Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.


Six

The Headsman and the Ropemaker

Harry spent the next few days trapped in the reception room of his mind, unable to surpass the specters of Wormtail and the Death Eater who had set the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup. He moved about, of course; he went down for breakfast and dinner with his sister, and went to class with Hermione and Ron, and even had a chat with Neville about gobstones, but his focus was ever set on moving past his blockade to rational thought.

He needed to speak with Professor Moody.

"Have a scone, Harry," said the specter of Wormtail, sprawled on a midnight blue davenport. "They're fresh-baked, you know. Elderberry jam, too. I'm going to kill your sister."

"Yes," rumbled the unnamed Death Eater, breaking into a cucumber sandwich. "Kill her. And then you'll be all alone again. And the Dark Lord will have returned, but that's secondary, isn't it? Do try the jam, I've had it in from Tindale."

"Excellent, Mr. Potter!" cried Professor Flitwitck. "Oh, bravo! See here what Harry Potter has done—a perfect Summoning Charm!"

At the table beside him, Daisy burst into giggles and Hermione made a sound like a spooked hen. Harry blinked. The professor had been asking them to try... "Oh, bugger," he said, "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to."

The diminutive man sat up on the work table where Harry had summoned him and cleared the textbooks and parchment aside so that he could stand and address the classroom. His wispy gray beard was all out of sorts, but he beamed down at Harry like sunshine.

"Nonsense," said Professor Flitwick in his high squeaky voice. "I haven't had a student get it on their first try in nearly a decade. Fifty points to Gryffindor!"

The Ravenclaws, who shared this period with the Gryffindors, grumbled as a unit. They must have been ashamed to have been bested in front of their Head of House. Harry didn't think it would quell their grumbling if he explained that he had not intended to summon their professor; he'd done it by accident, having been preoccupied with his sister's impending murder.

"I hadn't got a try yet, though, Professor," said a boy called Entwhistle peevishly.

"Not to worry, Kevin," said Professor Flitwick. "There are enough points for everyone, have a go then."

"Accio Professor Flitwick!" cried Entwhistle, swishing his wand; at the same time, the professor squealed, "No! Not me, boy!" Professor Flitwick was jerked off balance and fell to his bottom, again, in a clatter of quills and ink pots. He shot up in a huff.

"One point from Ravenclaw!" snapped the professor. The Ravenclaws stared at him, then turned their glares on Kevin Entwhistle, who at least had the grace to blush.

"Sorry, Professor."

"You ought to be," said Professor Flitwick. He hopped down from Harry's table and scurried to the center of the room. "That's enough practice for today. Please return to your reading for the remainder of class. If you have any questions, hand in the air, and I will address them. Remember, you must have a three-foot essay on the proper method for Summoning..."

"That wasn't very funny, Harry," whispered Hermione, leaning across the table that she and Daisy shared. "Everyone already pokes fun at him because of his size."

"I hadn't meant to summon him," said Harry. "I was just going through the motions, like he showed us, and concentrating on, er, visualization, like he said, and it just happened."

"It just happened," repeated Hermione, her eyebrows raised. Then she glanced at his textbook, riddled with underlines and notations and footnotes in the margins, and looked slightly put out. "You have been studying," she said. "But you said... and on the train..." she trailed off, a splotch of pink appearing high on her cheeks.

Hurriedly, Harry shut his book, quill and all, and pulled it towards him.

"Oi," said Ron, "I was reading that."

"Why can't you read your own?" asked Hermione looking pointedly at his closed copy of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four.

"Erm, it hasn't got all of Harry's notes in it?" said Ron, as though that should have explained everything.

"You should be writing your own," insisted Hermione, her brow sharpening into a glare. "You won't have Harry with you during O.W.L.s, Ron."

"Plenty of time for that, yet, Hermione," said Ron, opening the book as Harry slid it back over to him. "And you always let Daisy look on at your books. Why don't you have her take her own notes?"

"I don't deface my textbooks," said Hermione tightly. "No, offense, Harry. And Daisy's at least passed all of her courses."

"Didn't have to go through her Second Year with a broken wand, now did she?" grumbled Ron. He swished his new wand at her. "And I was still getting used to this one last year. I reckon I'll be able to perform to your standards this year, Professor."

"What did your wand have to do with your failing two written exams last year?" said Hermione, quirking an eyebrow.

Ron made a face at her, then bent himself over Harry's textbook, his nose nearly touching the paper. He made a great show of using his new wand as a pointer as he read the lines.

Hermione craned her neck to peer at the book, but Harry held his arm up as a screen. He very much doubted that Ron would suspect anything if he came across notations like, 'Make sure you are concentrating fully, don't think about how hungry you are, or what that noise is out on the street,' or 'when you are visualizing the object in motion, also visualize its destination. Complications will arise near hedgerows.' Hermione certainly would, and she did not tolerate law-breaking—or being left behind.

"Will you sit down!" said Daisy, tugging at Hermione's robes. The girl was nearly flat against the table at this point, her hands grasping the edge of the desk. "If you wanted to be next to him, you had your chance when I offered earlier."

"Daisy!" said Hermione, flushing.

"Come off it," said Daisy, prodding her friend in the middle until she'd slid back into her seat. "I think you left all your subtlety back on the Hogwarts Express."

"No, I haven't," said Hermione, but she had thrown her hair over her shoulder so that Harry couldn't see her face. "I just wanted to keep him from being an arse."

"Well, that's not your job yet," said Daisy.

"Yet?" Harry snorted.

Daisy gave him a wink as Hermione squeaked something unintelligible.

"I just don't understand how you've got the mental capacity for humor," whispered Harry, lowering his arm and leaning close to his sister. "Knowing what we know, and suspecting what we suspect."

Daisy tilted her head to gently bump into his, then pulled back and said, "I've got you doing enough thinking and puzzling for the both of us. Someone has to keep the mood up." She poked his cheek with her wand. "Let's have a smile, then."


The last spider in the jar must have been watching his mates and calculating the risks that came with sitting still and waiting his turn, or making a run for it. After the second curse, the one where his companion had been curled up, collapsing in on himself like a small black star caught in the throes of death, the third one couldn't be that bad, right?

Harry knew better, though, and almost could not bear to watch as Mad-Eye Moody scooped the little thing out of the jar and set it on the table.

"The last one," said Professor Moody raising his real eye to survey the quiet assembly of Gryffindors. "The final unforgivable curse. Anybody know it?"

Silence.

Neville was still pale and trembling from the demonstration of the Cruciatus Curse, and the remaining students seemed to be taking his state into account before volunteering themselves. Only under an intense glare from the old Auror did a few hands finally creep up from their students and hang half-heartedly in the air.

Mad-Eye Moody made a made face like he was about to spit at them, but at the last second, he leaned over his demonstration table and grimaced in Harry's face.

"How about it, Potter?" said the professor, his white and gray-streaked hair hanging in his face. "Haven't heard from you today. Do you know this one?"

Harry looked down at the spider and bit the inside of his lower lip to keep from frowning. It wouldn't make a difference, right? Whether he answered, or Seamus Finnigan did. This spider was going to die. It wouldn't get to spin any more webs. Or catch any more annoying little gnats. Or climb high into a dark corner and await the end of its little lifespan.

And Harry had been thrilled that Professor Moody had asked them to put their books away, and enraptured when he had gone into his diatribe on curses and being prepared for the worst that a dark wizard could muster; he'd been fascinated by the Imperius Curse, and revolted by the Cruciatus Curse, but now...

"Mr. Potter?" asked Mad-Eye Moody.

"The Killing Curse," said Harry, still staring at the spider. He avoided looking at Daisy.

"The Killing Curse," repeated Moody. "The final and most terrible. Does exactly what it says—it kills. And there's not a thing anyone can do it stop it. At first, all is well and you're alive, and then..." He clapped one gnarled hand over the last little spider, blocking it from view. "Dead." His Mad-Eye spun. "There's only been one survivor in our recorded history, and she's here, in this classroom." He focused both of his eyes on the desk next to Harry. "Untouched but for a scar."

"Me?" said Daisy, looking up from where she had been patting Neville's arm in an attempt to soothe him.

"Yes," said Mad-Eye Moody. "You."

Harry kept his gaze on the old man as he heard the rest of the class swing their focus to his sister in a flurry of chair-on-floorboard scrapes and lean-on-desk squeaks. Moody was looking at Daisy just like he'd seen Professor Dumbledore look at her sometimes. Apologetic and curious and weary.

"Avada Kedavra," Mad-Eye Moody said finally, drawing his hand away from the spider.

There was a flash of green light. There was a rush of wind. The spider stood just as still as it had when Moody had taken it from the jar. But it was dead.

Harry knew he must have been frowning now because the professor had moved his attention from Daisy back to him, but he didn't care. Even as the incantation had left the Auror's mouth, Harry had felt it, deep in his chest, the wrongness of ending a life with just two words. Even if was just a spider. Even if it had been a gnat. He would have rathered the man crushed it with a finger or under his boot.

"That's why it's unforgivable, Potter," muttered Mad-Eye Moody.

The professor set them to copying down notes for the remainder of the period. When the bell rang, the students threw their chairs back and skittered out at the same speed as they'd scrambled in with at the beginning of class. Apparently, the romance of being taught Defense by an Auror had ended. Only Harry remained at his desk, drawing circles around the words 'conviction' and 'intent' with his quill, as Moody limped about clearing the blackboard at the front of the room.

"Harry?" called Daisy from the doorway. "Are you coming? I'm hungry."

"Give us a minute," Harry called back. He shot a glance at the old man's back, then looked over his shoulder. "I'll meet you down there."

"Is this one of those times where I should be Dr. Watson?" said Daisy, splaying herself in the doorframe. "Professor McGonagall said we'd be having pie and mash and Ron will get it all if we don't hurry."

"Pie and mash!" barked Professor Moody, stumping over to Harry's desk and banging his fist down on Harry's quill. "Go on then, girl, before Mr. Weasley gets at it. We'll join you shortly."

"It'll just be a few minutes, Daisy," said Harry.

"I can wait a few minutes. Ron can't eat that fast."

The look on her face told him that arguing would be a time-consuming waste of breath. Harry pinched his nose and nodded her inside. "Come on, then."

"The Longbottom boy was in quite a state," said Professor Moody, watching carefully as Daisy reentered the classroom. "Someone should probably do him a turn and take him up to the infirmary to get settled."

"Oh!" said Daisy. She spun and darted back into the corridor with a cry of, "Hermione! Hermione, can you check on Neville? Professor Moody thinks he should see Madam Pomfrey for something to settle him."

Then she was back.

"You can't shake her once she's got something in her jaws," Harry muttered up to the old Auror. "She's like a bulldog."

"That's a good quality," said Professor Moody. "Most times." He rested against his demonstration table and rubbed at the joint where his wooden leg met flesh. "So what's keeping you, Mr. Potter? Had a question about the lesson? About them curses?"

"No," said Harry, perhaps a little too quickly. Professor Moody probably suspected that the last curse had made him uncomfortable, but he didn't want to draw undue attention to it. "No, I, er—we talked to one of the castle ghosts, Professor. He's haunting one of the old chambers in the dungeons. He'd been killed during the Tournament a few hundred years ago."

"Had he?" said Moody, seemingly unperturbed. "Nothing remarkable about that, plenty of wizards have been killed during the Triwizard Tournament. Wouldn't be very prestigious, or memorable, if they hadn't."

"So you don't think that could happen again?" said Daisy. She hurried to claim the desk beside her brother. "You think it's safe now? With Professor Dumbledore here, and you?"

"And me?" said Professor Moody. He chuckled. "Am I to keep little boys and girls from getting their limbs lopped off, Miss Potter? Once you've entered the thing you're on your own until the end."

"That's it, though," said Harry, shooting Daisy a quieting look. "Apollonius—he was the ghost we found—he said that he hadn't entered himself; he thinks that one of his old schoolmates with a grudge against him had done it. Had put his name to the Goblet of Fire. Is that possible? What is it, the Goblet of Fire? Apollonius said it was an old cup."

At this, Mad-Eye Moody's eyebrow soared over his good eye. He raised his wand and with a flick, said, "Colloportus." The door to the classroom breezed shut behind them. The lock clicked. Grumbling something too quiet for Harry to hear, the man pushed off the table, swishing his wand in the air. Tiny waves of blue light rippled from its tip and sank into the walls of the classroom. He limped over to the blackboard and gave his wand another shake. "Not a time-waster, are you, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir," said Harry.

The sound of the Auror's voice was more concentrated now, closer to the ears. His own voice sounded different now, too. Harry flicked his eyes to the walls. The slight echo and reverberation of their voices in the empty room had vanished. He was gripped by the sudden urge to know what spell it was—nothing like it had been in any of his textbooks thus far; it must have been something to keep people from eavesdropping—but he forced himself to stay on task, and watched as Moody drew a picture on the board in conjured chalk. It was a crude sketch of a simple wide-mouthed cup without a handle, set on an equally wide circular base.

"The Goblet of Fire," said Professor Moody with a flourish.

"Yes, yes—what's so special about it?" asked Daisy, perking up in her seat. She leaned forward on the desk and gestured at the drawing with her wand. "It just looks like a dingy old cup."

"It is just a dingy old cup," said Professor Moody. He raised a crooked finger. "But! It holds a magical flame that chooses which children get the chance to risk death for glory."

"How does it choose?" asked Harry.

"There are several theories," replied Professor Moody. He turned to scribble some markings on the rim of the cup. "All of them have to do with these runes. There ought to be a book somewhere in that interminable library of yours. Not your normal runes, of course, otherwise we'd have facts, not theory."

"Well I won't mention this to Hermione," said Daisy with a snort. "Not your normal runes. We'd have to have her meals sent to the library all year."

"Granger's involved now?" said Moody sharply.

"She's only joking," said Harry, swatting lightly at Daisy's head. "She's not going to talk about any of this with anyone aside from us. Isn't that right, Daisy?"

"I'm not daft," said Daisy, driving her heel into Harry's foot with a glare. "This is a plot regarding me, you know. You two are so serious. It isn't a wonder that you've become friends."

"What are the theories, Professor?" Harry cut in quickly, ignoring the pain in his foot, and trying to steer Mad-Eye Moody back to waters that wouldn't have him question the validity of Daisy's involvement here.

"It's an old thing," mused Professor Moody. "Older than Hogwarts."

"That's what Apollonius said, too," said Harry.

"They could be runes from the north," Moody continued, "come across the sea with the old Norse water witches. Could be what came before them, too. Or before those even. Proto-Germanic."

"Proto?" said Daisy slowly, testing the word.

"Primitive," said Professor Moody. "Elemental. They could judge the willpower of the entrant. Or their thirst for glory. Their knowledge. Ability. Their desire to prove themselves–all told no one's had cause to study a cup that comes on tour once in a long while just to pick which wizards champion their schools in a tournament. Perhaps our forebears used it to test which men were capable to undertake great tasks. Could be it chose who had to go down to the river to do the wash."

"So it does know," said Harry. "Who it's choosing."

"Aye, I think it does," said Professor Moody. "Been reading. Haven't puzzled how it decides, yet, though."

Harry tried to hide his startlement by adjusting his glasses on his nose. So Mad-Eye Moody already suspected the cup and was trying to figure out how it worked. He felt a small bit of relief come nibbling at his lungs. They weren't alone in this.

"It's the most obvious tack," said Professor Moody, meeting Harry's eyes. "And in general, Mr. Potter, the enemy will always at least try the most obvious, just in case the obscure goes awry."

"So someone could enter Daisy in the tournament like that fellow had entered Apollonius? And it might pick her if it decided it wanted her. We can't let that happen."

"They should make you Head Boy now and be done with it," said Professor Moody, grinning his strange gnarled grin.

Daisy shifted uncomfortably beside him.

Harry put his hand on her shoulder and stared at the sketch of the cup on the blackboard. He could put his own name in the Goblet of Fire. He should do it. It might be arrogant to assume it, but he was more clever than Daisy and stronger, and whatever it was the cup wanted, Harry was sure that his desire would be greater than hers—except perhaps the thirst for glory. But maybe in the moment of selection, he could muster such a feeling. If that was how it worked.

"Perhaps," said Professor Moody. "If that is how it works."

"Professor Dumbledore said we'd have to be of age to enter, though," Harry muttered. He pressed at his temple. "How are we to get around that?"

"You're a clever lad," said Professor Moody with a shrug. "Work it out. If that's what you decide you'd like to do."

"He wouldn't want me to," said Harry. He looked down at his notes, at the circled words: conviction, intent. Then just beyond them—unforgivable; Azkaban for life.

"Wouldn't he?"

"I'm sorry," Daisy broke in, staring between the two of them. "Are you reading his mind or something, Professor? Or are you just connected on some dark wizard hunting wavelength?"

Harry sat up straight. Of course, he hadn't said any of his thoughts out loud. And this wasn't the first time that Mad-Eye Moody had known what he was thinking without him saying anything. He hadn't been so transparent to leave complex thoughts written on his face, had he?

"Bah, just having a peek at the surface," said Professor Moody with a scowl. "Apologies, Mr. Potter. Hard to turn it off it's been on so long."

"You were reading his mind!" said Daisy, her voice a mixture of worry and wonder. "That's so cool. And creepy." All of a sudden, her cheeks were tinged pink. "You haven't done mine have you, Professor?"

"Miss Potter, your secrets are quite safe inside your head," said Mad-Eye Moody. "It's the things you're thinking, at present, focusing on, that I can hear." He came forward to tap one of his thin, knobby fingers against her forehead. "You're worried for your brother, and you're wondering if there will be custard for dessert this evening."

"Wicked," said Daisy, her eyes wide.

"Can everybody do that?" asked Harry, rubbing his forehead as though that would get the Auror out from inside. He began to recall things, small instances where other people had known things that they shouldn't have known. Suspicions he hadn't given voice to. Questions he hadn't asked. "The professors can do it? Professor Dumbledore—Professor Snape?"

Mad-Eye Moody was quiet for a moment. He withdrew from standing before them and circled behind his desk. His magical eye whizzed about as he moved, keeping them in focus. Harry felt a surge of trepidation, as though Daisy had discovered something that was meant for adults to know, and not children, and now the Auror would stop talking to them and send them away.

"Not everybody can do it," said Moody at last. "And those who can would rather not have people know about it. Bit of an obscure field. Comes in very useful in my line of work, though. Knowing right when a man is about to do something nasty. When he's thinking of betraying you to the dark." His smile was an ax-mark in a tree trunk. "It's kept my hide together more times than I can count. And yes, Dumbledore's got it. And Snape, too." His face twisted in a startling flash of rage, before clouding over. "Not a far stretch to believe that the sallow little rat is practicing legilimency on schoolchildren." He waved a hand at Harry and Daisy. "Forget I said that, shouldn't go talking bad about the staff."

Daisy looked delighted, though. "Can you show us, Professor?" she asked, coming up out of her seat to grip the edges of her desk. "How to read minds? To tell what people are thinking?"

"I'd rather have a way to keep people out of our minds," said Harry, pulling his sister back down into her chair. "Especially now, if Snape knew, if he could see..." They would be ruined.

"You might be onto something, there, Potter," said Professor Moody. He regarded the two of them, then nodded. "Best I teach you how to stop prying minds now, rather than regret that I hadn't, later." He laughed darkly. "It would be worth all the trouble just to see Professor Snape's face when runs that beak of his into a wall."

"Can you teach us before the weekend?" asked Daisy. She made a sour face. "We've got detention with Snape and his beak on Saturday."

"Already?" barked Moody.

"He caught us breaking curfew to talk to the ghost," answered Daisy, crossing her arms. "It wasn't fair. We weren't bothering anyone. And he took our Invisibility Cloak. So we've got to juice and pickle horned slugs for the next few Saturdays."

"That... is a complication," said Professor Moody. "Though, I might be able to assist."

"How would you assist?" asked Daisy.

"You let me worry about that," said Professor Moody, his small black eye sparkling. "Now back to business."

"The cup," said Harry, nodding. "We're to find out how it works."

"You don't mean," said Daisy, her chair screeching as she slid back to face him. "You don't mean the library?"

"How else are we find out about it?" said Harry. "We've got no cloak, we can't hide ourselves to get to Apollonius."

"We'll visit him during the daytime, then," said Daisy. "On the weekend. He's dead, not nocturnal."

"With all of the time you've got between class and homework?" said Harry. "You've hardly got time to skive dinner like you're doing now."

"I'll drop Divination, then." Daisy bristled. "You've done it. So can I. Maybe I'll do away with Hagrid's class, too. Then we'll have more time for adventuring."

"You think I want to go on adventures, Daisy?" said Harry, his voice heating. "You think I want to spend time figuring out how an old cup might kill you? And you'll drop Hagrid's class, will you?"

"All right, there," said Professor Moody, "Settle down. The girl is only trying to help you, Mr. Potter."

"I don't need her to help!" snarled Harry. "I'll do it. I need her to attend her lessons, and play Quidditch and be normal." He stood, anger making him tremble, and dashed his things into his school bag. He strode to the classroom door and yanked at the handle. It was still locked. "Alohomora!"

There was a sound like thunder.

And Harry was soaked, head to foot, in a torrent of rainwater that nearly knocked him over. He grabbed for the door handle, but his knees crashed into the stone flags and pain cracked up through the joints. He gasped at the cold. The water was a shock; he slipped trying to pull himself up and fell onto his backside. The downpour ceased.

Harry snatched at the door again, but sat, wet and sullen. He looked down the classroom at the Auror, who was casually taking a drink from his small silver flask. He corked it and made a face at him.

"Storm off again, I dare you," growled Mad-Eye Moody.

Harry scowled back at him. "Sorry."

"You aren't," said Moody. He tapped his temple with his wand.

"Stop that," said Harry.

"Make me, why don't you," said Moody, stooped and twisted and strong.

Staring at the Auror, Harry felt like he was a small boy again, powerless and thin as the switch the matron had threatened him with. He felt rage bubble inside him, red and maddening. His neck went stiff with it.

"No, you stop. You were being mean, Harry," said Daisy, standing beside the professor. "I wish I could conjure water like that."

And his rage vanished. He turned his attention to his sister and swallowed a brick of shame. He had been mean. But she had... Harry pulled himself to his feet. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, Daisy. I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did, you git," said Daisy. She chewed her lip. "But it's all right. I'd be mean to me sometimes, too, if I were you." She turned to Professor Moody. "Can you dry him off, Professor?"

"My father never dried me off," said Moody, but he chuckled. "Soaked me to the bone every time I was caught in a temper." He raised his wand. "Fine, then."

"No, don't bother. I can do it," mumbled Harry. He plucked his wand up from a puddle forming on the stone and gave it a wave and a jab, concentrating on the warm smell of freshly dried laundry in the yard, and sand dunes in the summer wind.

A hot breeze slipped from the tip of his wand, then wrapped around him, then his clothes and skin were dry.

Mad-Eye Moody let out a low whistle of approval. "Good form," he said. "And not a word, either."

"Thanks," said Harry quietly as Daisy beamed at him.

"He can do loads more, you know," she told the professor, as though she were his mother at a football exhibition. "He's quite good. He can make bats and squirrels even."

"Can he?" said Professor Moody with a snort. "Not much good squirrels will do him in a scuffle."

"He can do pigs, too, can't you, Harry?" said Daisy uncertainly.

Harry was not clear on why Daisy thought that transfiguring larger and larger animals would impress Mad-Eye Moody, but he nodded, mute.

"You two are quite the pair," said Professor Moody. "All right, off with you then. You've got your task. Bring back what you've got in time for your first... mind reading lesson."

"But when will that be?" asked Daisy, her brow crinkling as she set her bag on her shoulder.

"What time is your detention with Professor Snape?"

"Saturday at noon," said Daisy.

"Saturday at noon, then," said Professor Moody.

"But," began Daisy.

"Saturday at noon," repeated Professor Moody. "Report here. You'll need your wands... and likely a warm bath afterward. Now, off you trot." He made a shooing motion and turned to collect the jars where he had kept the spiders for the lesson.

Avoiding the lingering puddles of conjured rainwater at the doorway, Harry and Daisy exited to the corridor and started for the great hall and supper. They walked in silence for a time. Harry figured that his sister was still worrying on how Professor Moody might convince Snape to cancel their detentions. He was intrigued as well. There might be nothing short of their shameful torture and execution that Professor Snape wanted more than to have the Potters in his dungeons for detention. But the Potions Master had been behaving oddly around the old Auror, almost avoiding his attention. Finding reasons to leave the room, even one as vast as the great hall, when Professor Moody stopped in for a survey of the student body.

Harry felt Daisy loop her arm through his as they neared the grand staircase.

"Pie and mash, you said, right?" he asked her.

"That's what Professor McGonagall had said," she answered. "Do you think Hermione would be terribly angry with me if I asked the House-elves in the kitchens for their schedule?" Her face was a caricature of innocence when she looked up at him.

"Just a tad," said Harry with a grin. "Eloise likes pies, you know."

Daisy made a face at him. "Eloise likes anything you bring her. Especially if it's dead and made of meat."

"So you'll hold some pies for her, then?" asked Harry. "In your bag?"

"Why can't you?" grumbled Daisy, shifting her bag to the opposite shoulder.

"Mine's full of books."

"And mine isn't?" She pulled him onto a set of stairs just as they began to disengage from the landing.

"Don't be surly," said Harry. "I know you haven't got all your books in there."

"They're heavy, Harry." Daisy simpered, pressing against him like an orphaned kitten. "And I'm so thin and frail. You can't expect me to bear such a dreadful burden all day long?"

"So you'll hold some, then?" he said.

"Come on. Haven't you done enough today?" said Daisy. She pinched his arm, almost making him miss a step as they hopped onto the next set of marble stairs. "And how would you even get down there after dark. You've reminded me several times—we don't have the cloak."

"I know," said Harry. "And you've said it before—I'll just have to go visit during the daytime."

"I was talking about exploring inside the castle."

"What's the difference?" said Harry with a shrug.

"So you'll keep the pies in your dormitory overnight?"

"No. You will."

"Why would I keep them?"

"Because Ron might fancy himself a snack in the night if I've got them on my nightstand."

"And what happens if we get ants!" said Daisy, skidding to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and glowering at him. "Parvati will have a fit, not to mention Hermione."

"You won't get ants overnight," said Harry.

"You'd better hope not," huffed Daisy.

Grumbling, she yanked him down the hall towards the smells of dinner.