"Come in, Mr. Granger. Do not stand in the doorway like the center of the universe."
Someone had clearly annoyed the professor. Without extra remarks, I took my seat beside Greengrass. There were absurdly many ingredient cups on our table. A great many. And three cauldrons.
"Miss Greengrass is working on her own program. And you, Mr. Granger," Snape flicked his wand, sending a sheet onto my table, "will first answer these questions. In writing. As briefly and precisely as possible."
Without wasting a second, I began answering under the sounds of Daphne preparing ingredients and the scrape of metal brushes on cauldrons.
Thirty minutes. That was how long it took me to answer twenty-five questions arranged so that there was no logical connection between them, preventing sequential thinking.
"Slow," Snape said, displeased with my speed, though when he was irritated with something or someone, he was displeased with everything. "Potions. The list is on the board. I trust the recipes are in your head. Begin."
Grind, slice, tear, crush, brew, stir. Remove from heat, put back on heat. Let the second cauldron cool, stir. Now remove the first again, tap with the wand. With the correct recipe, it was not difficult. But with two cauldrons, limited timing, and different schedules for each potion, it was challenging. Still, while my mind hesitated slightly, my hands worked.
"I am forced to give you an 'Outstanding,' Mr. Granger…"
Snape was displeased. Nothing new there. Still, his seriousness about potions and their quality was undeniable, regardless of who brewed them. I had heard Potter complain, with Weasley supporting him, that Snape supposedly lowered their grades because they were Gryffindors. I suspected they got exactly the grades their work deserved.
"And the same for you, Miss Greengrass. It seems this year you may finally please your parents with a good midyear assessment."
We left Snape's classroom in noticeably high spirits.
---
On Sunday morning after breakfast, most Hogwarts students poured out into the snow-covered courtyard. Everyone was dressed for the season. Some were colorful in style, but for many, only accessories like hats and scarves were bright, with darker clothing preferred.
In this disorderly crowd, we headed for Hogsmeade. The air filled with cheerful chatter and the crunch of snow underfoot. Near the village, students naturally split into smaller groups, as before, and I again noticed Aurors in red robes flashing here and there. Local law enforcement clearly had issues. Wearing such bright colors in winter against snow.
Reaching the village, I walked slowly along the shops and stalls. Hogsmeade lived its own life. Locals and visitors alike moved about. Snow-laden pointed roofs, smoke curling from chimneys, warm yellow light in Christmas-decorated windows. All of it made for a very pleasant stroll. What was I doing? Thinking about what magical, absolutely safe, and reasonable gift I could buy for relatives.
Soon, snow began to fall, large white flakes enhancing the Christmas mood.
I wandered until I spotted my sister with Potter, who should not have been there. Whatever. Let them walk. The boy, incidentally, was being pulled between Ron and Hermione. The problem was that Ron's rat, which had gone missing on the train, was still not found. The stubborn redhead kept blaming my sister's cat, insisting it had eaten the rat. Even if it had, so what? Nature's design fulfilled. Was the rat important to Ron? Irrelevant.
After wandering more, meeting many acquaintances and chatting, I noticed a subdued Daphne in a dark blue winter coat with a black fur collar, lightly dusted with snow.
"Greengrass," I greeted her as usual, drawing her attention.
"Granger."
"You should wear a hat. It is winter."
"No need," she waved it off. "They were selling pendants at school to keep warm. In weather like this, you can go without a hat."
"Oh, those the Weasleys were selling?" I feigned surprise. "Bought one too. Great thing. Busy?"
"No… Hey, that was a very abrupt topic change," Daphne protested, then smiled lightly.
"Perfect. I was hoping for your advice or help choosing a useful, not obviously magical gift for my parents. In exchange, tea and pastries."
"At Puddifoot's?" she smiled slyly.
"We could," I mirrored her smile. "But that is too provocative, and the consequences unpredictable. Though personally, with Gryffindor bravery, I am ready to accept all resulting displeasure."
"You are right. That would be very un-Slytherin, such a reckless act. But their pastries are supposed to be amazing."
"Source?" I gestured for us to start walking, anywhere at all.
"Oh, they partner with the best confectionery in England, with delivery via a dedicated Floo network and an advanced stabilization system. In short, the best sweets."
"Got it."
"As for gifts, buy them a Sneakoscope."
"Oh? What sort of creature is that?"
"It is…"
We turned a corner, but Daphne abruptly stopped speaking, staring curiously at a carriage with runners instead of wheels that had stopped at the entrance to the Three Broomsticks. Wizards and students bustled around, but none drew even a fraction of the attention of those stepping out of the carriage.
"The Minister," Daphne said.
"McGonagall," I noted.
"Going to see Madam Rosmerta?" Daphne looked away from the plump woman greeting them. "At the Three Broomsticks? Together?"
"Suspicious?"
Daphne tried to answer no, but teenage curiosity multiplied by feminine inquisitiveness betrayed her completely.
"Want to follow them? Take my hand."
She wanted to shake her head, but gave in, placing her hand in mine. A bit of magical willwork, and we became invisible to ourselves. Daphne squeezed my hand tighter. Should I have kept this secret? Both yes and no. If this little adventure yielded something valuable, we could agree on her silence. If not, silence in exchange for future adventures. And hiding magical abilities at a magic school? You only live once. Questionably sound reasoning.
We slipped between wizards and reached the door before it closed behind the trio. Warmth hit us, pine, fruit, meat, and butterbeer scents. Invisible shadows, we crossed the hall behind McGonagall. Festive noise filled the place. A lively group at the bar, a decorated Christmas tree, students and guests at tables. The spirit of idleness and the coming holiday hung thick. People were enjoying themselves fully, since Dementors patrolled Hogsmeade at night, per the Minister's decree.
The Minister, McGonagall, and Madam Rosmerta went upstairs. Only a few noticed them, including, to my surprise, Potter and Hermione sitting at a corner table between the tree and the fireplace. The moment I looked away, Potter vanished. Well, he could do something besides flying, after all.
Upstairs, we followed them into a small sitting room and quietly hid in a corner. The Minister was unimpressive. Too much black expensive clothing, ill-fitting, too plump, too slippery, fear flickering across his face. He removed his bowler hat and placed it on the sofa. Idle talk. The door, not fully closed, opened slightly as Madam Rosmerta came to shut it properly. More idle talk. They settled around a table, and Rosmerta served mead.
"Shall we perhaps," Rosmerta looked around, "get to the purpose of this unexpected visit?"
"Oh, Rosmerta, my dear," Fudge sighed. "The purpose is simple as ever. Sirius Black."
"And what does that have to do with me?" she asked warily.
"No, no," McGonagall reassured her. "Nothing like that. The Minister simply wishes…"
"I would like," the Minister interrupted, "to ask you to somehow influence the spread of rumors and falsehoods about Sirius Black."