The smell of cotton candy mixed with tinny, burned air filled the Potions classroom. All around Paul wands crackled and cauldrons bubbled, some seething with froth. His hadn't yet. He checked the massive tome at the end of their table—Grimoire of Magickal Mixtures, volume II—he was supposed to get froth, but not until step five. He didn't think he was that far behind...

"Forgotten how to read?" Merula asked. Her eyes were pinned to her cauldron. She was assigned to the same work bench, along with Rowan and Tonks at the other of the table. Merula's hair color was burnt orange this week, and her leggings were red today. Midsummer colors. Frothy and sweet-smelling, her cauldron looked perfect.

Paul ignored Merula. He added two drams of essence of shadow, then flicked his wand at his cauldron to give it a tiny jolt of green lightning, like a big carpet shock. His brew turned brilliant gold, pouring out mist, then faded to clear and frothed up to the brim.

"Correct, Finch," professor Snape said over his shoulder.

Paul shuddered. He hoped Snape didn't notice. If the Potions professor wasn't revealed someday to be a ghost in black robes, Paul would be surprised. "Thank you, professor."

"You seemed uncertain," the professor explained. "I felt you should know before you ruined a perfectly good infusion." He moved on, a pale apparition wrapped in black whose footsteps left no sound.

Paul shook his head. Focus. Paul took out a quarter-hour sand timer and started it running. According to the tome, he had to keep it frothing but decrease the heat slowly, until the froth boiled away. Then... add this... enchant that... in any event, he had some time until the next step. He said to Merula, "Met your ex during lunch."

Merula looked up. "Nigel?"

"Are you asking me his name or whether he talked to me?"

"What did he want?"

"He says he's sorry for the way he acted, and he hopes we can hang out together at the Ball." Paul kept most of the sarcasm out of his voice.

Merula's eyes narrowed. "That's absurd! Nigel doesn't know the meaning of the word regret. And I don't want to be anywhere near him."

"Makes sense to me." Merula returned her attention to her potion. Paul continued, "What do you think he wants out of me?"

Merula didn't look up. "Probably messing with you to get on my nerves. Nigel's petty."

"What did you see in him, anyway?"

"Feeling jealous?"

"Call it curiosity. He just doesn't look like your type."

"What do you think is my type?"

Paul shrugged. "Some kind of smart, ruthless rebel."

Merula turned that one over in her head. "Not bad, Finch."

"Well?"

Merula shook her head. "You don't need to know me any better."

Paul turned the heat on his cauldron down a smidgen. He picked up a mortar and pestle and started grinding essence of will-o'-the-wisp into a fine powder. "Y'know, we're going to be spending, what, almost five hours with each other at the Ball." Merula sighed. No, he wasn't giving up that easily. "How do you want to spend the night, then? Dance near each other, but not together? Eat next to each other, but don't look up?"

Merula looked back at her cauldron. She turned a sand timer over, and made a mark on a piece of scroll paper. "You should watch your potion," she said. Then she added, "Don't make this more complicated than it needs to be. We're just doing each other a favor."

"Then let's make it interesting. We give each other our own personal house points for good questions or answers. Whoever has the most at the end of the night at the Ball owes the other one another favor."

"You are so lame."

"You are so boring."

"Finch, we aren't friends. Let's not pretend that we are."

Paul ground harder on the mortar. That one felt personal. That one made it sound like he was begging for her friendship. He wasn't begging for hers; he was offering his. Paul didn't know what he hated more, her disdain now, or the idea of being stuck with five hours of this on the night of the Ball.

The hell with this. He wanted to go, but not this badly. Paul slammed his mortar and pestle down on the work bench.

"Finch!" Snape snapped from across the room. "You will respect your equipment! Ten points from Hufflepuff."

Merula smirked at him. Paul glowered back at her. After Snape looked away, he leaned over and whispered, "Y'know what? Forget it. You can go by yourself. I'll have a better time sitting in my room or lying in a hostel in Hogsmeade. Have fun hanging out with Nigel."

Paul took the jars of essence of shadow and dried will-o'-the-wisp back to the shelves. He breathed slowly, deeply. Why was she so mean all the time? He didn't like missing the Ball, but this had to be better. He sighed. All right, then. He took another deep breath. He checked twice to make sure the ingredients were in the right place, since Snape would dock him more points if they weren't, then came back to the bench. By the time he got there, he was already making plans to cancel the flowers and his tuxedo rental.

Merula was looking at him. He ignored her. "You're serious," she said.

"Yes I am," he said.

"All right." He still ignored her. "I said all right!" she hissed. Paul looked up. "If you're going to hold me hostage about it, here it is. Two years older. Tall, handsome, nice smile. Quidditch rock star. Those were the obvious reasons. And he's ruthless and ambitious, like me." She smiled at the fidgeting that last one generated. Merula paused to check her cauldron. She continued, "He didn't know I existed until I joined the Curse Breaker squad. I thought it might have given me a step up the social ladder. So, why not?" Merula wrinkled her nose, shook her head. "He's not very romantic—"

"You like romance?" Paul was stunned.

"If you tell anyone I said that I'll jam my wand up your nose and flipendo your brain so hard it blows out of both your ears."

Paul gestured zipping his mouth shut. "So, not very romantic..."

"Right. So I met a few more seventh years, but he got angry that I wouldn't teach him any of the spells we're learning as curse breakers. I didn't want to risk getting on Madam Rakepick's bad side. And I wasn't giving up anything without getting something from him first."

"Wow, you really are a romantic, Merula," Paul drawled.

"It's how the world works, Finch."

"Is that why he challenged you to a duel?"

"Not exactly. We were talking about dueling tactics in the common room. Well, I was talking about tactics. He thought talking about it was useless compared to fighting. I pushed it, and he said, 'We'll see who's the better dueler.'" Merula turned down the heat on her cauldron to barely a simmer. She held up her hands and shrugged, a wicked grin on her face.

"Guess you did," Paul said.

"Guess I did."

Paul nodded. "Point to Slytherin. Thanks for answering my question."

"Your turn," Merula said.

"My turn what?"

"You don't get something for nothing, Finch. Tell me what you're most afraid of. And don't tell me it's spiders or You Know Who or any of that other garbage. Let me inside that mushy little brain of yours and tell me what the monster under your bed is."

Paul felt like someone grabbed his heart and turned it to ice. He knew exactly what the answer was. And she knew it. "Cat got your tongue?" she asked. Merula tapped her foot. Her boot sounded more jovial as it slapped the floor this time.

"How do you know I won't lie?" Paul asked, stalling.

"You're you. You'll lie about some things, but this? With your future date? I think you've got more guts than that."

Paul felt like he was a fly standing on the edge of an enchanted web, talking to a beautiful spider. "You'll use it against me some day."

"Probably. Spit it out, already."

"I'm afraid that my worst dreams have come true about Jake. That he became addicted to dark magic, and now he can't get out. Or worse, he's a full-on Death Eater. That he doesn't want to be found, and if... if I ever find him... I won't like what he's become." Paul swallowed. That icy heart that he imagined froze his body all the way out to his toenails.

Merula rolled her eyes. "I can't imagine why you'd think that. I mean, it's not like you've wound up in over your head chasing the Cursed Vaults, put your friends in danger, lied to a professor, or done things you never thought you'd do."

It felt like a punch to the gut. Paul said nothing, because she wasn't wrong. He turned back to his cauldron. His infusion was almost clear; he reduced the flame to nothing. He wished he'd never asked her. For a long minute, there was no sound at their table other than potion mixtures boiling inside tinny cauldrons.

"You've really had dreams about him?" she asked.

Paul looked up, surprised. Merula looked... worried, or something. Paul found that hard to believe. He answered, "Yeah. Yeah, I have. My feet are always buried in the ground and I can't reach him. Why?"

"Nothing." Merula cleared her throat and turned back to their textbook. "We need... pixie dust for the final step."

"I'll get it," Paul said. He smiled slightly as he got up from the bench. It wasn't much, but it felt like they connected.