TWO

"You're not going to believe it, Harry, it's so fantastic, she just stood right up and told the whole class everything and I was perfectly right all along, I knew I was--"

"You're always perfectly right. Even when you're wrong about something you end up being right. What are you right about this time?"

At the flat tone of his voice Hermione seemed to deflate. "You've just gotten out of Potions, haven't you?"

"Yes. I don't see how Snape keeps that job from year to year. Think of all the countless generations of would-be potionmasters who've been turned off the whole business by that man. I wish they'd just go on and let him teach the Dark Arts class."

"Yeah, that'd be perfect," said Ron. "Either he'd be the best professor they've ever had or he'd get killed. It's a win either way!"

"Keep Snape in your mind, boys, because he's in on it, too," Hermione warned. "Anyway, do you remember how I told you that Professor Evensong is a banshee?"

"I don't know, Ron, do we?"

"Hmm. Let's think. You told me once at the lunch table the day she told the class, then Harry and I both heard it from Professor Evensong when we were in class later that same day, then you told us both together in the common room before we went to bed. No, Hermione, that little piece of information must have slipped my mind. Sorry."

Hermione drew her books to her chest. "Well, then I suppose that anything about Snape is too lowly to be of any interest. Whereas this--" Hermione made a sudden snatch at Ron. From between the pages of his Herbology book she whipped a glossy magazine. "Ooh, what's this? Young Miss? I believe I missed this issue."

"Give it back!" Ron made a wild grab for the mag, seeming to forget that Hermione had sprouted up several inches in the summer. Easily she dangled it above his reach, then, hunching her shoulder over it, flipped through the pages.

"What's this, Ron? 'Hot Summer Fashions'? 'Fifteen Tricks to Drive Him Crazy'? What, having trouble blending your foundation to that perfect line-free finish?"

"Give it back, I'm only holding it for Ginny! Come on, Hermione, I only get it for the articles!"

Less than two months into the new year and already his friends were being more

antagonistic than usual. Harry rolled his eyes. "Levitium periodical!"

Young Miss flew from Hermione's fingers. Ron hastily stuffed it back into his book, but not before Harry got a glimpse of a smiling Britney Spears gracing the cover.

Hermione wiped her hands in mock disgust on her robe. "Good heavens, Ron, you didn't have to go and get the pages all sticky . . . ."

"I never did!"

Ron's face had gone nearly as bright as his hair. Sensing another blow-up, Harry stepped in. "What's Snape got to do with Professor Evensong?"

"Well, I've been talking to Professor Evensong a lot after class--and she is from Bride's Academy, I found out--and today she invited me to come to her office during the planning period so that we could discuss yesterday's lecture on Dangerous Beasts of the Irish Moors for an extra credit paper I'm writing in Hagrid's Magical Beasts class--"

"Wait a minute. Hagrid never gives extra credit assignments."

"I know. It's really for a doctoral thesis I'm working on in my spare time, 'The Threat of Muggle Encroachment to the Habitats of Obscure Beasts of the Highlands'. I've so wanted to get some real first-hand information . . . ."

"You're working on your doctoral thesis?" Ron looking incredulous. "You're only a sixth year."

"One can never plan too far ahead, Ron."

"Hermione." Ron laid his hand on her shoulder in a consoling way. "I never meant to tell you this flat-out, but I'm sure it's best coming from a friend. You're a total geek."

"You were in Professor Evensong's office . . . and . . . ." Harry made a go-on motion toward Hermione.

"And just as we were discussing the Fachan, which is this positively amazing creature from the West Highlands, it's got one leg and one eye and a huge club and it sort of hops around looking for lost travelers to bludgeon--"

"Hermione . . . ."

"I'm getting there, Harry, I'm getting there! So there we were, having this fabulous

conversation, and suddenly there comes a knock at the door and before we either of us could say anything more the door opened and in . . . walked . . . Professor . . . Snape!"

Hermione was all but dancing at this climax. Ron and Harry only looked confused.

"Did I miss something?" said Harry.

"Had he come to tell her to clear the hell out of his office?" asked Ron.

"No, nothing like that." Hermione gathered them both in for a confidential whisper. "He was holding a bouquet."

Both boys staggered away in horror. Ron opened his Herbology book and pretended to vomit in it.

"No, no, no!" Harry shouted, arms crossed round his middle as if warding her off. "Hermione, don't even joke with things like that!"

"It's not a joke. Do let me go on. Anyway, Snape came in wearing his dress robes and everything, even with his hair tied back in a little ribbon-bow."

By now Ron was rolling in the passage floor, simultaneously howling with laughter and making retching noises. His notes for class fluttered off down the corridor. Harry was grinning so hard his cheek muscles hurt. "Hermione, you're not serious."

"I'm quite serious. He stepped into her office and said something like, 'Sorry I'm late, Yvaine'--Yvaine is Professor Evensong's first name--and then he saw me sitting there and he froze all over. His face went even whiter than normal. Professor Evensong said, 'No need to worry, Severus, I'm just finishing up with a student,' and then she apologized to me, saying would I like to continue our discussion same time Monday as she'd been so engrossed that she'd forgotten she had prior engagements!"

"No joking? She referred to Snape as a prior engagement?"

"Yes! And they're apparently on first-name terms with each other, too, so it's obvious it wasn't just two professors meeting to discuss school matters."

"Please," begged Ron, "tell me they weren't roses. Tell me he brought her wolfsbane or something."

"A dozen roses. Red ones."

"Oh . . . God!" Ron managed to stumble to his feet, gathering spilled books and fistfuls of papers as he went. "Oh, that's disgusting. That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard."

"What happened next, Hermione?"

"I said good afternoon to Professor Snape, and he gave me a cold sort of nod. I swear, I don't know why those roses didn't wither. Then, I gathered my books, calmly as I could, and I walked past him out the door. And then I all but bolted down the passage to find you two so I could tell you all about it."

"This is incredible," Ron said. "I can't believe I got some good gossip before Fred and George. I'm going to have to tell them at dinner."

Hermione's face suddenly snapped tight, like a dresser drawer closed with a bang. She grabbed Ron's arm, causing him to drop his books all over again, and thrust her sharp face into his freckled one.

"Don't you dare tell anyone," she hissed. "Don't be such a beast, you'll spoil things for them."

Harry nodded, remembering. "Yeah, Ron. Ever since the Lord Nettlesby affair any kind of romantic relationships between Hogwarts professors is punishable by dismissal of both parties." Hermione stared at Harry. He shrugged. "You're not the only one who's read Hogwarts: A History."

"That's even better," said Ron eagerly. "We could finally get rid of Snape once and for all."

"No." Harry and Hermione spoke together.

"Why not?"

"Because," said Harry. "It's all right if you want to ruin Snape's career, but I draw

the line on mucking about with the man's love life."

"Besides, it mightn't have been love." Hermione had that thoughtful look of teacher-worship about her again, the one Harry remembered from Professor Lockhart's brief stint as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. "Maybe he was just bringing her a specimen. You know. Strictly professional."

"A specimen? Hermione, you're really reaching for answers on this one."

"I know, Harry. It's just . . . well, I really like Professor Evensong. And--oh, hell, I dunno. She just seems so not-his-type. She's young, beautiful, friendly, sensitive . . . ."

"Sane," said Harry.

"Breathing," added Ron.

" . . . And we all know what a toad he is. I wish I could warn her. Oh, well." From inside her cape she fetched up her reading glasses. "I'm off to the library. Professor Evensong gave me some really excellent sources. Would you two like to join me?"

"No thank you," said Ron. "My mind is still reeling from the shock."

Hermione trotted off toward the library. Ron and Harry turned to the corner toward the common room.

"Seabiscuit," said Harry to the Fat Lady's portrait. The portal obliged, and the boys settled down by the chess board. On a rainy day like this one the commons was packed, and the chess board was the best way to get some privacy.

"This is just creepy," said Harry, careful to keep quiet around the first years. "Snape and Evensong."

"Walking about in the rain. Holding hands." Ron leaned forward as if with the most telling fact of all and hissed, "She called him Severus."

"I know. I can see it all in my mind. Holding hands, and her in rubber gloves to keep from picking up Snape's thin layer of slime."

Ron laughed, quietly, so as to keep from attracting attention. He settled back in his chair. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that little romantic rendezvous."

A cog turned in Harry's brain. He smiled for a moment as a plan swelled, unbidden, to full flower, then shook his head to dismiss it.

But Ron had already seen that look. "Come on, Potter, I know that fiendish gleam in your eyes. You've got an idea. Spill it."

"You mentioned something about being a fly on the wall? I just remembered something."

"Remembered what? Oh, Harry, don't leave me in suspense, you're as bad as Hermione, you two are going to kill me! What are you planning?"

A slow smile lit Harry's face, sparkling like the common room fire in his brilliant green eyes. He folded his fingers together and gave Ron a deeply wicked look. "Which one of your very best friends owns an invisibility cloak?"

Ron's eyes widened. "No way. You wouldn't dare. Hermione'd murder you. And if Snape even guessed you had--he'd really really murder you. Slow lingering death, man. Possibly involving boiling oil."

Harry stood up. "I'm getting my cloak."

"No, don't, Harry! Bloody hell, I knew I should have never let you hang around Fred and George; they've corrupted you!"

Harry stepped into the bedchamber. In a flash Ron was on his feet and following, but by the time he made it to Harry's room it was empty. Only a squeak of a sneaker sole on the stone floor and the creak as the door opened caused Ron to wheel about just in time to see the door pulled slowly closed by an invisible hand.

Ron made it to the commons again just as the main door opened gently, as if pushed by a draft of air. Several of the other Gryffindors stared as Ron, seemingly in hot pursuit of nothing at all, dashed across the room.

"Harry!"

Ron emerged in an empty hallway, the storm drowning all sound as it crashed against the great stained glass windows.

"Harry!" he shouted, in as near the right direction as he could guess. "Don't get caught, okay?"

There was no reply. Ron turned back to the Fat Lady's portrait, still open, when a thought struck him. Cupping his hand around his mouth, he called again down the dark hallway, "At least tell me everything when you get back!"