"So when are you going to do it?" Mel asked casually.

"Huh?" I asked, realizing that I'd been staring at the same piece of toast for a few minutes.

"When are you going to break it off with Tom?" she asked, not bothering to look up from the Daily Prophet she was reading.

"You mean Dom," I said with a soft groan.

"Alright," he replied delicately. "I will have it arranged for you. Meet me in the Entrance Hall, Saturday, five o'clock."

"Thank you," I said, forcing a small smile before turning to leave. I sensed that he wanted to say something else, but all he did was nod, so I picked up my bag and headed out of the room.

"Hey," I blurted out through a mouthful of pie, interrupting Fred in the middle of a story about a first year who had unknowingly sampled one of his and George's Puking Pastilles.

"Yes?" he said, curiously.

"Please," he urged, dragging out the word. "We're running out of willing subjects."

"Do you realize how terribly unconvincing that is?" I asked laughing. "If a lot of second year boys won't eat that, then I'm definitely not coming anywhere near it."

As our conversation had deteriorated into incomprehensible sounds, Professor Snape came sweeping down the corridor in his usual fashion. It always impressed me how he managed to get his robes to billow behind him with no wind.