“Ron, that's—that's it!”

“Ron, that's—that's it!” said Hermione, sounding stunned. “Of course! Why didn't I think of it?”

Harry stared at them both. “Felix Felicis?” he said. “I dunno... I was sort of saving it...”

“What for?” demanded Ron incredulously.

“What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?” asked Hermione.

Harry did not answer. The thought of that little golden bottle had hovered on the edges of his imagination for some time; vague and unformulated plans that involved

Ginny splitting up with Dean, and Ron somehow being happy to see her with a new boyfriend, had been fermenting in the depths of his brain, unacknowledged except during

dreams or the twilight time between sleeping and waking...

“Harry? Are you still with us?” asked Hermione.

“Wha—?... Yeah, of course,” he said, pulling himself together. “Well... okay. If I can't get Slughorn to talk this afternoon, I'll take some Felix and have another

go this evening.”

“That's decided, then,” said Hermione briskly, getting to her feet and performing a graceful pirouette. “Destination... determination... deliberation...” she

murmured.

“Oh, stop that,” Ron begged her, “I feel sick enough as it is—quick, hide me!”

“It isn't Lavender!” said Hermione impatiently, as another couple of girls appeared in the courtyard and Ron dived behind her.

“Cool,” said Ron, peering over Hermione's shoulder to check. “Blimey, they don't look happy, do they?”

“They're the Montgomery sisters and of course they don't look happy, didn't you hear what happened to their little brother?” said Hermione.

“I'm losing track of what's happening to everyone's relatives, to be honest,” said Ron.

“Well, their brother was attacked by a werewolf. The rumor is that their mother refused to help the Death Eaters. Anyway, the boy was only five and he died in St.

Mungo's, they couldn't save him.”

“He died?” repeated Harry, shocked. “But surely werewolves don't kill, they just turn you into one of them?”

“They sometimes kill,” said Ron, who looked unusually grave now. “I've heard of it happening when the werewolf gets carried away.”

“What was the werewolf's name?” said Harry quickly.

“Well, the rumor is that it was that Fenrir Greyback,” said Hermione.

“I knew it—the maniac who likes attacking kids, the one Lupin told me about!” said Harry angrily.

Hermione looked at him bleakly.

“Harry, you've got to get that memory,” she said. “It's all about stopping Voldemort, isn't it? These dreadful things that are happening are all down to him...”

The bell rang overhead in the castle and both Hermione and Ron jumped to their feet, looking terrified.

“You'll do fine,” Harry told them both, as they headed toward the entrance hall to meet the rest of the people taking their Apparition Test. “Good luck.”

“And you too!” said Hermione with a significant look, as Harry headed off to the dungeons.

There were only three of them in Potions that afternoon: Harry, Ernie, and Draco Malfoy.

“All too young to Apparate just yet?” said Slughorh genially, “Not turned seventeen yet?”