On a 7-9, you have to convince her

⚄⚂ + 1 = 9.

You kindle a glow on your wand and go to search for Susan Quaffle's room. Fortunately it's not difficult to find her. After you retrace your steps through the Ladies' and find your own room -- still half Trevor Harlequin's, in some sense -- the arrangement of the dormitories starts making sense. You find Susan's room and knock upon the door, quick and light, so as not to wake anyone else.

Susan, groggy with sleep, answers the door. She looks down at you -- you've lost a little height, in girl form -- and says, "Wha, who is it?" Her great mane of dishwater-blonde hair hangs down over her eyes.

"It's Poesy, Prefect," you say. "Peregrine Poesy. I had my change, I'm a girl now."

"It's sleep time," Susan says.

"There's a girl Nan trying to get ****. On you. Get you pregnant," you say urgently.

"Girls can't do that," Susan says, shaking her head. "You're dreaming, go back to bed, Poesy."

"Nan had her friends Latrice and Cynthia, and Bruno. They were summoning the Mother of Desire," you say.

"Nan and Cynthia? Oh, hang it all," Susan says. Her dark-tawny locks ripple like a curtain as she shakes her head. "Let me get dressed." She closes the door.

A moment later, Susan opens the door. She's wearing her uniform with its Prefect pin and armed with her wand. Her hair is tied back with a gold-edged brown ribbon.

"Come in, tell me what you saw," Susan says.

You describe the scene in the pillared chapel, the ritual whose high point was Cynthia, Latrice, and Nan, each in turn asking the Mother of Desire for a boon, and mounting Bruno's erection to seal the Mother's bargain with her orgasm.

"That's trouble for sure, let's go," Susan says.

"Don't you think it might be dangerous?" you say.

"Can't be helped, Poesy," Susan says. "And you said they'd be otherwise occupied."

"Shouldn't we get the Tutor?" you say.

Susan looks down at you. "We will, if we have to."

"I'm not making it up," you protest.

"Let's go," Susan says. "But first..." She raises her wand and intones, "OCULUS FELINUM."

The little table light in the room flares brightly, though the colors wash out and become duller.

"This way we won't need wand lights," Susan says. You look at her. Her pupils are vertical slits, like a cat's.

"Oh!" you say, blinking.

She takes you by the hand and leads you out of the room toward the summoning room.