

Harry stared at him, not sure whether to be horrified or grateful. Sinistra looked like she was trying to hold back a laugh. 

“Thanks?” Harry said. Snape eyed him down darkly, and he backed away. “I’ll just go have some breakfast…”

When the other fourth-year Gryffindors came down to breakfast, they left a wide berth around Harry. Ron, visibly steeling himself, sat opposite Harry, while Hermione slid in next to him.

“Try not to move much, mate, will you?” he asked. 

Harry, who was finishing up the last of his cereal, rolled his eyes. “I got Snape to modify it. It won’t be going off all the time, now.”

Ron leaned closer. “Really? Brilliant. I mean, what a git— but that’s better than before.”

Serving herself some porridge, Hermione asked, “How did he modify it?”

Harry flushed. “It rings when…”

“When…” Hermione prompted.

“When I think I’m doing something I shouldn’t,” Harry mumbled. 

Ron choked on his egg, spluttering. “Really?”

Sprinkling some cinnamon on her porridge, Hermione remarked, “That’s pretty impressive magic, really— the conditional exclusion, based on intent— and that seems much better. It’s nice and quiet, isn’t it?”

Harry was very glad that it was. “Yes,” he agreed fervently. “Wish he’d taken it off, but yes.” He supposed he would just have to make sure he never thought he was doing something he oughtn’t to.

Easier thought than done.