Widows' Walk

by excessivelyperky

Professor Snape's apprentices decide to meet with the teachers they have decided to shadow. It turns out that the teachers who are chosen have their own opinions and reactions to those students.

9. Chapter 9 Shadow Your Mentor Day

I apologize for the long time between chapters being posted—I'm going to be uploading a new novel on Amazon this month and I've been busy with it. However, this is a good, long chapter and I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 9: Shadow Your Mentor Day

Transfiguration

Theodore Nott sat in Professor McGonagall's office trying not to twitch. You never knew where you were with her. Sometimes she was so fair about things he would be stunned, and at other times she was just another Gryffindor. He had no idea which one he would meet today.

"So you wish to challenge the Transfiguration NEWT by becoming an Animagus?" Her face rose from the papers on the desk to him. That green-eyed gaze wasn't anything like Potter's – hers was far more frightening, even compared to Potter ready to hex someone, usually Drake.

He sat up as straight as he could manage. "Yes, professor. You probably know my grades. To be honest, I was inspired by seeing an example of such a thing a couple of years ago." Might as well let it out in the open. Sorry, Drake, but you were asking for it. He was not the only Slytherin amused by the spectacle the ferret had made then. "I would hate for something like that to happen to me, but I began to wonder what kind of animal I would become. I was intrigued by the possibility." He paused slightly, and then continued. "Last year I made the unfortunate choice of going along with Madam Umbridge. I regret that very much, ma'am."

"One hopes you have not made any other such choices, young man," she said, glancing just a bit at his left arm.

Ouch. That hurt, though Professor Snape had assured them that the staff would not pry into some personal choices as long as the apprentices behaved themselves at school. "I have nothing to be ashamed of this year, ma'am." And he didn't. That old tramp had deserved those rounds of Crucio, and he was still proud of the way his House Head had torn the fellow apart. Watching that child being murdered by Mad Bella and Snape sacrificing that woman had been different. But his course was set now, and the best he could do was to protect the others and the Professor if he could.

The old woman nodded grimly, as if she knew how to do it any other way. "Very well, I have some books on the subject, and there will be some potions that you need to brew or asked to have brewed. As we proceed along the stages, you may wish to ask Professor Lupin for assistance."

"Ma'am?"

"Apparently he assisted his friends to become Animagi. He claimed he was able to sniff them and offer some clues as to what animal they were most likely to be. This would tend to speed up the process somewhat, if I recall my own progress correctly."

Nott swallowed. It was also possible that the werewolf might be able to smell the Dark Mark. Well, he would have to take his chances, or ruin the whole plan with everybody else. "Yes, ma'am." He'd wait till Avery talked to Professor Lupin first, though – if the DADA teacher didn't blow his friend's cover, then he would risk it. "Whatever you say, ma'am."

She stared at him intently, as if she suspected him of just sucking up to her. He returned a bland and slightly cheerful face to her. No matter how strict she was, she was not in Mad Bella's or the Dark Lord's league.

"Mr. Nott, have you formed any opinions of what animals your friends might be if they decided to follow you?"

That was easy. "The Professor – a swooping bat, of course. Miss Parkinson – a yapping pug dog. Mr. Malfoy, I believe we've already seen it. Crabbe – a large musk ox. Mr. McNair – something that is very fast, but I'm not sure quite what. The Rosiers, they would have something totally different even though they're twins. Charles, probably a dog of some kind, but I haven't really thought much about his sister." He closed his eyes, trying to think. He'd better not mention Miss Edgecombe, since that might give away too much about the committee. "Zabini – an otter, maybe?" He'd better name someone who wasn't an apprentice. "Miss Bulstrode.…" He tried to think of something nice. "Irish wolfhound, one of the old breed the size of a draft horse?" Nott shook his head. "That's all I can think of for now, ma'am."

Her expression softened a bit. "Well, this might work out after all. Take these books with you, read them, and then return to me to see how we go on. And I really should have asked this first, but what animal do you feel closest to?"

He wasn't caught short – he had already formulated a good answer. "Like a bear? I want to protect those around me. I want to be big and strong…"

She seemed to approve of him for a brief moment. Then she turned back into her normal self. "Don't forget your regular homework, but I would like to see you in a week to find out what you think about what you've read."

He rose, picked up the books, and said, "Yes, professor."

Once back in the Slytherin common room, he looked at the stack of books and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Maybe it was a good idea that Quidditch was almost over till spring. He'd need all the time he could get to read through everything on his plate. Well, it had been his idea.

No time like the present to get started on his regular homework first. He'd talk to the other apprentices on Sunday and find out what they had done so far to shadow the teacher chosen for them. He wasn't against having them make trades, as long as each one had a professor or other instructor to follow. He opened the potions book first. Snape's essay should come first. Even though they weren't doing the Wolfsbane Potion the way the sixth-year students were, they were busy enough in that class. Snape was no fool and knew what was likely to be on the NEWT for that subject.

If he didn't die, of course. Not bit his lip and studied. Maybe he could learn enough to keep the Potions Master alive.

Minerva frowned slightly at her notes. She knew that Nott had some other motive rather than a strong desire to become an Animagus but couldn't decide what it was. It was rare these days that a Slytherin student reached out to her. Granted, her first impulse had been to dismiss the young man, especially since he was on Professor Snape's list. Perhaps she should not blame the students for her own failings. I should treat this as a serious request. But I fear I may be putting a weapon into the hands of the enemy. There are ways to make this process more difficult than it normally is. Perhaps I should test him to find out how determined he is about this.

Then she realized how that sounded. Perhaps Severus was right about her own prejudice.

Care of Magical Creatures

"Hagrid? Need a hand with that?" Crabbe said when he saw the half giant trying to calm down a hippogriff.

"Could use some more feed," the Care of Magical Creatures teacher replied. "In back of the shed there."

Vincent Crabbe went over, filled the barrow with the dried meat, and then put some suet on top. The weather was getting colder, and the huge bird probably felt it.

"Thanks," Hagrid said as he threw the meat and fat into the pen. "Has been a chill in the mornings, probably needs it."

After that, the two of them worked together tending to the other beasts, with little being said other than the occasional grunt or hand gesture. Crabbe was happy not to have to talk much. A lot of the time he never knew what to say, and by the time he thought of something, everyone had moved on to something else. It was easier to have Drake do the talking for… them. Just him, now.

Greg was still gone, most of the time. When the ghost came by to talk, it felt strange not to have Malfoy ordering them around. Vincent hoped Hagrid would think his eyes were wet from being irritated by the dust they raised. After all, some of it was dried crap and it made everyone sneeze, right? But he didn't mind working out here at all. Nott had good ideas sometimes. Making up to a teacher meant having someone on your side if the professor snuffed it.

I wonder if he'll stick around as a ghost to help the Baron? He didn't like the idea of no one glaring at him when he'd screwed up in Potions, again. The few times they'd had someone else in to teach hadn't been the same. This year was so weird. He was glad not to be in Potions at all. The Headmaster pretended he cared about the whole school, but too many people had heard and seen all the extra points given to Gryffindor over the years.

God, it'd been fun being a scout to the Great Pink One! Got a bit of their own back for once… But it'd gone sour after. Snape had told them not to be idiots, that she'd be gone at the end of the year – did they really think the curse was going to stop working just for her? He'd been right, as always.

It been scary last summer, especially the meeting right after Greg died. I should have stayed one more day, no matter what he did with his broom. I'd have been there for him! And then to watch the Professor fall like that. He was happy he'd helped Malfoy and the others that night down in their basement. It had felt really strange to feel his strength run out the way it had, but he was glad it had worked.

Snape hadn't even yelled at them until just recently. Maybe he's getting better, Vince thought. What happens the next time the Dark Lord is pissed off at him? Or lets that horrible woman work him over? I don't blame Drake for being afraid of her. Better his pale arse handed over to the bitch than mine!

He sighed. "Say, Hagrid, what kinds of jobs can you get with animals?" He didn't have problems with them. If you just paid attention, which he tried to tell Malfoy once, things usually worked out.

Hagrid took his time thinking. Well, that was all right. Vince trusted people like that more than the ones who drowned you with words. With Drake, he just waited till he was done, and with the Professor, he just did what he was told.

"I'll be here for years, but I might need an assistant when my joints get stiff, the way giants do when they get older. But that won't be for a long time yet, and my brother'll probably help me then. Lemme think some more on this."

They worked some more. Vince looked up and discovered it was dark already. "Got homework," he said dolefully. "I hate essays."

"Yeah, I remember them. Even here you have to keep logs on who eats how much, if they're sick, and if they need anything special. Snape's good at making the potions for them too. It couldn't hurt if you already know how to make some of the basic ones yourself. You might be working where he isn't, after all."

Vincent nodded. "I have my old notebook. Maybe I ought to make a good copy of the ones I might need."

"Couldn't hurt. I have a list of the ones I use, and I bet the Professor would let you copy down how they're made." Hagrid smiled.

That would make a good excuse to talk to him. They hadn't, really, since a few weeks ago. And… I should talk to him whenever I can.

"Well," he said. He wished he knew a good cleaning spell, but soap and water would work all right. "Need any help tomorrow?"

"Ah, sure," Hagrid said. His face colored a bit. "I know there's lots of work for people who don't mind getting their hands dirty. Magic's all good, but too many just wave their wands and think that's all there is to it. Young Malfoy's a bit like that…"

"He doesn't get away with it these days! Madam Pomfrey keeps him busy with all the fun stuff in the infirmary, but he doesn't whine about it the way he used to." Drake had plenty on his plate, but it was kind of different not hearing about it for half the evening.

"Ha! Good for her, to keep him busy like that. Now Snape, he's always up to his elbows in muck, but maybe too much if it's poisoning him like I heard. A bit of outside work would be good for him, too, if he's up to it." The half giant's face clouded over.

Vince nodded glumly. "See you tomorrow, then."

Nott was right, this was a good idea. And with Hagrid, talking didn't matter so much as doing. He was good at that.

Hagrid sat by his hearth, smoked his pipe, and thought about Crabbe. The poor fellow still missed his old friend, he was sure. He didn't know half of what was going on, but it wasn't in him to turn away a good man. What jobs were there for someone with magical animals other than here? Maybe Crabbe thought to help out his Head of House, lots of potions had stuff from beasts in them. It'd been handy to have the fellow with him today, no doubt about it. Grawp tried to help, but it was still hard for him to understand some things, especially with the smaller animals. And to be honest, his brother was would probably go back home once he got his full growth and could hold his own with the others. He puffed a few rings and considered the matter.

Arithmancy

Jake Macnair fidgeted as he sat in one of the chairs in the Arithmancy classroom. He didn't used to twitch like that, not till he took on that wretched Dark Mark. He should never have listened to his uncle. But Father says that he's the head of the family. I don't remember my father ever listening to him before, but of course this time he did. I wonder if he wears the Mark, too.

I wish I could have told everybody no. He was lucky not to be married to Marietta Edgecombe because his uncle was a rapist. He supposed he should count his blessings.

Numbers help him calm down. At least they had in the past, so here he was.

"You're very likely to earn a NEWT in Arithmancy without a special project, young man," Professor Vector said as she sat at her desk without looking up at him. "Why this anxiety?"

"Things… Things are moving a lot more quickly than I thought they would, professor," Jake said. "I want more skills to help with that."

She sat straight up and looked at him. "Numbers only shadow what happens and what can happen, Mr. Macnair. People are the ones to make it happen. Only rarely can you save a life with predictions. Arithmancy can't actually do as much as I think you believe."

"But working with numbers helps me not to panic and do something really stupid," he argued. If he had thought things through when he'd been ordered to take the Mark, he might have been able to avoid it somehow. But he made the calculation that obedience now would save him trouble and make it more likely he could choose a career that he wanted. Uncle Walden would really love Vince Crabbe, they would both enjoy tramping out in the woods together.

The older woman with gray-shot hair in a short, fluffy style frowned. "I'm sure you're already doing work with numbers and people's names. Everyone does once they learn the basics. You realize that there are some limitations, I hope?"

"Yes, professor," Jake said. "But I want to have influence on events as well, and I fear making things worse."

"Very reasonable," the teacher said. "That involves some derivatives we haven't covered in class, and some we don't till a journeyman level. I shall devise a project for you with the beginning set of an unknown past event and see how you extrapolate. For now, I want you to read this book by Master Selden. He sets up a premise and shows you what the basics of what a regression line looks like. I know you've done this for some individuals, but I would be cautious about having work left around with actual names attached.

"Someone like yourself can easily realize who you are working with by the equations, but you'll need to be able to manage without the written died preliminary work. Certain individuals would find such attempts to decide what their fate is going to be extremely dangerous, mostly for whoever is doing the predictions. It used to bring the death penalty to cast the horoscope of the king. Of course, you'll still need the first stages to begin the work, but I suggest you destroy those portions as soon as you don't need them any more."

Jake agreed. "Yes, professor!" He thought of the papers in his trunk and swallowed hard. He would have to dispose of them, and then remember which equations belonged to each person. He better not put initials on the sheets, either. He accepted the book, but carefully- and wondered if he ought to use dragonhide gloves for this one.

He turned in his homework before he left, though it was early. Better to have everything he could cleared off his plate before he tried to crack his brain over this one. Nott's idea of shadowing teachers was a good one. He was lucky to draw one he was already working with.

Professor Vector made some notes in Macnair's file. It had been a surprise when the boy turned out to have a head for numbers. That must be from his mother's side. She'd never seen any such thing in either older Macnair when they were students here. Of course, the boy had done some analysis on names. All the students did once they made their OWL. She hoped he'd taken her warning to heart. She'd told the Headmaster for years that he was an idiot to sign everything with all his names. He just joked that he enjoyed offering her students a bit of a challenge. It wasn't as if he would take any actual hurt from numerological fun and games, right?

She sighed. Given who else young Macnair might be interested in, it could be interesting to find out if he analyzed that name in both ways. The entire name of that very exciting Dark Lord had supposedly come out a few years ago, though she thought it quite possible the vision Mr. Potter had seen had been a sham, designed to fool the unwary. She should very much like to see the records from the orphanage. Self-designated middle names did have power, but not as much as actual birth names. Plus, the addition of the Jr. could have an effect as well. Of course, all my analyses are in code but I'm sure someone could deduce what I've been up to as well. I think I should destroy some of my intermediary work too, and not just assume nobody could understand it.

It was time she updated the master equation wall again. She walked into a room that led off her office which was heavily warded and had only a comfortable chair and a desk. All the walls were solid black and covered in white chalk, though she'd put varnish over some of the older bits. She hadn't run out of room yet but suspected she would in the next couple of years. Fortunately, she knew where some double-sided blackboards on wheels were stored. Each wall was carefully numbered, so if something happened to her Albus could follow things chronologically, and the portable blackboards would have their sides numbered as well.

She remembered the first time she'd encountered one of the huge sheets of parchment which covered events far into the past—it had been part of her training to correlate the equations with past events, just the way she trained the better students now. Dumbledore's own arithmantical history covered several of them. Some of the equations that dealt with Grindelwald had been helpful when working with their current problem. However, it was abundantly clear that if Riddle was defeated, the conditions for another to arise were still present.

And those won't shift till our beloved Headmaster is gone. Europe changed quite a bit when Grindelwald was defeated, but we didn't budge an inch after Riddle's first loss. If we don't move along once he's gone again, we'll only have another, and another till we do. And how many will end up sacrificed along the way? Albus is finally beginning to see the problem, and he is trying, but old habits die hard. Including my own. I nearly turned Macnair away because I didn't want to place a possible weapon in the wrong hands. But that would only be continuing the pattern. The other side has its own bad habits and having one of their own point them out could mean someone might listen. Our population is lower than it was twenty years ago, and that is not the sign of a thriving society. We should have had a growth bubble in the last ten or so years, and we didn't. The younger classes are only a trifle larger than the older ones, and without the Muggleborn children, they would actually be smaller. Now, I am the last to complain about the freedom that witches have to determine if they'll have children and how many, but even the pureblood ones who are highly motivated to have more than one apparently aren't able to do so. It's like something is poisoning all of our society. I wonder if a Dark Mark in a man is causing trouble that way? It wouldn't be the first time that women get the blame for what the men do!

Vector was surprised Professor Snape had survived thus far, given the breaks in his line this year, but she hadn't fully integrated his apprentices into it. Should I include Mr. Potter among them? He and his friends had their own section, of course, but they had links outward from their triad—to Cedric, now deceased, to Viktor Krum, of all people, to Miss Lovegood, and of course to all the Weasleys, especially with their guardianship and adoption of Harry. Vector was glad that Miss Granger was working on establishing some links with other students for homework when the Gryffindor Quidditch team met. It would be all too easy for her to be isolated again as she was during her first year before the Troll Incident. Minerva watched over her a bit more than she normally did for her students, but that was a low bar. The girl's link to Krum was a weak one, though some of the equations suggested greater compatibility with him than with young Mr. Weasley. Vector frowned. That was a long-term problem, as the Weasleys weren't likely to reject the young woman as long as her association with the youngest boy remained as strong as it currently appeared to be. She hadn't fully integrated Arthur Weasley's departure from the board yet—in fact, she hadn't really expected it.

Ah, random factors, you'll make mock of all my work yet…

Charms

Zabini was happy that Professor Flitwick appeared to be pleased to see him. In fact, the tiny Charms teacher joked, "Are you sure you want to see me? Miss Edgecombe is with Professor Binns right now. If you want to skip out and talk to be me later, I have office hours after dinner today."

Blaise was surprised that Flitwick sometimes had conferences on a Saturday, the way Professor Snape did. "No, sir, right now is fine. I want to work in a project in Charms. There's so much you can do with them that people don't seem to realize."

The professor smiled. "Glad to see you know it. Are you sure your Head of House wants you to spend so much time out of the Pit?"

Zabini was normally annoyed to hear non-Slytherins use the term, but he was sure Flitwick meant nothing by it. "Quidditch is over till spring, and I'll have some extra time. I'm not that interested in potions, though I keep my grades up in it."

"You may not know this yet, but there are many charms that are used in some of the more complicated ones. 'Silly wand waving' is part of brewing at the higher levels. But I can see that you're likely not interested in going that far in Professor Snape's favorite subject."

"No, sir." Blaise shrugged. "Charms are just…they're everywhere, household, commercial…"

"Combat." Flitwick's face turned deadly serious. "Now I need to know how much I should teach you in these parlous times. I will always know more of such things than you will."

The young Slytherin winced. It was a fair question, though. "I am here to learn how to protect my friends, and to protect the Professor, too." I hope the Mark doesn't let Him listen to my thoughts and words. I wonder if I can learn better shields? "Besides, my Nonna would hunt me down and feed me to the banshees if I hurt anyone I shouldn't. She'd call it bad strategy and make me wish I'd never been born." He hoped the tramp he'd tried a Crucio on had deserved it.

The Charms professor nodded solemnly. "You are on a certain list. I hope you understand?" He pulled two books out from a drawer and put them on his desk.

Blaise wasn't surprised. Teachers always talked to each other about problem students, but he'd never been in that category before. He wasn't going to speculate what his Head of House was up to, loyal apprentices knew better than that—but his grandmother had commented on his descriptions of Quidditch with an acerbic comment that she had heard of coaches being recruited by other teams in the middle of the season.

"I don't know how much to tell you," he said. "Perhaps if I talk to you on Sunday, instead?"

Flitwick's expression changed just enough to let Blaise know the message had been received. "Ah, yes." He pulled out a third book and added it to the others.

Zabini thanked him. His new instructor probably knew all the counters for everything that he'd be taught—and that Death Eaters knew them for everything he'd be taught by them. It might be wise to find a third source of knowledge or adapt ordinary charms to extraordinary uses. Even a Jelly-Legs could be exciting at just the right time. "Thank you, sir. Perhaps I could compile all the charms I could find and index them by categories. Or, given the time involved, at least outline such a project and show you how I would go forward with that if I could manage to work on it full-time. I know some are known only by the families. We have some ourselves, and I am certain Nonna has a few that will be passed only to her heir."

"Yes. Such a universal collection has been attempted before, but whoever does it seems to run into a lot of trouble." Flitwick smiled blandly.

"Then I should concentrate on charms in a single area," Blaise said. And then continue my real project when I'm done with that one. "I'll be glad to study these books, sir, but I may decide to choose a subject like Quidditch. We all know there are charms on the Bludgers that can go badly in the wrong hands."

"That's an area that I haven't seen much literature in. The library has collections of charms you might find useful to look at. However, some witches might not care to reveal their specialties if you try to interview them."

"Of course, sir." He had already found the periodical section of the library and planned to comb through it as well. It couldn't hurt to speak to Madam Hooch, either—she might have sources that others here didn't.

"I would like to see your proposal for a collection in that field," Flitwick said. "However, don't limit yourself too much. Some charms are highly effective during play but have also been used in combat—as we all found during the last Slytherin-Hufflepuff game."

Blaise smiled wryly. "I just put up the best Protego I could during that mess. I was glad I landed on some bushes instead of on the ground when the drop spell went out. But if there's a dueling club this year, I wouldn't mind practicing a few others."

"I'm sure I'll be asked to help referee, if any such organization is allowed this year."

Zabini nodded. If the Gryffindors weren't in charge, it wasn't going to happen. "Oh, well, our Quidditch team may still have some strategy sessions during this winter." We might find a way to invite some Puffs and Ravens who are tired of being left out of whatever the Lions are doing this year, too.

"Of course," the Charms professor continued, "There may be some matched duels if the proposal for a Games Night in the Great Hall goes through. This may be a safer venue for attempting new spells."

"That would be good, sir." Blaise still didn't know if their House would be included, though.

"Well, go and read!" Flitwick said. "After you've gone to see Miss Edgecombe, naturally."

Blaise bit his lip. "Yes, sir." It might be a good idea to talk to old Binns. The ghost might recall some old charms that nobody knew any more, and why they weren't used now. Then again, all the ghosts might know things. I should talk to them, even that fop Nick if I can catch him outside of Gryffindor country. I should definitely talk to the Baron.

He left with three books in his hands. He also counted up everything he had on his plate even without Quidditch, and there was a lot. He'd heard the Brain used color coding to sort out her schedule, and maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.

Filius Flitwick made notes in Mr. Zabini's file. He felt a trifle uneasy at putting so many tools in the hands of someone who could use them the wrong way. He was not fooled by the young man's assertion about Quidditch, either, though he would probably see a submission based on it. He snorted to himself at the picture of the Slytherin wading through acres of Witch Weekly magazines, though Miss Edgecombe was likely to assist her friend. It would be good for her to have interaction with others after her sad experience.

I don't blame her for going to Professor Snape for assistance. My usual way of dealing with Gryffindors backfired badly in her case. I failed my duty when I didn't even try to stand up for her even though I knew nothing would happen to the perpetrator. I also failed Miss Lovegood when her own cousins in this House targeted her. I was quite surprised to see her receive help from Miss Edgecombe, given her own troubles.

And yet his tactic of throwing Gryffindors a biscuit and hoping they wandered off had often worked in the past due to their short attention spans. So had his usual practice of allowing his students to manage themselves. He really should have intervened when Miss Lovegood's shoes were stolen, since that could have unpleasant consequences in winter even if she stayed indoors. He was surprised that Poppy had yet to come down on him for that; but then, Madam Pomfrey rarely intervened even in the most egregious examples of mayhem. She'd learned all too well that only Pomona or Severus were interested in such minor matters.

I must take more responsibility.

To that end, he now had files on all his students in Ravenclaw, and not just those in classes with him, the way Snape had with his Slytherins. He didn't understand how Pomona carried hers in her head, but when questioned about any Hufflepuff, she had the name, status and likely future path in her head from decades ago to the present. Apparently, she had a rather large garden in her head, all her students were plants, and even though she had the occasional wish to indulge in a spot of weeding, kept track of them that way. Well, every House had those students.

Flitwick bent to work. He really should have had this system all along. Fortunately, he knew a charm to update their grades automatically. I wish there was a charm to update everything without me having to write the entries down. But would I remember to read them?

History of Magic

Marietta Edgecombe found it soothing to help Professor Binns. They had stopped researching guardianships and she knew why, having read the Prophet herself about Harry Potter's hearing at the Ministry. What sort of guardian would let him be so badly treated? It doesn't make any sense. Everyone knows the Headmaster watches Potter like a hawk. Why let him be knocked around while he's away from here? It doesn't make sense.

She mentioned this to the professor. He shrugged. "My dear, there are many ways of inducing gratitude in a child."

That puzzled her. Wouldn't making sure someone was treated well do that? You would think that leaving Potter to his relatives' mercy would make him unhappy with whoever did that. There were nice Muggles, she knew that much. A couple of Muggleborn students in Ravenclaw had shaken their heads over the story in the Prophet and said they didn't have families like that and didn't know anybody who did. I guess I'm supposed to hate them now, with the Mark on my arm, but that's just stupid. Oh, well, if anyone asks why I still hang around them, I'll say I'm doing research on the opposition. You would think that with Slytherin being the house of cunning, there would be more of them going around being nice to everyone just to dispel all the rumors.

"Miss Edgecombe…" The ghost interrupted her thoughts with a faded dry cough.

She looked up from her book. Was it just her imagination, or did he look more transparent than usual? "Yes, professor?"

"Have you thought about the specialty of Magical Jurisprudence?"

"I didn't know there was one," she said. "The Ministry just sets whatever rules it likes, not just for Harry Potter, but for everyone." What else was new?

The ghost coughed slightly. "True, the recent guardianship was very much an exception. Normally, his situation would have been resolved over several weeks, if not months. However, the danger to all the parties meant speed was of the essence to protect them."

Except for Professor Snape. We all saw what happened to him for losing. Marietta shuddered as she thought of what she'd done that night. Her own life hadn't seemed important then. Zabini had told her not to do it again, but nobody else had stepped up for their House Head. Well, except for the Malfoy Mouth. She'd gagged at what the young Slytherin had done, but Pansy had filled her in on how the Mark could be used.

"So, what are the rules? Does it matter since they can be changed anytime someone in power wants to?"

Binns sighed. "Yes, there are rules. Unfortunately, you are correct about how they're subject to change. Emergency directives tend to linger much longer than they should and become tools for daily use by those in charge. In this case, I believe Minister Fudge made the correct decision. It's clear how the option could be misused in other hands."

She grimaced as she remembered Madam Umbridge. There were others even worse. Mad Bella would just laugh at rules and do what she wanted. Granted, it had been her invocation of an apprentice bond that had probably saved Professor's Snape life, at least for now, but her former mistress could easily have murdered them all. "So how are rules established and enforced? Or does it matter any more when both sides ignore them?"

"That is a problem. However, it would likely take someone who sees what happens when there is no law to fight for something better. Also, some procedures become outdated and must be revised to adjust to changing circumstances. For instance, some laws are applied differently to Muggleborns, half-bloods, and purebloods."

Marietta shuddered. No wonder Granger studied so obsessively—she'd probably run into that fun part of magical life already. Then she imagined the girl as the head of some Ministry bureau and shuddered.

Binns must have noticed that, since he spoke again. "It's not quite what you may think." He appeared more solid than usual for a moment. "Purebloods are assumed to know the laws better, so if they claim they acted from ignorance they will have to prove it. Half-bloods are considered somewhat responsible, but it matters if they were raised in a magical or Muggle household. For instance, Mr. Potter is actually somewhat more than a half-blood since both his parents were magical but grew up in the Muggle world. When he exploded in accidental magic it was simply a matter for the clean-up squad." He wrinkled his ghostly nose. "From what I hear, the Aurors debated about whether to fix her or not…but I digress. When he protected his cousin from Dementors later, it was considered odd that he had a formal hearing instead of the usual quick interview. You may as well know that his privilege has worked against him as well as for him. I should not envy him if I were you."

She muttered something about Gryffindors. I should have known better than to let Cho talk me into anything to do with them in the first place. I wish I'd know about the jinx! A good thing the Umbitch didn't have real Veritaserum, or half the DA would have been scarred.

Binns cleared his throat. "I should not envy that house either. Once the current Headmaster is gone, Professor McGonagall will not be able to stop opinion from turning against them. In fact, I'm surprised Gryffindor's dominance has lasted so long. I once read an interesting paper charting the cycles of the Houses. I wonder if a copy still exists? Neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin should be so prominent by now. The adversary relationship that grew in the later years of Dippet's time in office is not healthy and should not be encouraged. The other Houses are quite right when they try to stay out of it. I fear that sides need to be chosen, though, and I do not think the privileges that most Gryffindors seem to have helps."

I've been treated better by the other Slytherin students and Professor Snape than my own House. Marietta sighed. She'd made a stupid choice anyway and now had to live with it. "Demonizing a house isn't helpful, either," she said boldly.

"No. Unfortunately, the lack of education for Muggleborns about our world and the ghastly state of Muggle studies till just recently for the rest of us is unfortunate. I fear you have only seen the bad side of both factions, though."

"Yes." She remembered Walden Macnair and Mad Bella.

"Studying jurisprudence might be wise, then, since you could be needed after the end of the current conflict to restore some kind of order. The winners tend to presume and set up the conditions for their later fall," Binns said. "You come from a House noted for logic and reason, and thus would be an asset for that endeavor."

"If anyone would listen to me," she said bitterly.

"That is why you need to have the education for it now. If you formally specialize in Magical Jurisprudence and enter upon an approved course of study offered by that department, you may well have better recognition from either side. The Ministry is still part of this war and some of its institutions will survive. You already know how the Ministry should not function, I fear, and how the wrong people bring disgrace on it."

"Oh, yes," she said. She remembered the fear on her mother's face when talking about Umbridge, and why it was so important not to cross the woman. "I hope the right people are in charge of the department I would be working with." Justice! Was there such a thing any more?

"As far as I know, some members of it have chosen sides, but the head of it has not," the spectral professor said. "I would like you to examine other legal systems as well. I have books on several Muggle systems, including the Code Napoleon, along with some volumes on ours. Please don't neglect your normal homework but do try to get through some of them in the next few months. You may wish to take a few home on Christmas break."

She looked them over and wondered if she should even go home this year. There was bound to be a meeting or two, but she could attend them from here as well. She had little to say to her mother these days and had written few letters. I can't stand the idea of being shown off at parties, but then my mother will be involved with my sisters as usual. Still, I'd have to pretend that everything is fine when I still have nightmares. I'm likely to tell her far too much about what's really going on, and that would probably be a bad idea. Maybe I can use this extra work as an excuse to stay.

As if reading her mind, Binns continued. "Miss Edgecombe, I will try to arrange a meeting for you with a living friend of mine. It might be best if you do return home for the break, as she is likely to attend a party your mother will be invited to. I know this may be difficult for you, as I have some idea of your family situation, but if you return home with a great deal to study, you are not likely to be pressured to do much more than that. I will have my elf send you an owl about which event you should attend, and your mother will be notified as well."

She nodded and looked at some of the volumes in the stack Binns had made up for her. Given some of the titles, she was guaranteed being able to go to sleep when she had trouble otherwise. "Yes, Professor." I hope some other people don't have anything to conflict with it!

Marietta picked up the books, almost a Granger-stack, and left the classroom. Blaise Zabini waited for her outside.

"Wow, I thought Flitwick loaded me down. Want a Featherlight Charm on those?"

"Only if you show me how it works," she said. She didn't like depending on others.

"Of course." He was as good as his word. "In fact, you can borrow these Charms books yourself when I'm done. I'll help you with your project if you'll help me on mine. I'm going to put together a collection of charms, mainly Quidditch ones for now, but I'll need a guide if there are any household ones that could be used in that way."

"Ah, the Witch Weekly specials!" She stood up straighter now with less weight in her arms. "Some of them actually work. Mum taught me a few I wished I'd remembered earlier, and sorry, I won't tell you those. There are lots of others the girls pass around in the dorm, though. Too bad I'm in the second NEWT section, though Flitwick is good about duplicating what he does in both of them. And Loo—I mean, Miss Lovegood knows some weird ones, and doesn't mind showing them off. You have to kind of see them." Talking with Luna was fun and made her feel like a normal person—not just in comparison with the other Ravenclaw, but just being a girl. Padma was hopeless since she had to have approval from her twin for anything, while Cho was going mad over being Head Girl, running the Quidditch team, and her study schedule for NEWTs. Some of the others had been sympathetic when they could blame Blaise for everything. Marietta longed to tell them what the real problem was, but she wasn't that insane. Parkinson and Libby Rosier were the only ones who knew the real story, along with Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape.

Blaise knew some of it, too. He'd been good about not trying to touch her and let her be silent without jumping in with talk of his own. She didn't get the feeling that he was impatient about it, either, when most boys thought her being silent meant she was eager to listen in rapt agreement to what they had to say.

She didn't mind being around old Binns, either.

It wasn't really Professor Snape's fault, not really, but watching him kill that Muggle woman had put him in the middle of her nightmares. He'd left a standing order for sleeping potions, but she'd been cutting back on them. With these ghastly legal books, she thought she could get by with even less.

Once they reached the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, she told Blaise about having to answer a riddle from the eagle-shaped door knocker.

The bronze eagle asked, "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

She felt whimsical today. "Because both of them can swim."

The eagle snorted but opened the door. She waved a quick farewell to Blaise and entered.

Professor Binns drifted in the open doorway of his classroom. He doubted any other student would enter. He was tempted to let himself drift, as he always 'woke' for classes, but it was his duty to be present now more than ever. He called for a house elf and began working through the ever-present grading. Odd how only a few ever asked how he managed it. How do the other teachers have time for this when they must sleep or eat? He knew in some cases, like Snape, the sleeping and eating sometimes were curtailed with the effects on the man's health they had learned all too well this last summer. I and the other ghosts should be on night patrol. We can summon help at need—I with my elf Lorri, and the others through the portraits.

He had little need to 'eat' even at the Death-Day dinners, though others like Nick and the Friar were much older and still had a sturdy appetite. I suppose the way I drift is a form of sleep. But I find myself drifting even when I lecture now. He knew most of his students did. Every time he tried to change things, if only to tell them to read the book and find out some of this material for themselves, he was trapped reciting things nobody cared about.

And yet, he was able to speak reasonably to students like Miss Edgecombe, and to people like Professor Snape and Mr. Weasley, as well as to the Headmaster from time to time. Binns drifted up to the head of the room—and suddenly found himself giving a lecture to the empty chamber. Once it was done, he was freed, and he rapidly moved away before he could be trapped again. I wonder what kind of spell that is? And how I can get around it?

He called for his elf and had the chairs rearranged. And yet, when he faced them, he was forced to lecture again. That is intriguing—not locality based, but function based. It must be triggered by my facing all the chairs at once. His elf was surprisingly patient and rearranged the chairs yet again. Binns found he could drift up and down the rows and speak normally—well, for a ghost anyway. I will have to vary my teaching and sometimes lecture the way I usually do, just in case someone is paying attention. I wonder if I should have Professor Snape look over my room for curses? You would think someone would ask him how to break the DADA curse, though the attempt to do so by changing the name of the class might work. We'll find out this spring, though I do hope Professor Lupin doesn't try to eat anyone again. What is the point in having someone expert in the Dark Arts if his expertise is never used?

It was dark now, and no other student was likely to come till classes started again. Miss Edgecombe was the first one in ten years to ask why they had a system of laws when people in power seemed determined to ignore them. And that included Dumbledore, who had assumed the authority of magical guardianship of Harry Potter without fulfilling his responsibilities. Or fulfilling them in the best way to turn the boy into a weapon, Binns thought. He had not been the only one to speculate why the boy had been left with the Dursleys for so long.

We do have laws, but neither side seems to care about them. He feared that Miss Edgecombe knew more than she cared for about their enemy, while she was already well acquainted with the Gryffindor version of justice.

Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick had long given up doing anything about Gryffindor supremacy, but their students hadn't. Then again, once Mr. Potter and his friends had been given so many points during their first Leaving Feast, the Slytherins had given up as well.

That's why I warned Albus that a public vote over the guardianship wasn't going to be what he wanted. Too many of us are sick of both sides. If Riddle hadn't resorted to terror, it would be much more difficult for the Light side to argue their superiority. Not that my old friend would ever take this chance to posture as a Great Hero again! Sadly, he's just as reluctant as he was the last time to take action to resolve the whole mess, only this time he has a child of prophecy to hide behind. This should not be a three-front war!

He'd had this conversation with Dumbledore before. It was a pity that Snape almost died, but that was the only thing that had gained his friend's divided attention before it was too late. At least now Albus had finally designated Minerva as his second-in-command with full knowledge—Binns hoped—of all that was going on.

He withdrew from his thoughts back to the outside world. I need to move out of this classroom more. I am fading, and it's too soon. I yet have much to do, if only I knew what it was.

Then another shade, one holding a huge Beater club, drifted into his room. The ghostly professor recognized him from the day of the table ritual for Professor Snape. "Mr. Goyle?"

"Er, yes, sir," the fairly new ghost said. "I'm not used to being up all night, and I thought I could catch a nap here."

Binns nearly laughed. "You probably can. Perhaps I should assign you an essay?"

Goyle laughed. "But how would I write it?"

"I have an elf whose hand is likely much better than yours. But I'm tired of just lecturing. I almost fall asleep then, too. Why don't we both go over here to this corner? If there's something you would like to know, I can just tell you."

The younger ghost's face brightened. "Could you say it easier than the book? Half the time Drake has to tell me out loud what's in it."

"Certainly. I'm just as tired of goblins as you are, though…" Binns felt more awake than he had in a long time.

"Well, why do we fight the Gryffindors all the time? And why do they always win?"

"That will take a long time, Mr. Goyle. It all began with the Founders…the books say it wasn't a fight over women, but you know, there are people who wonder about that. You do remember we had four Founders, right?" He wanted to know just where to start.

"Yes, sir," Goyle said meekly. He seemed interested rather than bored.

Binns began talking about them and gave some details that had never made into Hogwarts, A History. After all, that was supposed to be a book for the students and so left out a few things like the real reason for Salazar Slytherin having to leave…

Now, this was teaching!

Defense Against the Dark Arts

Josh Avery waited anxiously as the parade of Gryffindors, along with a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, went in and out of Professor Lupin's door. The teacher's office hours were supposedly for everyone in the class, but Josh hadn't seen any fellow Snakes in the line. He hung back in the shadows when a few sneered at him, but he had to know what was going to happen to his dad!

At last, he was the only one. He knocked on the door.

"Please come in," said the weary voice of the professor.

Josh almost turned around. Everyone knew Gryffindors stuck to their own—if it wasn't for the House Heads, all the staff would be Gryffindor if the Headmaster had his way. He'd come this far, though. He walked into the room.

"And you are…" Professor Lupin asked.

"Joshua Avery, sir." He inched towards the front desk. "I'm in the class for older non-NEWT students."

"Please sit down." The older man gestured at a chair. "Mind if I take a moment to find your file?"

"Yes, sir." His heart sank, though he did as he was told. As soon as the teacher found out what House he was in, he was sure he'd be dismissed.

Lupin dug through a box with folders in it and pulled one out. He flipped through the papers in it. "You're doing well. Are you sure you don't want to try for a NEWT in it?"

That was a surprise. "I'm having trouble in the ones I'm already working for NEWTs, and I was told I should concentrate on them. But I wanted to talk about something else, if that's all right."

The teacher put the folder down. "Facing a Boggart is hard, but the whole class doesn't see it now. You managed your Riddikulus fairly well, at least that's what my notes say."

"No, that part's all right." Josh was happy that nobody had seen him turn his dad in a drunken rage into a clown with a sheep's head on a unicycle. "But what I really want to know is what it's like being a werewolf. I just got a letter from my dad that he shifted this last week. I don't know where he is, honest!"

"Oh." The professor swallowed. "I see. Well, I offer counseling for newly made werewolves at St. Mungo's during dark of the moon. I expect half the people I see use glamours or even Polyjuice, so I'm sure he wouldn't stand out. I have a card that you may be able to send him with the times and room number I use."

He offered a pasteboard that Josh took. I'll have to send it back with my letter to Mum and hope nobody from the Ministry is watching the owls too hard the way they were last year. She swears Da isn't home, and the Aurors have come by twice to check, so he probably is hiding somewhere else. I hope nobody is laying for him at the hospital, though.

"Thank you, sir! Um…is there anything I can help with before or after you change? It's only fair…" Slytherins always paid their debts. Professor Snape rammed that lesson home from the day they were Sorted there. "Or I could do extra work in class and still go for the NEWT. I mean, people can take the test if you sign off on it, right?"

"Yes, that's quite right. Every year there are a few who demonstrate to ah, whoever, that they wish to try for that NEWT and they're usually allowed. I may even be there for it, since my contract says I teach Devastatingly Active Dance Athletics." Professor Lupin offered a small smile.

Josh sniggered. It was worth a try to avoid the curse, and he hoped it work. So far he'd done all right in this class. He was lucky he'd looked too stupid for the Pink One to choose for her Inquisitorial Squad. At least some of us listened when the Professor said what idiots we'd be for painting ourselves as targets when she was gone. I was lucky and was down with a cold when Malfoy came recruiting. Then he remembered where he was. "Sir? What should I study more than what's in the book I have?"

"I have a list of books you should be able to find in the library, especially this early in the year before the seventh-years borrow all of them. I expect you may find some of them a trifle difficult, but there are other students in your House who are taking the sixth-year NEWT class who could prove helpful. If you are brave enough to ask about your father, then I expect you are resourceful enough to find the help you need. I'm sure you could offer assistance with the classes you're good at."

He nodded. Every house made swaps and deals that way, though he heard the 'Puffs actually had a board with a list of chores to make it easier. Let's see how helpful Malfoy feels these days. He only has Crabbe to drag through classes, and not Goyle, but he's doing all those detentions in the infirmary. I bet if I cleaned some of those bedpans, he'd come up sweet on any help I needed with Defense.

Josh took the list, thanked the teacher, and left. I hope Professor Snape can make enough of the potion for Dad, too. And maybe Dad will learn something at those sessions. He said in his letter that Greyback seemed really interested in him, but he didn't want to stop being a wizard and be part of that pack. 'A bunch of wankers with nothing on their minds but turning Muggles' is what he said. I hope Dad can find something else to do.

Well, part of the Defense NEWT was knowing about Dark Creatures the way they'd worked on in third year. He still had the book somewhere.

Remus Lupin put his head in his hands and sighed. He still remembered the hot taste of the blood when he'd bitten the boy's father. It had been wonderful. And now he had at least one 'cub' to his name. He'd enjoyed himself as much as Fenrir probably had turning him, even with the potion to keep some of his humanity with him.

Now Snape would always have to make extra Wolfsbane, since he would likely soon be under orders from the other side. I was lucky there was some left over from last time this full moon, with Snape otherwise occupied. I should do something to help that sixth-year class who is learning the potion, but what?

Once again, he faced the fact that he was a taker who rarely returned the gifts given him. He'd lived off the patrimony of his parents but had rarely tried looking for any other way to support himself, even though some occupations in the Muggle world required little or no documentation. He took some pride in selling some of his Quidditch analyses to the Prophet and had thought perhaps of collecting some of them into a book, but somehow had never found time to do so—even though before this autumn, he'd had months of time without even Sirius to look after. And yes, I sponged off both James and Sirius, though neither one ever seemed to resent it, and indeed, assured me I was no trouble. Granted, some days I earned my support by keeping Sirius from killing himself or others. Watching him wore me down. But even before Harry went to Hogwarts, I had years of leisure, even at a poverty level. I suppose it doesn't help that I'm exhausted after every transformation, but I recover in just a few days. I see Snape struggling to keep up his schedule while still on those ghastly potions…

Perhaps I've been helped too much. I've grown used to being rescued by my friends for so long, that when I was on my own, I didn't know what to do but to scrape by each month, with just barely enough to get by. And yet I wasn't faced with having to work or starve until my inheritance ran out, and by that time, I was in the Order. I was either trying to spy on the werewolves—and shaking in horror at how uncivilized they were—or as a guest of some Order member. Teaching here was wonderful, really; I could eat my fill and feel I was earning my keep. But it was my fault I lost that. I was lucky Dumbledore found a way for me to survive Harry's fourth year before Sirius inherited Grimmauld Place.

Now, that seemed like a soft billet, but it wasn't, really—it was only when Sirius was passed out drunk or asleep that I could relax, and even then, I needed to make sure I was awake when he was. It was relief when Mrs. Weasley was there, and the two of them fought. She can handle herself. And the one time I was busy elsewhere, Sirius and Snape nearly came to blows, and it was Harry who intervened, not me.

Oh, Merlin, I miss my friend! But not as much as I should. It was such a relief when I didn't have to keep watch on him. I should have stopped him from going to the Ministry. At least I was there to fight by his side. I should have been right there to stop Bellatrix from shoving him into the Death Curtain.

That was guilt he might never get over. Guilt had paralyzed him for most of last summer, too. Fortunately, he'd been able to come back here, though not without some promises to Dumbledore about taking his potion and about alerting the Headmaster to any problems at the school. If Sirius had truly been a mass murderer, blood would have been on his own hands, too.

Remus glanced down at the student's file. I should have encouraged Mr. Avery to be in the NEWT class this year. He checked his roster. No, I only have one Slytherin in the seventh year NEWT class, and I didn't feel right about having even her in it. I suppose I have been clear about my own prejudices. For all I know, there are those with the Dark Mark in other Houses. I know that there are some students with it this year, I've been able to overhear that much, but nobody's given me any names.

Probably for good reason.

He began making notes, if only to up his game in the classes where he did have Slytherins. They probably aren't very surprised. If I'm here next year, I expect I should sign off on any of them who feel able to take the test.

Funny how Dumbledore didn't seem to notice the way I set up my classes. Or perhaps he did and approves of it. I'm also surprised Snape hasn't protested yet—this is something he would normally make a fuss over.

Unless he's decided there's no point after all these years.

He also made notes about his counseling sessions. He'd rather liked being the alpha of the pack during the attempted breakout at Azkaban. Could he be the alpha of this pack during other transformations? Was there a place where they could meet and run together just once a month?

Then he grinned. Wouldn't it be fun if his pack could include the elder Mr. Avery? He suspected that most of the werewolves he knew were perfectly happy with having real lives during the rest of the month and wouldn't care for grubbing in the woods full time. If there was a way to put proper wards around the Forbidden Forest during the full moon, and if all of them received a small portion of the potion, then all of them would recover faster, the way he had himself after that little excursion to the north.

Ah, yes, he'd forgotten something. He made notes about all of them doing a whip-round to pay for more ingredients and a bit of something extra to the brewer.

Time to stop being a taker.

Muggle Studies

"I'm so bored!" Pansy Parkinson said out loud, though the common room was empty except for a couple of first years. They looked apprehensive—good for them!—till she looked down at her empty diary again.

She had a lighter load than she'd expected this year. How did I fail my Potions OWL? The questions on the test weren't that hard, and my Patience Potion was the right color. Maybe the Professor didn't want me killing Draco in class, or making kissy-faces at him, either. I should really ask him about it, but I'm sure he has enough on his plate without my complaints. She hadn't had any other classes lined up to replace it, either. She was ready to sign up for Ancient Rune at this point, though she hadn't done the OWL for it. The non-NEWT class had just younger people in it, and she didn't want to look like a duffer a couple of years behind everyone else.

She almost wished she had done it anyway. Then again, Nott's Bowing Down to Teachers plan meant she had to go to Trelawney, of all people. At least she wasn't teaching Divination this year and wasn't hitting the sherry the way she had in previous years. Besides, I managed Madam Kitten Plates and that wasn't fun either. At least with Madam Lestrange, you know she wants to kill you and no guessing about that. With Umbridge, you had to pretend she was reasonable no what nonsense she spewed.

Pansy looked at her homework. It was all done. Everyone else was busy either falling over their designated teacher or deep in Quidditch strategy. There wouldn't be anything else till tomorrow. Well, time to pretend she cared about Muggle Studies. Why they even existed, she had no idea. Apparently, they bred like vermin, and there was no chance of exterminating them all. So we have to hide from them instead of the other way around. Oh, the Ministry calls the Statute of Secrecy a way to protect the poor, helpless dears—but if there's so many of them, the shoe's on the other foot. Then, again, this is the Ministry we're talking about.

She sighed and stood up. The first years gave her a quick glance but bent back to their essays as soon as it was clear she was going to leave and not haze them. She counted over the remaining teachers in case this one didn't pan out. Libby Rosier had bagged Sprout, who would likely believe any tale of woe. Her brother had claimed Hooch. That was only fair since he was running numbers for Drake this year on the team, she supposed. I'll cart a case of sherry to the Fraud before I try to make up to Filch! Even if she did predict a gory death for me that one year. True, that horrible old man knows the castle in and out, but…no. Just no.

Pansy decided to try Trelawney anyway. She hoped the woman had office hours today, but sort of hoped she didn't, really. She also took a pre-written note in case the door was closed, if only so she could tell Nott she'd tried.

She discovered to her sorrow that the former Divination professor was in and having a bit of a chat with one of the Muggleborn students who was pointing out some of the errors in the textbook. A good thing Granger's not here, I'd end up with a half hour lecture about why she should be the one teaching it. Pansy sniggered under her breath. From what she'd heard, none of the other teachers for Muggle studies had a clue about the subject. Maybe Trelawney was teaching the class by extracting the information she needed from students who knew it better.

That was still better than going by the book, or so she'd heard. Considering some of it was supposedly written by the late Arthur Weasley, it was no surprise it was a joke. Maybe Mystic Sybil wasn't stupid when she wasn't drunk?

It was her turn all too soon. She was thrilled not to be assaulted by incense as she went into the room. No sherry fumes, either. She hardly recognized the woman except for the owl-like spectacles.

"Professor Trelawney," Pansy said. "I have extra time this year. I didn't make one of the OWLs I planned on, so I have a hole in my schedule. The Muggle Studies class fits into it. I know, it's terribly late, but I'll work hard over Christmas break and catch up as much as possible." My family will laugh themselves sick, but we all have to make sacrifices, I suppose.

Trelawney stared at her as if she'd grown a hump, or perhaps a third eye. "This is most unexpected," she said.

It is to me, too. "I do have a hole in my schedule, and this is the only class I have a chance of catching up on at this late date. I don't want to be the oldest person in Ancient Runes or play with Lethal Equations and How to Die From Them-I mean, Arithmancy, without having been there since the beginning of the year."

"Muggle Studies will take more time than you think, Miss…um…"

"Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson," she said. "I was in third year Divination, but you probably don't remember me from there." I hope she doesn't. I spent more time flirting with Draco than paying attention and made up anything I could think of whenever I was called on.

"Wait a minute," Trelawney said. She went to a cabinet behind her desk and rummaged around. A cloud of dust exploded out of one drawer and the teacher pulled out a bit of paper. "I made some notes back then," she said as she sat down. "Over a quarter of your guesses turned out to be valid."

Pansy shrugged. "I have to admit, I wasn't really trying." Then again, nobody really had except for one of the Gryffindors—Brown? Anyway, that girl was glued to the Pony these days.

"No, a quarter is good. Trying doesn't help at all. The youngest Mr. Weasley came in at forty percent, and I know how much he was goofing off, too. You should probably have a talk with Firenze rather than with me. I know Mr. Weasley won't, but since he's captain of his team this year, his plate is rather full."

Oh, hell no! If the centaur can see things as well as they say, I have something on my arm that he'll spot even with the cream on it. "I hate to look like an attention-seeker," she said, though she knew what her reputation was for it. "Besides, it's time I paid attention to the Muggle world. I really know nothing about it, except for rumors." Zabini probably knows a lot more, but nobody's bothered him about it after our first year. His family taught him some wicked charms before he even showed up here.

"Well, I won't inflict the official textbook on you, it's ghastly. I have no idea who wrote it, but the author should be stranded in St. Paul's Square without a wand."

That didn't sound like a good thing. Pansy realized that she had been to very few places in her life, outside of home, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade—even Mum had warned her off Knockturn. Was all of Britain outside of those areas Muggle?

She was handed a book and told to read before she left for Christmas break. It was heavy, and she hoped it had a lot of pictures. I know what I'll do, she thought. I'll disguise the cover, but I'll also talk about this at our 'strategy session' tomorrow. Nott will probably check up on us to make sure we're following orders. And if something sounds too strange, I'll check with Zabini. He'll tell me if someone is having fun with me before I embarrass myself.

"At least skim through it before you leave here for the holidays," Trelawney said. "I'm planning a short excursion during Easter break. You'll be expected to attend classes starting next week. You won't pick up much but do take notes. I understand you'll be the only Slytherin there, but we all have a weary load, don't we? I'm sure you'll come up with some way to explain yourself. You may wish to speak to someone who's Muggleborn about proper dress. If you're good at Transfiguration, you may not have to purchase anything. I have photos of contemporary clothing worn by girls your age if you need to see them."

Pansy was always intrigued by fashion. "Thank you," she said, and left. Once out of the office, she changed the cover of the book. Once people found out, she would be ragged over her new study, but she could always phrase it as knowing the enemy. It would be quite silly to try to conquer people you knew nothing about.

Sybil Trelawney sighed. She remembered Miss Parkinson rather better than she'd let on. If the stupid bint would pay more attention to her schoolwork than her hair or mooning over Mr. Malfoy, she could make something of herself.

She shuddered with a chill. It didn't take the Sight to know that students of any age were in deadly peril now and had been for years. My grandmother was Cassandra, and nobody believed her, either. Till it was too late. Albus knows I'm right but chooses to pretend that nothing's wrong. He woke up a little bit when Snape nearly died, but it won't take long till he's playing Father Christmas again.

Then again, perhaps it was just as well that Miss Parkinson or Mr. Weasley had chosen other paths. The boy's success at being Keeper was clearly aided by his ability to take advantage of those instinctive flashes. A really good chess player could reach into the future, if only for a few plays ahead.

If only I knew enough to save their lives. Instead, she took a quick break and drank her new potion. Snape didn't have time to brew it, but the Swiss had developed one to suppress the Inner Eye. It tasted much worse than the sherry had, and she still needed to meditate to find an even keel for her moods. Yet it was better than reeling from pillar to post while being flooded with visions of horror to come.

Once she felt a bit better, she outlined her plans for the outing. Tickets for a Muggle cinema were relatively cheap but finding one where she could offer comments throughout the film might be a trifle more difficult. With luck, she could find a small theater which ran old movies that might be receptive to her needs. Perhaps a comedy, with a bit of music? Since she would have only older students with her, maybe something slightly raunchy to hold their attention. The age of the film would likely help. I'll have to research the film, especially if it's from the States. There will be more differences between Hogwarts and their schools than Muggle British ones, too.

She smiled. If nothing else, the outing would be enjoyable even with her lecture.

The Infirmary

Draco inspected the bedpans and was delighted to see all of them clean. People tended to come down with colds and other lung complaints this time of year. He shuddered to think what he was likely to face just after the Christmas Feast, though most of those problems were from the top end rather than the bottom. I'm sure the Weasley twins will come up with something to fix that as soon as they hear I'm in charge of cleanup, he thought. I should really be helping Rosier with stats for the team instead of up here, but I'm sure he'll let me know if he's in too deep. That new grid system that matches scores with games and names is a little complicated.

Madam Pomfrey came in. "Mr. Malfoy, how did you draw detention this time?"

"I didn't, actually," he said with a laugh. "I thought I should just come up here and avoid the rush. May I count this one against my tab for the next time?"

"Probably not," she said with a chuckle of her own. "How many do we have tonight?"

"Only four. One's a first-year survivor of Greenhouse Five, two are a couple of third year students who dueled after reading ahead in Transfiguration. I would like to see how you deal with them, please. The last is a seventh year with a really bad cold. I would normally just hand out some Pepper-Up, but I know you like to do a full diagnosis just to find any little surprises." Draco was quite interested as to how the two third years managed their conjoined limbs, and how to resolve it. One never knew what might happen at a meeting. "They're all still breathing," he added.

"That's always good to know, Mr. Malfoy," the mediwitch said. She addressed him formally in presence of others, but by his first name some of the time when they were alone. Draco felt warm whenever she did.

Madam Pomfrey dealt with the swelling allergy first, which took only a minute, and then diagnosed the seventh year with a bad cold and with a throat going septic nearly as quickly. Then she turned to Draco. "Now, it may seem odd I dealt with the minor problems first. However, this way they need not suffer while I manage something more complicated." She then questioned the pair about which spells they'd used on each other. Draco took notes. One never knew if a person might want this effect. Who knew that a Jelly-Legs combined with mutual attempts to Transfigure the other into a ferret—why was it always a ferret?—could have this result?

Then he watched intently as the mediwitch undid the damage with extreme care and took notes on that, too. If they had some extra time, he would go over them and ask Madam Pomfrey about what underlying principles were involved, if any. Professor Snape sometimes asked them in Potions to look at what they did instead of just following the instructions. Were there other effects if a person tried other spells in conjunction with transfiguration? Wait a minute, I can shove this one off on Nott—he's got McTabby for his mentor. I bet she hasn't heard that kind of question very often.

Once done, the healer sat down. She was clearly exhausted, so Draco brought tea out for everyone, and then he sent the students back to their common rooms—well, except for the one with the bad cold, who would just give it to everyone in her dorm. She also needed to sleep right now and would have a better chance of not being interrupted here.

He realized he hadn't bothered to identify Houses, though he could if he'd wanted to. None of the patients had seen him as the Evil Slytherin, either. That was nice. He used to enjoy the gloating routine, but it had lost its charm after he'd seen the real thing this last summer and autumn. Even Muggles were people…it was ghastly what had happened to the one the Professor had killed, never mind the small child who'd been a stand-in for Potter.

I'll have to manage a meeting with Potter sometime before the Christmas break. I should send a card to him, at least, as well as the two others. Even Father would agree that the forms should be obeyed. Well, perhaps not to the sister, that might be presuming. Perhaps Mother should do the cards to all three? I'll just have to be decent to Weasley at the next captains' meeting.

Draco felt satisfied at his growing list of accomplishments in this infirmary. He didn't see much he could do for now. However, Madam Pomfrey still looked worn out, so he sent for something to eat from one of the house elves and asked if she'd like a nap after. He had brought his homework up here already, and so could work on it during slack times. Besides, it would put him a bit ahead of the team and apprentices meeting tomorrow. Slytherins borrow ideas from promising rocks, so what if the Gryffindors came up with it first?

The next two hours were quiet indeed. His mentor napped in her favorite soft, wide chair and looked happy knowing that someone would wake her for an emergency. Saturdays normally were quiet if no Quidditch was being played or basilisks were slain.

Once Madam Pomfrey awoke, he thought of something. "When and if there is a Games Night in the Great Hall, would it be all right if I attended for quick fixups? Or even help bring someone in? Or would you rather that I stayed here, so you can watch the games yourself."

The older woman looked startled. "I wondered how I would manage that," she said. "Professor Snape is also good with emergencies and with triage, but he has enough on his plate. Also, you might not be available some of the time yourself."

Draco winced—he hadn't thought of that.

Pomfrey continued. "The other two House Heads are quick thinking as well. However, if you're able to attend, you could bring someone up here if you can't manage. I'll need to show you the stretcher spell for that."

He nodded. He'd heard a rumor a few years back about someone being banged around by a careless Gryffindor because the levitation spell was bungled. The mediwitch showed him the spell and demonstrated it on him. Then she conjured up a large, soft cushion so Draco could practice it on her.

"Would it be all right if I taught some of my friends this one?" he asked, once he'd finally mastered it. Fortunately, his test subject seemed all right after having landed on the cushion a few times.

"Yes, this is one spell I wished was taught in classes here," she said. "Can you see how it might be misused, though?"

Draco thought about it. "It's almost as good as an Incarcerous for immobilizing someone. Whoever is in the stretcher is pretty helpless since it's designed to keep people from falling out. Still, they're also protected in ways that someone tied up with ropes isn't."

"A good point, young man. I suggest you and your friends be quite cautious, though. Feel free to teach anybody the basic first aid and diagnostic spells. They're quite harmless compared to some of the things you're learning in class. I am a little surprised I wasn't called on to demonstrate such things to the other group last year. If yours wants a training session, I could be persuaded."

Draco was astounded. "Thank you! I must admit, it's really too bad you don't have an assistant so you could teach classes more often."

They both sat down for more tea. "I could do worse than the one I'm looking at right now." Pomfrey smiled at him.

He was speechless. He continued to be so when she gave him a pile of books to read. "Let me know after Christmas break if you really wish to continue on this path. Of course, you'll have to talk to your family about it. And possibly," she added with a sniff, "other people, too."

Draco found his voice then and thanked her effusively. Once she dismissed him for the night, he took them all with him. As he went back down to the dungeons, he wanted to shake his head. Didn't anybody realize that healing could change the course of a battle? Of course, he hadn't thought much about it himself till he'd heard that having a healer right there in the battle to cure combatants could help. He was astounded that the firstie had heard it from her Muggleborn friend, but again, Slytherins borrowed good ideas when they found them.

The common room was quiet—the usual gamblers were in their favorite cubicle in the boys' loo, while the drinkers were in the seventh-year dorm. He really hoped that Pansy wasn't organizing all the girls to jump him but knew a nice healer if that happened. He went up to his dorm and set up for a night of reading. If I do train at St. Mungo's, I won't get any sleep except in snatches. I might as well enjoy being a night owl while I can.

Madam Pomfrey watched the seventh-year student sleep while she went through files. I daresay I would be told not to train people we might face in battle in the healing arts if I mentioned it to anyone. So I won't. Young Malfoy is coming along much better than I thought he would. I must admit, I wasn't surprised to learn he's been weeding out the hypochondriacs. He should know what they look like! Still, some of the best healers are babies when it comes to themselves. A little petting and putting his hair in papers has slowed down his complaints immensely. A flash of Mr. Lockhart in curlers nearly started her on a fit of the giggles. I do wish the boy would havve let himself be treated for the Crucio shakes even though I was gone. He's learning some of the wrong lessons from Severus, I fear.

Oh, dear, they are all my children, no matter what's on their arms. I took the oath to heal all who came before me, no matter who.

Poppy checked her to-do list and decided she would look in on Severus tomorrow. He'd managed Arthur Weasley's death and his own injuries better than she thought he would, but he'd fooled her before now. She rather looked forward to training students in basic healing spells. If nothing else, she'd correct any mistakes young Malfoy made in transmitting his own knowledge. The more people who knew what they were doing, the better. I also have to see what the house elves can do. At least they can hold a compress on a wound, and perhaps some fine stitching. Molly told me of the job they did on Arthur, and it sounded almost criminal. I'll talk to Winky first. She cared for her bad Barty for years, and for Alastor for almost a year while he was trapped in that trunk.

She thought about Miss Granger. The young witch was interested in learning what she could, but as ever was spreading herself too thin without the normal good health that had allowed her to do so in the past. She really shouldn't expose herself to brewing the Wolfsbane potion till this coming spring at the earliest, but good luck with that. Perhaps it's just as well that the next one will be Christmas Eve. But that throws the whole burden back on Severus and will undoubtedly means he'll be too exhausted for Christmas. I'm sure I'll hear from Remus about that as well. At least he'll eat well at the staff dinner. I wonder how far ahead it can be brewed? If Severus needs to be at the clinic for another expulsion phase, he'll miss Christmas anyway. Remus used a bit of last month's potion that had been kept in a cool room. I'll have to ask him how well it worked.

I should check over Albus, too. I never saw anyone thrive on sugar the way he does. I'lneed to find time to see Harry and the two Weasley children in private. Mr. Weasley seemed to be bearing up all right, but Miss Weasley looks ready to hex anyone in her path. Perhaps she ought to go out to the Forest with Filius and blast a few spiders, too.

She sat down in her chair again and closed her eyes. Just for a few moments…

Herbology

Libby Rosier worked on her Herbology homework Saturday afternoon. Then she realized she'd have to go out to one of the greenhouses. Well, I drew Professor Sprout in the lottery. Maybe I should come up with a couple of questions for her. I should take the sketchbook, too. If I draw a mature Membranus, I'll remember it better. And it's cold enough I can wear long sleeves. Pansy's skin cream seemed to work well enough, but there wasn't enough yet for everybody. Edgecombe's dancing henna designs were becoming fashionable, and Libby liked the little moon and stars one.

Once inside Greenhouse Three, she found the plant and began to sketch it. She glanced up to rest her eyes a moment and wasn't surprised to see Longbottom communing with his little green friends. He had a notebook and was drawing in it, too. She was curious about what plant he was examining, but not enough to talk to him. Word was that he was nice for a Gryffindor, but she didn't want to find out the hard way that he wasn't.

She thought back to when she was Marked last summer. We were so stupid! She and her twin brother were on fire to avenge what the Ministry had done to Uncle Evan. Scrimgeour, who was currently head of MLE, had a reputation for fierce interrogations the way Crouch had.

We all laughed when we found out that 'Moody' was really the Crazy Raven—even Mum had stories about him from when she was younger and going out with Dad. But the DADA curse bagged him, too. I wonder what will happen to Professor Lupin this year? I wish I knew how to help with the potion, but I didn't do that well in the class, and neither did Charles. I suppose staying out of trouble and looking out for the firsties will have to do.

She sighed. Oh, God, I'd do anything not to have this horrible thing on my arm! At least Charles feels the same way, we found that out last summer. A good thing the wards in the attic trapped us till Dad found us. I don't know what we would have done if one of us had been loyal and the other not.

"You outlined the lower frills very nicely," said a young man's voice right behind her.

She jumped, but only a little bit. "Thank you." It was Longbottom.

He leaned over her drawing. "I can never get that bottom part right," he said. "Would it be all right if I copied your sketch?"

"Sure. Here, I'll just duplicate it." She had just mastered Geminio and was rather proud of it. She waved her wand and handed him the second sheet. None of the lines were blurry or anything like that.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm making a potions map, if that makes any sense. I don't know if the condition of the original plant makes a difference, but I suppose there's one way to find out."

"I hope it works out," she said. "I have a hard time remembering complicated things, that's why I take so many notes. But a map where I can see things would be neat!"

Longbottom smiled. "I'm glad I'm not the only one."

She nodded. Sooner or later, he'd remember which house she was in, but it was nice while it lasted.

They awkwardly backed away from each other. Libby smiled stiffly. At least he wasn't rude and hadn't hexed her.

Once he went over to look at another plant, her eyes filled up with tears. Even if she hadn't been a Snake, she still had the Mark on her arm. She'd seen terrible things—and she'd let loose with a Crucio at the tramp herself. Charles was horrified too. He was still worried that something would happen, and she'd be given over to someone like Macnair. Well, he wasn't alone there. If the Professor dies, or can't…can't help us any more, we'll have to depend on Nott and find a way to stay together. Or we'll end up like Edgecombe, or maybe even Malfoy. She shuddered at the memory of that meeting—Professor Snape to one side, Malfoy desperately trying to keep Mad Bella happy, Edgecombe looking like a Dementor had already ripped out her soul, while she herself had hidden behind Crabbe and puked her guts out—no, that had been when Snape had murdered that poor Muggle woman…

She saw Professor Sprout over to one side, talking to Longbottom, and knew she'd have to think of a question to ask the older woman. Then Sprout came over to her.

Libby forced a smile. "Professor, I was drawing this plant to remember it better. I hope that's all right…"

"Of course, dear," the older, motherly woman said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, ma'am." Libby bit her lip.

'No, you're not," the Herbology teacher said. "Now, you come up to my quarters and have some tea. Don't worry, it will be quite confidential. You may not know this, but sometimes your House Head sends some of his to me and sometimes I send some of mine to him. It's quite all right."

She wasn't strong enough to refuse the invitation. It wasn't long before she was in Badger country, but no one looked at her oddly. Soon they were in the professor's quarters, which were very comfortable and slightly tatty. Libby sat down in a smaller version of the squashy chair that Professor Sprout sat in. Tea and some biscuits magically appeared. It was almost like having hot chocolate in Slytherin when she'd been a firstie.

Libby sighed in relief once she drank some tea. After some preliminary chitchat, she burst out with the truth. "It's hard to be in Slytherin, you know? There's so many expectations! Professor Snape watches over us, but we know what people think. And some of it's true!" She began to sob into a handkerchief. "I've done awful things! And some of the time I liked it, and so did Charles! It's horrible!"

"There, there, dear. At least you realize it now," Sprout said calmly.

"But it's too late. No matter what happens, everyone will think I'm evil!"

"Not everyone."

"Almost everyone." Libby felt on firm ground over that.

The older woman sighed. "Yes, dear, I'm afraid so. I remember the Headmaster once said it was harder to go against one's friends."

"He forgot to say your friends will hate you if you do. And so will everyone else."

Another sigh. "I wish I could tell you differently. You must still do the right thing. I know, that isn't much comfort. My House has been relieved of the hard decisions in some ways. And we have the gift of not being noticed. Yet that comes at a cost for us, too. I am well aware of the role Hufflepuff must play in any future conflict, and I fear what yours must be. We all know who the glory will go to, but it seems worth the trouble for a better world after."

"But what if nothing changes?" She was surprised that the chief Badger seemed unhappy about being locked into a role, too.

"That is a very important question. I hope both sides and the Ministry are thinking about it, too. I know I have." Sprout sounded sad.

"If Professor Snape dies…" Libby gulped the rest of her cup.

"Then he dies. We all depend on him a great deal, and not just you. However, in an emergency, I will be much too busy to worry about any extras I may have here. I believe the house elves may have a plan for the youngest students as well. I know your professor might die before then. I suspect you may be in great peril. My door will be open to those who need it." The older woman looked grim for a moment. "I'll have to find you a special project in Herbology. It's been a long time since I had a full catalog of all the fungi. You may have to deal with Mr. Longbottom for part of it, but he seems less firm about some things than others in his House. I will have a chat with him, of course, and assure him that you're not likely to hex him. I do hate all these stereotypes, but we seem to be saddled with them."

"Thank you," Libby whispered. Tears began to flow again. "I don't know—Charles and I, we both can't be like the others…the Professor knows…" Oh, no! Had there been Veritaserum in the tea? Or was she not weak? "I can't talk about that, it's House business, no, even worse than that…"

"Oh, my dear. You can trust me, you can trust Madam Pomfrey, and you can trust the other House Heads."

Libby made a face at the thought of trusting Professor McGonagall, but she supposed the prune had to know something. A lot had probably come out when the professor had almost died before the beginning of school. She noticed that Professor Sprout hadn't mentioned the Headmaster, but she decided not to ask. She blew her nose and wiped her face. There was more tea waiting when she was done with that and was glad of it.

She was happy to take notes on the project—mushrooms and other fungi were a perpetual plague in the moist confines of all the greenhouses, and not all of them were supposed to be there. It would probably take all winter to go through all the ones that students were allowed in, but that was all right.

Libby Rosier left with a better heart. Maybe it wasn't hopeless after all. Maybe Nott was a genius!

Pomona Sprout unwrapped some of her special dark chocolate drops. She needed them. A couple of the other teachers have also been approached by a Slytherin student who wants a special project or some other kind of mentoring. I suppose I could do worse than have Miss Rosier.

Perhaps I shouldn't have made such an open commitment…but someone has to. I don't know if this was Professor Snape's idea, or the children came up with this on their own, but it's not a bad notion. I know he was anxious over his apprentices before the guardianship hearing, and rightly so. He could still die.

She knew there were children bent to evil in all the Houses, not just Slytherin. People seemed to forget that all the long tables saw their members either die or be sent to Azkaban the first time around. I don't have any of this most recent lot—that I know of—but that could always change the next time Riddle decides to recruit again. Young Diggory's death, I hope, kept my Badgers from any such thing for now.

And yet some might have slipped through the net from last time. I have often wondered about Dolores, but I suspect she's not the only one in hiding. Tom would be very stupid indeed to Mark all his followers. No, I should not assume that my House is free of the taint.

Filius thought he was immune, too. Minerva still does. I would be very surprised if Percy Weasley or Pettigrew were the only Gryffindors currently wearing the Mark, or that Miss Edgecombe was the only Ravenclaw. I should be diligent about keeping my blinders off, too.

What is wrong that we are so divided? Even if we win, will there be enough change to stop the next Dark Lord from rising?

She was afraid she knew the answer. Tom was only a symptom, and Miss Rosier's question a frightening one. If he was gone, new growth would arise from the bloodied ground. Again, and again, and again.

Something had to be done to clear the roots. She wished she knew what it was.

She mentally surveyed her garden of students. Perhaps she ought to do a closer inspection when she had time during Christmas break, and discover who wasn't thriving but keeping quiet about it. It was best to treat any rot before it spread, because weeding was something to be done only as a last resort.

Flying

Charles Rosier waited in line to see Madam Hooch. He wasn't the only one trying to wrap things up for the end of the autumn Quidditch season. Drake must be toning himself down—nobody's hexed me yet, and I've only had a couple of nasty glares at me. Much better than what we expected from the Malfoy Mouth! Maybe all those detentions in the infirmary helped. I should send a thank you card to Madam Pomfrey.

Then again, his friend had learned the penalty for talking out of turn the hard way at the last meeting. True, he'd probably saved the Professor's life that way. I sure didn't do anything to help. I have to find a way to protect Libby or she might end up like Edgecombe.

Or I could end up like Drake. He didn't look like he was having much fun there. Vince said he ragged on Malfoy for a bit afterwards, and nearly had his head bitten off for his trouble. Charles felt queasy when he imagined himself having to please that madwoman.

He grimaced. For all the talk in his family about avenging Uncle Evan, the Ministry was riding high and most of the people dead were them. Libby and me were almost in a black box, too. Maybe it wasn't a Ministry spell after all. But I shouldn't think too hard about it. If Snape's mind can be turned into Swiss cheese, the two of us don't stand a chance.

He was happy that Nott was chief apprentice. The older boy was truly loyal, but not insane like some of the others. And it was a pretty good idea to pick a teacher to lean on. You never knew what might happen, especially if the Professor died or couldn't…couldn't help them any more.

Since he was Drake's deputy for the team, it made sense for him to choose Madam Hooch for his mentor. He really was having trouble with the statistics this year, too, since Malfoy had learned about a new method some of the professional teams were using to grade just how good a player really was. The categories made sense, since it was important to know the number of saves by the Keeper, catches of the Snitch by the Seeker, Quaffle scores, and so on. The information really helped to figure out who was lucky, who was good, and who couldn't hit a Bludger with two bats and a Scrying Spell. The last was easy, since both Crabbe and Bulstrode were definitely holding up their end this year.

He tried not to think about Greg. Well, lots of people in Slytherin had a problem with that. Drake had slowed down breaking his neck glancing about to find the missing one since the beginning of school, but you could tell he kept having to remind himself not to.

Charles had an idea. I wonder if you could use a ghost to help spot the Snitch? But the other Seeker is always watching Malfoy, too. That's always been the real problem, how to get the news to your Seeker and not the other one at the same time.

This year the Seekers were Potter, Chang, MacMillan, and Drake—only Potter wasn't the team captain as well. Chang didn't fly that much this year. No doubt being Head Girl took up too much time, while NEWTs were already beginning to drive the seventh-years mad in white linen. Nott wasn't that bad, at least not yet, but a couple of the Snakes were already getting Calming Potions from the Professor and told not to take any books home for Christmas break. There were good reasons for the skinny Ravenclaw to train up Killoran to take her place, if only because of the line in the Betting Book that wagered she'd be the next team Captain to go…missing the way Montague and Diggory had. Potter had friends who enjoyed helping him out, even if he didn't do anything himself.

Maybe it was a good idea for Drake to be nicer to the redhead who now ran the Gryffindor team. Slytherin had lost too many people already and might lose more. We'll have to bring more people up from the lower years so if something happens, a replacement will already have some training. I should find someone who could take over for me, too. All it would take is another temper tantrum by Mad Bella. She doesn't care who she kills or on whose side they're on. We should have some real Quidditch strategy sessions with those younger people, too, and not just the apprentice meetings.

They would have lost Montague this year anyway. It still hurt not to see his name in the sports pages, even as a trainee for say, the Wasps.

At last it was his turn to see the coach, and he was the last one, too. He explained his dilemma and showed the grid that Malfoy had set up for him to fill in. "Is there some kind of charm where I can sum up the information both at the bottom and all the way over to the right? I think I understand why we need this, and what it's being used for. It takes a long time to add everything up two different ways, though, and half the time I'm not sure I'm putting the numbers in the right place anyway."

Madam Hooch's eyes lit up. "Now I remember reading somewhere about a few teams who are starting to do this," she said. "You're not the only one to whine about how to make it work. It's a little complicated for a school team where you don't have as much control about who tries out, but if you can learn this system, a professional team will want to be your best friend even if you fly as well as say, Miss Granger."

Charles couldn't help laughing at that. Still, everyone had heard about the Remedial Brooms people and who would end up getting hurt if you didn't leave them alone when they practiced away from the field. "Maybe I should ask her for help!" Like that was going to happen.

Hooch laughed. "We're not that desperate. She'd understand it well enough, but I think the two of us can figure this out. I ran into this myself when a friend of mine from the Harpies told me how they were tracking new recruits when they were tried out at different positions. They have to keep the numbers by name and category, just like this."

He nodded. "I can use a flat edge to make sure I put the numbers in the right place but adding totals both ways means I have to redo the whole paper after just a few changes. I know a firstie who has a friend in Hufflepuff who says Muggles have machines for this, but why don't we have a spell?"

"They do in Arithmancy, once you're up past the OWL level."

I wish I'd known that before I blew it off, Charles thought. "But before then they make you do everything by hand like I'm doing now."

"Of course they do. That way you know if you computed it right before doing any spells with the numbers," the coach said with a sympathetic look. "After that, they teach the Lotus spell from India that adds up a column and gives you the total at the end without having to erase and rewrite the new number. It's as easy as one, two, three when you get the hang of it. Now, it will be a little tricky to get the new totals in more than one direction. Don't you have any friends in your House who's higher on the food chain with numbers?"

"Yes, I do." Charles could kick himself. Jake Macnair excelled at the stuff, and if asked nicely, could probably show him how to do the right spell for a whole grid. Jake could do visual calculations in his head, but he might slow things down enough to help a friend get the hang of it. "Sorry I bothered you, ma'am."

"No problem. If you need more advice, I don't mind giving it. I have to say I'm impressed by your team's play this year. All right, there was that game against Hufflepuff, but I handed out penalties to the other side, too."

He sighed. "We deserved the ones we got, too."

"See what a little patience will get you? Your flying has been decent, too. I am impressed by Miss Bulstrode, though she's enthusiastic in her position. I'm surprised she wasn't in it earlier…" Then her face fell. "Never mind, I'm always stepping in it. But keep on doing whatever you've been doing. You should probably start attending the captains' meetings along with Mr. Malfoy—if he's all right with that, then you'll know you're next in line if um, something happens."

"Thank you, Professor Hooch," he said. His face grew hot. Did she really think he might end up captain? He'd have to talk to both Jake and Drake—hey, that rhymed! It'd be great to learn a spell that meant he didn't have to recopy the whole thing after every game. I'll probably have to for a few times to make sure the spell does it right, but after that I should be fine. And whoever gets this job after, too.

There. He'd gone nearly a half hour without thinking about the Mark on his left arm and what might happen to Libby if the wrong people died.

Hooch let out a huge sigh once the young man left. He was the last of her Saturday visitors, so she opened up a bottle and had a tot with her hot tea. Snape was desperate for his lads and lasses, like a dying mother trying to place them all in good families before she finally snuffed it. He shouldn't have been quite so eager to name names, perhaps. It was unlike him to trust that she wouldn't go to the Ministry—then again, who in the Ministry? You had to ask yourself that these days.

Besides, it wouldn't be fair to the Slytherin team. Minerva still whined about the whole broom thing several years ago, but since the old woman had bought Potter a top-of-the-line model first, Hooch didn't have to pay attention. Real teams invested in their gear anyway. Frankly, all the school brooms needed replacing by now. After what the Weasley twins did to Monty, she wasn't inclined to put her thumb on the scales Gryffindor's way these days. He'd been a pain but had played clean. And if it took the Mark to bring Malfoy down to earth, she might have stamped in on him herself. Well, not really, but a person could dream.

She opened the paper. I wonder what our favorite werewolf wrote about the Chudley game? Wasn't that a shower and a half? It'd been a treat to discover who the real person was behind the pseudonym was and to be able to twit him in person whenever he said something especially stupid. She'd looked in her files and found Lupin had been mainly a scorekeeper for the Gryffindor team, though with a habit of missing some games if they ran late. Hooch had a bit of fun imagining a werewolf Keeper. Nobody would score any Quaffles through that hoop!

He did have a good eye for players and for game strategy as a whole. If he had to leave Hogwarts, she knew some teams who'd take him on as an extra coach—especially if he would learn this new number system and keep the stats on rivals as well as on the team.

Gah! Maybe when You-Know-Who was finally gone for good, people could just play Quidditch!

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