"Malfoy!" called Hermione.

Draco paused in the doorway, about to head over to his own table.

"Hermione, what the bloody hell are you doing?" hissed Ron.

"We might as well get his insight. He's in on this too."

"The last thing we need is more of Malfoy's input!"

Draco glanced at his own table, then shrugged and strolled over to where the three Gryffindors sat. "You…hollered, Granger?"

Hermione blushed slightly. "Sorry. We're talking about Professor Potter. We had Flying this afternoon and Harry says Coach hasn't been to Quidditch practice in ages."

"So?"

"So, Harry wanted to ask how he was acting. Did you think he was acting weird?"

"He just seemed cheerful," said Draco.

"Way more cheerful than he was last term, that's for sure," said Ron. "He said we'd got all the basics and pretty much let us play games the whole time. And I think once when I caught his eye he actually winked at me."

"Obviously he hasn't tried for It yet," said Harry.

"Doesn't look like it," said Draco. He picked the apple up off of Hermione's plate and bit into it.

"It's odd, though," said Hermione. "I mean, you'd think he would have gone after It as soon as he got all the information; he's that sort of person. Maybe he's still missing a piece."

"Then why would he be cheerful?" Ron asked.

"Maybe he had a nice lunch or something," said Draco. "Does it occur to you that maybe he occasionally has non-It centred thoughts?"

"Hang on, Ron, you said he winked at you?" Harry was struck by a new suspicion and horror chilled his bones. "Hagrid said he was awfully thick in the planning…what if he set up some kind of, I don't know, security camera or something? What if he knows somehow? What if he knows that we've got it, that all he's got to do is get it from us?"

Ron and Hermione looked horrified. Draco choked on his apple.

"But…if he knows…how much do you think he knows? If he knows everything, why have we still got it?" asked Ron.

"I don't know," said Harry, "but I've got a feeling that unless we're careful, we won't keep it for very much longer."

"You want them to keep it?" said Dumbledore.

"Hang on, just listen," said James. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the back of the chair he was straddling. "Those four kids got past the planning and plotting and scheming of eight adults, right? That means either that those kids are loads more powerful than we think they are, or that we are loads less powerful than we think we are. Or maybe a bit of both. But that's a bit beside the point. The point is that nobody knows about this, except you and me. Even if Qu…somebody could climb through all those traps, there'd be nothing there. It's the most brilliant bluff ever, because it's not a bluff on the part of everyone else, right, except you and me. And you won't tell and I won't tell."

"What about Nicolas?"

"We know where it is; I could sneak it out every once in a while."

"And you think that if someone's trying to steal it they will have more difficulty getting past a few eleven-year-olds than you will?"

"That's only if they know that the eleven-year-olds have it, and there's no way they could!"

"Perhaps it would be as well to keep an eye on the aforementioned eleven-year-olds, just in case?"

"Right-o!" He hopped up, knocking the chair over, and tumbled toward the door.

"Oh, and Professor…"

James wheeled around. Dumbledore smiled at him. "I would appreciate the return of my Pensieve at any point which may be convenient," he said.

What with guarding the Philosopher's Stone, trying to expose a Hogwarts professor, keeping up in all his classes, and practicing like a maniac for the final Quidditch match of the year, Harry was pretty sure his life could not get any more hectic.

He was wrong.

The next morning, because of a time-sensitive harvest, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were excused from regular classes and were to attend an extra Herbology lesson instead. Since they would ordinarily have been going to Potions, Harry was a bit disappointed when the notice went up.

"We're having a make-up class next week," Hermione reassured him. "Friday afternoon."

"Great," said Ron. "Just what I need, an entire day in a spooky dungeon with Professor Veritaserum."

"That Veritaserum was a brilliant idea, Ron," said Harry.

"It almost got Hermione killed!" said Ron.

"It didn't almost get Hermione killed, Malfoy almost got her killed," said Harry. "You shouldn't blame Professor Arbutus just because Malfoy's an idiot."

"An idiot, am I?" said Malfoy. He slid into a seat and produced a piece of parchment. "You can look at my Potions paper and judge for yourself whether I'm an idiot."

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. Draco had started doing this a lot lately—showing off his completed homework and bragging about how perfect it was. Ron had a theory that this was his way of getting Hermione or Harry to correct it for him without admitting that he wanted their help.

Harry picked it up and glanced over it. "First off, Mr Genius, immutable has two ms," he said, playing along. "And that word needs to be permutable anyway…second of all, I think you meant three millilitres; three litres would anaesthetise an elephant…thirdly, you wrote the answer to question six under question seven and skipped answering question seven altogether."

"Not an idiot, you said?" said Ron.

"I'm sure your paper is just perfect, isn't it, Weasley?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Ron had no reservations about asking Hermione for help when he needed it. "Also, point of interest, it's against the rules for you to sit here…"

Just then, the sounds of hundreds of flapping wings filled the Great Hall as the post came in. Draco's eagle owl soared over to where he sat and dropped a large package into his arms.

"Brilliant," he said. "I'll bet it's sweets."

Ron's decrepit old family owl fell to earth by him and Ron managed to wrest the letter from his claws—it was from home. The small brown parcel that dropped onto Hermione's head turned out to be a new book.

"'Magical and Scientific Advances of the Byzantine Empire,'" read Harry, twisting his head to look. "I'm not sure I even want to know what that's for, Hermione."

"Research," she replied.

"Ginny's drawn a picture for me," said Ron. "Mum made her do it 'cause I've been sounding down in my letters. I guess lack of sleep will do that to a person."

Harry, on hearing the name of Ron's sister, smiled and pushed away Draco's Potions paper. "Well, let's see it, then," he said.

Ron handed it over. "It's supposed to be me, but it's rubbish, look."

The creature on the page was truly grotesque—a beanpole with a mass of bright orange hair and so many freckles they were spilling off its face. The animation showed the being zapping itself with some kind of curse that made its limbs and hair stick out as if electrified, and the word "Yoiks!" appeared in a speech bubble over its head.

Harry grinned. "I think it's a rather good likeness, actually."

"It's got horns and neon orange hair!"

"Yes, and it's like you in other ways, too," said Harry.

"Actually it is a surprisingly apt caricature," said Hermione. "Your sister's good with her pencil, Ron."

Draco peered at it and began to laugh.

"She's got the nose right and everything!" he said.

Ron snatched it back.

"Make sure to write sissy a nice thank-you note," said Malfoy. "Dear Jenny, thank you for the picture, but you flatter me, I'm not as good-looking as that…"

"It's Ginny," said Harry and Ron at the same time.

"Harry, I think you got something," said Hermione.

Harry looked up and saw Hedwig standing patiently by his plate, her leg outstretched.

"Oh! Er, thanks, Hedwig," said Harry. He gave her a piece of bacon and she flew off again.

"Ron's sister draw one of you, too, Snape?" Draco asked.

The note was written in Hagrid's rough scrawl and it contained only two words:

It's hatching.