Chapter 22

ASKING

By settling in time that evening, Hermione still had not returned to Gryffindor Tower. Harry curled up in an overstuffed chair with Seven Tablets in a Cloudy Satchel. Not taking Cho to the Yule Ball was disappointing, but holding her token of friendship wasn't bad.

Ron fidgeted—starting a chess game with Seamus, abandoning it for his Temporal Transfiguration essay, running upstairs for an extra parchment, returning with his wand to practice digestive charms. Still restless, he collapsed into a chair next to Harry. "Who are you taking to the Yule Ball?"

Harry shrugged. "The girl I wanted to take is leaving on holiday early. At least I didn't lose out by waiting till the last minute." He glanced at his friend. "You'd better ask early this time—so you don't get scooped."

"I don't know. I mean, I planned to do it this evening. But the girl . . ." Ron blew out his breath. "She probably wouldn't go with me anyway."

"Ask!" As Harry repeated his admonition, the portrait of the fat lady swung inward and Hermione stepped over the threshold. Before he could nudge Ron, he saw a blissfully grinning Neville climb into the common room after her. Crookshanks sent a welcoming meow from across the room, then returned to his evening bath.

Harry had no time to tell Hermione how much better she looked before she blurted out, "The most extraordinary thing. About Professor Snape. Well, Neville, it's your story."

Their fellow Gryffindor hurried toward them. "I thought Professor Snape would expel me from his class for good—after my tranquility potion made everyone dart from the room. Instead, he gave me remedial work. I've never been so surprised."

Somnoleveritaphantasmagoria Powder, Harry repeated to himself wonderingly. What a liberating effect it had had, after all. He'd have to tell Hermione after Neville left earshot.

"I'm so hopeless at concocting potions that Professor Snape said there's little use my even sitting that part of the exam, but he recognized that when it comes to cultivating the basic ingredients, I'm not half bad. He told me that if I'm flawless on the theoretical sections of the Potions O.W.L.—the herbals and the zoologicals—I should at least pass." Neville grinned.

Hermione couldn't help but butt in. "To start with, the professor assigned him a list of plants. Before the holiday starts, Neville is to bring him samples meeting certain standards and correctly identify all their uses."

Raising an eyebrow, Ron shook his head. "Can't say I envy you, getting private tutoring from Snape, but failing to earn an O.W.L. in Potions would close a lot of doors. You're a lucky dog."

Neville nodded vigorously. "But I won't be for long if I don't get cracking." With that, he strolled across the room to his favorite nook. Not until he'd sat down did Harry see him draw a scrap of parchment from his robes the size of a short list.

Harry stood, motioned Hermione to his chair and perched on the arm. As soon as they had a quick chat, he'd leave her to Ron. He just hoped his friend could make the right words come out his clenched teeth.

Hermione obliged, sitting daintily and crossing her legs toward Ron.

"Speaking of remedial work," Harry began, "do you remember what Snape said to you in his office?"

Hermione blinked a few times, then brushed a hand over her face. "I remember the grain in the wood, the pores in his nose, the creaks in the rafters. You know those labeled jars behind his desk? They hold pickled spleens from 78 different species of bat. And those twelve white rats? None are missing any toes." She drummed her fingers on her forehead as if to loosen a logjam. "Rauschen, Lautheit and Schreien's Bavarian Desideratum. Weltschmerz tonic. You wouldn't use it for a skinned knee, would you?"

Harry saw Ron smile. Her observation proved Hermione's mind was cycling back to normal.

Suddenly, Hermione buried her face in her hands. Crookshanks looked up from washing his front paw, then loped toward her.

Immediately, Ron began patting her back. "Taking points from Gryffindor is unfair, but what else do you expect from Snape?"

"It isn't that," she wailed as Crookshanks consolingly licked her ankle.

Harry leaned down. "Then what are you worried about? Snape was more lenient than I'd thought he'd be. All you have to do is make a presentation—"

"And write a step-by-step essay on how I made the potion," Hermione finished, sounding miserable. "Most of the ingredients I bought in Hogsmeade. A few I picked from the forest myself. One I begged off Hagrid. But mammoth bone . . . that Dobby got for me from Professor Snape's office."

Harry's eyes met Ron's. According to plan, Dobby had added flaked rat skin to the bandersnatch canister to make the level the same. He'd rearranged the candori roots so the jar would look full. Replacing the missing Sphinx piss, well, they'd left that up to him. Harry recalled Hermione slipping an extra item into her robes the night Dobby brought them loot from Snape's cabinet. Now he knew what it had been.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, "how was the mammoth bone stored? Was it powdered or—"

"It was a cross section. Dobby shaved off a tiny sliver. We never thought the professor would look."

Ron sucked in his breath. "They'll sack the poor fellow. Snape will insist."

For an instant, Hermione's face looked indignant. "I objected to the whole undertaking in the first place!"

"Then took advantage of it," Ron said.

Hermione's eyes began to glisten. Around the room, fellow Gryffindors glanced curiously their way. Crookshanks jumped into her lap.

"There has to be more than one memory potion," Harry said quietly. "Say you used one that doesn't require rare ingredients."

"He'll know. No other formula is so strong. I'll just have to come up with a believable way I could have got into his stores."

"Maybe I—" Ron began.

"No," she said quickly. "Snape would never buy that. He saw how flummoxed you were about my condition."

"You remember?" Harry asked.

"Of course. I just didn't realize the significance before." Gently, she set Crookshanks back on the carpet and rose to her feet. "I'm going to have to come up with a really plausible alternative." Lost in thought, Hermione wandered away.

Gazing after her, Ron whispered, "Isn't she cute when she's cooking up a story?"

Harry rolled his eyes. And the Sorting Hat said cunning was a Slytherin virtue.

Ron stood.

Finally. Harry smiled. "Going to ask her?"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Hermione had paused near a circle of Gryffindor girls. Her bout of infinite memory still seemed to be disorienting her.

Ignoring the fact she wasn't alone, Ron strode toward her.

Go for it! Harry cheered silently.

Stopping near the girls, Ron said, "Uh, Angelina. George is going to be too busy to visit Hogwarts before Christmas."

Gryffindor's highest scoring chaser was testing her memory of a parchment unfurled in her lap. Smiling, she looked up. "What can you expect when your boyfriend is a genius? Mr. Zonko sent him an invitation—can you believe it? I'd never let him pass that up. George promised to make it up to me at New Year's."

Angelina never tired of raving about how successful George and Fred's practical joke shop had become. Everyone in Gryffindor knew they were the youngest inventors to ever have an appointment with the grand master of wizard pranks, Mr. Zonko. Harry puckered his forehead. Why would Ron bring it up now?

His friend took a deep breath. "Too bad George can't make it to the Yule Ball. He suggested that maybe, since—just so you won't be lonely—maybe I could be your, uh, escort."

Angelina shot Hermione a quick look. Then she shared a perplexed frown with her best friend and fellow chaser Katie. After an uncomfortable silence, she returned her ebony eyes to Ron. "If your mind is made up . . . ."

"Some people would go to a dance with just anyone. I prefer to stay loyal to Hogwarts."

Hermione no longer looked disoriented. She looked livid. Stiffly, she strode back to Harry and dropped on the seat Ron had vacated. When Angelina's reluctant, "All right," floated across the room, Hermione ground her teeth. "Viktor did ask if we were having another Yule Ball," she muttered. "Ron saw the owl deliver the letter. But he didn't see my reply turning him down. Viktor's a sweet fellow. I couldn't lead him on."

"Hermione, I'm so sorry—" Harry swallowed the rest of his sentence. Ron was strutting back toward them, his face ablaze with both triumph and relief. The idiot.

"So, whom are you going with to the Yule Ball?" Ron addressed his casual question to Hermione. He obviously thought he knew the answer.

Harry saw her jaw start to tremble. Raising his chin, he announced, "Me."

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