Harry Potter breathed heavily, sweating into his bedsheets and still staring absently at the window. It was misted with breath, but the face he had seen was gone. The Gryffindor boys' dormitory was eerily silent. Harry looked across the beds and saw to his surprise that both Dean and Seamus were sitting up blearily, while Neville was in a fitful sleep, muttering about magical maladies and empty gum wrappers.

"There was a face," said Harry, still half-asleep.

"What?" said Dean, his voice quiet and slurred. "Am I dreaming?"

"Do a reality check," Seamus told him. "If you realise you're dreaming, you'll have an epic lucid dream. Though I think there's a spell for that, Flitwick mentioned it once, apparently it gives you the ability to control all of the dreams in your next REM cycle."

Harry didn't know what they were talking about, or why Dean was screwing up his face and pressing his finger against his palm, so he continued with his original train of thought. "I saw a face at the window."

"Was it the same girl who kept staring at you at dinner?" asked Dean, now plugging his nose and trying to breathe through it until his face turned purple.

"There was a girl staring at me at dinner?" Harry said, alarmed.

"Yeah, that Hufflepuff chick," Seamus jumped in. "With the red hair."

"Marietta Edgecombe?" Harry's face fell. It was bad enough he was being stalked, but by his crush's best friend? "Isn't she the same girl who betrayed the DA? Her mum works in the Ministry?"

"Nah, not Marietta," Seamus said airily. "Less freckles. And her eyes were like ... dark. I don't know what colour, but dark."

"Black," supplied Dean. "Her eyes are black. Like Hagrid's."

"She's a bit weird, doesn't really talk to anyone," said Seamus. "I don't think she has many friends. Why is she staring at you though? Just a fan of your Dark Lord slaying and effortless good looks?"

Harry didn't laugh. "I don't know. I've never met her."

There was silence for a while, save for Neville's frenzied muttering and thrashing. Harry checked his watch. It was almost time for breakfast. Dean just slipped his robes on over his pyjamas and left, but Seamus spent a long time picking out the perfect outfit. He settled for a pink vest and black jeans, which his robes covered anyway.

Harry got up and peered at the window. The glass was still fogged up. It had been ten minutes since he had seen the face, but when he looked down she was still there. Exactly as Seamus and Dean had described her — black eyes, red hair, a freckle-free face. Those black eyes widened when she saw Harry looking at her.

He opened the window. His stalker was crouching on the ledge a few feet below, and when she stood up the tip of her nose brushed the sill.

"Who are you?" said Harry, apprehensive.

"Um, I work for Dumbledore ..."

"Dumbledore?"

The girl swallowed. "I've already messed up."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look, how about you just forget you saw me and move on with life? I won't bother you again, in fact, I'll hand in my resignation to Dumbledore right now. Just don't tell anyone — especially Dumbledore — that this thing happened. Good? Good. I should be going now, I have my Comet 360 here, so bye!"

"Wait!" said Harry, grabbing the end of her broom as she attempted to fly away.

"Dude, take a hint! I'm not going to tell you anything. And also, grabbing my broom like that would be a foul in Quidditch. Aren't you on the Gryffindor team? Let go!"

"What do you do for Dumbledore?" said Harry urgently, clinging to her broom like there was no tomorrow.

The girl froze. "Stuff."

"Why were you spying on me?"

"No reason."

"What does Dumbledore want to know about me?"

"Nothing!" she said, crossing her arms.

"I'm not letting you go until you tell me!"

"You're gonna be here a while, Chosen One," the girl said reproachfully. "Some call it stubbornness. In Hufflepuff, it's loyalty." She tried to tug her broomstick out of his grip, and, much to Harry's surprise, his hand slipped from the stick and got tangled in the bristles.

"How did you do that?" said Harry, wrenching his hand free.

"I play Beater for Hufflepuff," the girl explained. "I've got muscles. You Seekers are ... lighter." She began to descend slowly. "Race you to the Great Hall. We all know I'm going to win, but you might as well try."

Harry didn't really want to race this stranger, so he went about his morning routine as normal. He knew he would have been the winner, though, because he was a Seeker and everybody knew Seekers were light and fast. Beaters had all that muscle weighing them down. Or, in Crabbe and Goyle's case, flab.

What was Dumbledore up to? Harry brushed his teeth for about ten minutes, mulling over what the old man could be doing. Why had Dumbledore sent people to spy on him? He wasn't doing anything wrong.

When he reached the Great Hall, his eyes automatically went to the girl. She was sitting with Hannah Abbott with her broom in one hand and a fork in the other. She made a face at him to show that she had realised he hadn't tried. Harry ignored her and sat with Ron and Hermione.

"Hey, Harry," said Ron. "Have you tried the lamb before? It's great."

Hermione thumped him over the head with Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and then turned to Harry. "Is it true?"

"What, that the lamb's great?" said Harry cluelessly.

Hermione thumped Harry too. "No! About you and Megan Mitchell."

"Who's Megan Mitchell?" he asked.

"People are saying," said Hermione impatiently, "that you and Megan are secretly dating. Lydia Maxwell from Ravenclaw saw Megan flying around Gryffindor Tower, and then you poked your head out and started talking to her. She says she saw you grab Megan's broom and pull her closer to you, as if you wanted to kiss!"

"She's Megan?" said Harry.

"What were you trying to do if not kiss?" Hermione interrogated.

"She said Dumbledore had told her to spy on me," said Harry, "and when she tried to fly away I pulled her back so she could tell me more."

"And did she?" said Hermione, interested.

"No," he said bitterly. "She was stronger than me."

Hermione lost her thread. She sat down and continued eating, but didn't open Fantastic Beasts again and instead stared into the milky depths of her bowl, pondering. Harry just wanted to stop talking about Megan, so he seized the opportunity gratefully and tucked into some slightly burnt toast.

"Maybe," said Ron, his mouth full, "chee hos a quosh on choo. And dat Dumbeldor ding wos a disquachon."

"Chew and swallow, Ron," said Ginny from across the table, looking disgusted. "Like Mum taught you last summer."

Ron's ears went pink and he swallowed his mouthful of lamb.

"Do you like this Megan girl?" said Ginny, trying to seem nonchalant but with fear in her eyes. She hadn't touched her pancakes since Harry had arrived, and was instead squeezing the last drops of maple syrup out of the bottle. The pancakes were drenched in sweetness.

"Not really," said Harry thoughtfully, spreading jam onto his toast. Raspberry, Dumbledore's favourite. "She was alright. A bit arrogant."

"A Hufflepuff, arrogant?" said Ron. "No way!"

"Don't be so stereotypical, Ron," said Ginny condescendingly. "I think Megan would be arrogant. She always has that smug look on her face."

"You're only saying that because you're jealous," Ron observed. "Because Harry might get a crush on her."

Harry was getting rather annoyed by being talked about as if he wasn't there. He didn't like Megan, as a friend or as a potential girlfriend, because she reminded him greatly of Zacharias Smith. Also, Ron was being unfair, embarrassing Ginny like that, and she was blushing beetroot red already.

"You're so shallow," said Ginny. "What do you think of Megan then?"

"I've never met her," Ron pointed out. "And unlike you, I don't judge a book by its cover. If Harry ever does get a crush on her, I'll be happy for him because that's what best friends are for."

"Stop it!" said Harry. "Can we just drop the subject?"

They ate in an awkward silence. Ron and Ginny were glaring daggers at each pther and Hermione was crying into her cereal. Harry didn't know why she was crying but he was afraid to ask, because there was nothing more uncomfortable than someone unloading their problems onto him.

Ginny stopped mouthing death threats at Ron long enough to notice that her best friend was upset. She swapped seats with Faye Dunbar so that she could put an arm around Hermione and whisper into her ear comfortingly. Hermione whispered too, and soon they were gossiping eagerly.

Dumbledore's speech was nothing special. It was riddled with oddities and made-up words, so instead of trying to make sense of them Harry just stared at his wrinkles and wondered what he was up to. Ginny had swapped back with Faye as Hermione had stopped crying and was now listening attentively to the speech.

Harry decided to approach Dumbledore after breakfast. While everybody else was leaving, he marched up to the staff table and confronted the headmaster.

"Why do you have people spying on me?"

Dumbledore looked taken aback. "Which of my spies told you?"

"You have more than one?" said Harry, outraged.

"Miss Mitchell must have told you," said Dumbledore, more to himself than Harry. "Yes, that explains the rumours of your relationship. My hopes for yourself and Miss Granger aren't dashed yet."

Harry was horrified. He didn't like Hermione like that. If anything, he would quite like to go out with Ginny, but he knew that would upset Ron.

"I need to make sure you aren't upsetting my plan."

"Am I?"

"So far, no."

"So can you keep your spies away from me?"

"I suppose I must."

Harry had a look of triumph on his face as he left the Hall with the rest of the people who had hung around. McGonagall gazed at her manipulative boss, and knew in that moment that Dumbledore had no intention of doing what the boy wanted. He said he was better now, she thought, but he was still just as selfish.

"You should really listen to him, Dumbledore," said McGonagall.

Dumbledore said nothing.