The office had undergone many transformations over the years, and Harry wasn't entirely sure what to expect when he knocked. Trepidation made his heart skitter inside his ribs, and the back of one hand stung with a phantom pain. He thought of china plates painted with large-eyed kittens, and lacy doilies, and a dead-black quill with a razor's point. 

"Come in, Harry." 

Gwenna Golden, simply attired in a long cream-colored robe with her hair twisted up in a French knot, opened the door and moved gracefully back to admit him. 

Harry stepped inside and looked around in frank wonder.

A balmy, salt-smelling breeze riffled through his hair. He heard the rustle of palm fronds and the foamy rush of waves. A warm, diffuse light played over his skin.

Last year, when Firenze had taken over the teaching of Divination for the sacked Professor Trelawney, Dumbledore had turned one of the downstairs classrooms into an uncanny replica of the centaur's forest home. Something similar had been done here, recreating the tropical island from which Professor Golden had hailed. 

The walls were covered with what Harry guessed might be bamboo, and hung with silken, colorful draperies that swayed and billowed. Potted palms, laden with leafy fronds and fat coconuts, flanked a desk that looked made from wind-sculpted driftwood. The horrible maiden-aunt chairs of Umbridge's were long gone, replaced by wicker chairs with cushions in bold floral print. A stern stone tiki god peered down from one corner, a miniature step-pyramid very much like the one in Luna's silly magazine article stood in the other. A brilliant-green parrot sat on a perch, and a long-limbed monkeylike creature with white fut and a black-and-white banded tail. 

On the desk was a glass globe twice the size of a Quaffle, and inside this glass globe was … well, was the beach. It was full of sand and water and sky, shells and coral and kelp, waving tendrils of sea-grass and anemones, the fleet rainbow flicker of tiny fish. Everything was in constant motion, wind and waves.

Harry, who had never been to the beach in his life – the Dursleys had always left him with Aunt Marge or with Mrs. Figg whenever they'd gone on holiday – could only gaze at it in amazement. The globe seemed to be the source of the balmy breeze and the rushing sound of the ocean.

"They thought that I might be feeling homesick," Professor Golden said, running her hand along the curved surface of the beach-globe.

"Are you?"

"Not so much," she said, "though the weather here is very dreary."

"Wait until winter."

"Would you like something to drink, Harry?"

Lupin had given him butterbeer; Umbridge tea that Harry had only pretended to drink as he suspected it was spiked with Veritaserum. Gwenna gave him a wide-mouthed glass full of some sort of bright purple slushy iced juice, with a wedge of fruit stuck on the side and a stir stick shaped like a palm tree. Harry took it, thinking absurdly that he felt like someone should have dropped a flower lei around his neck. 

"Where's Arcturus?" he asked, sampling the drink. It was fruity and fizzy and had a slight kick to it, though surely she wouldn't serve real rum. 

"In my quarters, under the watchful eye of his nanny and his many-times-great-grandfather."

"Phineas Nigellus?"

"The headmaster had his portrait moved," she explained.

"And a nanny? Who?"

She held out her arm. On her tanned wrist was a golden bracelet set with a large piece of polished coral on a hinge like a locket. She flipped up the coral. Beneath was a smooth crytal surface like a watch face, but instead of numbers and hands, it was a miniature window that showed a cozy sitting room. Arcturus was tucked into a crib, hugging his toy dog. 

Rocking the crib, and singing a lullaby in a sweet, high voice, was a figure no bigger than the little boy, a figure wearing a little dress, a cap, and an apron … a figure with large pointed ears, a squashed-tomato nose, and enormous soulful brown eyes.

"Winky!" exclaimed Harry. "But I thought Winky was … that she …" Harry mimed tipping a bottle to his lips and rolled his head a little. 

"Not any more," Gwenna said. "I understand that she had a rough time, but she's mended her ways. Having a child to care for is good for her."

"I guess it might be," he said, thinking of how Winky's whole life had revolved around taking care of Barty Crouch Jr. 

True, Barty Jr. had been grown up when his father had spirited him out of Azkaban and brought him home to live a secret life of stealth and invisibility, but he had been alone except for Winky, dependent on her. Losing her charge and being turned out of the house by an irate Mr. Crouch had plunged Winky into months and months of drunken despair. Dobby had done his best to help, but as Harry well knew, sometimes Dobby's cures were worse than the disease. Dobby's idea of helping Harry had once cost Harry all the bones in his arm. 

"So," Gwenna said, snapping the wrist-locket closed as they sat down. "You are my Student Apprentice."

"Dumbledore told me." 

In retrospect, he supposed he shouldn't have been all that surprised. She knew him – he was, in fact, the only sixth-year she'd met, the only student at all besides Jane – and she had even asked him to be her son's godfather.

"I nearly had a fight on my hands to get you, too," she said. "Madame Hooch was ready to challenge me to a duel. She says you're the best natural-born flyer she has ever seen."

"I thought she was cross with me," Harry said. "For getting kicked off the team and all."

"Not hardly," Gwenna said, smiling. "I think she's expecting you to turn professional Quidditch player."

"I'm a bit out of practice," Harry admitted guiltily. "I hadn't even decided until yesterday that I was going to try to get reinstated."

"I doubt you'll have any trouble with that. But it wasn't only Madame Hooch. Professor McGonagall was determined to take you under her wing, as well. Is it true she swore an oath to help you become an Auror?"

Harry fidgeted. "Well … kind of."

"But, given your, shall we say, extra-credit activities last year, Professor Dumbledore thought it would be beneficial to us both for you to assist me with my Defense Against the Dark Arts classes."

"Is that what I'm going to be doing? I thought it would be … I don't know, running messages and making copies and such."

"There'll be some of that, too," she said, "but given that you have much more practical experience with these jinxes and counter-curses than I do, I had planned to rely rather heavily on you. Remus tells me that you can resist the Imperius Curse, that you are an old hand with a Patronus, and that you've held your own against the worst wizards of this day and age. Really, Harry, if you'd been just two years older, they probably would have hired you instead of me."

"Nice of you to say so," Harry said dryly, "but after all the trouble I've caused around here, I really doubt it."

"Oh?" She looked evenly at him. "They all do seem to think most highly of you."

"Snape wasn't there, then, was he?" muttered Harry.

She laughed. "In all fairness, he doesn't seem to think very highly of anyone, and it was with some ill grace that he agreed to take young Mr. Malfoy as his Student Apprentice."

"Who did he want?" Harry asked, interest piqued.

"Actually, he rather resented the entire suggestion," she said. "Not all of the professors thought it was a good idea."

"I feel sorry for Ernie," Harry said. "I knew all those extra hours of studying magical history would come back to haunt him." He realized what he'd said, in reference to the History of Magic teacher Professor Binns, and snickered. "No pun intended."

Gwenna handed him a sheaf of parchment. "These are my lesson plans and book lists. I thought that Wednesday evenings might be a good time for Defense Association meetings, unless you have a better –"

"Hey, hang on, what? The D.A.?"

"You did wish to start it up again, didn't you?"

"Sure, but –" He floundered, then let a huge smile break over his face. "Thanks!"

"It wasn't my doing," she said. "Thank Professor Dumbledore. I am merely the faculty advisor. This is your study group, Harry. You can decide if and how you want to admit new members and what you want to do at your meetings."

At her request, he told her all about last year's meetings, from the impromtu beginnings at the Hog's Head right up until their final rout when Umbridge had almost caught them all red-handed. Marietta Edgecombe, a Ravenclaw girl and friend of Cho Chang's, had been the one to spill their secret, in the process earning herself a faceful of angry purple pustules spelling out the word "sneak." Marietta had not returned to school yet, and Harry had heard a rumor that she was still in a ward at St. Mungo's, the pustules stubbornly resisting all known magical cures. The foremost lesson Harry had learned from that entire incident was to never, ever get Hermione Granger seriously mad at him. 

He left Gwenna's office feeling cheerier than he had in a long time. Hogwarts was starting to be home again. No one was trying to kill him at the moment, he was going to get back on the Quidditch team, he had permission to conduct Defense Association meetings, the Ministry was no longer calling him an attention-hogging liar. 

"Harry!" she called after him, leaning out of her door. 

She had been in the process of unpinning her hair from its knot, and it tumbled loose and gorgeous around her shoulders. In that instant, he saw her as Sirius must have seen her, and was suddenly, fiercely glad that his godfather had ended up on that island. Had met this woman, and fallen in love. It didn't make the loss of Sirius any easier, but still helped in some way he couldn't define. 

His throat closed with husky emotion and he couldn't speak. 

"Professor McGonagall wondered if you could stop by her office, too, when we were done having our chat," Gwenna said. "I almost forgot, and I don't need to be any more on Minerva McGonagall's bad side."

"O-Okay," Harry said. 

Gwenna waved, and retreated, and shut the door. For a few seconds, Harry stood in the hallway, his thoughts whirling. He was amused to find himself jealous of Sirius, in an "oh, you lucky so-and-so!" kind of way. This led him to thoughts of his own failed attempt at romance with Cho, and his amusement trickled away. 

It was not yet eight-thirty, and a few people still roamed the halls. Many were fifth-years, leaving the library with shellshocked looks on their faces and huge heavy books in their arms. 

Harry smiled grimly, thinking of his and Ron's reactions on the first day of their fifth year. Every single class had begun with a lecture on how this would be the most vitally important year of their lives, how the O.W.L.s could make or break a wizard's career. And every single class had ended with hitherto unimagined amounts of homework. 

Ginny Weasley was among them, and he gave her an encouraging thumbs-up. She responded with a sickly grimace. Coming along behind her, Luna Lovegood drifted along gazing at the paintings as if she hadn't a care in the world. 

"All right, Colin?" Harry asked, seeing Colin Creevey shuffling past with his head down. 

"Two feet of parchment on the properties of ferrous oxide, a foot and a half on the Goblin Crusades, forty pages on Mood Charms to read, and the moons of Saturn to memorize," Colin said. He had developed a twitch. "In one day, Harry! All in one day!"

"What've you got tomorrow?"

Colin only laughed the sort of laugh that would have sounded right at home in an asylum, and wandered off toward the Gryffindor common room clutching his head. 

Professor McGonagall's door was open, and she looked up smartly from a stack of essays. "Ah, Potter," she said. "Good. Come in."

He did, swinging the door mostly closed behind him. He looked at the essays. "What Transfiguration Means to Me?" he asked. 

"The notions some first-years have," she said, pursing her lips and giving her head a little shake. "It's best to dispell them from the very beginning. Easier with the Muggle-borns, really … they don't come in with as many preconceived ideas. Ginger Newt?"

"Thanks," Harry said, taking one from the tartan tin on the corner of her desk. 

As he sat down, nibbling the spicy cookie, he surveyed her as subtly as he could. The previous year had taken its toll on all of them, but Professor McGonagall had run up against the wrong end of four Stunning spells when she had tried to intervene as Umbridge and a handful of Ministry goons had taken on Hagrid. Professor McGonagall had returned from St. Mungo's with her acerbic wit intact, but looked a good decade older than she had. Her walking-stick was kept propped in the corner. 

"If you're finished scrutinizing me, Mr. Potter?"

"Sorry, Professor."

"I assure you," she said dryly, "I am in more than adequate health."

Harry nodded. 

"Now, Potter," McGonagall said, her manner turning all brisk and businesslike. She set a leather-bound book down on her dest with a smart rap, and rested her hands atop it. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I … I haven't been made your Student Apprentice, too, have I?"

Her mouth pursed. "Someone's been telling tales, I see."

"Have I?" Harry asked in alarm. 

He thought back to Dumbledore's speech about wanting to spare him responsibility, and Harry's own disgruntled reaction; had Dumbledore's response been to decide that if responsibility was what Harry wanted, he could have it in spades. Of all the teachers, McGonagall was bound to demand the most work and highest standards from any sort of assistant, and if he had to take on those duties in additon to whatever Professor Golden required of him …

"No," McGonagall said crisply. "Though I am rather disappointed to see how the very idea horrifies you."

"Oh … no, I'm sorry … I didn't mean … I never …" floundered Harry. 

She softened her brusque tone with a slight smile. "It was not for lack of trying on my part, I assure you. However, I expect that you will do well with Professor Golden, and that you will be a credit to Gryffindor as usual."

"Thanks," Harry said. 

"I have something else in mind for you," she said, and slid the book toward him. 

Picking it up, he saw the scarlet and gold lion crest of Gryffindor emblazoned on the leather cover. When he turned to the front page, he realized that he was holding the house Quidditch team roster. 

"Professor …"

"As you know, Miss Johnson left us at the end of last term," McGonagall said. "I would like you to step up as the new team captain."

Harry sat there with his mouth open. Finally, he said, "But … but Professor, I got kicked off the team … lifetime ban …"

"You are not taking what that woman said as law, I hope."

"It … she … well, I had thought about seeing if I could get back on the team …"

"As far as I am concerned, and I have the full support of Professor Dumbledore in this, anything that Dolores Umbridge decreed is now entirely null and void. Your ban is lifted. If it would make you feel better, I will happily contact the Department of Magical Games and Sports … I'm sure Ludo Bagman would be glad to –"

"No, that's all right," Harry cut in. "If you say so, Professor, that's more than good enough for me. I'll be at tryouts, just you name the time –"

She leaned forward and regarded him over the tops of her spectacles. "Tryouts? Did I or did I not just ask you to take over as captain? There's no need for tryouts, not for you. If anything, you're the one who will need to decide when the tryouts are for the rest of the team. Another Ginger Newt?"

As his first Ginger Newt still only had the edge nibbled off, Harry declined. Quidditch captain? Not just Seeker again, but Captain? 

"Well?" inquired McGonagall. "Will you accept?"

He knew it would be a lot of work, a lot of stress and aggravation. Oliver Wood, who had been captain when Harry joined the team, had become obsessed with Quidditch to the expense of all else. Harry had initially supposed that was just Oliver's way, until last year when Angelina Johnson had taken over and had become just as driven, just as obsessed. Would he end up the same way? 

And what about Ron? What would Ron say? They hadn't talked about it in years, but Harry knew what Ron had seen in the Mirror of Erised, knew Ron's secret ambition to outshine all his brothers by not only being Head Boy like Bill, not only a Quidditch star like Charlie, but both. 

In the harsh light of honesty, though, Harry knew that even if he turned down this offer, McGonagall wasn't likely to go to Ron with it. Ron had come through at the end of last year, winning the final game of the season and securing the Cup – he glanced over at it now, the mellow gleam of silver in its place of pride on McGonagall's shelf – but prior to that, Ron's performance as Keeper had been dismal. Too, Ron would never feel at ease giving directions and orders to the rest of the team. Witness how well he had undertaken his prefect duties; only Hermione had ever attempted to enforce the rules. 

"I'll do it," he told McGonagall. "I won't let you down."

She patted his hand. "You never do, dear boy. You never let anyone down in the long run."

"Except Sirius." It had popped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. 

McGonagall's expression softened. "I know it is little consolation, but he was always very proud of you. I think that when he looked at you, he saw all of your father's best traits, and none of the worse ones."

"But I still couldn't help him when he needed it most," Harry said. "And it was because of me that he was there."

"I won't try to make you feel better about that," she said. "Anything that I could say, you've no doubt heard already and still wouldn't believe. But do bear in mind what I said just a moment ago. That in the long run, you've never let anyone down. I know what you've offered to do for young Arcturus Black, and I think it is admirable, Mr. Potter."

He finished his Ginger Newt and she let him go, asking that he inform her when he scheduled the team tryouts so that she could attend. Harry made his way back to Gryffindor tower, thinking that he should have been gladder than he was by the evening's events. Not only had he been let back on the Quidditch team, he'd been made captain. And not only was he going to be allowed to continue the D.A., he had official school sanction as the Student Apprentice to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. 

The two things he loved most about Hogwarts were both restored to him. And though he was glad, he still felt empty. It was as if the loss of Sirius, and the guilt he felt for nearly getting five of his friends killed, had hollowed him out so thoroughly that not even things that would have had him overflowing with joy a year ago could even fill him up now. 

Most of the younger students had gone to bed by the time he let himself into the common room. Ron was in one of the big armchairs by the fire, gazing morosely at his feet. Neville sat near him, looking like he wanted to say something encouraging but hadn't a clue where to begin. He threw Harry a beseeching glance, but Harry was more immediately distracted by the sight of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil glaring daggers at each other from opposite sides of a table, and very obviously not speaking. 

The portrait hole opened again and Hermione stepped through. She stopped just inside, taking in the emotional stormy weather of the common room. Her smile slowly faded. Her arms were laden with books and scrolls, and Neville sprang up to help her with them, giving Harry a none-too-subtle push toward Ron as he passed. 

"All right, Ron?" Harry asked, taking the seat that Neville had so hastily vacated. 

Ron grumbled something. 

"What?"

"Why me, I said," Ron repeated. "Why me?"

"Oh, come on, was it that bad?"

"Was it that bad?" he parroted. "You know what his classes are like, and now I've got to be down there helping him?"

"But it's only Hagrid," Harry said. "We're down there lots already."

"For tea," Ron said. "Tea, and sometimes that nut brittle he makes, the stuff like a slab of cobblestone road. This is different, mate. I'm not Charlie. Charlie liked getting bitten, and burnt, and stung, and trampled. That's why he went off to work with dragons. D'you know the first thing he said to me? That he'd been to see bloody Aragog, and Aragog was lending him an egg sac full of his great-great-great-grandchildren so that Hagrid would have spiderlings for his classes to raise, and that tomorrow night he's going into the forest to fetch it and wants me to come along!"

During this speech, Ron's voice had risen to a shrill near-scream, which had Hermione, Neville, Lavender and Parvati all looking at him. 

"Why didn't you tell him you're afraid of spiders?" Harry asked. 

"Tried, didn't I?" bleated Ron. "And do you know what he said back to me?"

"Probably," Hermione said, "something about how they could look after themselves but they wouldn't really hurt anybody."

Ron curled his fist and banged his forehead with it. "Why'd he take me, anyway? There's got to be people better in his classes than I am, there's got to!"

"Professor Sprout told me that she'll have me working in greenhouse seven," Neville offered helpfully. "She said she's got gorgon-vines in there, and corpse-blossom, and Red Death shelf fungus, and –"

"And what makes you think I want to be Madame Pomfrey's assistant, anyway?" Lavender cut in. "All right, I am interested in the Healing arts, but that doesn't mean I want to spend a few hours a day up in the hospital wing, emptying bedpans and treating boils! While some people are delving into the hidden mysteries of the universe!"

"Don't look at me that way," Parvati snapped. "I can't help it if she chose me."

"Oh, tell me you two aren't fighting over Trelawney!" cried Hermione. "Honestly!"

"She said I had the makings of a true Seer," Lavender said, sniffling. 

"Well, she said I did, too," Parvati retorted. "But believe me, if I'd had my choice, I would have chosen another arrangement!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"And I was feeling sorry for Dean and Seamus," Ron said. "I sat there and felt bad for them when Dumbledore skipped over their names. Thought that by the time he got to me, he'd used up all the spots, but then he says Hagrid …"

"It could have been worse," Harry said. "Could have been Snape."

"Like everyone didn't know Snape would choose Malfoy," Ron said, unimpressed by Harry's logic.

"You could be in Blaise Zabini's spot, then," Neville said. "Apprentice to Filch? How awful is that?"

"We can't all get what we want," Parvati said, shooting a glare at Lavender. "There's no sense in getting mad at people for something that wasn't their own choice. Do you see me going around being mad at Mandy Brockhurst? Do you?"

"I expect we're going to," Hermione said.

"Well, you're not," Parvati said. "Not even if I do think she's a mouthy little tart. How she got into Ravenclaw, I'll never know, not with all her brains in her bust!"

The boys, Harry included, were taken aback. 

"Maybe," Lavender said sweetly, "Mandy is actually interested in what Professor Firenze teaches."

"Why, you --!"

"Gosh," Neville said as the two of them started hissing and spitting like cats and Hermione hurried over to try and break it up. "I liked it better when they were giving each other the silent treatment."

Even Ron had been startled out of his funk, and was gazing at Parvati with trepidation. "And I thought her sister was the scary one," he said.

"I'm coming to the conclusion that they're all scary," Harry said. 

The three of them took advantage of the moment to slip away, up the stairs to their dormitory room where Dean and Seamus were already peacefully, blamelessly asleep. Harry wondered, listening to their snores coming from behind the curtains of their four-posters, if maybe Ron was right and they were the lucky ones after all. 

He didn't want to add to the evening by telling anyone his news, and by morning he was too late. He shuffled downstairs into the common room, only half awake, to be bombarded with applause and cheers. 

Peeling his eyelids the rest of the way open, Harry saw that a huge scarlet banner had been strung over the mantle. CONGRATULATIONS HARRY NEW GRYFFINDOR QUIDDITCH CAPTAIN!!! it proclaimed in twinkling gold letters. The banner was also decorated with gold hoops and tiny figures zooming about on broomsticks. 

"How …?" he managed. 

"Nearly Headless Nick told Ginny," Neville said. "And you can guess the rest."

Harry groaned. He could guess the rest, all right. 

A second later, Ginny herself bounded up and threw her arms around him. In the old days, she would have been too shy to do this even in her most torrid imaginings, but she had gone around to regarding Harry like one of her brothers. 

"I knew it!" she crowed. "I knew you'd be the one!"

"When did you find out?" Ron asked. 

"Uh … last night," Harry admitted. 

"And you didn't say anything?"

"It didn't seem like the right moment, what with Lavender and Parvati fighting," Harry said. "Are they still?" he added, looking around and not seeing either of them. 

"Hermione dragged them off to meet with McGonagall before breakfast," Ginny said. "You're Seeker again, right? You're taking your old place back?"

"If you're sure, really sure, that you want to step down," Harry said.

"I guess that depends on how I do at Chaser tryouts," she said, giving him an impish grin. 

"I bet you'll do great."

She hugged him again, so tight that she squeezed the breath out of him, and joined the crowd streaming through the portrait hole. 

"Captain," Ron said. "Not bad."

"I should have told you," Harry said, hearing the disappointment in Ron's voice. "Last night, I mean."

"You … um … keeping any of the old team on?" Ron asked diffidently. 

"What's that supposed to mean? Of course I am! You heard Ginny. She wants to become a Chaser, and we've got the openings."

"What about Keeper?"

"Are you quitting?"

Ron shuffled his feet. 

Harry grabbed his arm. "Ron?"

"You know I'm no good."

"I don't know any such thing. You won last year. You were so excited when you told me and Hermione about it … I thought you were done with all that stuff about not being any good."

"I've had all summer to think about it, all right? If the other teams hadn't done so badly, there's no way Gryffindor would have won."

"Stop it," Harry said. "Just stop it, will you? You're on the team. You're Keeper. Weasley is our King, remember?"

He flinched. "I can do without that, okay?"

"Okay, if you'll leave off with this other stuff about quitting the team."

As they prepared to head downstairs, Ron caught at his sleeve. Harry turned. Ron's freckled face was drawn and worried. 

"One thing, though?"

"What?" Harry asked. 

"Make sure … make sure you get a good reserve Keeper. Just in case … you know, Hagrid and the spiders and the Blast-Ended Skrewts and all."

Harry clapped him on the back. "How about I just tell Hagrid that he better not let anything bite off any body parts?"

"I'd appreciate it," Ron said, without a trace of humor. 

Down in the Great Hall, word had evidently gotten around about the various Student Apprentice assignments. Malfoy was preening at the Slytherin table, but to Harry it looked false and forced, the death of Crabbe perhaps pushed into the back of public consciousness but still very much on the minds of Malfoy, Goyle, and the other Slytherin sixth-years. 

Care of Magical Creatures was Harry's first class of the day. He hadn't really wanted to stay on with it, but couldn't bring himself to say as much to Hagrid. Hermione was in a similar boat. 

"It isn't that I don't think they're interesting, his lessons," she said. "They are certainly interesting. But I do wish he could stick to safer creatures."

"I don't know how you can stand it, going back," Seamus said. "Believe me, I like Hagrid and all, but I'm counting myself lucky to have gotten this far with all my fingers intact. I don't envy you, Ron."

"Thanks," Ron said sourly.

So many of their fellow sixth-years had opted out of Care of Magical Creatures that, like with Potions, all four houses were combined into one session. Ron left a bit early to help Hagrid set up, and by the time the others got there, he was out at the edge of Hagrid's yard, pasty-white and leaning on the paddock fence for support. 

This did little to hearten the spirits of the others, and when Hagrid came around the corner of his cabin lugging something huge, black, bristly, and eight-legged, Hermione wasn't the only girl to scream. 

"'S'all right," Hagrid chortled, as the class retreated in fast backward steps. "Dead, innit? I just wanted yer t' have a look at what they'll be like when they're full grown and all."

So saying, he flopped the enormous dead spider onto the grass. It looked like a half-deflated furry bean-bag with legs. Its yellowed-ivory mandibles were halfway open and crusted with dried foam. It had enough glazed pomegranate-colored eyes that it seemed to be staring at each and every student. 

**

Continued in Chapter Fourteen -- Defense and Disquiet.