Dumbledore was able to leave his sickbed on Friday, and returned to the Ministry with his honor guard of aureliphim. Malfoy seemed more anxious than ever now that he was the only one – to his knowledge, anyway – left at Hogwarts with Death Eaters for relatives. As for Ron and Hermione, they'd come to an agreement that let them still function as friends, albeit somewhat stiltedly, and avoid all talk of romance, dates, and who fancied whom. Ron was just as happy to ignore the entire subject, or would have been had Luna not begun giving Colin love-notes in class to deliver to him. Colin was glad to oblige, under the erroneous assumption that he was helping patch things up. 

Harry saw Jane several times over those few days, but only came face to face with her once. He didn't have to feign his astonishment when she walked right up to him in the hallway outside of the Potions classroom Friday afternoon, as the fifth-years were leaving and the fourth-years were about to enter. 

"Could I talk to you for a moment?" she asked, hugging her books to her chest like a knight's shield.

"Um … sure," Harry said, baffled. He saw his classmates murmuring curiously to one another, and hers doing the same … and Draco Malfoy watching with close attention. 

Jane led him a little way down the hall, beneath a snarling statue of a dragon's head with a torch blazing in its open, toothy jaws. 

"What are you doing?" Harry whispered, setting his back to the quizzical crowd. "I thought you didn't want anyone seeing you talk to me."

"This time it's all right," Jane said.

"But Malfoy –"

"It was his idea."

"What?"

He hadn't had a chance to speak to her since having that hideous dream, and was pulled in two directions now that he was with her again. On the one hand, he remembered the feel of her in his arms, the way he had kissed her, and was dizzy with reckless attraction. On the other, he thought of the rotting corpses of his friends, the Death Eaters, and Voldemort saying, "She's yours now … and that makes you mine!" and went clammy with dread. 

"Draco suggested it," Jane said. "He thinks that since you rescued me, you'll feel kindly toward me. And that I can use that to our advantage."

"Oh, does he?" Harry caught himself before he could turn and throw Malfoy a scathing look. 

"He thinks that if I can get close to you," Jane said, "I might find out if you know who's put this curse on the descendants of Death Eaters."

"Doesn't he think I did it?"

"He thinks you're too honest and noble for something that underhanded." Jane smiled that hard little cynical smile. "He thinks that if you had it in for the children of Death Eaters, you wouldn't bother to make it look like an accident or suicide."

"I'll choose to take that as a compliment," Harry said. "Jane, does … How much does Malfoy know about you?"

"I've never told him about my father, and he's never said anything to make me suspect that he does. If anything, he's always been a bit haughty toward me before, believing me to be a half-blood."

"A bit haughty? Draco Malfoy?"

"They say I must be all right because I did get put into Slytherin, half-blood or no … so the wizard blood I do have must be the right sort." She laughed. "If only they knew, huh? So they've always put up with me tolerably well."

"And now Malfoy wants to use you to get to me?" Harry shook his head. "But if he doesn't think I'm the one behind the curse – not that I even believe there is one – why would he think I know who is?"

"Because you're the great Harry Potter, with your nose into everyone's business at Hogwarts."

"Wonderful."

"I need to be quick. I'm only supposed to be thanking you – sincerely, mind! – for pulling me out of the river, and saving Eddie's life too. There's a Dark Arts Club meeting on Sunday. I thought I might bring the mirror, and hide it in the room ahead of time, to let you see for yourself what goes on. Professor Snape agreed to teach us some new curses."

"Has anyone in Slytherin heard from Nox?"

"An owl this morning," she said. "Why?"

"What did it say? Is he coming back?"

"Not for a few weeks."

"Look out for him." Harry heard the fourth-years going into the dungeon classroom, and knew he had to end this conversation before Snape poked his head into the hall to see what was keeping Miss Kirkallen. "I have to go."

"Harry?"

"What?"

"Is everything all right? You've been looking at me very oddly these past few days. It's what I told you, isn't it? About my mother, and … and what happened to her."

"No. No, Jane. Well … I had a … bad dream about … never mind. It doesn't matter." He cast a quick glance and saw that the hallway was empty except for Draco Malfoy, who was lingering on the stairs pretending – badly – to tie his shoe. "We're taking too long. Even if it was his idea, you don't want him getting suspicious."

"Right." She bit her lower lip and looked up at him. "'Bye, Harry."

"'Bye." 

She hurried around him and into the classroom. Snape's voice oiled out. "How nice that you could join us, Miss Kirkallen. Better late than never." Then the door closed with the same hollow, echoing bang that proclaimed another batch of students was in for an hour and a half of Potions.

"A new person in your fan club, Potter?" drawled Malfoy as Harry caught up to him on the stairs. 

And then it dawned on Malfoy – Harry saw it rise in his eyes – that it was just the two of them here in this dank and gloomy dungeon stairwell. He stumbled back a step, reaching for his wand. 

Harry made a disgusted snort. "Save it, Malfoy. I'm not about to jinx you."

"I'm not afraid of you," Malfoy said, turning the reaching motion into a pretext of straightening his sleeves. 

Reckoning he could do his part and play along, Harry said, "So, who is she?"

"Who?"

"The girl. Kirkallen. Jenny?"

"Jane," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes scornfully. 

"Sure. Jane."

"She's no one you need bother with. I don't know why she felt she had to thank you for anything." Malfoy did the eye-roll again. "But then, her father's a vicar, so I suppose some of those Muggle mannerisms must have rubbed off."

"Her father's a Muggle?"

"She's still a Slytherin!" Malfoy said sharply. "So you can wipe that smirk off your face, Potter."

"Didn't know I was smirking."

A meow from the top of the stairs made them look up, to where Mrs. Norris crouched with her yellow eyes glinting and her tail switching back and forth. A half-second later, Filch appeared behind her. 

"You're tardy," he snarled. "Run along and be quick about it."

"Mark my words, Potter," Malfoy hissed. "Stay away from Jane Kirkallen, or you'll regret it."

On Saturday, the day of the rescheduled Quidditch match, the sky was blanketed with fluffy grey clouds and a cold wind whipped down out of the north. But it was nothing compared to the previous week's maelstrom, and Harry was glad to get out on his Firebolt. 

Within the first five minutes, he knew that Gryffindor was going to win. There was no question. The Slytherin team's hearts just weren't in it. Malfoy sat on his broom casting fearful glances in all directions, not looking for the Snitch but for the fatal accident he was sure must be bearing down on him. The Beaters, up from the reserves to replace Crabbe and Goyle, tried hard to prove themselves, but the rest of the team lacked any sort of cohesion. 

At first, the Gryffindors in the stands relished this poor performance. But it quickly became apparent that there was no fun in taunting such dispirited foes. Nor was there any joy in the eventual victory. 

Harry wasn't the only one on his team to just want to get it over with and put the Slytherins out of their collective misery. He saw that desire on Ginny's face, and even in Ron's. Dennis and Flash, of course, were whooping and hollering as they sped around. 

The Snitch fluttered into view by the bottom of one of the goal hoops. Harry dived for it with relief, thinking it was a mercy. Malfoy made a token effort to follow him, stopped after fifty yards, and only nodded sourly when Harry's fingers closed around the little golden ball. 

"Ten minutes?" Flash Gresham complained as they trooped toward the team changing room. "That's got to be one of the shortest games on record."

"We won, didn't we?" Ginny said. 

"We could have stomped them into the ground," Dennis said. "Flash had already scored three times, and you scored twice. Why'd you have to catch it so fast, Harry? You know Malfoy wouldn't have seen it if it was right in front of his nose."

Harry didn't reply, and after a bit grumbling, Dennis finally let the matter drop. They changed back into their regular clothes, and the others headed up to the castle while Ginny stayed to help Harry put the uniforms away. 

"They don't need much cleaning," she said, in an effort to look on the bright side.

"That's something, anyway," Harry said. 

"Can I ask you something?"

"I wanted to get the game over with," he said. 

"Not that. About Jane Kirkallen."

"Oh." Harry looked around, saw no one else, and turned to Ginny. "What?"

"Are you and she …?"

"Why are you asking me? Aren't you the expert on all that stuff?"

"Well, I have my own ideas, sure," Ginny said. "I just wanted to hear it from you. It caused a stir yesterday when she talked to you outside of Potions. When Annie Aubrey found out about it, she was practically in tears."

"Annie who?"

"Aubrey, from Hufflepuff. She says she asked you to the Yule Ball when you were a fourth-year and you cut her dead so fast she's never had the nerve to speak to you again."

Harry remembered a curly-haired Hufflepuff third year, and twitched guiltily. "It wasn't like that … I was trying to figure out a way to ask Cho. As for Annie, I didn't even know who she was. She surprised me, coming up to me like that. Are you telling me that she still …"

"Yeah," Ginny said, laughing and shaking her head. "She's had a crush on you almost as long as I have. Had. Damn. Had." She dropped a pile of knee and elbow pads, and talked faster as she scrambled to gather them up. "One of those adoring-from-afar kind of things, pining over you, writing your name on her book covers, keeps a picture of you on her nightstand, sighs dreamily whenever you walk by, that sort of thing."

"Annie?"

"Of course, Annie, who do you think?" Ginny, he noticed, had the same problem as Ron – when she tucked her hair back out of her face, he saw that her ears had gone bright pink. "She knows she doesn't have a shot at you – or Prince William or Jude Law, either, for what that's worth … who's Jude Law, anyway? – but it doesn't stop her wishful thinking."

"He's an actor," Harry said off-handedly. "What's this got to do with Jane?"

"Only that now most of our year is talking about it. How you rescued her from drowning, and now she's in love with you and it's one of those star-crossed romances."

"People really think that?"

"That, or Malfoy's put her up to it."

"He has." Harry told her about his conversation with Malfoy in the dungeons. "But he warned me away from her, like he knew that the second he did, I'd only be more interested. Reverse psychology, they call it."

"Did it work?"

"Does it matter?"

"Quit being so defensive, Harry. I'm trying to help."

"Thanks, but I don't need help. You know who needs help? Ron."

"Ron's needed help for years," Ginny said. 

"Hermione, then."

"I've decided that the best thing I can do for Ron and Hermione is stay out of it," she said wisely. "They've got to work this out between them."

"But I'm fair game, am I?" Harry asked. "You can meddle in my love life all you like?"

"Can I? Gosh, Harry, thanks!" Her grin turned devilish, a Fred-and-George grin if ever Harry had seen one, and apprehension tightened his throat. 

"I'd really rather you didn't."

"So there is something with you and Jane?"

He sat on a bench and leaned his head against the wall, gazing upside-down at a poster above his head showing Chasers zipping along in labeled formations. He took a deep breath. "Yeah."

The levity left her voice. She sat down across from him. "Want to talk about it? I know you can't have a serious conversation with Ron or Hermione on this subject, not with them so caught up in their own mess."

"You probably already know everything I could tell you."

"Humor me."

"It's … complicated, Ginny."

She cocked her head. "Where've I heard that before? Oh, right, when we were discussing Lupin and Tonks! That complicated?"

"Kind of. I can't be with Jane. Not here. Not now."

"But you want to be."

"Sometimes. But then … other times … it's not anything Jane's done, you have to understand that, nothing Jane has any control over … but there's … a problem."

"What kind of problem, Harry?"

He leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees, and pushed the heels of his hands into his temples. "I tell myself that it shouldn't matter … it was a long time ago and it doesn't have anything to do with her … nothing real … she can't help it … and it doesn't change who she is … but then I start wondering about it …"

Ginny moved to the bench next to him and rubbed her knuckles across his shoulderblades and spine, pressing so hard that it almost hurt and felt wonderful at the same time. "I swear, I won't tell anyone."

"I know you wouldn't."

"Not even Mum, if that's what's on your mind."

"It was, a little."

"So get it off your chest. You'll feel better. Do you think I haven't seen how you've been lately? Carrying around some huge secret that's eating away at you?"

"It shows?" He looked around at her. 

"Not that much. Other people aren't as observant as I am."

"Sometimes I think eagles aren't as observant as you are."

"Well?" she prompted. 

Harry closed his eyes. She was right … it would be good to tell someone, to have someone who would listen without being involved. But it wasn't his secret to tell. 

"I appreciate it, Ginny … I really do. And please don't think that it's because I don't trust you. I trust you more than anyone. But Jane told me in confidence, and I can't betray her trust, so I've got to keep it to myself. I'm sorry."

"Always so noble," she said lightly, though he could tell that she was disappointed. She slapped him chummily on the back and got up. "Remember, though, if you do need someone to talk to –"

"I will."

The Gryffindor victory was a trifle flat and hollow, so the celebration in the common room after dinner that night was fairly subdued. Harry turned in early, and got up equally early Sunday morning to do his homework. 

Now that Ginny had mentioned her, Harry was uncomfortably aware at mealtimes throughout the day of Annie Aubrey, the curly-haired Hufflepuff girl. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings by turning her down so abruptly when she'd asked him to the Yule Ball … he hadn't even known her, and the idea that there might be other girls like her, harboring hidden crushes, made him feel strange. 

Sunday evening, he went back to the fourth-floor study carrels, with his mirror tucked inside the front cover of Active Magical Defense. He stepped into the bubble of the Silencing Charm, and arranged his desk to look like he was deeply involved in his work, the mirror shielded from view if anyone happened to pass behind him. 

"Jane?" he whispered. 

The dark glass cleared, revealing her room as he had only seen it before when he was using Astralmency. He saw the top of her nightstand, the mirror evidently propped up, and next to it was a gold-framed miniature photograph – not a wizarding photo, but a traditional Muggle one – of a woman with honey-colored hair, a heart-shaped face, and light blue eyes filled with sadness. 

The nightstand drawer was open, and in the very bottom of his field of vision, Harry could see the ebony box that Jane had clubbed Kreacher with that night in the Leaky Cauldron. A large tufted quill, bottle of ink, and several scraps of parchment were scattered around the box. 

Jane moved into view, tying her hair back into her customary ponytail and threading it through the wooden ring shaped like a snake. She had the look of someone who was screwing up her courage for an unpleasant but necessary task. When she turned and her gaze fell upon the mirror, she stifled a gasp. 

"Oh!" she said. "Harry. Hi." She crossed the room, and as she picked up the mirror with one hand, he saw her use the other to put the photograph in the drawer and slide it quickly shut. 

"Was that your mother?" he asked gently. 

"It's the only picture I have of her."

"She's beautiful."

"Thank you."

But what was going through his mind was too horrible to say. You look just like her … except for your eyes and your hair … which are both dark … like …

No. No, he couldn't say that. Would never say that. Not that she'd need to hear it from him anyway. Even if she never had before, after what Dilys Derwent had said, Harry was willing to bet every Galleon in his Gringotts vault that Jane had spent hours poring over that photograph, marking the differences between herself and her mother. 

"The meeting starts soon," Jane said. "I was just about to go and find a place to put the mirror. I'm not sure how much you'll be able to see, but at least you'll hear what's going on."

"There might be another way to do this," Harry said, thinking again of the Astralmency. "One that wouldn't risk getting you in trouble. The only thing is, I'm not sure how long it lasts, how long I'd be able to sustain it. But it'd do away with any chance that someone might find the mirror."

"I've put an Aversion Charm on it," she said. "So that no one else will notice it, even if they see it."

"All right," Harry said. "If you're sure."

"Of course I'm not sure … I don't even want to go, to tell the truth. I can hardly stand being in the same room with him."

"Who, Malfoy?"

"Professor Snape," Jane said in a low voice. Harry's view wobbled as if in an earthquake, and he realized it was because she was trembling. "Ever since you told me … Harry … I don't even like to think about it … but he … he could have been one of them. He could be … he could be my …"

"It doesn't matter!" Harry said forcefully. "Are you hearing me, Jane? It doesn't matter."

"But what if he is?"

"I don't think he could be," Harry said, dragging the words out of himself like anchors from some deep sea. "It goes against the grain to say anything good about Snape, but I don't think even he would … would have done that."

Her entire body seemed to slump, her eyes closed, and her breath fogged the glass as she exhaled. Harry could tell she wasn't convinced, and knew that there was not much to be taken positively in what he'd just said – "Nah, Snape's a right evil bastard, but even he's not as bad as your real father."

"I'm sorry," he said. "That didn't come out exactly right."

"I should get out there," she said. "Other people will be showing up soon."

"You don't have to go," Harry said. "Not if it's only on my account. I want to know what's going on, yeah, but not if it's too much for you."

"It'd look funny if I stayed away," she said. 

"Jane –"

"Shh, Harry." She smiled at him, but in that instant her eyes were her mother's eyes, filled with pain and sadness. 
She slipped the mirror into the pocket of her robes and for a few minutes he could see nothing but dark fabric and a swaying sense of motion. He heard the muffled voices of other Slytherins in the rooms that she passed. And then light returned, showing him the heavy stonework and deep greens and snake motifs of the Slytherin common room. 

"I got this idea from a book," Jane murmured, as she fitted the mirror inside the stuffed head of a dragon, which was mounted on the wall over the fireplace like a large huntsman's trophy. "Can you see the whole room?"

"Yeah," Harry said. His vantage point was eerily like being astral again, up and surveying the room from a high angle. The tinted glass of the dragon's eyes gave everything a burnt-umber cast, like an old sepia-toned photograph. 

"That's good."

Jane seemed about to say more, but then behind her, from the hall leading to the rooms, three other Slytherins came in. She turned away from the fireplace and greeted them, taking a seat where she could, without it seeming too unusual, look up at the dragon's head. 

Soon the common room was filled with people and chatter. Malfoy came in, still looking oddly incomplete without the bodyguard bookends of Crabbe and Goyle, and took what was clearly his chair. 

Moments later, Snape strode in. His black gaze swept the room. It passed over the dragon's head above the mantle, and Harry held his breath – this was it, the moment of truth. He was peripherally conscious that Jane's hands gripped the armrests of her chair with white-knuckle tightness. But Snape's eyes moved on, and Harry relaxed a little. 

Pansy Parkinson, evidently acting as club secretary, self-importantly called them to order. She read the minutes of the last meeting, which Harry had already heard about from Jane, and then turned the floor over to Snape. 

"It is time," Snape said, "to determine how serious each and every one of you are about this club. We are well past dabbling with jinxes that are mere tricks, pranks, physical inconveniences and minor disfigurements. The next step is causing actual damage. If any of you are feeling squeamish, you should leave now."

Not a one of them budged. Harry watched and listened intently as Snape taught them a Slashing Jinx – Harry had actually witnessed a younger version of Snape use it on his nemesis, James Potter, in the Pensieve – and had them practice on a row of stubby man-shaped homonculi lined up on a long table.

"Mr. Malfoy? You're first."

Malfoy stepped up, flicked his wand in a short, sharp motion, and said, "Razorus!"

A flash of orange light streaked from his wand and the chest of the homunculus at which he'd been aiming was suddenly split open in a bleeding wound. The homunculus screamed in ear-piercing agony, and several of the Slytherins blanched. 

"Mr. Flint?" Snape prompted, unmoved. 

Gulping, Tiberius Flint took his turn. And one by one, each of them flicked their wands at the row of manlike figures. Homunculus flesh parted, sometimes in little slits no worse than a paper cut, sometimes in great vicious gashes that severed limbs.

"Miss Kirkallen," Snape said, with a curling, smoky menace. "If you're not too soft-hearted?"

Jane, who had moved to the front of the line, gave him an astonished look. "Professor?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Miss Kirkallen," Snape said silkily. "I'm well aware that your temperament of late has been a trifle on the sentimental side."

Pansy Parkinson tittered. Malfoy smirked. 

"Razorus!" she cried, and slashed her wand so violently that her homunculus was nearly cut in two at the waist. Panting, her eyes wild, she whirled defiantly to Snape. 

"Very good," he purred, crossing his arms so that his hands vanished into the voluminous sleeves of his robe. "Now, while I have your attention, Miss Kirkallen, I believe I should address your recent behavior."

Everyone else perked up, and Harry got the clear impression that these sorts of public dressing-downs were very much a part of life in Slytherin House, as looked-forward-to and enjoyed as might be one of Dudley's favorite television programs. 

"My behavior?" Jane asked. 

"It has hardly failed to escape my notice that you have developed a certain, shall we say, association with Harry Potter."

"He … he saved my life, sir," Jane said, head down. She wavered, then added firmly, "Just like he saved Edmund's."

"Oh, I see," Snape said. "Then perhaps I should reward him with a few more points, is that what you're saying?"

"No … I …"

"Let me be very plain, Miss Kirkallen. I will not have you, or for that matter any other member of this House, entertaining any friendships, camaraderie, or least of all foolish schoolgirl infatuations with Harry Potter."

"It isn't like that," Jane said, visibly quaking now. 

Harry felt a stinging in his hands and looked down to see that he had been clenching his fists so tightly that his nails had dug into his palms. He stared into the mirror again, furious as much at Snape as at his own helplessness to do anything about it.

"I have certain standards that I expect all of you, as Slytherins, to uphold," Snape said. "Those standards do not include excessive fraternization with members of other Houses, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," Jane said. 

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" he snapped. 

Jane raised her head. Snape loomed over her, sneering scornfully down the length of his hooked, oily nose. The other Slytherins had formed a loose ring around the pair of them, all but vibrating with interest and anticipation. 

"If you think that I haven't heard the talk that's been going around, you are sadly mistaken," Snape said. "As Head of your House, it falls to me to correct your errant ways. I've thus far spared you the embarrassment of doing so outside of this room, but rest assured, if I hear any further rumors or you continue to carry on in an un-Slytherin-like fashion, I will not be so lenient."

"I am more Slytherin than you'll ever know," Jane said. 

The others laughed derisively. Pansy scoffed, "As if!"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Are you really?"

Harry wanted to call out to her, tell her to quit now before she went too far, but he couldn't. "Jane, don't," he muttered under his breath. "It's not worth getting in trouble, not over this, not over me!"

Jane nodded in answer to Snape. 

"Shall we have some proof of that?" He shook his long greasy hair back from his face, drew his wand, and pushed up his sleeves. The Dark Mark glared red and black on his forearm for all to see, and Malfoy especially gaped at it in fascination. 

When she saw the Dark Mark, Jane's chest hitched and she seemed to waver for a moment. But when she spoke, her voice was steady. "What do I have to do?"

"Curse me," Snape invited. "Take your best shot. Prove to me that you have it in you. Prove that you're a true daughter of Slytherin House."

Harry had never imagined that Jane could move so fast. Evidently, neither had Snape, who had unwittingly used the single worst word he could have uttered. 

She cried out in fury and struck the wand from his grasp with her free hand, a hard smack that sent it clattering off the hearthstones and almost into the fireplace. At the next instant, she slashed her wand. "Razorus!" 

Orange light blazed. Snape's robes tore as a foot-long cut ripped diagonally across his chest. He jerked backward. 

"Razorus!" Jane screamed. "Razorus! Razorus!"

Three more gashes split his skin – arm, stomach, and cheek – as if he were being attacked by an invisible foe wielding a rapier. Panic erupted among the watching Slytherins as their bleeding teacher flailed madly.

"Expelliarmus!" Blaise Zabini shouted. 

Jane's wand flew up, and Blaise caught it, then caught Jane by the collar of her robe when it looked as if she might, bereft of wand, go after Snape with her bare hands.

"Let … go … let … me …" Jane struggled. 

"Easy, Zorro," Blaise said. "I think you proved your point."

"Oh, my God," breathed Harry, transfixed by the mirror. He was clutching the frame so hard it was in danger of breaking. He was at once horrified and exhilarated and amazed. "What did you do, what have you done? Oh, Jane!"

 Snape straightened up, his torn robes hanging, blood running from the four slashes. He looked more hateful and livid than Harry had seen him in months. 

Jane quit fighting and stood within the confining circle of Blaise's arms. Her hair had come loose from the ponytail and tangled around her face. Her chest was heaving, her breath whistling through clenched teeth. 

Malfoy and the others stared from Snape to Jane as if they had never really seen either of them before. 

"Well, Miss Kirkallen," Snape said. Harry was suddenly reminded of the way Lupin had looked after Macnair went at him with the silver-edged axe. The color had drained from his complexion, leaving him more sallow than ever. His robes were soaked with blood. "I seem to have misjudged you. Forty points. Ten per cut."

"You provoked her!" Blaise objected, and Harry wanted to cheer. "And now you're docking us points for it?"

"I am awarding points, Zabini, if you don't mind," Snape snarled. "However, Miss Kirkallen, I'll also see you in my office for a week's detention starting tomorrow. You'll be no use to anyone until you learn to control your temper."

**

Continued in Chapter Twenty-Eight -- Malfoy Maleficum.