FOURTEEN

Ron threw himself at the seat across the lunch table. He was in a panic, his red hair standing up in spikes, and the whites showing all around his eyes. "Harry, you've got to help me, I've just done something awful."

"Wait." Harry finished chewing his bite of sandwich and swallowed, while holding up a hand for patience. When his mouth was empty, he took both of Ron's hands in his own and spoke in a clear, soothing voice while looking directly into his friend's eyes. "Listen, Ron. Take Hermione to the Ball. I'll go with you, if you like. You'll have a lovely time. If a waltz comes on, dance with her. Don't worry about her being taller. And if any snogging goes on, don't tell George."

He sipped his grape juice as Ron gazed gratefully at him, as if he were some sort of god. Just as suddenly, Ron flinched, put his fingertips to his temples, and shook his head rapidly as if to clear his ears.

Harry put down his mug. "Ron? Is something the matter?"

"No." Ron sat down, looking less panicky than before, but still bewildered. "Nothing's the matter. I just got the weirdest feeling of deja-vu."

* * *

Dumbledore had told him it was understandable if he wanted to miss classes the next few days, but winter exams were coming up and a day missed in Pontifus's class could mean a whole grading letter lost. He felt haunted, stumbling among the students, going through the motions of displaying interest. If he could have only told Ron what had really happened, that would be something, but the story Dumbledore had given out was entirely different. The day after he'd been released from the infirmary wing, George Weasley came to thank Harry for getting attacked by vampire bats on the top floor, as the twins had finally been able to collect on some bets.

Potions was the worst. Snape's eyes deliberately skipped over Harry for whole classes at a time, and yet he would occasionally look up from chopping herbs to find the man staring at him. They had not spoken since Dumbledore's office. Harry almost missed the old days of Snape's unremitting fault-finding and ridicule. This total silence unnerved him. As long as Snape wasn't saying anything, Harry was left to speculate what might be going on his mind, and Snape's mind was not a place Harry fancied visiting.

He had no appetite for lunch. Instead, he retired to the Commons with a book, a mug of tea, and a few slices of toast. Ron and Hermione gave up eating in favour of keeping him company. Unfortunately, Ron's method of keeping him company seemed to involved driving him completely around the twist at a time when Harry would much rather be alone, puzzling out what was troubling him.

"I've got one," Ron said now. "What do you get when you cross You-Know-Who and a Tarantallegra Spell?"

Harry gave a pained sigh. "I don't know, Ron, what?"

"The Dark Lord of the Dance!" He concluded this with by putting his arms down stiff at his sides and attempting a bit of Irish step-dancing, but halted in mid-Michael Flatley. "You don't get it."

"I got it. I just didn't find it funny."

Hermione only looked embarrassed.

"Ooh, someone sounds a bit Snape-ish today. All right, I've got another. A troll, a hag, and a leprechaun all walk into a bar--"

Someone might have sounded a lot more Snape-ish if circumstance had had its way, Harry considered saying. Under his cloak he found the bruise and pressed it hard enough to silence the roving, ugly thoughts.

"What's wrong, Harry?" asked Hermione, thankfully cutting short Ron's next joke. "You've been acting this way for days. Has anyone been bothering you about the bandage?"

"Just the usual bit with Draco Malfoy asking me why they didn't cover up the rest of my face while they were at it, but I expected that," he said. "No offence, but could you two clear off for a moment? I'm trying to think."

"You've been driving yourself mad trying to think," said Hermione gently. "You've been trying to think for a week, ever since you got hurt. I wish you would tell us what happened. Was it Snape?"

"Yes," said Harry. "And no."

It was Snape, of course, but there was something else there. It almost felt like the black spot all over again: something too dense to think around, like a wall in his vision. The black spot was gone; his memory was his own again. There were too many things to consider, like pieces scattered around a chessboard. Ron was the chess expert around here; he would have known what to do.

He remembered something Ron had told him once about chess. When the board got too busy, whenever you were under attack from too many directions, picture the playing field as perfectly clear save for one man, then tackle the problem without distraction.

He closed his eyes and conjured the image of a chessboard. One piece stood alone on the black-and-red field. The black bishop. Snape.

For some reason, though, another figure kept intruding: a white queen standing directly across from the bishop. Harry tried to banish her from his thoughts, but the queen kept returning until he realised who she must be. Evensong. This whole mess had started with the two of them.

Bishops could move an unlimited number of squares, but only slantwise. Queens could move in any direction, as far as they wanted, but still they had a few rules. What rules did Evensong move by?

"Ron," he said, with his eyes still shut. "My bishop on King's Knight's fifth, White's queen on King's Bishop's second. What should I do?"

Ron sounded a bit surprised at the question, but his response was unerring. "Move your man. She's going to take him."

Everything fell together. He'd been so frustrated over the missing pieces of the puzzle that he had neglected the ones he held. Like a cog slipping into a groove, the pieces clicked rapidly and spelled out what he'd been missing all along.

"She never took it off," he whispered.

Hermione comprehended at once. "Evensong never took off your Repellment? How do you know?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked at her. "Because she can't do a Repellment. She doesn't know any magic that comes out of books; she said so herself. That's why she took the Dark Arts position: it was the only thing she could teach. And not me--Snape. When Snape was treating my face in the infirmary, one of my eyes was swollen shut and I didn't have my glasses for the other one, but I knew who he was almost before I woke up because he still smelled of cinnamon. Evensong took off his Repellment days ago, yet when she took it off me, both of you knew it at once."

"Why would she take yours off and leave his on?" asked Ron.

"Probably because I'd already asked her, flat-out, if she was a baobhan sith. She didn't want me to get anymore suspicious, and she didn't want Snape remembering any details that might set him up."

His thoughts were whizzing. Evensong had lied to Snape about the Repellment. The key was still on him. But he still thought she had taken it off, which could only mean she . . . he didn't know what it could mean, only that Evensong must have something to gain by misleading him. "Hermione, do you still have Advanced Practical Potions left for the day?"

She nodded.

"When you go to the supply cupboard, there's a jar there labelled 'Seal's Fat'. Slip it into your sleeve pocket and bring it back here. And for God's sake, don't let Snape find out that you know anything; she's still got a link with him. Ron, when you get to Magical Creatures, ask Hagrid if there's a rowan tree anywhere on the grounds. If there is, find it and bring back a stick about the size of your wrist."

"The laying ceremony?" said Ron.

"Yes. And get me a piece of string. And your quill-knife."

Ron went off to fetch the quill-knife from their dorm-room. When he was gone, Harry licked his forefinger and thumb and pinched out the stub of candle on the table. He squashed the warm wax in his fist, then began to tear off lumps about half the size of his thumb. He rolled one against the flat cover of a book until it formed a smooth white cone. When it was finished, he started on the next. When she saw what he was doing, Hermione took a bit of wax and began to help.

"Beeswax earplugs, that's how Odysseus's crew made it past the sirens," said Harry to her as he worked. "Seals are incredibly sacred to Faerie creatures. There's even a kind of Faerie that can change into a seal, I remember that from Magical Creatures. I'm hoping that coating these with a layer of seal's fat will keep us from getting lured in by Evensong."

When Ron returned with the quill-knife, there were seven small cones lined up on the table, and Harry was rolling out a eighth. Wordlessly he put the knife on the edge before Harry.

"Where's the string?" Harry asked.

Ron paused for a moment, then reached down the front of his robes. Around his neck on a longish bit of string he wore a Muggle fifty-pence piece with a hole bored through it. Harry had given it to him ages ago during their first Christmas at Hogwarts. He hadn't known Ron would hold on to that pitiful coin for so long, but now was no time to wax sentimental. Ron drew the string from the 50p. and laid it before Harry.

"That string's been over my heart for six years now," said Ron. "Maybe it'll be lucky."

"I hope so," said Harry, setting the string aside. No one was coming; everyone was already in classes. He put his left arm across the table, rolled up his sleeve, and with his right hand picked up the small, sharp blade.

"Harry, no!" Ron snatched the knife, thrusting out his own bare arm. "Take it from me, instead."

Harry shook his head, taking up the quill-knife again. "No offence, Ron, but virgin's blood works tends to be best for spell-casting."

Hermione's eyes grew huge. "Ron isn't a--"

"Long story," mumbled Ron.

Harry drew the sharp blade in a fast, shallow slash over the thick part of his arm, just beneath the crook of the elbow. The wound stayed clear, then began to seep watery pink fluid--not nearly enough. Gritting his teeth, he made a second, deeper cut over the first, hissing as the wound gaped like a mouth and fresh blood ran immediately down his forearm, pooling in the cup of his palm. Hermione and Ron watched, Ron with his hand on Harry's shoulder, Hermione with her fingers knotted together and her teeth frantically working her bottom lip.

He bundled up the thread, pressing first one side, then the other, to the cut, until the white string soaked red. "I hope that's enough. Fix me up, Hermione."

Hermione drew her wand from her inner pocket. "Haematoma finis."

The blood stopped and the cut shrivelled to a thin brown scab.

"That's all we can do, until we get the rest of the materials," said Harry grimly, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. Hermione handed him a handkerchief, and he sponged the still-wet blood away. "I hope we don't have to use all this. She seems agreeable. She may listen to reason. But I'd hate to go looking for her and have something go wrong with us totally defenceless." He handed a pair of earplugs to Hermione, one to Ron, and put the last two pairs in his own breast pocket under his Gryffindor crest. "Go on to classes. I'll be right behind."

Wordlessly they both headed to the portal. Harry returned to his room. Scanning his bookshelf, he found the volume that Sirius had sent to him--what seemed like ages ago, though it was hard to tell since time had gotten so slippery--and opened it. Sirius's note fell out from between the pages. He had hoped that the book would be informative, but what Harry needed wasn't the book. Just the bookmark, with its embossed stars and its string of tiny gold bells.

The noise of various small chimes does distract the beast, and make it to lose its bearings . . . .

He snatched the ribbon marker and hurried to catch up to Ron.

* * *

McGonagall had already sent the prefect on the midnight room-watch. The common room was still. Ron let the rowan stake tumble onto the table; he'd already sharpened it. Harry bound the stiffened string to the bottom, just above the raw wood, and grimly wound it as far as he could before tying it off. Hermione groused to herself as she dipped her fingers in the greasy, fishy-smelling contents of a small stone jar and smeared the substance over the earplugs.

"Can't believe we're sneaking out in the stony dark to murder a professor in her own bedroom," she mumbled. "This is the sort of thing they kick you out of school for, Harry."

"You've really got to get your priorities in order," said Ron.

"I hope we won't have to," said Harry. "I hope she'll listen to reason and make herself scarce. I don't want to murder anyone. But better her dead than Snape."

"Yeah. He still hasn't given us our test grades back." Ron caught Harry's glare and held up his hands. "Jesus, Potter! I was only trying to add a little levity. Be honest, I think I'm going to shit myself from pure fear."

"Me too," Harry admitted.

Hard at work, Hermione said, "Me three." She stood up at last. "That's the last of them. Careful with these, they're a little slickery."

They put the earplugs in their pockets, with Harry taking the extra pair, then stood looking at each other for what seemed a very long time. There was nothing left to say.

Quietly, Harry turned and went out the portal hole. Ron and Hermione followed.

When they finally reached Evensong's room, the door was slightly ajar, and the oil lamp was lit, but there was no professor. Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged. "Best try her offices, then."

But the office was empty as well. Hermione was slowly growing more and more anxious with each anticlimax. Her teeth worked her bottom lip with a frantic intensity. "This is impossible. She's not in her offices, she's not in the professors wing. What's next? Does the gang split up and search for clues, Harry? If we do, I'm taking the Great Dane."

"Hush up, Hermione. There's no need for sarcasm. Let me think."

He leaned against the stone wall, trying to come up with a plan that might work. Nothing sprang immediately to mind, but the lurking temptation to give up was very strong. If Dumbledore still had her roving the school looking for intruders, then she might be anywhere; they'd never find her. And if they got caught out of their dorms, there would never be another chance.

Just as he was about to call things off, a round, wide-mouthed, semi-opaque face suddenly pushed through the wall next to him. It leered grotesquely, rolling its eyes. Harry jumped back, just as Peeves glided into the hallway, screaming at the top of his metaphysical lungs.

"Students in the halls after hours! Students breaking into the teachers offices! Coo-wee, but this is a great night! First them two, and now you." He rubbed his nearly transparent palms together in glee and singsonged in an I'm-the-king-of-the-castle voice. "I'm gonna te-ell! I'm gonna te-ell!"

They froze. At the same time, Harry and Hermione opened their mouths to plead with him--the worst thing one could try with Peeves--just as Ron rolled his eyes and yawned. "What is it with you lately, Peeves? I thought you got all the good gossip."

"Gossip?" Peeves floated up to Ron's eye level, craning his neck in anticipation. "What gossip? Where's some gossip? I haven't had any good gossip since Malfoy and his tart turned up in the top floor with the bats."

Ron's whole face was a shrewd, bored blank. "Well, if you haven't heard already, maybe it's not such good gossip after all."

To their absolute shock, Ron turned and began to amble off down the hall, with Peeves drifting in back of him like a dog slobbering for a treat.

Ron called to the two of them, "Come on, you lot. It's probably not worth it."

Harry looked at Hermione, who was obviously as clueless as he was. They followed after him uncertainly.

Peeves was still begging. He threw himself to the floor and grabbed the trailing hem of Ron's cloak. Since Peeves didn't weigh anything, Ron kept going, dragging a kicking, whining Peeves along the floor behind him. Finally Ron stopped, spinning around hard enough to send Peeves crashing into the wall. Unlike Evensong, Peeves apparently still thought he was corporeal.

Ron bent down so as to be on the same altitude as the stunned little man. He propped one arm on his bent knee and conferred such a malicious, significant grin that Harry wouldn't have though it possible if he hadn't been there to see it.

"How would you like to help us really get Professor Snape?" Ron asked Peeves.

Peeves jumped to his feet. "Hell, yeah!" He started bouncing up and down. "Snakey Snape, let's do it, how do we get him?" Suddenly he paused, eyes narrowing. "And his snooty creepy floatie-along girlfriend, too?"

"Both of them," Ron assured. He cupped his hand around Peeves ear, but his eyes glinted sidelong to Harry and Hermione. "There's a rule against teachers having romantic relationships here at Hogwarts, Peeves. If we can catch Snape alone with his girl, we can sound the alert to the other professors, and both of them will be booted out faster than you can say 'Nettlesby Ruling'. All we need to know is where she might have gotten off to."

Harry suddenly caught where all this was heading, and he mentally he cheered Ron on. For the second time recently, Ron had just been brilliant.

"Wouldn't you like to hold that one over the Bloody Baron?" Ron went on devilishly. "Wouldn't you just like to see the look on his smarmy face when he hears that the head of his house has been kicked out for fooling around on the side with another teacher?"

"Yes!" Peeves burst into life. "Yes, take that, Bloody Baron, they went off down toward the Forest, I saw them through the window, they were heading into the Forest!"

"Bloody hell, she's taken him into the Forest." Harry dragged Ron away from Peeves. "Thanks, Peeves, we'll let you know what happens!"

They left Peeves cavorting as they rushed down the third floor passage to the balcony. Down the stairs and across the pale-blue, snowy glow of the Quidditch field, and finally emerging on the back grounds near the Forbidden Forest, Harry finally halted them with an outstretched arm. Breathing was hard and painful, the recently healed spot on his rib insistently reminding him of its presence.

"How are we going to find them in the Forest, Harry?" Ron asked.

"We won't have to. If she's got him there alone, she'll start singing--finishing what she started."

"And the singing will draw us right to her," said Hermione. "And if she doesn't?"

"If she doesn't, we'll know they're just off on another midnight stroll. We go back inside, and we leave them to each other. Be quiet. We have to listen."

In the shadow of the haunted chapel, the crescent moon a dim, pale smile in the clear sky above, the three of them waited. Harry's heart pounded in counterpoint to his bandaged ribs. The ferula had mended the broken bones, but the enormous black bruise was still tender and painful. A low wind stirred up the powdery snow and it seemed a very long wait before absolute stillness reigned.

Hushabye . . . don't you cry . . . go to sleep my little baby . . . when you wake . . . you'll have sweet cake . . . and all the pretty little horses . . . .

Harry looked around. Tears were streaking down Hermione's cheeks, and her shoulders shook silently, just as Harry's had that first night when he heard his mother singing. Ron looked frantically, half in fear, half in wonder, from the Forest to Hermione, as if he somehow expect the voice to be coming from her.

"Come on," said Harry. "We'll find them now. Just remember your earplugs.

Ron reached out for Hermione's hand. When he spoke, his voice was gruff, as if he too had been crying. "You going to be all right?"

Hermione wiped her face on the edge of her sleeve, then blew her nose. She nodded, her back stiff and her eyes unfeasibly clear, like hard pinpricks of light in her face. She took his offered hand, and the three of them started forward like children in a fairy tale, into the Forbidden Forest. In the dark, the tall row of poplars at the edge looked like the black iron bars of a waiting cage.