Researching chickens, as per Richard's orders, gave them something to think about besides schoolwork and covering for Daedalus. By now the schedule was going smoothly, and everyone but Vivian had stopped worrying. The fourth-years took a day off of studying to cozy up in the library and search for information about chickens, hens, pullets, and all manner of fowl.
"'Lions are afraid of chickens'," read Beth.
"No way."
"Really, it's in this bestiary."
Bruce leaned over to read it. "This is from eight hundred years ago!"
Beth shrugged. "Chickens never change."
"'The rooster is a symbol of virility and' -- never mind," said Melissa, flushing.
Bruce had a thin book on medieval wizardry. "You can hatch a cockatrice from a rooster's egg, if you put it under a toad," he said, thumbing through one page. "Wonder if that has anything to do with it."
Melissa tossed her hair. "Don't be silly, Bruce, anyone trying to get a cockatrice would have to keep the roosters alive to get an egg out of them." She had broken up with Galen a week before because she couldn't stand the way he chewed his food any longer (or something equally trite, Beth hadn't paid much attention to her rant) and it left her edgy.
"This is a neat section. 'Spiders are the enemy of the cockatrice. The cry of its father/mother is fatal to it --"
"Would you get off the reptiles already? We're researching poultry here."
Pouting, Bruce flipped further back in the book and started reading up on peacocks.
They reported their findings at the S.S.A meeting the next week.
Uther had read the Canterbury Tales. "There's this great story," he said breathlessly, "about this rooster, he has this nightmare about this fox, right, and his wife is like, 'You just had a bad dream, go take a laxative.' But it turns out he got chased by this fox anyway, so the dream was like a premonition."
"Weird," said Bruce.
"Totally," said Uther.
Vivian had not read anything. She looked strained. "I've been keeping up on Dell's homework for him," she said, "and I even bewitched some of his quills to stay in his handwriting. They're in his backpack. I don't know what's going to happen if we have a test."
"You're doing great," said Richard, patting her arm comfortingly. Vivian stared past him to the frozen snake on the shelf.
None of their research turned up anything that answered why it would be useful to kill a rooster. "Maybe it doesn't have any significance," sniffed Riggs, fiddling with his magic pen. "Sometimes that happens, you know." Richard reluctantly agreed, and they abandoned the search.
Melissa was intolerable for the rest of the week. If she wasn't mourning the loss of Galen, she was enumerating the ways in which she hated him.
"I'll never take him back," she fumed, on the way to breakfast on the fourteenth of February. "Not if he begs. Not if he cries."
"I am so glad to hear you say that," said Beth. "He doesn't deserve you."
"Right."
"You need someone who can commit."
"Absolutely. Not some slimy turncoat."
"You stick to your guns, because someday he's going to try and win you over again -- but he's not going to mean it ..." They came into the Great Hall. "Just remember what he's like ..." She stopped dead. "You are kidding."
The Great Hall was decked out in pink and red hearts. It looked like a rosebush had exploded. Students were picking tentatively at pink, heart-shaped pancakes and brushing petals off of their plates.
Melissa's face clouded over. "Valentine's Day," she sneered.
"Who did this?" Beth wondered, wandering through the pink wonderland to take her spot at the flower-infested Slytherin table.
"Take a guess," said Melissa, and she pointed to the head table.
Gilderoy Lockhart stood at the head table, beaming in a way that indicated exactly who was to blame for the decor. His robes were the kind of pink that ought to be banned. "Happy Valentine's Day!" he cried, clearly delighted with himself. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards!"
"Bet that half of them are from Antigone," muttered Beth.
Melissa sniggered. "And the other half, he sent to himself."
Without warning, a troupe of dwarves dressed like cherubim came into the Great Hall. The Slytherin table dissolved into muffled hysterics.
"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" Lockhart announced, grinning madly. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here!"
"Oh boy!" warbled Melissa blissfully.
"I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion!"
The look on Snape's face showed exactly why not to ask him how to whip up a Love Potion.
"And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met -- the sly old dog!"
Professor Flitwick sank down to the table before vanishing entirely.
"Don't miss the chance to pierce the heart of your beloved!" Lockhart cried cheerfully, as everyone left for classes. "Valentine's Day comes only once a year! Any more valentines for me can be delivered by dwarf -- they're chipper little fellows!"
Chipper wasn't the word, thought Beth, as two of the dwarves got into a fight and started bashing each other with their halos.
Class was distracting to say the least. Dwarves in paper wings kept stomping in to deliver love poems to Antigone Von Dervish, who fluttered her eyelashes as if trying to win over the dwarves themselves. She got so many in Charms that Professor Flitwick put a dwarf-repelling hex on the door. Every once in a while they could hear someone grabbing the doorknob and, a few seconds later, thudding against the other wall.
It was no better in Transfiguration. McGonagall was beside herself.
"The next dwarf through that door is going to find itself another species!" she swore hotly, as a trio of dwarfs trundled back from delivering a three-part harmony to Antigone.
"It's disgusting," Melissa muttered to Beth. "What do they see in her?"
"I think it's what they see on her," said Beth, eyeing Antigone's figure.
McGonagall vainly tried to resume class. "Bone structure. In the case of creature-to-creature transformations, it's important to be aware of the different anatomies. If the muscles are not carefully recalibrated, the new creature could limp, or worse, be unable to walk at all. Are you listening to me, Von Dervish?"
Antigone made no attempt to look interested.
"Well it's certainly no skin off my back if you fail to learn the test material. Which brings us to the issue of skin covering. Fur, hair, bristles --"
The door swung open. "Telegram," croaked a grizzled dwarf, and he marched into the room.
Zap! The dwarf vanished and a startled-looking chicken stood in its place.
"Now shoo," said McGonagall sternly.
The chicken backed away from her a step; then it bolted across the floor and jumped onto Melissa's desk. She shrieked and pulled away. It picked up her quill in its teeth, and tilting its head, started to scrawl on her notebook. After a few laborious seconds, it spat out the quill, leapt off of the desk and dashed into the hallway, with McGonagall in hot pursuit.
Beth watched the chicken be chased out the door. "I think McGonagall's going to transform Lockhart next for putting her through this," she laughed, turning back to Melissa.
Melissa wasn't listening at all. She was reading the chicken scratch with an increasingly rapt expression. Beth leaned over the page.
I cannot express how much
My heart longs for you
Return to me
And I will hold you tight
Forever
Your true one
Galen Melhorn
Beth gaped at Melissa. "Don't listen to that!" she blurted. "Stick to your guns! Remember what he's like! What were you just saying this morning?"
"How much I miss him ..." said Melissa. She was wearing the same kind of rapt, dreamy expression that she used to get after going for a walk with Galen.
"That wasn't it!" fumed Beth. At the same time, a sinking realization came over her that no matter what had been said, Melissa was going to take him back and there was nothing that could be done. "It's not even good poetry," she said petulantly, but Melissa never heard her.
The next Hogsmeade trip couldn't come soon enough. Mervin was exhausted from trying to keep up with Daedalus's Transfiguration assignments; for once, he was content to just sit in the Three Broomsticks and nurse a warm butterbeer.
"Shouldn't you be trying to turn that bottle into a pine tree?" Beth teased, as they sat around one of the worn oak tables.
Mervin gave her a dirty look. "You're just lucky we're not turning people into toads until next week."
Melissa was swiveling around in her chair, trying to see if she knew any of the patrons. "Hey, there's Rich!" she exclaimed, twisted around almost backwards. "What is he doing?"
They looked over to a table in the corner, where Richard was engaged in conversation with a tall, rough-looking man. They had a parchment spread out between them, and they would both point to it every once in a while. "That's Dave Gudgeon," Beth said in surprise. "I sat by him at the funeral. What d'you think they're up to?"
"Bet we find out Thursday," Melissa grinned. "Either that or it's top-secret and he'll never tell us."
She was wrong. As they watched, the two conspirators rolled up the parchment. Richard stuck it in his pocket before they shook hands. Gudgeon strode out of the Three Broomsticks, giving Beth a friendly wave as he went by. Richard drew up a seat with them.
"I've been writing to the alumni, looking for restorative potions," he muttered, bent low over the table. "Dave Gudgeon said he knew one, so we've been talking. He's gone over the map of the Forbidden Forest with me, and we've got a clear path all worked out."
"To what?" demanded Mervin.
"Shhh!" Richard glanced over his shoulder suspiciously. "There's a tree back in the forest --"
Melissa stifled a snicker. "No kidding."
He scowled at her. "Would you let me finish? It's a magic tree. It grows three kinds of fruit: copper plums, silver pears, and golden apples. The plums aren't good for anything but decoration. The apples are poisonous. But the pears will revive anyone who's sick -- cures any illness, breaks any curse. Thing is, the tree's guarded, so when we go in we'll have to be ready to fight."
"We?" Mervin said, too loudly. Richard shushed him again.
"Yes, we, as many as we can get! If we get the fruit we can turn Dell back into a live person -- a live snake, anyway."
"When are we going in?" asked Beth, in little more than a whisper.
"Tomorrow. Meet by the fireplace at midnight." Then Richard stood up and left.
They watched him abandon the Three Broomsticks and go out into the street to track down the other members.
"You know," said Beth, "he didn't mention what the tree was guarded by."
"I wonder if he knows," Melissa said.