CHAPTER SIX: Success and failure

Professor Snape led the way down a cold stone passage into the castle's dungeons and the potions classroom.

"Sit," he snarled as they entered the smaller storeroom behind Snape's tall desk. Roxanne sat herself in the single chair at the side of the large worktable in the center of the room. The walls of the storeroom were lined with high shelves filled with hundreds of jars, bottles, and boxes. No sooner had she settled herself then he rounded on her and, hands on the table, leaned over her menacingly.

"You will be in this classroom by six A.M. every morning. You will do exactly as I say without question or complaint. You will remain here until I release you. Understand?" He lifted an eyebrow and waited for her response.

Roxanne's jaw clenched. She leaned forward until she was nearly nose to nose with him, his stringy black hair nearly touching her cheek, and returned his glare. "Yes, sir!" She considered for a moment how she could get to him. He was, after all, just another bully. But if he was a bully like Lucius Malfoy, it would be wiser to stay on his good side-if he had one.

Snape, seemingly sensing her thoughts did something he seldom did-he smiled. Not really a smile, more of a smirk. He was looking forward to putting this student in her place.

"I have a great deal to do before I leave. You will assist me and, if you pay attention, learn as we work," he said retrieving a heavy stack of books from a shelf and dropping them with a hollow thud, a thick cloud of dust exploding from their pages, in front of her.

"First, you will inventory and organize the storeroom. You have two days to learn each ingredient's origin and use; list all those that need replenishing, and where I can expect to find them; and organize the storeroom in such a way as to make it a simple task to locate the ingredients needed for any potion."

Roxanne looked at him as if he'd just commanded her to fly to Mars. She opened her mouth to protest, but Snape smacked his hand on the table to silence her.

"Two days," he said slowly through clenched teeth.

**********

Roxanne attacked the task a shelf at a time. By noon the table was nearly half covered with bottles and jars that needed filling, and a sizeable group whose labels had fallen off and would need identifying. Snape refused to help her with this. Instead, she was expected to search the pharmacopoeia books he'd provided for their descriptions, which covered the other half of the table, lying open, bits of scribbled-on parchment sticking up from between their pages. It was difficult enough working forward in identifying and studying each substance, but to work backward was time-consuming and, it seemed, fruitless.

Professor Snape drifted in and out of the room, giving instructions and invariably bringing more jars or boxes he'd retrieved from his office. He'd glare coldly over her shoulder, checking her progress, impatiently making corrections.

The lunch hour came and went. Snape showed no sign of suggesting a break. Roxanne thought it best not to mention it, and kept working, her stomach growling louder and louder as the hours passed.

It was after two o'clock when Professor Snape emerged carrying a tray laden with food and a tall pitcher of pumpkin juice. She tried to thank him, but he interrupted.

"The noise from your stomach is giving me a headache."

**********

They worked that night, and every night that week, until nearly midnight. He'd had to help her find her room again that first night, and after that he took to showing her around the castle bit by bit, taking her to her room by a different route each night. He acted quite annoyed at the inconvenience, but accepted her thanks.

"I expect you to be able to find your way to my classroom no matter where you are in the castle," he said tersely.

After inventory and organization in the storeroom was completed, a half-day over schedule, Roxanne was put to work collecting ingredients. She took a long list to Professor Sprout in the greenhouses, and helped her prepare them to Professor Snape's exacting standards. Snape made her travel by floo powder once more on a trip to Diagon Alley for more difficult to find supplies.

Finally he instructed her to retrieve a list of potions Madame Pomfrey in the infirmary would need to replenish her stores for the coming school year. Once this was done, Professor Snape began to open her mind to what he did best-potion making.

For three days they made potion after potion. The desks in the classroom held dozens of steaming cauldrons with various colored brews bubbling inside-many to be watched and stirred for several hours or even weeks, with new ingredients to be added at precise times. They worked throughout the nights, catching quick naps atop empty worktables when the potions allowed. Professor Snape was always stern and impatient. Roxanne worked feverishly, putting up with his abuses because she was smart enough to respect his power, and because she was finding potions to be incredibly fascinating.

Late in the afternoon of the third day most of the cauldrons had been cleaned and stored, the shelves were neatly packed with glistening bottles, jars and boxes-all brimming full-and Professor Snape had just arrived with a dinner tray. Roxanne gave the Dreamless Sleep potion another stir and removed the cauldron from the fire.

"Done," she announced, a flicker of pride flashing through the exhaustion for a moment.

They sat across from each other at a front row worktable. Snape looked tired as well-more than tired, he looked strained, as if carrying a heavy load.

Roxanne ate slowly, enjoying the rest and the food.

"We're done then?" she asked. She'd found it difficult at best to carry on any kind of casual conversation with Professor Snape. But found him not to be quite as unpleasant as she'd first believed. She'd actually come to respect him. He jumped slightly at her words, startled from his thoughts. "Except for the long-term potions, of course."

Snape did not react angrily, as was his usual compunction, but heaved a sigh and rubbed his neck. "Yes. We're done at last. You'll need to tend to the long-term potions while I'm away. The last of them should be finished about mid-August. You've got the schedule?" She nodded as he poured himself a goblet of deep red wine and offered her one with an inquiring gesture.

Roxanne nearly upset her plate in her eagerness to reach for her goblet. Seeing this, Snape eyed her for a moment before filling it for her. She took a long sip and closed her eyes, satisfied at last. Snape considered her for a moment, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.

"You have a talent for potions, you know."

This time it was Roxanne who started, her thoughts drifting over the hill to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks.

"Excuse me?" She wasn't sure she'd heard correctly.

"You should consider making a career of it," he said firmly.

She frowned slightly and looked at him skeptically. "I've only been at it a week."

"True," he nodded. "But in that week you accomplished much more than I expected of you. Only someone with a gift for potions could have done it."

Roxanne thought about it, and a satisfied smile played on her lips. She picked up her goblet and held it high over the table. "To potions then."

"To potions" agreed Snape with a nod and a quick tip of his goblet.

She'd worked hard all week and was thoroughly exhausted. For it she'd earned a compliment from Professor Snape-a rare thing she guessed. Between that and the thought of a night celebrating at the Three Broomsticks, Roxanne Stewart was feeling pretty good about herself.

**********

It was nearly two a.m. before Roxanne staggered out of the Three Broomsticks, waving goodbye to her crowd of newfound friends as she stumbled into the street. Madame Rosmerta, the barmaid, pointer her towards Hogwarts and gave her a shove to get her started. The road was dark and deserted, but she managed to stay on it somehow, and soon a bend in the road brought Hogwarts into view.

The steps to the great oak doors seemed gigantic as she half-crawled up them. The interior of the castle was dark except for a few torches lit here and there. She stumbled noisily across the entrance hall, nearly tripping over a scruffy cat with glowing orange eyes.

"Oh, shorry," she slurred, slumping to the floor and calling, "Here kiddy, kiddy."

The cat gazed at her, unblinking, and pacing back and forth, its eyes never moving from Roxanne's stupidly friendly face.

"Here kiddy, kiddy. C'mere kiddy," she tried again.

"Well, well," snarled a thin nasal voice from the stairs. "What've we got here Mrs. Norris?"

"Mr. Filsh!" Roxanne crooned drunkenly. "How are you?"

Filch growled. "Been at the bottle, have we?" he asked, pulling her roughly up by the back of her robes.

"I'm shorry. I shoulda ashked you to come-

"Come? With you? He snorted. "Come on then. Off to bed with you. I daresay I'll be delighted to inform Professor McGonagall about this. Mind you don't be sick on my nice clean floors, or I'll have the Headmaster to tell as well."

**********

The next morning Roxanne woke with a start at the stabbing pain in her head. Something had woken her, but her dulled wits couldn't grasp what it was. Then she heard a loud knocking sound. Someone was at her door. She staggered out of bed, still in her clothes from the previous night. The knocking grew louder and more insistent. "I'm coming," she called, desperate for the hangover-amplified noise to stop. She swung the door open a crack and peered out. It was Professor McGonagall.

"Come with me," she said coldly, and without waiting for Roxanne to dress, swept through the castle and down a brightly lit corridor to the kitchens. Several house elves gathered around as the professor commanded her to sit on one of the tables. Roxanne took little notice of them. She'd seen house elves before, but right now her head was pounding so intensely she couldn't be bothered to be amazed at how many of them there were.

"A pot of strong black coffee, please," ordered Professor McGonagall to one of them.

"Will Miss be wanting breakfast as well?" squeaked another nodding towards Roxanne. She held up her hand and shook her head gingerly, a wave of nausea rushing over her at the mention of food. Just the smell of breakfast lingering in the kitchen was almost too much for her. She sat helpless as Professor McGonagall poured black coffee down her throat and lectured her through gritted teeth. Roxanne was too sick to pick up any but the fiercest phrases which pounded through her skull like fiery spears:

"-disgraceful! --last time! --irresponsible! --double detention! Drink this!"

She felt the cool glass of a small vial being pressed into her hand. "Wh- What is it?" she asked trying to get her eyes to focus.

"Just drink it!" roared Professor McGonagall.

"Quit yelling!" pleaded Roxanne. "I'll do anything if you'll just quit yelling."

Professor McGonagall fell silent, waiting impatiently, a foot tapping on the floor. Roxanne looked sideways at her, saw the furious determination in her face, decided it best to do it quickly, and tipped the bottle's contents into her mouth. It felt icy cold and she shuddered as she swallowed, the cold sweeping throughout her body. It did nothing. Her head still pounded, her stomach still rolled uncomfortably.

"And this," demanded Professor McGonagall holding out another vial.

Roxanne did as she was told, not daring to risk another onslaught of yelling. This second potion did the trick-the feeling that her head was about to explode quickly subsided. And though her appetite did not return, she immediately felt less nauseated.

Professor McGonagall's temper had cooled, but she was still oozing disappointment that was as searing to Roxanne as the yelling had been to her pounding head.

"I trust this will NOT happen again, Miss Stewart," Professor McGonagall whispered icily. "A wiser witch would have learned her lesson after nearly being beheaded by Lucius Malfoy. Now, I suggest you get your things quickly-Professor Flitwick is waiting for you."

**********

Professor Flitwick, a tiny balding wizard, seemed perfectly delighted to see her. He obviously wasn't as stuffy as Professor McGonagall and even asked if she'd had a good time at the Three Broomsticks. When she said she didn't really remember, Professor Flitwick laughed. "Well, you must've then."

Their first session was spent going over the basics. Roxanne showed him everything she'd learned during her stay at the Leaky Cauldron. He nodded, cheerfully refining her technique, making her practice over and over until she'd perfected several charms, and improving her aim. Flitwick had nearly laughed himself off his seat when she told him about the incident in the motel room. So they spent their next session improving and speeding her aim from various distances.

He was adamant that she remember the best way to learn a spell-find a useful application for it and immediately put into practice. By the end of the week she'd done away with her heavy schoolbag in favor of a small light shoulder bag, shrinking and enlarging her supplies as needed. The key to her room that hung on a chain around her neck was left in her room now, in favor of a handy unlocking charm. Then, realizing that just anyone could use it, she asked Professor Flitwick to help find a more suitable solution.

Their last session, Flitwick had her take her first-year final exam, then challenged her to a game of wizard chess to celebrate. The game lasted nearly two hours, but Roxanne finally check-mated his King, which was promptly dragged off the board to the delight of Roxanne's pieces who mercilessly browbeat the losing pieces, clapped one another on the back and shouted praises to Roxanne.

Fairly running, she ran to her room, whispered "Big sky" to the tiny portrait that now hung in place of a doorknob and threw her things on the bed. She dashed through the castle, down the grand staircase and was nearly to the door on her way to Hogsmeade when she heard Professor McGonagall's sharp call from the stairs behind her.

"Miss Stewart!"

Roxanne skidded to a halt.

"Yes Professor?" she smiled, unaware that her long-anticipated visit to the Three Broomsticks was about to be delayed.

"If you are finished with Professor Flitwick, you are to report to Mr. Filch for your first detention," she said coolly.

"What? But Professor, I was just-"

"You will take care of your responsibilities, Miss Stewart." She turned briskly and disappeared around a corner.

Her good mood gone, grumbling, she continued down the stairs and made her way to Filch's office. Filch seemed to be more than pleased to see her, at least in his sadistic, punishment-loving sort of way.

"Follow me," he sneered. They made their way through the castle to the owlery. Professor Snape had shown it to her once before, explaining that she was welcome to use the owls to send letters, but she didn't have anyone she wished to contact-not really. She supposed though she should send a letter to Tom, apologizing again for the trouble she'd caused. She hadn't done it yet, and wondered if it would be too late to be of any service. She was half wondering what they were doing in the owlery when Mr. Filch pointed to a broom, some brushes, buckets, and a ladder.

"Start scrubbing-and no using magic," he snarled gleefully. "I'll be back in a few hours to check on your work. You're not likely to get it all done tonight," he tutted. "And there's still another detention to think on."

Each sentence issuing from his mouth dragged Roxanne's mood lower and lower. She suspected it was Professor McGonagall's doing, trying to keep her out of Hogsmeade no doubt.

The owls squawked and nipped at her hands as she climbed up and down the ladder, scrubbing the dozens of perches and walls clean of heavy layers of owl droppings. The harder she worked, the harder the owls seemed to try to undo it.

When Filch returned it was nearly midnight. She had been watching the movements of the stars through the openings the owls used to get in and out. She knew it was very late. She was tired. Her arms and legs ached and, as Filch had suggested, the job was not finished.

"See you in the morning then," he almost tittered.

Roxanne responded politely--"Yes, sir,"-and dragged herself to her room. She flung herself on the bed without undressing and despite the twitching aches fell quickly asleep.

**********

The owlery finally done, Roxanne reported to Filch the next morning, not daring to hope for the rest of the day off-and she was right not to. He was kind enough to give her a half hour for lunch before starting her on adding a coat of lacquer to the enormous house tables, and benches, in the Great Hall.

She watched the squares of sunlight from the narrow windows slip across the room and lengthen as the day wore away. By nightfall she still had the Gryffindor table to go, and tomorrow she would have to begin with Professor Sprout in the greenhouses. Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks was a fast- fading dream-at least for this weekend.

Then the solution dawned on her. Professor Snape kept a supply of gin in the potions storeroom for making tinctures. She knew it would be unlocked, and even if it was locked she figured she knew enough magic by now to get inside. She patted her robe to ensure her wand was where it should be and made her way to the dungeons late that night after finally finishing her double detention.

The room was in fact unlocked, and there, right where she knew they would be, stood three large bottles, all firmly capped and within easy reach. She retrieved an empty jar from a box on the floor and poured herself a generous measure, then sitting in the chair and propping her feet on the table she took a long slow sip and closed her eye, sighing in satisfaction.

"That's better," she said aloud to herself, raising the jar for another swallow. But the cup never made it. A tremendous lurch sent it flying and her flailing backward, her head smacking the shelf behind her as she fell. The jar shattered on the stone floor spraying gin everywhere.

Roxanne scrambled to her feet, checking the stinging lump on her head for blood-there was none. Had it been an earthquake? But none of the bottles on the dozens of shelves seemed to be disturbed, there was no dust falling from the ceiling, no lights swaying overhead.

Another lurch sent her grasping for the table. She fell to her knees, the room suddenly spinning around her. Nausea hit her like a bullet and she vomited on the floor, which seemed to be bulging and writhing underneath her. The shelves around her swayed dangerously, but no bottles fell. The lurching and spinning continued, and Roxanne could no longer stay upright at all. She slumped to the floor and lay gasping, shutting her eyes tightly in hopes it would help. It didn't.

She vomited twice more before the spinning began to slow and the room came gradually back into focus. She lay gasping like a caught fish for what seemed a very long time before she felt settled enough to try standing. Her legs wobbled uncertainly under her weight and her robes were soaked with gin and vomit, but she managed to make it back to her room where she splashed her face with cold water, removed her robes, threw them in an empty corner, and collapsed onto the bed.

**********

At breakfast the next morning Roxanne filled her plate to bursting with poached eggs and bacon, toast smothered with sweet berry preserves, fried potatoes and thick Belgian waffles. The incident the previous night had left her famished. She'd risen very early and thoroughly cleaned the mess in the potions storeroom before Mr. Filch had a chance to find it. There was no telling what he would do if he did.

She'd thought about asking Madame Pomfrey about her sudden illness, but since she felt better and could think clearly again, she came to the conclusion that Snape must have jinxed the store of gin to keep people like her from nicking any. Besides, it just seemed best to keep any of this from getting back to Professor McGonagall.

Today Roxanne would begin herbology. She'd just have to wait until next weekend to satisfy her thirst at the Three Broomsticks where the liquor was guaranteed to be jinx-free. Professor Sprout babbled on cheerfully as she walked Roxanne to the greenhouses after breakfast. Professor Sprout seemed very much in her element here-she was low to the ground and earthy with dark hair reminiscent of a tangled bramble hedge. She cooed to the plants as she walked among them. Roxanne thought this strange, but certainly no stranger than she'd seen before-even in the muggle world. But here in the wizard world a few of the plants cooed back.

Despite all Professor Sprout's pleasantness and patience, Roxanne found herbology a daunting task. She'd gotten a respectable head start in her potions studies concerning what the plants were used for, but she found the care and processing of the plants to be tedious. She guessed somebody had to do it all, but Roxanne preferred the idea of buying the finished product from a store shelf somewhere to getting soil embedded under her fingernails and thorns under her skin.

By the time the week was up she'd learned enough to pass her exam-just barely-and felt like she'd just spent an entire week doing detention. But at last she was free, for one evening, to make that long-anticipated trip to the Three Broomsticks.

**********

Roxanne sat at the bar and when Rosmerta came smiling over to take her order she leaned forward and whispered, "Don't let me have more than three drinks tonight. Professor McGonagall'll have my head if I come back to the castle smashed again."

"Sure thing, love" winked Rosmerta. "To tell you the truth, I was a little worried ye'd get lost on the way back to the castle. Glad to see ye back."

Roxanne thanked her and ordered a drink, then looked around the room at the other patrons. There was no one she recognized, which was not surprising considering how drunk she'd been last time she was here.

A youngish wizard came upon her and clapped her on the shoulder. "We missed you last weekend. Ready for a rematch?" he asked placing a worn brown chess box on the bar. Roxanne looked at him dully for a moment, not remembering the chess match or the face grinning down at her. But that didn't really matter-she was up for a good game of chess anytime-so she followed him to a nearby table inlaid with an ornate chessboard, and borrowing a house set, began setting up. Madame Rosmerta brought her drink over, a tall glass of mead, just as she moved her first pawn forward. The first few moves went quickly, so the drink went undisturbed as piece after piece moved onto the battlefield. Roxanne advanced a knight, he a bishop, then she had time to sit back, survey the course she intended to take the game, and take a long drink.

Just as she reached to move a rook forward she felt the lurch that had knocked her off her feet a week before in the potions storeroom. She struggled to stay in her seat, but knocked the table causing the chess men to teeter dangerously. Most were knocked from their squares, and several, including her own King and Queen shook furious fists at her. Roxanne's face went deathly pale. Her opponent leaped to his feet in alarm, as she heaved twice and vomited across the chessboard. Several people at nearby tables gasped and pointed. One young witch turned away, sickened by the sight.

Madame Rosmerta, who turned out to be stronger than she looked, grabbed Roxanne under the arms and hauled her quickly out the back door. She tried setting her on an empty crate near the door, but the world was already spinning too wildly and Roxanne spilled onto the cold ground, retching and vomiting again.

The square of light from the open door danced around and the earth beneath her seemed to undulate like a stormy sea. Roxanne could hear Madame Rosmerta's voice, but it seemed far off and she couldn't understand her. Her own yelps seemed to come from somewhere besides her own throat.

Roxanne heaved several more times before the spinning subsided and she was able to pull herself out of the pool of vomit and crawl back onto the crate. She was drenched with sweat and shivered violently in the cool breeze, her head resting in her hands. She'd lost track of Madame Rosmerta, but she appeared again, followed by Professor McGonagall. Professor McGonagall helped her out of her soiled robes which she threw aside with a sour look, gripped her shoulders and guided her down the alley toward the street.

"Professor, I swear-" Roxanne began.

"Silence!" she hissed back. They walked on, Roxanne staggering, her head drooping, Professor McGonagall holding her up and steering her forcefully back to Hogwarts.

**********

Professor McGonagall's rage seemed to intensify with each step. By the time they reached the hospital wing, where she dumped Roxanne roughly onto a bed, she was livid. "Madame Pomfrey!" she called. The medical witch, who by personality could have been Professor McGonagall's sister, poked her head outside her office door. "We'll need a sobering potion."

"Professor, I'm not-"Roxanne tried again.

"Shut your trap and take your medicine, Miss Stewart," Professor McGonagall hissed.

"But I'M NOT DRUNK!" she finally shouted.

Professor McGonagall eyed her critically. "Explain."

"I was just playing chess. I-I'd just taken a drink, one swallow, of mead, and then-" she groaned as dizziness crept up on her again, "then the world kind of-fell. And I was sick everywhere, and I couldn't stand up. Last time it happened I thought-" She stopped. She'd recovered enough to regain her senses and realized she was facing more detention if she let her midnight visit to Professor Snape's storeroom slip out. But Professor McGonagall was on to her in an instant.

"What exactly do you mean by 'last time?'" she said slowly, crossing her arms dangerously over her chest. Roxanne groaned and let herself fall over onto the pillow. She had no choice. She'd have to tell now. Despite her attempts to gloss it over, Professor McGonagall assigned her double detention again then stepped aside for Madame Pomfrey to examine her.

She was firm and thorough. But the magic she called medicine did the trick and Roxanne was nearly feeling herself again and getting dressed in clean clothes. Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall consulted quietly nearby. Was it her imagination or did they seem to be enjoying her misery?

Professor McGonagall left and Madame Pomfrey swept sternly over.

"You have contracted a rare magical malady, Miss Stewart," she informed her coolly. "Unfortunately you will be unable to drink alcoholic beverages anymore. Fortunately, there is no cure," she said meaningfully.

Roxanne groaned again. At the moment she was not overly disappointed to hear this bit of news, but she hadn't failed to notice the firmness in Madame Pomfrey's voice. It was apparent that Professor McGonagall was not overly concerned about her prognosis either.

"Now, off to bed with you," said Madame Pomfrey, pointing her towards the exit.

**********

Roxanne was not at all surprised to find she'd be starting transfiguration with Professor McGonagall next. In fact she was certain Professor McGonagall had arranged it after her disastrous trip to the Three Broomsticks the other night.. She felt squirmy and uncomfortable at the though of being under the ever-scrutinizing eye of Professor McGonagall all day, every day, for a week. And her discomfort grew as it became obvious that her transfiguration talents were seriously lacking.

Try as she might she failed over and over again to grasp the basics. The rabbits she'd been trying to turn into slippers only half-transformed into extremely ugly furry lumps that bit her toes when she tried to put them on. And that had been her greatest success. It didn't help that Professor McGonagall hovered sternly over her, barking instructions and throwing her hands in the air in frustration. Nor that Roxanne failed to see the value of transfiguring one object into another. "There are plenty of very nice slippers available without having to make them out of the Easter Bunny," she'd mumbled, much to the outrage of Professor McGonagall.

At the end of the week Professor McGonagall sniffed disapprovingly at Roxanne's exam scores. They were passing, but low-very low. So low that at dinner that evening Professor McGonagall insisted that Professor Dumbledore allow her another week. But at Roxanne's pleading look he suggested that perhaps, at the end of the summer, if there was time, she could try again.

Deciding the walk to Hogsmeade wasn't worth the effort anymore, Roxanne remained at Hogwarts that weekend-and every weekend for the rest of the summer-reading, playing chess with Professor Flitwick (he hadn't managed to beat her yet, but several games ended in a stalemate), and avoiding Professor McGonagall, who kept trying to force her to the transfiguration classroom for more lessons.

Professor McGonagall did have one trait in common with Roxanne. They were both natural early risers. Which meant Professor McGonagall had extra morning hours to coerce Roxanne into her classroom. To avoid this sticky problem, Roxanne took to exploring the Hogwarts grounds in the hours before breakfast. They were blissful hours, spent alone, no books, no eyes watching her every move, no critical comments or pop quizzes (which Professor Sprout was fond of throwing at her every time she saw her). She often strolled around the lakeshore or skirted the edge of the forest hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the many magical creatures that hid there. More than once, in the misty morning twilight, she'd caught sight of a silvery-white unicorn. She'd had a fleeting thought of following it into the forest once. But like every new student at Hogwarts, she'd been warned of the dangers that lurked in the forest, and forbidden to enter it.

The weeks passed quickly, with successes in Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Moody, and History of Magic with Professor Dumbledore (Professor Binns, the usual teacher, had not altered his teaching schedule over his own death and could not be persuaded to alter it for Roxanne).

Moody seemed to be constantly scrutinizing her with his enormous magical eye. The Headmaster had told him of Roxanne's encounter with Lucius Malfoy, and Moody seemed bent on figuring out what made her tick-did she possess extraordinary bravery, or excessive stupidity? Either way, he took his job of teaching her how to protect herself seriously. He was as demanding as Professor Snape and relentless as Professor McGonagall. She learned a number of useful defensive charms-Moody was reluctant to teach her offensive hexes until he was more certain of her character. The remainder of the summer Moody would attack her without warning, sharpening her reaction time and defensive technique, teaching her 'constant vigilance' (a phrase Moody was overly fond of) through practice. At first she made a near daily trip to the hospital wing for minor injuries he'd inflicted on her. But pressed to avoid more pain, she worked harder, and soon became expert at avoiding him as well as his hexes.

Professor Dumbledore's lessons were fascinating-what a shock she was in for when Professor Binns (whose lessons usually gave his students extra time to catch up on sleep) took over in the fall. Dumbledore conjured miniature scenes, like holograms, on the long house tables, explaining the politics, the tragedies, the triumphs, as tiny figures acted them out before her eyes. Except for the infrequent times he'd leave her reading an interesting passage while he took care of important business, he spent all day with her, poring over and discussing stories of long ago wizards and witches over meals and tea.

At least the Headmaster would drink tea. Roxanne had not taken well to the English habit of throwing tea at you every time you sat down. It was annoyingly polite and overly repetitious being offered tea several times a day and trying to refuse without being rude-although no one seemed to be put out when she refused. She didn't really like tea, unless it was overloaded with sugar, but as it seemed impolite to plop six or seven lumps of sugar into her cup, she generally declined in favor of pumpkin juice or water.

The weekend before her seventh week, Hagrid returned. He spent half a day meeting secretly with Professor Dumbledore, then returned to his duties as gamekeeper. Dumbledore, whose mood had changed little over the summer, seemed more thoughtful after his meeting with Hagrid.

Hagrid's long absence meant there was much to be done to prepare the grounds for the coming school year, as well as prepare for his Care of Magical Creatures classes. Roxanne was given the task of assisting him for the remainder of the summer. Professor McGonagall did her best to hide her disappointment.

Hagrid thanked her for cleaning the owlery and complimented her on a very thorough job, but was dismayed that Professor McGonagall had gotten so angry. "If I'd gotten inta tha' much trouble ev'ry time I wen' ta drinkin'- well, let's jus' say this castle'd be sparkling clean from top ta bottom," he laughed.

Hagrid kept her busy, but always took time to sit back and enjoy the warmth of the day, and never made her skip a meal. But the work was hard, and she collapsed exhausted into bed each night, or fell asleep hovered over her books at her table. Hagrid was always good company, and included her in his ventures into the forest to check on the creatures that lived there. As she became more familiar with it, the forest turned from the dark and threatening place she'd been warned about, to an enchanting, mysterious place that begged her to explore its depths. It reminded her of Mirkwood from the Hobbit's tale her father had told her as a child. She could easily envision the black stream and the elven lights flickering in the dark far off the path.

Hagrid carried his crossbow with him whenever he went into the forest. It served as a reminder to Roxanne that, despite its allure, the forest remained a dangerous place that emanated a sense of hidden threat, though Hagrid never showed any signs of fearing it. But he continually warned her against coming here after dark, or straying off the paths.