After the fervor over the Petrification of Colin Creevey died down, November progressed into a dreary sort of routine. Beth celebrated Thanksgiving by herself without event, although by some stroke of luck (possibly Dumbledore intervention) they had pumpkin pie for dessert that day.
"I don't understand it," sniffed Melissa, only half joking. "We don't set aside a holiday for gluttony." Her mood had substantially improved over the past few weeks, to the point where she could say Galen's name without getting teary.
"Your ancestors never lost two-thirds of their colony over the winter," Beth replied. "Besides, British food isn't worth glutting on."
"Got that right," said Bruce glumly, picking at a plate of hummus.
Herne got caught on the way to an S.S.A. meeting and had to spend an evening polishing the suits of armor on the fourth floor. He came back thoroughly unnerved by having to listen to their bodiless laughs as he took off their helmets for cleaning, and was jumpy for a week afterward.
The days grew shorter and the homework assignments got longer. Time and time again Beth fell behind in Alchemy, only to sit awake by the fire late into the night, catching up on past homework problems. By mid-December she was at least a chapter behind. She wasn't the only one.
"I can't follow this stuff on quantities," Penelope Clearwater griped one day before class began.
Cedric Diggory shrugged. He could be a little exasperating, but Beth had to admit that he was nice to look at. "If we all do bad on the test, maybe Vector'll curve up the grades. She does in Alchemy."
"Or we can all fail together," said Stebbins.
It took another two disastrous classes before she got up the nerve to go ask for help. That Thursday afternoon she swallowed her courage -- and her pride -- and went down to Professor Snape's office deep in the dungeons.
She took a breath and knocked on the door.
"Come in."
Biting her lip, she opened the door and peeked inside. Professor Snape sat behind a broad desk. On the shelves behind him, all kinds of disgusting things were pickled in vats and vials. The room was badly lit, and on the far wall was a row of cupboards -- Snape's private stock.
"Can I help you, Miss Parson?"
"I-I had a question in Alchemy." She came in and sat down in front of his desk nervously.
Professor Snape leaned back in his chair and watched her from below his lank black hair. "Go on."
"Well, it's about quantities. I was just confused --" She took a breath. "Say you need two rat tails for a potion, but all the rat tails you have are really small, half as big as a regular rat tail. Would you use two then, or double it to four, since they're smaller?"
A smile flitted across Professor Snape's face. "So nice so see a student who is genuinely interested in learning." Beth ran a high flush and ducked her head a little. "In this case, if we assumed that they were all from the same breed of rat, and all from adult rats -- you'll recall how the maturity of the ingredients affects the properties -- then you would still use two, regardless of size."
"How come?"
He went on at Beth's confused expression. "When whole ingredients are used, the important factor is the composition of the item more than the amount. The shape and the texture give the potion its properties. Do you understand? In the case of powdered rat tails, it would be different. Let me give you an example." He stood up and went to his ingredients cupboard, still talking as he rummaged through the drawers. "The skin of a boomslang is extremely valuable in transformation potions, and very rare. The creature comes in varying sizes, so one can never be entirely sure of how big or small its skin will be. Since its function in the brew is to strain the other ingredients, for instance, the size is not important; the fact that it comes in one piece matters. Here's one --"
Professor Snape broke off suddenly, still gripping an open drawer. The knuckles of his hands grew very white. "Someone has stolen a boomslang skin," he said in a dangerously soft voice. Beth watched, fascinated, as his whole body seemed to tense up. Then he let out his breath in a long hiss and his shoulders relaxed. He turned back around and very slowly strode back to his chair, rigid as a board.
"I'm sorry," he said, almost spitting every word. "I can't show you what I had intended." He was almost shaking in his effort to control his anger. "Do you -- understand --the concept?"
"I think so," said Beth hastily. "Thanks for your help." She gathered her backpack and stood up to leave. She added, after a short hesitation, "I hope you catch the thief."
Professor Snape sat back in his chair, gazing at the open cupboard past his steepled fingers. "I think," he said slowly, in a faraway but vaguely threatening voice, "that I will."
Beth took one look at the murderous glint in his eye, and hurried out of the office.
Going around the corner she almost ran into Penelope Clearwater, who clutched her Alchemy book as if it was a favorite toy. Beth laughed off her embarrassment. "Going to see Snape?"
The sixth-year Ravenclaw nodded, looking a little annoyed.
"He's in a mood. Be careful," Beth warned good-naturedly.
Penelope's face fell. "I -- wasn't going to see him," she said, flicking a nervous glance to Snape's office. From inside, there was the faint sound of glass breaking. "Just coming through." She hurried off in one direction. Beth shrugged and went on her way.
Melissa and Bruce were already in the library researching werewolves for an essay for Kettleburn. They were poring over a huge stack of texts with titles like Lycanthropic Moon and Hairy Snout, Human Heart.
"Find anything good?" she asked, sitting down with them.
"A little," Melissa replied absently. She looked up and rubbed her eyes hard. "This little print's making it hard to see."
Bruce apparently wasn't having the same problem. "Listen to this," he said eagerly. "Some Muggle named Peter Staub or something once thought he was a werewolf, and ate like six people before they caught him. Cannibal, he was. Very bloody."
"Where was that?" asked Beth, fascinated.
"Germany. Back in the 1400s or something. German Muggles used to be crazy after werewolves, they thought they were everywhere. French too."
Melissa was leaning close to her book, squinting. "Did you see Snape?"
"Yeah." Beth was going to go on, but the scene suddenly occurred to her again: Snape's theft, and his badly concealed rage. She lowered her voice to an excited whisper. "Somebody robbed his cabinet!"
Bruce dropped his voice. "Really? Of what?"
"Boomslang skin. Used in transformations, he said."
Melissa looked up from her book suddenly. "Transformation potions?"
Beth nodded.
"You mean like -- turning someone into something else?"
"Sure, I guess --"
"Changing the way someone is ... altering their form ..."
"Mel, what are you getting at?"
"Couldn't you use a potion ... to Petrify someone?" Melissa's eyes were wide and excited.
Bruce gave a start.
Melissa went on quickly. "What if it's not a charm? What if it's something else -- what if the heir of Slytherin was Petrifying people by force-feeding them potion?"
Beth gaped at Melissa, then nodded vigorously. "Of course! He must have run out and needed to restock."
"In that case, I'll bet it's not long until he strikes again," Bruce said, brow creased with concern.
Melissa stood up. "Come on. We've got to find Richard."
They found a whole group of S.S.A members studying at one of the tables on the other side of the library. Eagerly, Beth told them what she'd learned.
"It's true," Daedalus agreed. "I researched transformations, and boomslang is one of the quickest ways. Of course, to be an Animagus you'd have to drink your potion every hour or so. It's ridiculous."
"Unless you're always thirsty," said Uther, scratching his cheek lazily.
Richard leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Well, a boomslang skin is no use on its own. It has to be turned into something. Somebody around here is mixing up a pretty valuable potion."
"Valuable?" said Bruce.
"Sure," said Beth. "I was looking at some potions ingredients over the summer, and those things are expensive."
Richard propped up his chin thoughtfully. "Unless you're Beth, you can't make a potion without a recipe." (Beth blushed.) "And you don't get recipes with boomslang in them very easily." He slammed his hand down on the table suddenly. "It's time to visit Pince."
Madame Pince, the hawkish librarian, was shelving books when the S.S.A gathered around her. Upon seeing them, she left the unshelved ones on a cart and came over.
"Doing some research, Mr. Shaw?"
Richard nodded and flicked his eyes to the S.S.A ring on his finger. Madame Pince's face lit up and she led them to her desk.
"What do you need?" she whispered excitedly.
"Someone around here is mixing a potion on the sly," Richard whispered back. "Have there been any suspicious loans so far this year?"
Madame Pince pursed her wrinkled lips. "Let me see." She turned around and came back with a box full of index cards listing book titles and who had borrowed them. She flipped through them, frowning a little. "Hmm, here's one ... no, that was legitimate, I read the essay myself ... a little unusual, but then so is the student ... here's one." She pulled out a card and laid it on the table. Richard picked it up while she went back to browsing them.
Richard showed them the card.
The Recipe for Success
Borrowed: September 30
Due Back: December 16
Cedric Diggory
The name at the bottom was signed in brown ink, and checked by Madame Pince's initials.
"What's unusual about this?" Rich asked, his voice library-soft.
"Dumbledore's restricted that one," she replied, not looking away from the box of cards. "Gives students ideas. There are some very dangerous spells in there, and it's easily misused. Mr. Diggory claimed to be researching famous wizards who have gotten ahead in shady ways." She held up another card. "Here's one."
Borrowed: November 5
Due Back: January 14
Hermione Granger
"Mr. Potter and the youngest Mr. Weasley were also there when she checked it out," Madame Pince said. "They all looked very nervous, as if I might not let it through. I almost didn't," she added. "Moste Potente Potions is not second-year material." She went back to leafing through the cards.
"Those are the three that broke into the corridor last year!" Melissa whispered excitedly. "I wouldn't put it past them!"
Madame Pince turned back to them. "Those are the only truly suspicious loans we've had. I can get you a copy of each of them, if you think it would help."
"Sure!" said Beth eagerly. She had spoken too loudly; several students looked up at them in annoyance. She blushed furiously.
"I'll be right back," Madame Pince promised. She left to round up the books. The S.S.A moved into a huddle.
"I know it's Potter! That kid is no good!" Melissa prophesied. "Nobody knows how he defeated the Dark Lord both times. I'll bet he's a Dark Wizard himself!"
"I wouldn't put it past Diggory either," Richard mused. "He's in my year. You should see him in class -- I can't believe he's not a Slytherin, he kills himself to get ahead. I think if he figured out how to open the Chamber of Secrets, he'd do it. And famous wizards -- Salazar Slytherin certainly counts."
Before they could continue, Madame Pince returned with a pair of enormous, moldy books. "Take care of them," she warned. "I'm checking them out to myself. Keep them as long as you need, but don't get any ideas, Mr. Shaw. If I find out that you're actually using the recipes, I'll have you reported before you can say gloria serpens. There's no excuse for a student to make any of these potions."
"Understood," said Richard with a grin. He took the books and handed them over to Beth, who bobbed a little under their weight. "Thanks a ton."
Madame Pince smiled; it made her seem like a whole new person, and reminded Beth of how cheery and sociable she had been at the funeral. "Any time, Shaw. Good luck to you. Let me know if you need anything more."
"We will," he promised, and they went back to the table.
Moste Potente Potions turned out to be full of some of the grisliest potions Beth had ever seen. All of the worst ones seemed to have to do with changing something, like turning a person inside out, and boomslang was required for half of them.
"This isn't going to work," said Uther, thoughtful for a change. "We've got to hunt those potions down. Mel, you're dating a Gryffindor, see if he knows anything about it."
Melissa's face twisted. "Used to date a Gryffindor, and good riddance."
"Oh." Uther went back to the book. "Well -- let's let it go until the meeting. Bruce and I have practice anyway."
Bruce groaned and put his head down on the table. "I always hope Marcus'll just forget one sometime."
Uther put on his best Marcus Flint scowl. "If we skip just one practice, those stinkin' Gryffindors'll win," he growled, and the impression was uncannily good. "That cup's going to be ours if we have to poison the other team's water bottles."
"And he would," Bruce said.
Uther looked up at the clock. "We'd better get moving then, before he poisons our water bottles." The two stood up. "See you at the meeting."
"If," added Bruce, "Marcus ends practice before eleven."
The Thursday night meeting came entirely too soon. Beth was amazed at how quickly the hours flew by these days. It seemed like she'd just start to bend over her homework, when she would have to leave it. The thought of how much work she had to do made her impatient whenever she was doing something else. She couldn't focus on the meeting -- the thought of how much alchemy she had to do clanged in her head like an alarm that wouldn't stop.
Richard, on the other hand, looked like he couldn't be more pleased to be there. He was practically beaming as he started the meeting.
"First -- it hasn't been announced to the public yet, but one of the professors is planning to start a dueling club, the first meeting is next week, and you had all better be there. This could be the most valuable thing you ever learn at Hogwarts. I want the S.S.A. to have the top eleven duelers in the school. Attendance is mandatory, do you understand?"
"I can't make it," said Uther.
"I'm going to chew your arm off," said Richard.
The S.S.A. laughed. "When is it?" Herne asked, looking genuinely enthused.
"Next Thursday at eight," Richard replied. "And there's nothing else scheduled for then, ever. Just in case you were wondering."
"Is it going to be over by our meeting?" said Mervin skeptically.
"Probably," Richard guessed. "They can't keep the firsties up past ten or so. It may take a little while longer for us to get here, if everyone's still awake and excited, but let's try to be here at the same time."
"Weren't things great when the meetings kept getting cancelled?" Melissa muttered wistfully. Beth giggled.
"Second, and this one is really important, the third-years came up with a theory today and need some detective work to prove it. Beth, want to go over what you found out?"
"Uh -- all right." Beth stood up awkwardly. "Someone's stolen at least a boomslang skin from Snape's private ingredients. Madame Pince pointed out that Cedric Diggory and Hermione Granger both checked out restricted potions books in this semester, so it's likely to be one of them. The thing is, boomslang skin is used in transformations, so we thought -- well, we wondered -- if maybe the Heir of Slytherin is using a potion to Petrify people, and he needed some boomslang to do it."
There were general murmurs of interest. "Did you get the books?" Vivian inquired.
Beth nodded. "We don't know what they're using them for, though. We need to try and find the potions they're making, or at least find out what they're doing, in case it is one of them. So be on the lookout," she finished, and sat down, feeling like Richard.
"You heard her," Richard said. "Can you keep the books in here, Beth? In case we get some time, we can look through them for recipes with boomslang in them, or anything about Petrification."
"Sure. I'll bring them down tomorrow," Beth promised.
"Anything else?"
Vivian raised her hand. "Anyone else staying for Christmas break? It's a great time to do some snooping around. We could spend days looking for the Chamber of Secrets, or those potions. Hardly anyone's around, and Filch might be too full of eggnog to catch us."
Beth raised her hand, though a little sadly. It was going to be her first Christmas away from her father; he had sent her a letter saying that he had business to take care of over Christmas, and that he would prefer if she stayed at Hogwarts. She wasn't the only one; Richard, Mervin and Uther were all staying over, as well as Vivian. She felt a little better.
"Great!" said Vivian, beaming at Beth. "We can go excursioning -- just like last year, eh, Beth?"
Beth grinned back. The year before, the three girls had gone on a reconnaissance mission to the forbidden third-floor corridor, and come face to face with a monstrous three-headed dog.
"One more thing," said Richard. "Saturday's the Hogsmeade trip." There was a cheer. "Now I know it's a chance to have a day off, but it's also our only chance to get out of the bubble and into the real world. Look around! See if anyone knows anything about the Chamber."
"Rich, it's a holiday," said Uther.
"The Heir of Slytherin isn't taking a holiday," Rich said stubbornly.
"Well then invite him along!" Uther said crossly.
"Or her," snapped Melissa.
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[Author's Note] Information for AniMourner: Lycaeon (lie-KAY-on) was the name of a Greek king who was turned into a wolf by Zeus; the term "lycanthropy" actually comes from that myth. And sorry to disappoint, but he's not a werewolf; otherwise I suspect he would have been out of Azkaban in, say, a month. :-)