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. He had been half-asleep, the last images of his dream burning across his eyelids, but now he was wide awake.

"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. That's, like, eight dreams. The Charm of Night Control, I think it's called"

Harry didn't know what they were talking about — probably because he didn't pay attention in class. Another thing he didn't know — it was a long list — was why Dean was screwing up his face and pressing his finger against his palm. Rather than wasting time wondering what these things meant, he continued with his original train of thought. "I saw a face at the window."

"Not surprising, is it?" asked Dean, now plugging his nose and trying to breathe through it until his face turned purple.

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Yeah, not with all those spies running around," Seamus jumped in. "Hiding in alcoves, under the Gryffindor table ... I mean, what did you expect?"

"Spies?"

"Yeah, everyone knows about them," said Dean, giving up on whatever he was trying to do. He sat up and ignited his wand like he was about to tell a ghost story. "Dumbledore's spies."

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. He recognised her, now that he saw her up close — hollow black eyes, icy blonde hair, an eerily pale face. She was in Ginny's year. 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 apprehensively.

"Um, I work for Dumbledore ..."

"Dumbledore?" So it was true, what Dean and Seamus had said. Dumbledore was spying on him, and with these innocent little kids no less. Sounded an awful lot like the Greater Good.

The girl swallowed. "Oops."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't tell you anything. He cast a Choking Curse on me. Look, I don't want to be a creeper at your window, but he forced me to. I would've gotten expelled otherwise. Can't you understand? I'm sorry. Now let me go. I'll fly away — I've got my Comet 360 right here, though of course it's nothing to your Firebolt — and we can pretend this never happened."

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

"What now? 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 scowled. "You already know."

"Why were you spying on me?"

"Not telling."

"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." No, she didn't. "You Seekers are ... lighter." That was just rude.

Harry watched her fly off to make sure she didn't come back and finish what she had started. He stood there for a long time before heading to the bathroom to wash his face.

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. 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 Ailisa Jackson."

"Who's Ailisa Jackson?" he asked.

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

"She's Ailisa?" 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 Ailisa, so he seized the opportunity gratefully and tucked into some slightly burnt toast.

"Maybe," said Ron, his mouth full, "chee is a quasy shtocker. And dat Dumbeldor ding wos her cover shtory."

"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.

"What do you think of this whole situation?" 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 the stuff. "Of Ailisa?"

"It just reinforces my idea that Dumbledore's up to something," said Harry thoughtfully, spreading jam onto his toast. Raspberry, Dumbledore's favourite. "As for Ailisa ... she was alright. A bit arrogant."

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

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

"You're only saying that because you're jealous," Ron observed.

Harry was getting rather annoyed by being talked about as if he wasn't there. He opened his mouth, but Ron and Ginny were too caught up in their bickering, so instead he focused on cutting his toast and trying not to get jam on the knife. It was a fruitless attempt, but it saved him from the awkwardness of nosing in on Ron and Ginny.

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

"I've never met her," Ron pointed out. "And unlike you, I don't judge a book by its cover."

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

They ate in an awkward silence. Ron and Ginny were glaring daggers at each other and Hermione was staring blankly into her cereal, tears sparkling in her eyes. 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. Perhaps he would get the quick version later.

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 conversing 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. Merlin, he had a lot of wrinkles. What age was he, five hundred? Ginny had swapped back with Faye as Hermione had stopped crying and was now listening attentively to the speech.

"Blah ... blah ... a fresh new day ... blah ... learning ... learning ... pigment ... frogspawn ... blah ... blah ... goodbye."

As you can tell, Harry didn't really care what Dumbledore had to say.

Unless, of course, it was:

"Yes, Harry, whatever you want, Harry. I will stop being a weird creepy old man and spying on you so you can live your life in peace. You deserve your privacy, Harry. Have a happy life, Harry."

Yes.

That would be nice.