One scream. Two screams. Somewhere, a woman's shriek was echoing throughout the castle. It woke Emile up with a start, she had fallen asleep in the library. Picking up her bookbag she power walked out of the library, running through the halls as she searched for the locations of the screams. Eventually she found herself pushing through the crowd by the entrance hall.
Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the entrance hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terrified, at something Emile could not see but that seemed to be standing at the foot of the stairs.
"No!" she shrieked. "NO! This cannot be happening. . . . It cannot . . . I refuse to accept it!"
"You didn't realize this was coming?" said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused, and Emile, moving slightly to her right, saw that Trelawney's terrifying vision was nothing other than Professor Umbridge. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?"
"You c-can't!" howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, "you c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"
"It was your home," said Professor Umbridge, enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, onto one of her trunks, "until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us."
But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoyment, as Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backward and forward on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Harry heard a sob to his left and looked around. Lavender and Parvati were both crying silently, their arms around each other. Then he heard footsteps. Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes.
"There, there, Sibyll . . . Calm down. . . . Blow your nose on this. . . . It's not as bad as you think, now. . . . You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts. . . ."
"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. "And your authority for that statement is . . . ?"
"That would be mine," said a deep voice.
The oak front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. Leaving the doors wide behind him, he strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Professor Trelawney sat, tearstained and trembling, upon her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.
"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" said Umbridge with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here" — she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes — "an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."
To Emile's very great surprise, Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid," he went on, with a courteous little bow, "that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."
At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccup was barely hidden.
"No — no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere —"
"No," said Dumbledore sharply. "It is my wish that you remain, Sibyll."
He turned to Professor McGonagall. "Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"
"Of course," said McGonagall. "Up you get, Sibyll. . . ."
Professor Sprout came hurrying forward out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney's other arm. Together they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked, "Locomotor trunks!" and Professor Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.
Professor Umbridge was standing stock-still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly.
"And what," she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried all around the entrance hall, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"
"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."
"You've found — ?" said Umbridge shrilly. "You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twentytwo —"
"— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one," said Dumbledore. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"
He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Emile heard hooves. There was a shocked murmur around the hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even farther backward, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer. Through the mist came a face that made Emile wish she had stayed in Divination: white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes, the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.
"This is Firenze," said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you'll find him suitable."
"Em," Fred pulled her aside as the crowd began to file back inside the castle. "Where have you been hiding?"
"I fell asleep in the library. Why? Did I miss something more exciting than what we just saw?"
"You missed out one hundredth sale, that's what you missed," George grinned as he walked up to them.
"Wow… that's really good," Emile said with a forced smile. She was happy that they were doing well, but with every sale they became more and more dedicated to their joke shop business. One hundred sales was a lot of profit, they could leave whenever they wanted. There wasn't anything keeping them here.
School was slowly getting worse and worse. Along with Quidditch practice and the DA, there was a lot more homework to complete. N.E.W.T.'s were coming closer and closer
They had finally started work on Patronuses, which everybody had been very keen to practice, though as Harry kept reminding them, producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was very different to producing it when confronted by something like a dementor.
"Oh, don't be such a killjoy," said Cho brightly, watching her silvery swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement during their last lesson before Easter. "They're so pretty!"
"They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you," said Harry. "What we really need is a boggart or something; that's how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the boggart was pretending to be a dementor —"
"But that would be really scary!" said Lavender, who was shooting puffs of silver vapor out of the end of her wand. "And I still — can't — do it!" she added angrily.
Neville was having trouble too. His face was screwed up in concentration, but only feeble wisps of silver smoke issued from his wand tip.
"You've got to think of something happy," Harry reminded him.
"I'm trying," said Neville miserably, who was trying so hard his round face was actually shining with sweat.
"Harry, I think I'm doing it!" yelled Seamus, who had been brought along to his first ever D.A. meeting by Dean. "Look — ah — it's gone. . . . But it was definitely something hairy, Harry!"
Hermione's Patronus, a shining silver otter, was gamboling around her.
"They are sort of nice, aren't they?" she said, looking at it fondly.
"Em! Check it out!"
Fred and George were laughing at their patronuses, Fred's a hyena and George's a coyote. The two were running around them in circles, chasing each other until their attention was shifted to Luna's silver bunny, which had just waltzed by.
"Where's yours?" George asked Emile as the coyote ran past her.
"I can't even produce a silver vapor," Emile sighed, attempting a different happy thought as she whisker her wand through the air. "Expecto Patronum!"
A small wisp of smoke, thin as a thread, came out of the end of her wand and then vanished.
"See? I'm terrible," Emile moaned and sat down on the ground.
"No, stand up. You've got the arm movement all wrong," George pulled her up and stood behind her, so close that Emile felt a bit uncomfortable.
George held onto her wand hand as he showed her how to do it. "It's a more extravagant swish, and then a really sharp jab, see?"
Get that boy, Emile.
Shut up.
"Alright, I think I've got it," Emile said as George dropped his hand from her arm, not moving away in the slightest. Cautiously aware of the redhead standing so close that she could feel his breath, Emile swished, flicked, and said as clearly as she could, "Expecto Patronum!"
She covered her eyes as a large ball of silver swirled out of her wand, forming a large creature. It was a large cat, with thick fur and spots.
"What is it?" George asked as they stared at the creature.
"It's a snow leopard," Emile said with a smile, watching it leap into the air and join the hunt for the rabbit, only to be chased away by Ginny's horse.
"Hey, what's Dobby doing here?" Fred said to George, gesturing towards a house elf by Harry's side.
"Harry Potter, sir . . ." squeaked the elf, trembling from head to foot, "Harry Potter, sir . . . Dobby has come to warn you . . . but the house-elves have been warned not to tell . . ."
He ran headfirst at the wall: Harry, who apparently had some experience of Dobby's habits of self-punishment, made to seize him, but Dobby merely bounced off the stone, cushioned by his eight hats. Hermione and a few of the other girls let out squeaks of fear and sympathy.
"What's happened, Dobby?" Harry asked, grabbing the elf's tiny arm and holding him away from anything with which he might seek to hurt himself.
"Harry Potter . . . she . . . she . . ." Dobby hit himself hard on the nose with his free fist: Harry seized that too.
"Who's 'she,' Dobby?"
The elf looked up at him, slightly cross-eyed, and mouthed wordlessly.
"Umbridge?" asked Harry, horrified. Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head off Harry's knees; Harry held him at bay.
"What about her? Dobby — she hasn't found out about this — about us — about the D.A.?"
"Is she coming?" Harry asked quietly.
Dobby let out a howl, and began beating his bare feet hard on the floor. "Yes, Harry Potter, yes!"
Harry stood up and looked around the room, now much darker without the patronuses lighting the air.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Harry bellowed. "RUN!"
They all pelted toward the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people burst through.
"Harry, come on!" shrieked Hermione from the center of the knot of people now fighting to get out.
Emile took George by one arm and Fred by the other. "We can go to the library, pretend we were there all along!"
"Or we can just go back to the common room!" Fred yelled over the noise.
"They'll be expecting that!" Emile yelled as they broke out into the hallway, running down into the library.
"Silence!" Madame Pince hissed from the counter. "We close in ten minutes, hurry up."
"Sorry," Emile whispered as they passed. "Just looking for a charms book."
"Alright, alright," came an impatient response.
"George, we ought to seriously consider leaving now," Fred sighed and leaned against a bookshelf.
"I agree, Fred," George sighed wistfully. "Without the DA there isn't much worth staying at Hogwarts for."
Emile turned and walked away from the two of them. She understood, she wasn't worth their time. She was just a burden.
Why do you need me to be depressed when you do a bangup job of making yourself depressed?
I can't help it.
Can't help what?
Both you and the anxiety.
It's a shame, that your happy thought wants to leave you.
Bartemius, please stop.
Alright, but only because I like you.
Gee, thanks.
If only that had been the worst news that week, perhaps Emile wouldn't have broken down in Astronomy. Not crying, like other times, but simply fainting to the ground. According to Madame Pomfrey she was unconscious for nearly an hour, but Emile had stopped caring.
— by order of —
The Ministry of Magic Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight.
Signed:
Cornelius Fudge
minister of magic
The notices had gone up all over the school overnight, but they did not explain how every single person within the castle seemed to know that Dumbledore had overcome two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister of Magic, and his Junior Assistant to escape.
If that wasn't bad enough, a large majority of Slytherin house had been granted special privileges. As members of Professor Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, they now had the power to dock everyone house points. Gryffindor and ravenclaw, who had that morning been neck to neck, had drastically dwindled in points. The only hourglass that had remained unchanged was the glistening tower of emeralds in Slytherin.
Fred, George, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked up behind Emile, discussing the events of the past few days.
"Morning, Emile," Ron said next to her.
"Hey, Ron," Emile said quietly.
"Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points," said Harry furiously, as they watched several more stones fly upward from the Gryffindor hourglass.
"Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break," said George.
"What do you mean, 'tried'?" said Ron quickly.
"He never managed to get all the words out," said Fred, "due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor."
Hermione looked very shocked.
"But you'll get into terrible trouble!"
"Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him," said Fred coolly. "Anyway . . . we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble anymore."
"Have you ever?" asked Hermione.
" 'Course we have," said George. "Never been expelled, have we?"
"We've always known where to draw the line," said Fred.
"We might have put a toe across it occasionally," said George.
"But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem," said Fred.
"But now?" said Ron tentatively.
"Well, now —" said George.
"— what with Dumbledore gone —" said Fred.
"— we reckon a bit of mayhem —" said George.
"— is exactly what our dear new Head deserves," said Fred.
"You mustn't!" whispered Hermione. "You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!"
"You don't get it, Hermione, do you?" said Fred, smiling at her. "We don't care about staying anymore. We'd walk out right now if we weren't determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So anyway," he checked his watch, "phase one is about to begin. I'd get in the Great Hall for lunch if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can't have had anything to do with it."
"Anything to do with what?" said Hermione anxiously.
"You'll see," said George. "Run along, now."
Fred and George turned away and disappeared in the swelling crowd descending the stairs toward lunch. Emile bade a quick farewell to the others before following them at a safe distance, watching from afar as they snuck into the passage behind the three eyed witch.
"Is everything set up?" Fred's voice echoed dimly up the tunnel.
"It's all set. Whenever you're ready, Fred."
"I'm ready when you are, George."
They jumped out of the tunnel, loaded with wet start fireworks of their own creation. Emile hid behind one of the tapestry's, watching as firework after firework went off. A gigantic sparkly dragon made up of gold and emerald sparks flew by, followed by three more. Shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers. Rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars were ricocheting off the walls. Sparklers were writing swearwords in midair of their own accord. Firecrackers were exploding like mines everywhere Emile looked, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight, or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seemed to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer she watched.
"Hurry, Filch, hurry!" shrieked Umbridge. "They'll be all over the school unless we do something — Stupefy!"
A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow — she ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the painting next door, where a couple of wizards playing cards stood up hastily to make room for her.
"Don't Stun them, Filch!" shouted Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it had been his suggestion.
"Oh this is precious," a voice from behind Emile laughed. She whipped out her wand and spun around, only to find Fred and George watching from behind her.
"You scared me half to death," she grumbled and stuffed her wand back in her pocket.
"And you've been avoiding us," George said from behind his brother, leaning against the wall.
At that moment Harry ran behind the tapestry on George's side.
"Impressive," Harry said quietly, grinning. "Very impressive . . . You'll put Dr. Filibuster out of business, no problem. . . ."
"Cheers," whispered George, wiping tears of laughter from his face. "Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next. . . . They multiply by ten every time you try. . . ."
The fireworks continued to burn and to spread all over the school that afternoon. Though they caused plenty of disruption, particularly the firecrackers, the other teachers did not seem to mind them very much.
"Dear, dear," said Professor Sinistra sardonically, as one of the dragons soared around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhaling flame. "Miss Johnson, would you mind running along to the headmistress and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?"
The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rang and the students were heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, Harry saw, with immense satisfaction, a disheveled and soot-blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick's classroom.
"Thank you so much, Professor!" said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. "I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether I had the authority. . . ."
Beaming, he closed his classroom door in her snarling face.
Fred and George were heroes that night in the Gryffindor common room. Even Hermione fought her way through the excited crowd around them to congratulate them.
"They were wonderful fireworks," she said admiringly.
"Thanks," said George, looking both surprised and pleased. "Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock, we're going to have to start again from scratch now. . . ."
"It was worth it, though," said Fred, who was taking orders from clamoring Gryffindors. "If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it's five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe. . . ."
Emile stood up and left the common room.
You're being very rude.
They're trying to get expelled.
Stop being so salty. Instead of ignoring your friends last days at Hogwarts you ought to be there for them. Make the most of your time with them.
You're so wise.
I know, sometimes I even surprise myself.
The next evening Emile couldn't help but notice that Harry seemed a bit distant. Snape had also turned her away when she showed up for lessons, yelling very rude and uncalled for remarks. It had to have something to do with Harry.
It was well past one in the morning when Emile snuck out of her dorm and into the boy's dormitory, cracking the door open wide enough just to see Harry lying in his bed. Pulling out her wand, she pointed it at his sleeping figure and whispering, "Legilimence."
It was like forcing her way through a whirlpool. There was Cho, crying in a teashop. Sirius laughing. Dumbledore, far off in the distance. And everywhere Emile looked, a large door at the end of a hallway. After what seemed like hours she finally found an image of Harry ducking his head into a pensieve, and went along with it.
He was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, but the four House tables were gone. Instead there were more than a hundred smaller tables, all facing the same way, at each of which sat a student, head bent low, scribbling on a roll of parchment. The only sound was the scratching of quills and the occasional rustle as somebody adjusted their parchment. It was clearly exam time. Sunshine was streaming through the high windows onto the bent heads, which shone chestnut and copper and gold in the bright light.
Snape-the-teenager had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant kept in the dark. His hair was lank and greasy and was flopping onto the table, his hooked nose barely half an inch from the surface of the parchment as he scribbled. Emile watched through Harry's eyes as he moved around behind Snape and read the heading of the examination paper: Defense Against the Dark Arts — Ordinary Wizarding Level.
So Snape had to be fifteen or sixteen, around Harry's age. His hand was flying across the parchment; he had written at least a foot more than his closest neighbors, and yet his writing was minuscule and cramped.
"Five more minutes!"
The voice made Harry jump; turning, he saw the top of Professor Flitwick's head moving between the desks a short distance away. Professor Flitwick was walking past a boy with untidy black hair.
If Emile could she would have sighed in frustration. Harry moved so quickly that, had he been solid, he would have knocked desks flying. Instead he seemed to slide, dreamlike, across two aisles and up a third. The back of the black-haired boy's head drew nearer and nearer. . . . He was straightening up now, putting down his quill, pulling his roll of parchment toward him so as to reread what he had written. . . .
Harry stopped in front of the desk and gazed down at his fifteen-year-old father. Excitement exploded in the pit of his stomach; he looked a lot like him.
Emile felt Harry's astonishment, but she wanted to see more of Snape.
James yawned hugely and rumpled up his hair, making it even messier than it had been. Then, with a glance toward Professor Flitwick, he turned in his seat and grinned at a boy sitting four seats behind him.
With another shock of excitement, Harry (and Emile) saw Sirius give James the thumbs-up. Sirius was lounging in his chair at his ease, tilting it back on two legs. He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James's nor Harry's could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn't seem to have noticed.
And two seats along from this girl — Harry's stomach gave another pleasurable squirm — was Remus Lupin. He looked rather pale and peaky (was the full moon approaching?) and was absorbed in the exam: As he reread his answers he scratched his chin with the end of his quill, frowning slightly.
"Quills down, please!" squeaked Professor Flitwick. "That means you too, Stebbins! Please remain seated while I collect your parchment! Accio!"
More than a hundred rolls of parchment zoomed into the air and into Professor Flitwick's outstretched arms, knocking him backward off his feet. Several people laughed. A couple of students at the front desks got up, took hold of Professor Flitwick beneath the elbows, and lifted him onto his feet again.
"Thank you . . . thank you," panted Professor Flitwick. "Very well, everybody, you're free to go!"
Harry looked down at his father, who had hastily crossed out the L. E. he had been embellishing, jumped to his feet, stuffed his quill and the exam question paper into his bag, which he slung over his back, and stood waiting for Sirius to join him. Harry looked around and glimpsed Snape a short way away, moving between the tables toward the doors into the entrance hall, still absorbed in his own examination paper.
Round-shouldered yet angular, he walked in a twitchy manner that recalled a spider, his oily hair swinging about his face. A gang of chattering girls separated Snape from James and Sirius, and by planting himself in the midst of this group, Harry managed to keep Snape in sight while straining his ears to catch the voices of James and his friends.
"Did you like question ten, Moony?" asked Sirius as they emerged into the entrance hall.
"Loved it," said Lupin briskly. " 'Give five signs that identify the werewolf.' Excellent question."
"D'you think you managed to get all the signs?" said James in tones of mock concern.
"Think I did," said Lupin seriously, as they joined the crowd thronging around the front doors eager to get out into the sunlit grounds. "One: He's sitting on my chair. Two: He's wearing my clothes. Three: His name's Remus Lupin . . ."
A somewhat short, chubby boy was the only one who didn't laugh. "I got the snout shape, the pupils of the eyes, and the tufted tail," he said anxiously, "but I couldn't think what else —"
"How thick are you, Wormtail?" said James impatiently. "You run round with a werewolf once a month —"
"Keep your voice down," implored Lupin.
Harry (and Emile) looked anxiously behind him again. Snape remained close by, still buried in his examination questions; but this was Snape's memory, and Harry was sure that if Snape chose to wander off in a different direction once outside in the grounds, he, Harry, would not be able to follow James any farther.
To his intense relief, however, when James and his three friends strode off down the lawn toward the lake, Snape followed, still poring over the paper and apparently with no fixed idea of where he was going. By jogging a little ahead of him, Harry managed to maintain a close watch on James and the others.
"Well, I thought that paper was a piece of cake," he heard Sirius say. "I'll be surprised if I don't get Outstanding on it at least."
"Me too," said James. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a struggling Golden Snitch.
"Where'd you get that?"
"Nicked it," said James casually.
He started playing with the Snitch, allowing it to fly as much as a foot away and seizing it again; his reflexes were excellent. Wormtail watched him in awe. They stopped in the shade of the very same beech tree on the edge of the lake where Emile often came when there was warmer weather to finish her homework, and threw themselves down on the grass.
Harry looked over his shoulder yet again and saw that Snape had settled himself on the grass in the dense shadows of a clump of bushes. He was as deeply immersed in the O.W.L. paper as ever, which left Harry free to sit down on the grass between the beech and the bushes and watch the foursome under the tree.
The sunlight was dazzling on the smooth surface of the lake, on the bank of which the group of laughing girls who had just left the Great Hall were sitting with shoes and socks off, cooling their feet in the water. Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so. James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom farther and farther away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second.
Wormtail was watching him with his mouth open. Every time James made a particularly difficult catch, Wormtail gasped and applauded. After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn't tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. Harry's father had a habit of rumpling up his hair as though to make sure it did not get too tidy, and also that he kept looking over at the girls by the water's edge.
"Put that away, will you?" said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer. "Before Wormtail wets himself from excitement."
Wormtail turned slightly pink but James grinned.
"If it bothers you," he said, stuffing the Snitch back in his pocket. Harry had the distinct impression that Sirius was the only one for whom James would have stopped showing off.
"I'm bored," said Sirius. "Wish it was full moon."
"You might," said Lupin darkly from behind his book. "We've still got Transfiguration, if you're bored you could test me. . . . Here." He held out his book.
Sirius snorted. "I don't need to look at that rubbish, I know it all."
"This'll liven you up, Padfoot," said James quietly. "Look who it is. . . ."
Sirius's head turned. He had become very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit.
"Excellent," he said softly. "Snivellus."
Harry and Emile turned to see what Sirius was looking at. Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the O.W.L. paper in his bag. As he emerged from the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up. Lupin and Wormtail remained sitting: Lupin was still staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows. Wormtail was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face.
"All right, Snivellus?" said James loudly.
Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack: Dropping his bag, he plunged his hand inside his robes, and his wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, "Expelliarmus!"
Snape's wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.
"Impedimenta!" he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet, halfway through a dive toward his own fallen wand.
Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had gotten to their feet and were edging nearer to watch. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained. Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands up, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water's edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.
"How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" said James.
"I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," said Sirius viciously. "There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word."
Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes.
"You — wait," he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing. "You — wait. . . ."
"Wait for what?" said Sirius coolly. "What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?"
Snape let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but his wand being ten feet away nothing happened.
"Wash out your mouth," said James coldly. "Scourgify!"
Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape's mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him —
"Leave him ALONE!" James and Sirius looked around. James's free hand jumped to his hair again. It was one of the girls from the lake edge.
She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes — Harry's eyes. Harry's mother . . .
"All right, Evans?" said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.
"Leave him alone," Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. "What's he done to you?"
"Well," said James, appearing to deliberate the point, "it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean. . . ."
Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn't, and neither did Lily.
"You think you're funny," she said coldly. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone."
"I will if you go out with me, Evans," said James quickly. "Go on . . . Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."
Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch toward his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.
"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid," said Lily.
"Bad luck, Prongs," said Sirius briskly, turning back to Snape. "OY!"
But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James's face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.
Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter. Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, "Let him down!"
"Certainly," said James and he jerked his wand upward.
Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes, he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius said, "Petrificus Totalus!" and Snape keeled over again at once, rigid as a board.
"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now.
James and Sirius eyed it warily.
"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," said James earnestly.
"Take the curse off him, then!" James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the countercurse.
"There you go," he said, as Snape struggled to his feet again, "you're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus —"
"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"
Lily blinked.
"Fine," she said coolly. "I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus."
"Apologize to Evans!" James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.
"I don't want you to make him apologize," Lily shouted, rounding on James. "You're as bad as he is. . . ."
"What?" yelped James. "I'd NEVER call you a — you-know-what!"
"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK."
She turned on her heel and hurried away.
"Evans!" James shouted after her, "Hey, EVANS!"
But she didn't look back.
"What is it with her?" said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.
"Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate," said Sirius.
"Right," said James, who looked furious now, "right —"
There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside down in the air.
"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"
But whether James really did take off Snape's pants, neither Emile or Harry found out. A hand had closed tight over his upper arm, closed with a pincer like grip. Wincing, Harry looked around to see who had hold of him, and saw, with a thrill of horror, a fully grown, adult-sized Snape standing right beside him, white with rage.
Emile gasped and tumbled backwards, hitting her head on the opposing wall. She sat there for a few minutes, rubbing the back of her head absentmindedly.
Ok, I'll guide you through the facts.
Thank you.
Harry's father was a bullying toerag.
Right.
Snape was bullied for no reason whatsoever.
So now Snape doesn't trust anyone.
But what of the girl, Lily?
What about her?
Don't you think you look like her?
We don't have the same facial structure.
Same eyes, same hair.
My hair is shorter.
Snape mentioned that there was a muggleborn he once had feelings for.
When?
That's not important. What's important is that he mentioned it.
What else did he say about her?
That he moved on and that there were purer women to love.
I don't think he was telling the truth.
Me neither.
