Chapter 28

LISTENING

Harry continued to scrub the dragon, but his ear was on the older Slytherins. Malfoy, Sr. returned Snape's greeting loftily, then cast a jaundiced glance at the Weasleys and Grangers. "What disgrace will Dumbledore sanction next? It's offensive enough having our pureblood children schooled with mudbloods, but to allow their Muggle relatives the run of the grounds—it's appalling."

Snape turned his back, and Harry couldn't hear his reply—but Avery laughed and said, "Not for long."

Bridling his indignation, Harry focused more intently on Avery, in time to pick up—"The beast wasn't as fierce as we'd hoped."

Snape shifted slightly, his eyes on Wilhelm chatting up Mrs. Malfoy while Draco pouted. "Not quite, but your effort was still appreciated."

Harry's jaw dropped. Then he clenched it. Avery was apologizing that the griffin hadn't been fierce enough to kill Dumbledore. What else could he possibly mean? Malfoy's efforts to replace Hogwarts's headmaster with its Potions master by petitioning the Ministry had failed, so Snape had devised a more direct scheme—killing Dumbledore. That Voldemort would also benefit was irrelevant.

Harry slammed his scrubbing brush into the bucket, spraying his robes with icy cleaning potion. He gripped the statue's horn to steady his surge of anger. If he could have transfigured the marble beast into a real dragon—biting jaws and snatching claws—he'd have ridden it straight at the Death Eaters and trampled them into the mud.

How dare that monster say he owed loyalty to Lily? His mother's name in that brute's mouth had been nothing short of an abomination.

An unexpected chortle wrenched Harry's gaze to the base of the statue. Millicent was grinning at him—her teeth again jagged, her nose bulbous, her forehead craggy and her skin warty. "I hope whatever you did was worth freezing your bum off up there."

Harry swallowed hard, trying to control his seething emotions. "Yes, it was." Doubly so, he added to himself, since it had placed him in a position to unravel the plot against Dumbledore.

Before Harry could say anything else, Millicent began shinning her dumpy body up the dragon's spine as nimbly as a chimp. He gnawed his lip. Under normal circumstances, he'd have welcomed the distraction. Now he needed to concentrate on the conspirators.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on Bête Noire," Millicent said after she'd roosted behind him. "I was wondering if you could also check on the hydra while I'm gone."

"The hydra?" Harry repeated vaguely, his eyes once more on the villains. "Certainly."

"My cousin's supposed to tend the four lads, but I don't trust him."

Puzzled, Harry faced her. "Your cousin?"

Millicent tilted her head toward Malfoy's group. "Draco."

"Your cousin?"

"The family resemblance surprises you?" She grinned toothily.

"There's none at all," Harry said quickly. "You're much nicer."

Millicent threw back her misshapen hag's head and cackled. "Narcissa, his mother—she's my aunt." She peered obliquely across the gardens. "And from the looks of her, Uncle Lucius is about to send her for a very long stint at Wizard's Rest Sanitarium."

Following her gaze, Harry saw Mrs. Malfoy pucker her upper lip as if she were about to retch.

Millicent sucked air through her teeth. "It's nice to put on a pretty face for a party, but keeping it up all the time is exhausting. Like being stuffed into a girdle, one's body just aches to let it all hang out."

"Is that why she does that?" Harry asked softly. "Screw up her nose like the whole world smells rotten?"

Millicent nodded. "Dear Uncle Lucius married her for her exceptional second sight—then prevents her from using it. The demands he makes! It takes all her energy just to keep up appearances."

Harry swiveled to stare at the object of their discussion. When he did, he saw Barden shepherding his relatives up the path toward them.

"If Uncle really loved her," Millicent continued quietly, "he'd be more concerned about her inner beauty. But if Auntie were to ever show her true face in public, he'd have an apoplectic fit."

Nearing them, Barden called out, "Hallo, up there. Anything going on I should complain about?"

"Never!" Millicent hopped off the side of the statue. Seeing how gracefully she glided down, Harry felt certain Cho had coached her in Wudang Shen. The look on Barden's face as she landed beside him made clear his eyes were on the lady Millicent was inside.

Before the Grandstaffs could settle in for a chat, Harry held up his scrub brush. "If I don't get cracking, I'll be here till midnight."

As Barden and his family switched to pleasant farewells the littlest sister piped up. "Can we go see Neville Longbottom now? Do you think he'd give me his autograph?"

"Just a minute." Millicent held up a finger to Harry. "I almost forgot. I got you an early Christmas present—my thanks for looking after the beasts. Bête Noire will bring it by when he comes tonight."

"You didn't have to," Harry said, feeling bad he hadn't bought one for her.

Millicent shrugged. "Just a little something I had lying around. Don't throw out the wrapping. It gives instructions on how to use it."

As the Grandstaffs and Millicent rambled off to meet Hogwarts's newest celebrity, Harry heard Barden's little sister ask, "Who's that boy up on the dragon?"

He grimaced. Never mind. Resolutely, he once again tuned in Malfoy and his gang.

"Take your father and his friends to see the hydra," Narcissa Malfoy was saying to Draco. "I'm afraid I'm too fatigued for the walk."

"Wilhelm can do it. I want to—"

"Run along, now." Mrs. Malfoy twitched her nose. "Severus will keep me company."

Without a backward glance at his wife, Lucius Malfoy said, "Yes, Willimar. Let's see this famous beast of yours."

Sullenly, Draco tagged after the men down the path.

When they were out of view, Mrs. Malfoy beckoned Snape closer.

He stayed motionless, studying her. "You have something to say to me, Madame?"

"I—I do." She steepled her hands under her nose, apparently unsettled by his impassive tone. "Draco didn't want to hear this, but I have to tell someone."

Snape arched an eyebrow as if to say, I'm listening.

Mrs. Malfoy lowered her voice. "Lucius tries to keep Draco in line, but my son is still headstrong. Now he's reaching a turning point. Late last night, I cast the bones. I saw that these two weeks will be critical—"

Snape raised a hand. "Enough. You know my feelings on prognostication."

Mrs. Malfoy's upper lip quivered violently. She jammed her fingertips against it. "No prophecies, then. Just a caution. Draco is at a crossroads. As his mother, I know that. A moment of decision is approaching. Its appearance will be sudden, but it will set the course for the rest of his life." A tremor passed over her face. "I would appreciate if you would . . . watch out for him."

Snape inclined his head mockingly. "Madame, don't I always?"

She swung away.

He ignored her, his black eyes roving indolently over the grounds. Then they focused on something that transformed their indifference into another expression altogether. His farewells came out in a rush. "You must excuse me. A professor's duties. But don't trouble yourself, Madame. I've taken your words to heart. Draco will be looked after." Without waiting for her reply, he set off.

A paroxysm overwhelmed Mrs. Malfoy. She threw her violet alpaca hood over her head and clutched it closed—but not before Harry caught a glimpse of her elegant features contorting. Whirling blindly, she stumbled toward a wrought iron bench.

Harry whipped his attention back to Snape. When he did, he saw what was making the Potions master quicken his pace, even as he folded his arms protectively in front of himself. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was tripping up the path from the lake, her blonde hair wispy in the breeze, her feet as light as if she were dancing.

Disconcerted, Harry dove his scrub brush into his pail. Snape was evil. Once and for all, he'd proven it. Hadn't he colluded with his Death Eater friends to assassinate Dumbledore wtih a fierce griffin? And his promise to Draco's mother to mentor her son along his dad's depraved path was just the bizarre coda to his deceitfulness.

But when Snape faced Ariel Daine—his thin lips pressed together, his dark eyes watchful, his right hand fidgeting with his left sleeve—he seemed more wary than wicked.

"How do you feel this morning?" he asked as softly as a breath.

"The same." Professor Daine's face shone as she gazed up at him. "Giddy. Exultant. Wonderful. You've put your spell on me, all right."

Before Harry could be privy to another syllable, he popped the Fourier Analytical Earhorn out of his ear and shoved it in his pocket. Hunkering down, he began avidly washing the dragon's shoulders. He didn't stop working until the sun was high overhead and a friendly voice asked, "Mind if I sit in?"

Startled, Harry almost lost his balance. Professor Dumbledore was levitating in midair next to him, a scouring pad scrunched in his hand.

"No," Harry said hurriedly. "Please. Let me—"

"Hog all the laurels for yourself?" Humming a Christmas carol, Dumbledore began rubbing a particularly troublesome stain on the dragon's jowls.

The headmaster looked so buoyant that speculations of dastardly intrigue seemed silly fantasies. Harry knew he had a duty to voice his misgivings, but not here, out in the open. He had to talk to Dumbledore privately.

When he stole a glance, the old man smiled and tipped his head toward the last large party socializing in the patchy garden. The Weasleys and the Grangers had gathered around Neville and his grandmother. Ginny stood beside her Yule Ball date, smiling bemusedly. "Now there's a sight to warm the heart."

Harry felt a grin quirk his lips. "Yes, it is."

They continued working, Dumbledore whistling and Harry reflecting. Laurels. They were nice. They let one know one was doing a proper job. But they weren't necessary. As he rested on that conclusion, he observed the Weasleys and Grangers strolling up the wide, granite steps.

"Albus!" Arthur Weasley waggled his right hand. "You just have to see this astounding gadget Hermione's dad gave me."

Extending a finger, Dumbledore guided the slender red object from Mr. Weasley's palm to his own.

"Kind of a mechanical quill," Mr. Weasley explained, "but much, much better. Its nib never breaks, and you never need to dip it in an inkwell. It has its own supply! Isn't that remarkable? It's called a ballpoint pen."

Harry bit back a smirk. He could see that all three Grangers looked sheepish.

As delighted as Mr. Weasley, Professor Dumbledore held the cheap plastic pen so Harry could admire it, too. Let the Grungers put a smile on your face, read a message down the side. Dental care for all ages.

"A printer's error," Hermione's father said self-consciously. "We were throwing out the lot, but Arthur—"

"They gave me the entire box! Isn't that fantastic?" Grandly, Mr. Weasley began pulling Grunger pens from his expansive robes to hand to everyone.

"We'll buy everybody really nice pens for Christmas," Hermione's mother put in weakly.

While Harry's departing friends gushed out Season's Greetings with promises to write, Dumbledore tried a few experimental clicks. An hour later, he was polishing the dragon's belly with one hand and happily clicking with the other. Every time Harry heard it, he grinned. Soon the brisk air and bright sun had him whistling, too. Thoughts of plots receded into the distance. Just when his own progress down the dragon's bumpy spine was amazing him, the headmaster lowered his scouring pad and peered over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "A praiseworthy effort. And high time we broke for lunch. I'd like to share it with you in my office. I have an inkling you have something you wish to tell me."

Before Harry could express his surprise and relief at Dumbledore's perceptiveness, he heard Snape's self-important cough. Glancing down, Harry saw the Potions master was once again by himself.

"Potter's story can wait," Snape said coolly. "I need to speak with you now."

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