"I just flat-out lied," Professor Granger said quietly.
Mike ducked back around the corner at the sound of her voice. Buggering Boggarts, what's she doing down here at this time of night? The dungeons were usually deserted after dinner, and although Professor Granger's office was down here, he knew very well that her rooms were over by Ravenclaw, having been caught by her out of the dormitory on his very first night.
"It was in a good cause," Madam Lovegood said. "And it was a good lie, if he believed you. Wasn't it, Ron?"
"Um, yeah," Professor Weasley said. "I'm sorry, Hermione, my mind is still boggling a bit at the idea of S— someone in a Muggle group therapy session."
Professor Granger laughed a little. "It was quite the sight. Mind you, I thought he was going to hex me in the street, afterwards."
"This is making me feel so much better about the whole 'let's hold hands and sing Kumbaya' thing," Professor Weasley said.
"But Ron, you said he was quite nice, really," Madam Lovegood said. "For him, I mean."
"Nice? Pretty sure I didn't nice." Professor Weasley deepened his voice. "Weasley, if you believe that, possessing the knowledge you seek, I would pass it on to you to allow you to claim the credit, your intellect is even smaller than it appeared in my classes."
"He didn't throw you out. That's something." Madam Lovegood's voice grew fainter. Mike risked another glimpse around the corner and saw the three teachers disappearing into the staircase.
He filed the conversation away to tell Maisie and Colin later, some detail about it nagging at him. No time to think about it now. He had a bare fifteen minutes before being out of the Ravenclaw Common Room or dormitories would earn him a point deduction, one that Professor Granger's teaching assistant would be no doubt delighted to deliver. And I know he's in there, because that's who they must have just been to see.
He scurried down the corridor and knocked on the mysterious door. After a minute of fidgeting, he knocked again.
Still, no answer. Can he even hear me, with the door warded? Well, yes, because most wards are designed to let the owner know someone's at them, right? And who it is.
He put his hand flat on the door and concentrated on the magic he could sense beneath his fingers. Carry my message. "I know that you're in there, and I know you're Professor Granger's teaching assistant. I've come to apologise for the Protego. I hope it didn't hurt you. And, um, I was wondering if you'd teach me how to brew Cinderjuice?"
Another moment's silence, and then the door creaked open. Beyond it was a dark hallway. Mike took a deep breath, reminded himself that no matter how odd a teacher's sense of humour was they absolutely weren't allowed to transfigure, maim, or kill students, and stepped forward.
At the end of the hallway was a room that Mike could only categorise as the most grown-up wizardly room he'd ever been in. It looked like something from a magazine: the thick, ornate rugs scattered across the stone floor, the shelves and shelves and shelves of books and oddments — here a jar with something floating in it, there a group of vials that glimmered in deep colours. A black armchair was set before a blazing fire, and at one end of the room an elegantly simple desk was cluttered with scrolls and books.
Apart from himself, though, the room held not a single inhabitant. Mike even checked the other side of the armchair, in case the teaching assistant's odd sense of humour included hiding behind chairs. "Sir?" he asked hesitantly.
"I'm waiting," a deep baritone voice said directly behind him.
Mike spun, and could see only empty air. Invisibility. There's a spell for that, I read about it — Professor Granger did say he was disfigured. "Sir. Um, the Cinderjuice, you see, I really think I —"
"I'm waiting," the disembodied voice said coldly, "for your apology, Rowland."
"Right, of course, well, I'm very, very sorry that I thought you were, well, dangerous, and that I cast the Protego and I hope it didn't hurt."
"It did not." The voice sounded disdainful. "While you have a competent grasp of the charm for a student of your experience, it was hardly of sufficient strength to hamper me, let alone cause injury."
"I'm glad. It wasn't at all my intention," Mike said sincerely.
A sniff. "A shortcoming. Rowland, if you ever are in a situation that requires you to defend yourself, remember that until you are very competent, attack is the best form of defence. Hex first and hex hard."
Mike frowned. "Professor Potter says —"
"Professor Potter." The name was articulated precisely and with withering scorn.
"Well, he is my D.A.D.A Professor," Mike said, feeling rather as if he'd just set foot on what he'd thought was solid ground but had turned out to be a portable swamp. "Anyway, I didn't come to talk about hexing. I've been thinking about Cinderjuice, and I think I could actually brew it, but —"
"What happened to your conviction that it couldn't be brewed by a student who hadn't mastered Ash Muddler Potion?"
"I haven't exactly mastered it, but I have been studying it, and I think I understand the theory. And the theory's the important part, right?"
There was a moment's silence — the kind of silence that had body, and personality, and whose body and personality were both quite unpleasant and decidedly intimidating. I am going to kill Maisie Wilkins. Except, this time, Mike knew he himself was partly to blame.
"Explain," Professor Granger's teaching assistant said at last. "And do so quickly, Rowland, because you have approximately seven minutes to secure my agreement to tutor you and then reach your common room before it will be my great pleasure to take fifty points from Ravenclaw."
"Yes, sir," Mike said quickly. "Well, the ingredients are completely different, but …"
It took him, by his best guess, three-and-a-half minutes before he ran down to silence.
There was another fifteen seconds of silence before the disembodied voice said, "Your conclusions are correct. Attend the Potions classroom tomorrow at six in the morning."
"Thank you, sir!" Mike said.
"Now go."
Mike fled.
.
.
.
Author's note: Shorter chapter this time, but the next one is nice and long.
Which is scarier to a student? Invisible Snape, or visible Snape?