The discovery of the potential of gillyweed to solve Harry's problem kindled a fire in his belly, giving him hope and drive.
He had spent most of the evening discussing the chapter with his other dorm-mates and they had riffled through every catalogue, brochure and flyer from every herbalist and apothecary supplier that they had. Unfortunately, none of them stocked gillyweed in the winter, as it turned out it could only be harvested in the summer.
They resolved to figure it out together.
The following morning, after discussing it with several others and being prompted by Neville, Harry approached Pomona Sprout at the teachers' table, hand-in-hand with Pansy.
"Mr. Potter, Miss Parkinson, good morning." Sprout said in her normal rich and booming voice.
"Good morning, Professor." Pansy said, beaming.
"What can I do for you, you distressingly charming pair of love-birds?"
Harry cleared his throat and stepped forward. "I need some help – advice, professor."
Sprout raised her bushy eyebrows. "Well colour me intrigued, Mr. Potter. I don't think you've ever asked anything of me before."
Several of the teachers near Professor Sprout turned in their direction, staring.
"Good morning, Professor Vector." Pansy said with an ostentatious little curtsey.
Septima Vector raised her teacup in a toast and smiled before turning back to talk to Snape.
"Well, Professor," Harry said, stepping close enough for her to hear him whisper, "I think I've figured out a way to… do the second task."
Sprout nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, good. Go on."
"Well, there's this rare plant, I found it-"
"You found it?
He shrugged, "Well, Neville heard me talking about the problem and that I was getting desperate and showed me a book with gillyweed in."
Sprout clapped her calloused, earth stained hands happily. "Oh, what a good boy he is. Well, I can – of course – see the problem." She ran a finger around her lips. "Gillyweed… gillyweed. You're going to need fresh – or at least preserved for the task."
Harry nodded. "And it's out of season."
She nodded. "As you say."
"So you see why I need help."
"I do indeed. Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, I am fresh out of gillyweed, I tend to use it all at the start of the year with my NEWT students while it's fresh and I've never had any luck cultivating it in these cold climes."
Harry's heart fell.
She saw it in his face and stood, reaching over the table and lifting his chin from where it had fallen onto his chest.
He met her gaze and she was smiling. "I do know someone who might have what you need though." Then she looked to her right.
"Professor Vector?"
He felt Pansy tense and sigh, "Oh, shit."
Sprout wasn't talking about Vector, Harry realised, looking past her. Snape.
More than an hour before the start of lessons, the NEWT potions class was bitingly, achingly cold.
"I really appreciate this, Professor." Pansy said, looking at Snape's back as he swept toward the front of the room before settling in a chair behind the desk.
"Do you now, Miss. Parkinson?" Snape said, taking a deep breath and crossing his pale arms across his black-clad chest. "You seem to labouring under the belief that I am both willing and able to aid Mr. Potter in this."
Harry, felt the temperature in his body drop to somewhere near that of the room. Snape. It had to be Snape, the only one that could help him.
"I have to, Professor." Pansy said.
"Professor…" Harry started.
Snape sneered. "And he speaks. Go on, Potter."
Pansy shuffled from foot to foot, other than the sound of her shoes on the stone floor, the room was completely silent.
Harry's throat was so dry he had to swallow several times before he could speak. After three and a half years, the idea of speaking to Snape, asking something of him was harder than asking someone to the Ball had been. But there was really no choice.
"Professor… I." He wanted to ask – to beg if necessary – for the gillyweed. He'd pay for it if he needed to, but knew that Snape wouldn't want money. "I need gillyweed, Professor."
"As both you and Miss. Parkinson said at breakfast, Potter." Snape said, looking bored.
"Yes, well. I need to be able to breathe underwater for an hour. From what I've read-"
"From what we've all read for the last several weeks." Pansy chimed in.
"- it's the only way for me to do it, short of having to learn to transfigure myself into a bloody otter or do a bubble-head charm which I could muck up if I was stressed out under water, let alone needing a way to see in the dark and… there's a lot."
Pansy touched his hand and he stopped, his brain running a mile a minute. Snape was silent, still as stone.
"Professor, if I may?" Pansy asked, stepping forward.
Snape rolled his eyes. "You could, Miss. Parkinson, but I do understand. I do have a small amount of gillyweed, I'm sure you'll be glad to hear and-" he held up a hand to silence Harry before he could speak, "before you interrupt – I am prepared to let him have it. Unfortunately, I only have enough for a single dose, even if it were to be appropriately refined for the desired properties. As you both seem well aware, gillyweed has the drawbacks of being neither native to these islands nor in-season, while it is difficult to preserve, and a key ingredient in certain NEWT-level potions that are taught at the start of the school year."
Harry's heart, having been pulled back and forth so much over recent months, hung in a kind of limbo, waiting for the pasty, greasy teacher with whom he shared such a great mutual animosity. It was in Snape's power to either enable him to move forward with his plans for the second task, or send him back to the planning stages.
"As much as it pains me to admit this Potter, I do want you to succeed in this endeavour, just as I wish to see Mr. Diggory excel – it is simply a matter of school pride" He paused, his eyes roving over Harry and Pansy. "You have arrived at precisely the best solution to the issue of extended underwater survival, and I happen to know the means by which to refine the gillyweed – and yes, I am willing to help you."
"Thank you, Professor." Harry said, almost gasping as he released his pent-up breath.
"But – and I must emphasise but – you must also understand that due to having only one useful dose; no practice runs nor second chances, you must prepare rigorously. Also, learning the bubble-head charm would be recommended just-in-case." Snape's lip curled like he was disgusted with himself, clearly warring again his almost instinctive dislike of Harry and his desire to see Gryffindor excel.
"I will Professor, thanks again." Harry said, feeling a fraction of the tension leave him.
Snape ran his fingers through his lank hair and stood. "You'd better be on your way, you've given me no small amount of work to do, rehydrating gillyweed in record time."
The pair nodded and thanked him again, heading for the door.
"Oh, and Potter."
Harry turned around, hand on the door handle. "Professor."
"I trust you and Miss Parkinson won't object to assisting me with a few… inconvenient tasks while my time is taken up with helping you in this?"
Harry swallowed. Pansy replied instantly, "Of course, Professor. Whatever we can do to help."
A flicker of a smile crossed Snape's thin mouth. "Very well then. I would like both of you to attend after dinner this evening to help me prepare enough fresh flitterbys, bouncing bulbs and foxgloves for the first-year students next week. Then we can move onto a few tasks I really have been putting off too long – I recently discovered that a preservative charm I placed on a cask of flobberworms has failed and the contents will need sorting into fresh and… spoiled."
Harry, realising that the other shoe had dropped, nodded. Nothing came for free with Snape.
Pansy's hand squeezed his and she cleared her throat. "Of course, professor, thank you again." She said.
Harry tried a smile that ended up feeling like a grimace before turning the handle and leaving the dungeon.
They walked in silence toward the stairs back up to the Great Hall. Harry felt immense relief that the worst hurdle for the second task was complete, but guilty that he had effectively sentenced Pansy to however much indentured servitude Snape determined was necessary to repay his debt.
"Pansy I-" he started at the bottom of the stairs.
She held up a hand, "Do you hear that?"
He frowned and stood still.
There was a commotion building above them in the entrance hall; dozens of gossiping voices and the slap of many feet on stone.
They hurried up the stairs, rotten flobberworms forgotten and found the entrance hall packed.
"George!" Harry shouted, seeing the lanky twin's flaming hair sticking out of the crowd.
"Harry, get over here," George shouted, pushing a path through the crowd, "shift you midgets, let him through."
"What's going on?" Pansy asked, as they made it over toward the gates.
As she spoke, a few people from the front of the crowd moved, making a natural opening.
George lifted his chin with a bright, eager smile on his face. "Look who's back."
They all looked at each other then pushed out through the entrance into the cool February air.
There were three figures heading up the main drive from the front gates. One was riding a horse, while the other two were on foot.
Dumbledore was in the middle, wearing pea green robes and a beaming smile. The figure on the horse was a stranger, a small woman with light brown hair wearing silvery, insubstantial-looking robes riding side saddle. But everyone was staring at the figure that could only be Alastor Moody.
"He looks good." Pansy said in wonder.
That was an understatement, Harry thought. Moody looked transformed. While still horrifically scarred, his limp was almost completely gone, and he walked with his staff on his shoulder, easily keeping pace with Dumbledore's long, languid stride. His magical eye was still there too, but now seemed better fitted somehow, and he stood tall and straight-backed. His hair was fresh cut and clean and – perhaps strangest of all – he was smiling.
McGonagall appeared from nowhere as she so often did and started shooing the students away. "Be gone with you all, the last thing Professor Moody needs as soon as he steps on the grounds is to be harangued by a chattering chorus of chittering children!"
The crowd dispersed back to their own business, with a few remaining outside the door.
Harry stayed, his arm around Pansy against the cold and Draco strode over to them, a mocking sneer on his face.
"Must you two flaunt yourselves about all the time?" He asked.
Harry looked at the Slytherin, suppressing an almost instinctive urge to react and escalate the situation. He satisfied himself with rolling his eyes as Pansy greeted Draco as they exchanged kisses on cheeks.
Pansy glared at both of them.
The start of term had been so busy that Harry had almost no interaction with Malfoy – significantly less than normal as they were both making concerted efforts to not provoke each other, or allow their friends to be provoked as they normally would.
Harry cleared his throat. "Good morning Draco."
"Harry." Malfoy said with a nod. "Looks like the old badger is back."
Pansy tutted disapprovingly.
"Oh come on, don't tell me you don't see it." Malfoy drawled. "How broad he is, that massive coat he always wears and the streaked hair?"
Having heard it, Harry couldn't dismiss the image of the ancient auror, and from everything he had heard and read about Moody – from his tenacity and bravery to the savage violence he sometimes employed – it seemed appropriate.
"Better not say that within earshot." Harry said, suppressing a snigger.
"Yeah, like I'm going to say anything to the headcase after the ferret incident." Malfoy said with a shudder. "Either way, he looks better, doesn't he?"
Pansy and Harry nodded.
"At least we know where he went now." Malfoy said.
"Oh?" Pansy asked.
Malfoy rolled his eyes and gestured to the tiny woman riding the horse. "That's Alasara Montague, I met when I was a kid – she treated my grandfather Abraxas for years until his death."
Pansy looked at her blonde friend. "Alasra Montague, I thought she'd retired."
Draco shrugged. "I guess she decided the badger was worth getting her healer's kit out again."
"Retired?" Harry said, looking at the woman who looked to be only in her late thirties at the very latest. The name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it.
Pansy nodded. "I know, she looks fabulous. No one would suspect she's almost eighty."
"No way." Harry said.
Malfoy made an affirmative noise, "Apparently it's true, something to do with her magic and how she treats people, it's rather unconventional. But it'd have to be, wouldn't it, to be able to fix him up the way she has." He said, gesturing to Moody. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll make myself scarce, I still owe the headmaster that essay from last week."
Pansy smiled as Malfoy left and cuddled in closer to Harry as the strange trio approached.
