"We should reach Hogwarts before lunch tomorrow," said Sirius, over dinner that night. "We'll leave as soon as Ron's feeling better."
"I'm feeling fine now," said Ron immediately – then spoilt this declaration by rushing out of the room to be sick.
"Are you sure you were meant to put the minnows in, Professor?" asked Hermione suspiciously. Snape glared at her.
"Are you suggesting I don't possess enough knowledge of my own subject to know the ingredients for a simple reparative potion, Miss Granger?" he snarled. "You ought to be grateful. If I hadn't been here, your friend would still be in excruciating pain."
Hermione looked doubtful that Ron wasn't at the moment, but wisely decided against saying so. Harry dived into his plate of potatoes with a vigour that he didn't really possess: spending the last two days with no escape from Snape had exhausted him. He pitied any future Mrs Snape. How Dumbledore and the other members of staff could bear to spend each and every day in the man's company bewildered him: the teachers at Hogwarts had risen considerably in his estimation since he'd learned just how hard it was to put up continuously with the Potions master.
He – and all the others, with the possible exception of Sirius – had given up rising to the baits that Snape provided. But even this didn't seem to help much: Harry's Lupin-style politeness served to make Snape's eyes flash just as much as Sirius's short retorts to his jibes.
It was decided that they would leave in the morning. Hogwarts was, apparently, only four or five hours away: Harry didn't understand how they'd managed to walk from Surrey to his school in under three days, but didn't bother asking. All that mattered now was getting there in one piece – and then hearing whatever mysterious things it was that Dumbledore had to tell then. That night, he lay awake, wondering at all the secrecy. Why had Dumbledore told Sirius not to tell them? Did he not trust one of them? Could it be that serious? Harry pondered these thoughts long into the night, and when he finally drifted off into a fitful, troubled sleep, the sky had begun to lighten and the first tentative notes of birdsong had erupted into the sky.
Ron's quick recovery astonished Harry. He hadn't asked what had happened with the Brollachan and Ron didn't volunteer any information, so Harry was just left with his imagination as to what had happened in the water: he still had the disturbing image of Cedric Diggory imprinted firmly in his mind, and on the whole he decided that the topic was probably better of being left alone. So that day they talked instead of how nice it would be to see Hogwarts again, and eat proper food instead of the rather bland supplies from Sirius's house – which had begun, at any rate, to now run out.
"And the library!" said Hermione, enthusiastically. "I can't wait to re-read the book list for next year – of course, you're going to have to go to Diagon Alley, aren't you, Harry, before term starts? I wonder if Dumbledore will take us. It's too dangerous for Sirius… Have you gone, yet, Ron?"
"Yeah," mumbled Ron, obviously hoping that Hermione didn't delve too deeply into what exactly he'd bought: Ron's family was very poor, and he frequently found himself being given second-hand thises and thats that caused him a great deal of embarrassment. But Hermione was too sensitive to probe him; tactfully, she changed the subject.
"How far do you think we are now?" she enquired. "It's almost lunch time. We should be – Oh…" Harry and Ron looked at her, surprised, as she gasped. Then, following her gaze, they saw what she was looking at and gasped themselves: for there, in front of them, rising out of the midday mists was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.