Chapter 41

APPEARANCES

As the couple dozen students and the staff that had stayed over winter break trickled into the Great Hall for Christmas tea, nobody was more enthusiastic in praising Malfoy's skill at wizard dueling than Harry. If someone else mentioned that the Slytherin's opponent had, after all, been Filch and that Dumbledore, Snape, Nick, Fire (and Harry) had been distracting the possessed caretaker just before Malfoy challenged him, he didn't mind nodding. But he wasn't so ungracious as to bring it up himself. Yet when McGonagall whispered, "You've nothing to be ashamed of," Harry wondered if his bravado had fooled anybody.

"You did your best," Professor Daine added, taking a seat across from him, "and you did win ten points for Gryffindor."

"Yes," he muttered. "Five for shouting and five for tripping."

"Neither of which I managed to do," she said, "and I'm the Defense Against the Dark Arts master. And your insightful guess about the ticks, well . . . ." Her words trailed off in a smile as she arranged her linen napkin across her lap.

The chairs on either side of her were still empty—reserved, no doubt, for Snape and Malfoy who were dazzling a knot of Slytherins at the punch table. Ignored, Avery was actually pouring a cup for himself. Snape was so involved in his godson's tale that he didn't notice Remus stroll into the hall, accompanied by a creature that sent Harry's eyebrows skyward.

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "What's Lupin thinking, bringing that great hairy beast in here?"

"Beast?" Professor Daine swiveled around. Then she sprang to her feet, letting her napkin flutter to the floor. "Oh! What a sweet shaggy dog!"

Harry covered his mouth to hide his grin as the professor rushed toward the big black dog padding alongside Remus. He mustn't do anything to give away his fugitive godfather's foray into Hogwarts society. One glance at Snape's narrowing eyes showed that he recognized the oversized creature as his detested rival Sirius. The Master of Slytherin abandoned his godson and admirers so abruptly that they stared after him.

Hastily, Harry wriggled out of his chair and hurried around the table, reaching the group just as Ariel Daine crouched to give Sirius an affectionate tickle behind the ears.

For a moment, Snape just glared. Then he grated out, "Remove that beast from the dining area. Immediately. He smells rank. Clearly, he hasn't groomed—been groomed—for ages. He requires a bath—most likely a flea dip as well."

Daine glanced up, her hazel eyes wide at Snape's vehemence.

Remus put on his most ingratiating smile. "Easy, now. He'll be no bother. He really needed to get out. He's been cooped up since yesterday."

Snape's lips thinned. "If you mean he needs a walk, I suggest you take him outside. Preferably, on a short leash to the edge of the forest—so he can exercise his urge to mark trees. And whatever you do, remember to bring a dog scoop and clean up bag."

Sirius growled.

Remus bit back a grin. "I assure you, those needs have been met. It's company that he's missing. I just wanted to include him in the feast."

Harry caught a spiteful glint in Snape's dark eyes. "Too unsanitary. But I'll be sure to save him some choice scraps."

"Severus, please." Ariel Daine touched his sleeve. "It's Christmas. I'm sure this dear puppy will be a perfect gentleman."

The professor's soothing tone made Harry relax—until the dear puppy opened his mouth. Out flopped a big, pink, slobbering tongue to lick Ariel Daine's hand. When she giggled, Sirius sprang up on his hind legs, placed his front paws on her shoulders and slurped his long, sloppy tongue across her mouth.

She laughed like a schoolgirl. Harry's jaw dropped. Snape's face went white.

Remus leapt into action. He grabbed Sirius by the scruff of his neck and yanked him down, barely saving him from the harsh slap Snape aimed at his nose.

When Snape's hand slashed through empty air, Ariel Daine gasped.

"He looked like he might be attacking you," Harry said quickly, anxious to fill the shocked silence. "He's a good dog, really. A bit unmanageable at times, but—"

Professor Daine ignored him. Her hands went to her hips as she pinned Snape with her loftiest stare. "I've lived with hounds all my life. Back in Alabama, my Mama has a pack of them. I can certainly hold my own with one frisky, overgrown pup. Without anyone striking him, thank you very much."

Snape's mouth worked a moment without sound. At last, he murmured, "I wasn't—I was merely showing him—he clearly required—a—a little discipline."

"To make it plain who's boss, I suppose? Well! Anyone who knows anything about creatures can tell you that honey goes a lot further than vinegar. To prove it, I'm going to ask Remus to sit this big, sweet doggy beside me while we eat. He'll behave."

As if demonstrating her point, Sirius sat himself calmly at Remus's side, but Harry thought his canine panting sounded suspiciously like sniggering.

Many hours later, as Harry waited on the rug in the Gryffindor common room for the headmaster and their promised talk, he was still pondering Snape's never-ending squabbles with the Marauders. Tonight, would Dumbledore finally reveal the mystery behind it all—especially, his uncle's hatred of his dad?

Harry sighed. Not quite ten o'clock. But an afternoon and evening of smiling through feasting, charades, blind man's bluff, recitations, caroling, more feasting, and the Almost Axed Acrobats' Christmas Spectacular—complete with giant, blood-dripping Christmas tree—had made him restless to get away. Even the amusement of watching Snape scowl while Sirius impressed the crowd with his smart dog tricks hadn't inspired him to stay—not when it meant more of Malfoy's sidelong smirks and his fellow Gryffindors' You'll come through next time consolations. What he needed was a few minutes breathing space with Ron and Hermione—close friends to whom he could admit, I really bollixed it up this time, didn't I?

So Harry took out his Djinn ball.

"Lesson Three," the taskmaster wrapping paper squeaked. "It's about time."

"Not now," Harry replied. "I'd rather practice Lesson Two." If he couldn't talk to Ron and Hermione, at least he could look in on them—provided that his quick glimpse of the Grangers' living room had been enough to make their house accessible for Television of Familiar Locations at a Distance.

"Don't be a slacker," the paper snapped. "On to Lesson Three: Long-Distance Communication Djinn Ball to Djinn Ball. Ready, begin."

Harry groaned, but the crackling noise and twinkle of lights in the orb's center drew his attention. He shrugged and pressed the ball to the bridge of his nose. In a moment, the sparkle faded, and he saw the cozy interior of an old-fashioned cottage—a wide, wood-beamed room lit by candles, warmed by a roaring fire, and strung with paper chain garlands for Christmas. Half a dozen witches lounged around the quilt-strewn sofas, puffing on long-stemmed pipes, guzzling from steaming tankards, and cackling over exchanged anecdotes. They were the ugliest collection of ladies he'd seen in his entire life.

Hags.

When Harry spotted Millicent walking around a tray of gingerbread women, he grinned. He was looking in on her Highland holiday.

A minute later, an elderly crone with seven warts on her sausage-shaped nose squawked, "Milly! It's that chum of yours. The one you've been expecting. Quick! Catch him before the Djinn ball loses the connection."

Millicent handed her tray to another young hag and waddled toward him, closer and closer, until her face filled his sight. She was gazing back at him through her own crystal ball, which evidently she'd left on a shelf in her aunt's hut.

"Potter! It's about—"

"I know, I know. It's about time I got around to Lesson Three."

Millicent's grin exposed a mouthful of crooked teeth. "Heard there was a bit of excitement out your way this afternoon. And that for once, my cousin did the right thing."

Harry put on his best smile. "Er, yes. He did."

Millicent chuckled. "Look over my shoulder. See the woman in the green tartan? That's Aunt Narcissa. Uncle Lucius thinks she's at Wizard's Rest Sanitarium."

Harry peered into the Djinn ball, trying to recognize the beautiful but haughty Narcissa Malfoy in the misshapen but jovial hag chattering by the Christmas tree. In spite of himself, he smiled. He could see how she held her son's affection.

Millicent nodded as if she'd read his thoughts. "My cousin's daring-do did her more good than a whole month of forced rest."

Once more, he recalled Mrs. Malfoy's prediction that he'd eavesdropped on from atop the dragon: Draco is at a crossroads. Only time would tell whether the choice he'd made would set the course for the rest of his life. "She certainly looks happy."

Millicent's scraggly eyebrows drew together. "But I get the feeling you're not?"

"Happy? Why shouldn't I be happy?"

"Ah, Potter." She shook her head. "You've dazzled us with your heroics so often. You've got to let someone else step forward now and then."

And again, and again, and again, he thought.

Millicent rolled her eyes. Clearly, she was reading his thoughts. "Chin up, Potter. You've saved the day more times these last few months than you realize."

Harry grimaced. "You've mistaken me for some other chap."

"Not so. What about when you rescued Cho from Wilhelm? That smarmy git! She told me all about it. And the morning you helped me chat up the hydra?"

"That? That was nothing."

"You kept me from looking like a total ninny." Millicent paused. "And asking your pal Granger to the Yule Ball. That saved her a lot of embarrassment, too."

Harry cocked his head. "How did you know about that? Of course, you saw us there, but how did you know that's why I asked her?"

Millicent's expression grew serious. "Well, I am a hag, you know. And we all have the second sight." Then her solemnity dissolved in a grin. "Besides, Cho told me."

The thought of Cho saying nice things about him behind his back sharpened the bittersweet longing he'd felt since watching her stare at him through the window of the departing Hogwarts Express. He sighed. When Hedwig returned from China with Cho's reply to his letter, what would it say? Or would she even send one?

He pushed that worry away with a question about Millicent's travels, following it with another and another until a shriek broke through their chatter.

"Milly!" rasped the elderly crone. "Is that the plum pie I smell burning?"

Millicent shrieked herself. "Potter! Got to dash. See you in a week. Keep up the Djinn ball lessons. Kiss Bête Noire for me. And don't belittle the small victories!"

Abruptly, Harry's view of the hags' holiday went black.

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