Chapter 20: Skulking At Its Best

25 DECEMBER

Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered in the Gryffindor common room, Harry with the invisibility cloak and Hermione with a torch. The last time Harry had ventured into the library after hours, he had done it by himself; it was comforting to know that he wouldn't be alone this time. He had come to rely on his friends' help and resourcefulness in a pinch.

They slipped through the corridors, draped in the cloak and taking care to move quietly. As they came around a corner, the sound of energetic humming checked their progress. A moment later, Dumbledore came into sight, skipping lightly down the hallway in unshod feet, his robes pulled up just far enough to reveal his new striped wool toe socks. He seemed fully absorbed by his skipping and his beaming observation of his feet. It was a few minutes before he finally skipped out of sight and earshot.

"And I thought he was nutters before," Ron breathed. Harry and Hermione made no comment, but they exchanged traumatized glances. They took a few minutes to recover, then resumed their progress toward the library.

As Hermione had said, an entire stack side was devoted to Hogwarts yearbooks. Based on Harry's half-memory that Ebony's first year teaching had been his last year of primary school, they were able to calculate roughly when she would have been a student at Hogwarts. In a matter of minutes, the three of them were poring over seven old yearbooks. The first two were problematic; they found a Meli Stafford who looked about right, but there was no one named Meli Ebony. They made a note of that, then looked for whatever other information the yearbooks would yield. There was no Phamelia Marvolo anywhere to be seen, but Crimson Fell could be found in all seven books, along with Meli Ebony in the last five.

"Well, Ebony didn't play quidditch," Ron whispered, sounding disappointed. "But she was a Gryffindor."

"Here's a picture of her with some Slytherins whose names you'll know," Hermione muttered. "Crimson Fell and Dirk Pierce."

Ron flipped a page, then let out a quiet laugh. "Here's another picture of her with those two, and there's another fellow—a Gryffindor named Collum Fell. The caption calls them The Skulkers."

Hermione whipped her head about to look at Ron's book. "The Skulkers!" she whispered excitedly. "I know about them. They've got a whole chapter in Hogwarts, A History! They're the greatest Hogwarts pranksters ever—and that's just based on what we know they did. Most of the time, they were never caught." She took Ron's book from him and flipped through a few pages. "I thought so!" she said triumphantly. "Look!"

There, in all of the three-dimensional glory of magical photographs, was displayed a sullen-looking boy about sixteen or seventeen years old. He had been stripped to his boxers (which were pink and covered with red and white hearts) and bound around the wrists, ankles, and mouth with something that looked suspiciously like duct tape. Also affixed with duct tape was a sign across his chest that proclaimed, in bold, red letters: "I AM THE FOOL WHO TRIED TO TAKE ON THE SKULKERS! HAPPY GRADUATION. SHOP AT ZONKO'S."

Ron and Harry stared in amused horror at the picture. It was several minutes before they remembered to look at the caption, which explained matter-of-factly, "The Skulkers go out with a bang four days before graduation, with the help of fellow seventh year Anthony Flint."

"Ebony . . . did that?!" Ron whispered, his eyes the size of platters.

"And a number of other things, too," Hermione replied. "This is the only one anybody got a picture of, though, as well as the only one they ever claimed direct responsibility for."

Note to self, Harry thought. Don't cross Ebony—for a whole lot of reasons besides the ones we already knew about.

Ron had managed to tear his eyes away from the picture and was now pulling down another seven years' worth of yearbooks, which covered Zarekael's time as a student. "I don't know what to look for," he admitted, shooting a sidelong glance at Anthony Flint. "Zarekael didn't come until after Ebony graduated."

"We're looking for clues," Harry replied. "Anything that'll help us piece it together."

"Well, I don't think we'll find anything here," Ron murmured, turning from the student index to Zarekael's picture, which crossed its arms and glared fiercely at him. "Other than his individual and House pictures, there's nothing on him. And still no Phamelia Marvolo."

They spent a frustratingly fruitless hour poring through the yearbooks. While the ones from Ebony's years yielded more information (mostly about the Skulkers in general), they told the friends nothing they wanted to know about either Ebony's strange seizures or any possible tie between her seizures and either Snape or Zarekael, nor were there any clues about ties between Phamelia Marvolo and either Crimson Fell or Dirk Pierce. At last, they gave up, and after another long, horrified look at Anthony Flint, they returned the yearbooks to their places and left the library once more.

Rounds were far more enjoyable during the Christmas holidays. Only a handful of students stayed over, and of those, only a few were disposed to sneak out. Granted, those few did include the Weasley twins and the ever-adventurous Harry Potter & Co., but knowing a few tricks of the sneaking and skulking trade went a good way toward minimizing potential security gaps—and Meli knew more than a few of those tricks.

She and Zarekael had been scheduled for rounds together on the evening of Christmas Day. They prowled the halls, watching and listening for students out of bed, but since there were only a few to worry about, they were able to relax their vigilance and have some friendly conversation in the meantime.

They had a bit of a scare at one point when a series of rhythmic thumps echoed down the corridor, but a moment later, Zarekael's sharp ears picked up fervent humming, and he and Meli stepped aside just as Dumbledore came a round the corner, humming and skipping and looking intently at his toes, which he wiggled in joy whenever they were off the ground. He skipped straight past without seeing them, then skipped around the corner at the next cross-corridor.

Meli and Zarekael traded astonished looks.

"Perhaps it would have been safer to give him a book," Meli said. "Those socks have put him right over the edge."

Zarekael nodded, but he seemed to have nothing to add to her observation.

She glanced at him, then cleared her throat. "Speaking of things which put people over the edge," she remarked lightly, "I've given some serious thought to the problem of Brown, Patil, and Trelawney." She frowned as a completely irrelevant thought crossed her mind. "Sounds like a law firm, doesn't it? I can hear the advertisement now: 'Brown, Patil, and Trelawney—we chase the ambulance so you don't have to!'" She shook her head. "Anyway, as I said, I've been considering the problem."

Zarekael looked at her from the corners of his eyes, a smirk beginning to form. "Indeed?"

"Yes." She smiled impishly. "It's very hard not to think as a Skulker, though. I would so love to run them through an elaborate maze purely for my own amusement."

"That may not be the wisest course," Zarekael observed. "Though the idea is appealing."

"And I don't think our reputations could withstand it." Meli sighed. "It's terribly frustrating . . . but unfortunately it would seem that the only good course here is to ignore them or to set the record straight should one or more come poking around again." She shook her head, but the rest of her lament fell away forgotten when she caught sight of Zarekael: he had stopped suddenly, his head slightly cocked as if he were listening very intently to a distant sound.

"What is it?" she asked quietly. While his manner did not suggest danger or urgency, it never hurt to be cautious.

"Students," he said softly, humor touching the word. "They've had a disappointment in the library from the sound of it."

"Who?"

"Potter, Weasley, and Granger," he replied. He arched a sardonic eyebrow. "Is that another law firm?"

She smiled slyly. "Not devious enough."

"Shall we sneak up on them?"

Meli's smile widened to a grin as an idea came to her from her Skulking days. "Actually," she said, "do you mind if I duck out for an hour? I've an idea that should keep them religiously to their beds for the rest of the holidays."

"Sounds amusing," Zarekael commented. "By all means, step away for an hour."

"Leave them to me." With those words, Meli slipped away, lifting her hood and buttoning up her duster as she went. I hope you've all got a high tolerance for adrenaline, she thought gleefully, because otherwise you won't be sleeping a wink tonight!

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were about halfway back to Gryffindor tower when the sound of humming once more reached their ears. They halted and watched, traumatized into silence, as Dumbledore passed them again, still skipping, still humming "The Irish Washerwoman", still oblivious to anything but his new socks. He stopped his forward progress almost immediately in front of them and started skipping in circles for several minutes. The threesome looked impatiently from one another to Dumbledore, but they could not move from their place for fear of running into their deliriously happy headmaster.

Dumbledore finally decided the time had come to skip down the corridor once more, and to the friends' relief, he did not pause again before he rounded a corner and disappeared.

"I hope he's not like that when classes start again," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Can you imagine the lack of discipline if students see the headmaster acting like a little kid?"

"I doubt he'd act like that during the day," Harry replied. "At night, he can do whatever he wants; we're all in bed."

While the irony of this statement occurred to all of them, none had any notion of pointing it out. They started back to Gryffindor again, moving a bit more quickly just in case Dumbledore inadvertently cornered them again. They arrived unscathed, endured a scolding from the Fat Lady for being out after hours, and slipped into the common room, intent on sleeping through the rest of the night.

Harry was nearly to the boys' staircase, Ron immediately behind him, when a fourth person—most definitely not Hermione—cleared her throat. He and Ron spun around, and, over by the girls' staircase, Hermione did the same, just in time to see a black-cloaked and hooded figure standing up to face them. She pulled her hood back, and the face of Professor Ebony smiled coolly at the three of them.

"Out for a stroll, were we?" she asked casually.

"Ah . . . er—" Hermione broke off, no explanation coming to mind. Harry and Ron were too surprised to offer her any assistance.

Ebony's smile turned into a reptilian grin. "Oh, dear," she said. "Not a one of you with enough Slytherin to come up with an excuse on short notice." She shook her head. "And where others have been served by preternatural hearing within their party, your party has been quite undone by the same trait outside of it."

"You heard us out in the hallway?" Ron asked.

She smirked. "Well, someone did, anyway," she allowed. "I just happened to be speaking with that person at the time." She raised her eyebrows. "Rounds, you know. Prefects aren't the only ones who patrol the corridors at night."

Ron said something under his breath, and Harry suspected it was profanity.

"There's no need for that," Ebony told him calmly. "I'm not Filch, after all. I have no intention of punishing you; I'm just curious to know what it was you found—I don't even ask what you were looking for."

"Wouldn't those be the same thing?" Harry pointed out.

Ebony pursed her lips. "Usually, yes. However . . ." She smiled again. "Your mannerisms and general demeanors are indicative of failure in a quest."

The threesome exchanged looks conveying a myriad of different things: surprise, a bit of defensiveness, curiosity, and above all, a desperation to come up with a suitable reply. Hermione was silently elected spokeswoman for the group, to which nomination she quirked her mouth in distaste.

"Well," she said after a moment. "We did stumble over the yearbooks . . . and we did find mention of the Skulkers and . . . someone named Anthony Flint."

None of them had ever seen Ebony betray anything beyond light amusement (with the dramatic exception of the Halloween Ball, but no one was willing to admit that that had actually happened), but now she startled them all by throwing back her head and letting out a full-out laugh. She laughed for a whole minute, the threesome watching in frozen shock as her willowy frame shook beneath this unfamiliar assault. When at last she stopped, there were tears in her eyes.

"Of all the things for you to 'stumble over'," she gasped. "Evidence of my misspent youth!" She grinned openly. "I hope you're not aspiring to such heights. With only two and a half years left and no Slytherins in on your planning, you haven't a chance."

"What's so great about Slytherins?" Ron growled.

Ebony's eyes hooded strangely. "They're wonderful schemers," she replied. "Very subtle thinkers, who specifically plan not to get caught. Gryffindors . . ." She shrugged and looked a bit regretful. "Speaking as one, I have to admit that we excel at brazen ideas and fall a bit short on the not getting caught part."

"We hardly ever get caught!" Ron retorted.

Ebony raised her eyebrows. "Except for the times when we planned to get caught," she countered calmly, "we never were." She furrowed her brow. "Well, there was the one time in Potions . . . but that was somewhat calculated, so it really doesn't count."

There seemed no fitting reply to this, so they were silent. Ebony surveyed them, amusement still haunting her eyes. "Whatever it is you sought," she said quietly, "I do hope you find it." She stepped away from her chair and over to the portrait hole, then, just before leaving, turned back. "But consider that if it's to be found in old yearbooks, the research can be done much more safely and unobtrusively in the daytime. Yearbooks are hardly suspicious pieces of literature."

With that wisdom, she exited, leaving the trio to stare at each other.

Ron found his voice first. "Well," he said with a shrug, "I knew she was cool. No points from Gryffindor, after all!" He started up the boys' staircase.

Harry and Hermione stood looking at each other a moment longer, then Harry said, very seriously, "We got lucky this time."

Hermione nodded wordlessly, her eyes wide, and the two of them turned and headed up their respective staircases to their respective bedrooms, where they pondered their potential fates in silence as sleep eluded them.

5 NOVEMBER 1981, THIRD YEAR

Meli and Collum sat in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, to all appearances studying hard. Occasionally one or the other would lean over as if to compare notes, but otherwise they were silent. Since most Gryffindors considered them honorary Slytherins, the two were left strictly alone, which was precisely as they preferred it.

"It's definitely on for tonight," Collum murmured, apparently consulting a passage in Meli's upside-down Muggle Studies text. "Crim's pushed him just hard enough."

"'Just hard enough?'" Meli repeated, arching an eyebrow and glancing at Collum's blank star chart. "Crim's definition of 'just hard enough' is a bit more generous than most."

Collum smirked. "Sharpie kept her from going too far," he assured her.

They returned for a time to their pretended study, then Meli leaned in for a closer look at Collum's Transfiguration text. "Sharpie's got the dung bombs?"

"Naturally. It wouldn't do to get caught without them."

She smirked. "This is the first prank I've ever taken part in that actually requires us to get caught."

"We'll be caught, all right," Collum said. "Filch is near his breaking point, thanks to Crim—or should I say Flint?"

"You should," Meli replied innocently. "After all, it's not our fault Filch is so angry of late."

And they don't think you've got any Slytherin in you," Collum chortled softly. "You come from a very odd family, Meli."

"I come from an odd family?" she retorted. "Says the Gryffindor whose mother is a Ravenclaw, whose father and twin sister are Slytherins, and whose younger brother is a Hufflepuff? At least my family can decide which House it consistently belongs to!" She pulled away again and opened her Defense Against the Dark Arts text.

"Er, excuse me," a timid voice piped up. Meli resisted the reflex to jump and turned calmly to face Estella Pippin, who had come up sometime during the conversation.

"Yes?"

Estella forced a smile. "Well, it's just that . . ." she stammered. "Well, you see, I'm having trouble with my Potions essay, and . . . well, you're so good in the class I wondered if . . . well, if you might help me."

Meli had trouble keeping the shock from her face. "You want me to help you," she stated. "You trust me to help you."

"Well . . ." Estella trailed off uncertainly, then finally replied, "Well, yes. And it's just that you're so terribly clever—"

"Estella," Meli said quietly. "Do you know that Snape hates me? If he finds out I've helped you at all, he'll give you a zero." Not entirely true, that, but who knew enough to dispute the claim?

Estella smiled feebly. "He'll give me a zero anyway, Meli. I'm simply not clever enough to earn higher. But I know that you're good at explaining things, so whatever my score, at least I'll have learned the subject."

Meli raised her eyebrows. "Well, when you put it that way . . ." She looked apologetically to the highly amused Collum. "I'll be back."

Estella led her to the opposite corner of the common room, which was just as deserted. The essay in question was a particularly nasty one, even for Snape, so Meli led Estella carefully through the mechanics of the potion, drilling her on each point before Estella touched quill to parchment. When the essay was finally completed, Estella laid down her quill with a sigh. "I've never had a teacher so cruel."

Meli smiled. "It's not that Snape's cruel," she said. "At least not when it comes to essays. The problem is, he's so brilliant he has trouble comprehending that we don't understand everything he knows." She started to stand, but Estella took her hand.

"Meli, I don't know what you and Collum are working up," she whispered urgently, "but if you're planning to go out tonight, don't!"

Meli frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"It's Filch. I heard him hollering at Flint just after dinner. Flint didn't have a clue what he was talking about, said you and the Fells must be cooking something up. Filch is waiting for you, Meli! He'll catch you!"

"Did he, then." Meli bit her lip and looked to the side, giving every appearance of being deep in thought. "I'll have to let Collum know." She squeezed Estella's arm, then stood to go. "Thanks for the warning."

She was careful to keep up a brooding appearance all the way across the room, knowing that Estella's anxious eyes were following her.

"Trouble?" Collum murmured as she sat down beside him.

"On the contrary," Meli murmured back, "we're good to go." She held up her Muggle Studies book to hide her face as she grinned at him. "Estella wanted to warn me that Filch is waiting for us—and reading between the lines, so is Flint, most likely."

"Excellent!"

The Skulkers rendezvoused outside the kitchens, where they held a whispered conference and Sharpie issued dung bombs. All four were dressed for the occasion, clad in matte black from crown to toe so that they more resembled ninjas than pranksters out for a night of innocent fun and games. Crim passed on the vital intelligence that her preternaturally sensitive ears had caught the sound of someone following her and Sharpie from the Slytherin common room. They grinned silently at one another, then parted ways, Crim going with Collum and Meli with Sharpie.

Since they had no particular mission other than attracting the notice of Peeves, Filch, or Mrs. Norris, they wandered silently through the corridors, looking for something noisy to trip over.

Peeves found Meli and Sharpie without their having to make any noise. He flew at them from behind a suit of armor, laughing maniacally. Meli ducked, letting out a quite voluntary shriek, while Sharpie settled for swearing loudly and hurling a dung bomb at the fleeing poltergeist.

"Ooh, you shouldn't do that, you know!" Peeves shouted gleefully, coming back for another pass. "Might get Filch in a tizzy, it might!" The dung bomb flew straight through him and exploded against a painting of one of Hogwarts' former headmasters. The painting spluttered furiously, but Sharpie and Meli took to their feet before they could hear anything coherent from him. Peeves chased after them, all the while shouting for Filch.

That worthy sir caught up to them just as they were ducking around a corner. He grabbed Meli by the arm and deftly tripped Sharpie, whom he just as deftly pulled upright again. "My, my," the groundskeeper muttered. "We're certainly busy tonight, aren't we."

"All thanks to me!" Peeves announced haughtily. "I caught the other four, remember!"

"No thanks to you, you mean!" Filch snapped. "Now go away, or I'll have words with the Baron about you!"

Peeves glared at Filch, then shot back around the corner, cursing a blue streak. Sharpie and Meli, meanwhile, locked eyes in silent dismay. Filch had caught four?

Sharpie swore again, quite feelingly.

There were indeed four others in Filch's office, held at bay by the formidable Mrs. Norris. Three were expected: Crimson and Collum Fell, and Anthony Flint. The fourth, however, was quite unexpected and quite unwelcome.

"Hullo, Estella," Meli said casually as Filch pushed her into his office and removed her mask. "Out for a walk in the fresh night air, were you?"

Estella's bottom lip was trembling. "I told you not to come, Meli—I told you!" she cried. "Why didn't you believe me?"

Meli forced a look of resentment she didn't in the least feel. "Fell there convinced me we could get around it," she said bitterly. "What a fool I am, eh? What a silly duck I'm proven to be."

Estella frowned briefly, then her eyes widened in sudden realization. "I came to warn you," she continued, doing a pretty good job of covering the conversational lapse. "But Peeves made a racket and brought Filch."

"Quiet, you lot!" Filch barked, shoving Sharpie and Meli past Mrs. Norris and stepping to his desk. "Time I filled out a report and called your Heads of House. A lot of points from Slytherin and Gryffindor tonight!"

"I've never seen him so delighted," Crim said lightly.

"My only consolation for any of this is that you lot got caught alongside of me," Flint growled, showing his hideous teeth.

"Tsk, tsk," Collum admonished. "You oughtn't to go scowling like that, Anthony. One day, your face will freeze in that position, and you'll look like an ugly git for the rest of your life." He paused, shrugged, then added, "But then, you do that anyway, so maybe you don't mind."

Flint stood and brandished a fist. "Like to say that again, Fell?" he snarled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Collum said, wholly unapologetic. "I was under the mistaken impression you could hear perfectly well. Shall I make deaf signs for you?" He fluttered his hands in meaningless motions, then calculatedly flipped Flint off.

He ducked Flint's fist, then returned with a blow of his own, much better aimed and more clearly planned. Flint doubled over, dropped to the floor, and did not move. The Skulkers laid out their dung bombs near Flint, then turned to Filch, all with their wands out.

The groundskeeper didn't stand a chance of resisting four simultaneously cast short-term memory charms all aimed at him. He had stood to intervene in the altercation, but now he stopped, a glazed look in his eyes. Sharpie had already bent over Flint to do the same for him and to retrieve the fellow Slytherin's wand and place it in his hand. Meli, meanwhile, had gotten hold of Filch's report and tucked it into her robes, and Crim had stupefied, obliviated, and enervated Mrs. Norris, allowing the others to get past. Without a word, the Skulkers slipped out of Filch's office with Estella in tow.

They parted ways and returned to their respective Houses, but even Crim's sensitive ears missed the presence of a tall shadow that slipped through the corridors behind them, then ducked away to the dungeons and disappeared once more.

The Skulkers slept soundly the rest of the night and awakened to the shocking news that Anthony Flint had been caught red-handed in the commission of some fearful prank involving enough dung bombs to cover the entire castle in manure. For that offense, Slytherin faced a stiff penalty of one hundred points. There was no mention of five other students, nor of any of three possible memory lapses (Flint's, Filch's, or Mrs. Norris'), much to Estella's relief. The Skulkers, by contrast, were perfectly impervious to nerves, and not a one of them was capable of blushing.

There were no triumphant looks exchanged when they saw each other in Double Potions, no mutual satisfaction expressed; to all appearances, they had no job well done of which to be proud. Life went on as usual . . . until halfway through Potions.

Snape walked sedately between the tables, advising Slytherins and criticizing Gryffindors. Samuel Wise and Estella Pippin, in particular, received scathing remarks as a matter of course. Wise had started to tremble so badly that he had to put down his knife to keep from removing a finger, and Estella seemed to be praying for a reprieve. Her eyes were so tightly screwed shut that Meli thought she must have developed a migraine.

A pang of sympathy was cut short by the appearance of a shadow over her work area. Meli set down her knife and looked up to find Snape towering over her. The Potions master, now that she had a good look at him, looked like his usual self, but with a subtle, disturbing addition: wry amusement.

She waited for him to speak, unwilling to provoke any deductions from Gryffindor. It was, fortunately, a short wait.

"Miss Stafford, I wonder if you would mind staying after class."

She smiled. "No, sir, of course not."

Snape's eyes narrowed, and she had the impression that he nearly smiled before he stepped away to launch into a tirade against Estella, whose potion had boiled over and ignited.

"And what do you suppose that's about?" Collum whispered.

Meli shook her head. "I shudder to think," she said dryly, then calmly picked up her knife and went back to work.

This time she did not have the advantage of having taken Snape off-guard. Whatever it was that they would talk about, he was fully prepared and, as a result, perfectly calm. Her mask to the contrary, Meli could make no such claim for herself.

"Interesting little stunt you pulled last night," Snape commented, leaning back against his desk. "Devised by the Gryffindors and planned out by the Slytherins, no doubt."

Meli's eyebrows were nearly to her hairline. "There seems to be little point in denial," she conceded. "How many points will we lose for this?"

Now Snape raised his eyebrows. "No denials," he observed. "Unexpected, but very impressive."

"What purpose would a denial serve, sir? You plainly know enough to render one pointless." She winced inwardly at that unfortunate unintentional pun.

"You know the penalties you could now face?" Snape asked, an odd quirk touching one corner of his mouth.

"We knew the penalties from the beginning, sir. That did not keep us from proceeding; we considered the potential benefits well worth it."

"And the benefits would be—?"

Meli smiled broadly. "Convincing a certain arrogant ass that he'd do well, first to stay away from us, and secondly to mind his own business."

"You considered aversion therapy an adequate motivation for the arrogant ass in question?"

"Pain is often the best teacher," she replied philosophically. "So how many points has Gryffindor lost?"

Snape smirked. "You seem quite convinced that I should punish you, Miss Stafford," he said. "Is that what you'd like?"

She shrugged. "I'd be lying if I said yes," she answered. "But we were caught breaking the rules, and it is customary to make rule-breakers pay."

Snape pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I'm a great admirer of sneak and stealth," he told her. "Particularly when the sneak in question gets away with whatever it is she's done."

"But I haven't gotten away with anything, sir," she pointed out. "You caught us."

"No," he corrected. "I observed you. And I sincerely hope that Flint has learned the lesson you sought to teach." He arched a sardonic eyebrow. "No points will be given to or taken away from either Gryffindor or Slytherin for the actions of the Skulkers last night. My appreciation of your art cancels out the penalty for the rules broken. Just be sure you're not seen next time—by anyone."

Meli felt her eyes widen, then forced them back to normal size. "Er . . . yes, sir."

"You may go, Miss Stafford."

"Yes, sir." She stood and shouldered her bag. "Ah, thank you, sir."

Crim, Sharpie, and Collum were once more waiting in the hallway when she emerged.

"Well?" Sharpie demanded.

She smiled slowly. "He called us sneaks," she said triumphantly. "He said he appreciates our art."

Crim's jaw had fallen open. "That's the highest compliment a teacher's ever given me!" she breathed.

"He's not angry?" Collum asked incredulously.

Meli shook her head. "But he warned us not to be caught or seen ever again."

Sharpie clapped her on the shoulder. "I've a feeling that you and Snape will become great friends in the future," he predicted exuberantly. "Quite a turnaround for a teacher who hated you, eh?"

"Don't you go getting ideas," Meli snapped. "I'm just grateful he didn't hand us over to Filch or Dumbledore."

Sharpie looked blankly at Crim. "I did say friends, right?" he said. "That's got nothing to do with lovers, has it?"

Crim smirked. "I think Meli's right," she replied. "Don't get any ideas—one way or the other."

"Shut up, both of you," Meli ordered. "I've no intention of making friends with anyone—and a boyfriend of any description is out of the question, so shut your traps."

The thought of any boyfriend was enough to make her shudder; the thought of Snape as a boyfriend . . . well, that was just plain wrong.