Chapter 4

JABBERWOCK

"Harry, tell me how you fought the dragon. I want to hear every detail."

Harry laid his copy of Magic in the Far East on his favorite Gryffindor common room desk, then turned to face Colin Creavy's wide-eyed, expectant stare. "Uh, I didn't exactly—"

"Draco Malfoy's going around telling people you were—" Colin gulped "—too scared to do anything. But don't worry. Nobody believes him."

"Well, I was kind of—but not too." Harry shifted his weight. "I didn't really have time to—"

Out the corner of his eye, he caught Hermione looking up from calculating star movements and petting her scruffy ginger tomcat, Crookshanks. In an annoyed tone, she said, "Colin, it was a dragon. Harry was up on its neck when it came alive. One minute it was marble. The next it was a big, ferocious, fire-breathing dragon. I would have fallen off and been smashed. Harry had the presence of mind to—"

"Cast a spell on it?" Colin finished hopefully.

Harry hung his head. "Actually, it was Professor Dumbledore who—"

Across the room, Harry could see Ron listening. Abruptly, his friend abandoned his chess game with Dean Thomas, preparation for an inter-house tournament coming up in January, and strolled towards them. A white bishop lifted his miter to scratch his bald spot, and three black pawns began sparring.

Ron clapped an arm around Colin's shoulders. "Let me put it another way. It was a d-r-a-g-o-n. Dumbledore was on the ground and able to pull out his wand. Harry was getting whipped about thirty feet in the air. It's not that Harry was scared—"

"Maybe I was a little—"

"He was too busy hanging on. Get the picture?"

Colin nodded. Harry saw that his former biggest fan got the picture only too well. "Glad you're all right," Colin managed, then slipped off to the far side of the room to disillusion his younger brother.

Ron sighed. He raised an index finger to Dean, Just a minute. Exasperated, the black queen began tapping her foot. With a playful punch to Harry's shoulder, Ron said, "Some of us were relieved to find out you're human."

Harry frowned at his best friend. "Did I ever give you the impression I didn't think I was?"

Ron shook his head, but Harry could tell he was biting back a grin. "I don't know anyone who boasts less than you do, but we all know that's because you don't have to."

Hermione was watching Harry with concern. "If for once someone had to rescue you, that's no reason to feel bad."

"I don't feel bad," Harry shot back, then grimaced at his disgruntled tone. Did he feel bad not being the hero? "I'm just wondering what made the dragon change in the first place."

Ron cocked his head. "Didn't everybody decide Dumbledore accidentally broke some enchantment?"

Harry glanced at the dozen Gryffindors scattered around the room, then dropped his voice. "I heard a snap."

Ron looked perplexed, but Hermione leaned forward.

"A snap? That means stone transfigured into a dragon. Accidental magic couldn't do that."

Harry heard excitement in Hermione's voice. Ron's eyes were lighting up as well. "Later," Harry whispered.

Ron winked. Harry noticed a spring in his step as he returned to his chess problem. When Hermione cast her gaze once more over her celestial computations, a smile quivered on her lips. Even Crookshanks began to purr. No doubt about it, Harry thought. Adventure is calling. For once, can't it just call someone else?

As he settled down to work, the notion crossed his mind that perhaps he should take his questions to Dumbledore. But surely discussing them first with his friends wouldn't be out of line. With that thought, he began tackling the essay questions Professor Binns had assigned on magical developments during the Yuan Dynasty. He felt more like himself than he had since morning.

After Harry finished relating his story, Ron took exactly five seconds to say, "Snape. He's always had it in for Harry."

"Now wait a minute," Hermione said. "It's a far cry from being snippy in class to trying to kill him."

Ron shrugged. "Maybe Snape wanted to scare Harry to show him up—like Sirius tried to do to him when he lured him under the Whomping Willow."

Where Snape would have found the mild-mannered Remus Lupin transformed into a werewolf, Harry finished to himself. But of course, he was positive his godfather had never wanted to actually hurt his nosy classmate—just make him shriek. The amazing transforming statue was another matter. If not for Dumbledore, the dragon would have killed him.

Hermione shook her head. "Professor Snape is no schoolboy. He can show Harry up just by taking points from Gryffindor. Why risk a scandal?"

"I agree," Harry said. "If he did, his motive would have to be something larger." He stared at the embers glowing on the hearth. Inside him smoldered all the insults, all the humiliations, all the injustices Snape had ever made him suffer. Time after time, the professor had managed to clear himself of suspicion. Yet in his heart, Harry was certain the man was a villain. Yes, Dumbledore trusted him, but Dumbledore had been wrong before. He'd trusted Quirrell, hadn't he? Taking a deep breath, Harry began, "Volde—"

Looking shocked, Hermione waved her hands to shush him. Crookshanks leapt from her lap and scooted into the shadows. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must hate Professor Snape as much as he hates you. You told us the professor spied against him. And our first year at Hogwarts, he protected you against You-Know-Who."

"Because You-Know-Who had no power." Harry cleared his throat. He felt silly not calling Voldemort by his name. "Now that he seems to be on the rise, Snape might want to return to his good graces."

"He's loyal to Professor Dumbledore."

"So he says," Ron said darkly.

Hermione stood and walked to the hearth. She reached into the wood box and flung a handful of chips onto the dying fire. "Time and again you've been wrong, yet still you keep suspecting him. "

"Because Snape keeps doing suspicious things." Harry watched his friend stir the glowing embers with the poker. Their first year she'd been so distrustful of the Potions master, she'd once set his robes on fire because she'd thought he was trying to hex Harry's broom. Her refusal to even consider distrusting Snape now was frankly aggravating. "I was there. The statue transfigured the moment Professor Dumbledore applied cleaning potion—the cleaning potion prepared by Snape."

"Aha!" Hermione strode back to him and flounced back into her chair. "You and Filch used that potion for hours without making the dragon come alive."

"Granted." Harry had mulled over this point since tossing aside Professor Daine's licorice. "The spell used to make the potion included some sort of trigger—the angle of the sun, the spot where the solution was applied, the number of times we applied it. Snape's lectured about such things. The fact remains, I heard the snap the instant Professor Dumbledore touched the sponge to the marble. And the only way he could change the dragon back was by adding a new spell to that same potion."

"You've got to admit, it's suspicious." Ron gestured toward the fireplace. "And where there's smoke—"

"Maybe. But not necessarily."

"Granted again." Harry sighed. "I wish we could try Veritaserum. That would settle the question." He recalled the year before how Snape's truth potion had forced Barty Crouch to reveal everything he'd done for Voldemort, including murder his own father. Using truth potion on Snape would be a fair turnabout. "But if we did, it wouldn't matter if we found him innocent. When he came to his senses and realized what we'd done, he'd kill us."

Leaning her chin in her hand, Hermione gazed at the flickering fire. "If he realized it."

Despite the shadows, Harry could see a bemused look on Hermione's face that said she was about to favor them with just the arcane magical tidbit they needed.

"Professor Snape would never sit still for a memory spell," she began, "but sneaking him a memory-altering potion—"

"Yes?" Ron prompted.

"—would be completely unethical."

Groaning, Ron ran a hand through his thatch of red hair.

Hermione gave him one of her headmistressy stares. "They have a deleterious effect on the mental processes. You were listening during Defense Against the Dark Arts, weren't you?"

Reluctantly, Harry and Ron nodded.

"Mind you, this is only theoretical . . . . If one started with a light sleep potion, followed it with a truth potion, and ended with a dream potion, with luck the subject would believe the whole experience had been a dream."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Great idea, old chum. Just one problem." He smiled sweetly at Hermione. "How do you get him to drink Veritaserum after you've put him to sleep?"

"One doesn't. One combines all three potions into a sequential time-release formula that the subject has to drink only once."

"Time release? Like cold capsules?" Harry remembered seeing the 12-hour Muggle medicines advertised on television. "That might work: drowsiness, truthfulness, then pleasant dreams."

"Not pleasant dreams," Hermione said. "Not necessarily. What you'd want would be interesting dreams—ones that fill the sleeper's mind, obscure any inkling he'd been questioned. Everyone is different, of course. One person's interesting dream would be another's dull one—and another's nightmare."

"So," Ron said, "you have to make a completely different dream potion, depending on the vict—uh—subject?"

"Actually, only one ingredient is different—a spoonful of skin shed by an animal of the genus phantasmagoria. If someone were going to make a dream potion for Professor Snape—and I'm not saying I would—the best choice would be . . ." her voice trailed off as her eyes narrowed thoughtfully ". . . Bandersnatch."

"Bandersnatch? Frumious bandersnatch? Like in the poem?" Harry had sneaked Dudley's copy of the Alice stories into his cupboard during one particularly long banishment. His cousin, partial to comic books without much dialogue, had never missed it.

Hermione nodded. "You probably used to think hippogriffs and unicorns were imaginary. I know I did. Would you be surprised to learn that Lewis Carroll's poem is a mnemonic device for remembering the creatures used in dream potions?"

Harry grinned. "I've long since stopped being surprised by anything I learn at Hogwarts."

"The beasts in the first part are for mild-mannered people. Neville, for example, might be happiest with a mome rath dream. Our professor would need more challenge. Of the beasts in the adventurers' part, the bandersnatch is the sly one—a Slytherin's cup of tea."

"What would you say I am?" Harry asked.

"Jabberwock, definitely."

"And me?" Ron tensed as if bracing for disappointment.

Hermione shot him a quick glance. "Oh, jabberwock, too, of course."

Ron sat up straighter. "So, is shed bandersnatch skin available by owl postal order? I don't recall seeing it for sale in Hogsmeade."

"By special license only—and a good thing too. Think of the potential for misuse! The Ministry of Magic decreed that the resources to make dream potions belong in the hands of Certified Public Concoctionists only."

Harry smiled at Ron. "That means Snape would definitely have some."

Hermione raised a hand palm out. "I am not sneaking into Professor Snape's office again."

"I wouldn't dream of asking." Harry settled back contentedly. "I have another agent in mind, one who's been begging to do me a favor."

Ron frowned. "It better not be my little sister."

"Goodness, no." Harry felt a blush creep up his cheeks. "This person has dipped into Snape's private stores before without getting caught. He can come and go at will. Nobody would ever suspect him."

"Come on," Ron said. "You're taking as long to get to the point as Hermione."

She glared at him.

"I mean Dobby." An instant after Harry said the name, his mouth fell open. Across the common room, the little elf himself stood quivering in the shadows, looking as if he'd been waiting anxiously for hours. Harry could have sworn Dobby hadn't been there before.

"I thought you told me nobody can Apparate inside Hogwarts," Ron whispered to Hermione.

"Nobody human," she answered weakly.

"What have you heard?" Harry asked.

"Enough, sir!" Dobby broke into a wide grin at being noticed. "Harry Potter needs help! Whatever you need, sir, Dobby is your elf!"

"Well, we need a spoonful of shed bandersnatch, uh—" Harry gulped. His little friend was now barreling towards him at top speed. An instant before the elf would have rammed affectionately into his stomach, Harry caught him by the shoulders.

Dobby beamed up at him with wide, tennis-ball eyes. "What else, sir? What else? Anything Harry Potter lacks, Dobby can find!"

"No," Hermione said. "It'd be too risky. If you were caught, you'd lose your position. You know the only way you could get employment elsewhere would be to give up your freedom."

"Sorry, Dobby. She thinks the job too difficult—" Ron glanced sidelong at Hermione "—for an elf."

Harry felt Dobby's shoulders droop.

"Too difficult for anyone," Hermione said irritably. "I don't see you volunteering. You know that even if you managed to not get expelled, it'd ruin your chances to become a prefect."

Ron folded his arms. "As if I want to follow in Brother Percy's footsteps."

"And Brother Bill's. You know you do."

Harry saw Dobby dart his glance between Ron and Hermione like someone watching Quaffles at a Quidditch match.

Harry released Dobby and stepped back to look at him. "If we planned it right, there'd be no way Snape would catch Dobby in the act. And if he discovers afterwards that his stores have been skimmed, he'd most likely suspect me."

"As if that makes it all right. Remember how Professor Snape threatened to give you Veritaserum last year over missing potion ingredients? It's too risky. I'm not helping you make Somnoleveritaphantasmagoria Powder, and that's final."

"Oh, Hermione," Ron muttered, "don't be such a Muggle."

Harry grimaced, realizing Ron's error even before Hermione jumped to her feet. When she did, she whirled to glare at both of them.

"For your information, Mr. Pureblood Weasley, my mother, my father, all four of my grandparents, all of my aunts, all of my uncles, and all of my cousins are Muggles. I would thank you not to use that word as an insult."

Hermione stomped over to her favorite desk and began collecting her things. Dobby hurried after her. Standing on tiptoe, he helped roll up her parchments. Soon, she was weighed down with books and notes for seven compulsory subjects, four options, and an unknown number of personal interests.

She cast an angry look over her shoulder. "And furthermore, the polite term is magically challenged." With that, she marched off in high dudgeon to the staircase to the girls' dormitory. Her ginger cat strutted after her, both his squashed nose and his crooked tail raised primly in the air.

Dobby hung his head, crestfallen at having his services rejected. A moment later, Harry realized he'd vanished.

Harry scowled at Ron. "Nice going."

Author's Notes: Please leave a note on what worked and what didn't. Thanks!