Misdirection

On the first day of classes, Harry and Ginny woke early, eager and enthusiastic about the day ahead. As he headed for the stairs, Harry remembered to shake Ron’s shoulder until the other boy seemed to be reasonably conscious. In the common room, Hermione was already there and reading Voyages with Vampires, and the three of them waited impatiently for Ron to emerge. When he finally appeared, they navigated the moving staircases down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Hermione talked excitedly about their classes as they walked, but as soon as they found their seats, she propped her book against a milk jug and continued her reading. Ron scoffed, earning him a glare from the bushy-haired girl. Harry and Ginny simply let Hermione be and enjoyed their first Hogwarts breakfast in months.

Halfway through the breakfast hour, a flock of post owls swarmed out of the illusion on the ceiling and descended on the long house tables. Amid the swarming birds, a grey mass of feathers fell almost straight down and splashed into the top of Hermione’s jug.

“Errol!” Ginny said, lifting the bedraggled owl out of the milk. Next to her, Hermione hurried to charm the white liquid off of her book and her robes.

“What’s he got?” Ron asked.

“Err . . .” Ginny turned the bird over in her hands and found several envelopes, three red and one white, tied in a bundle to Errol’s leg. “Howlers.”

Her brother sagged, glancing around the crowded hall. “Oh, bloody hell.”

The red envelopes were beginning to smoke, so Ginny untied the bundle and read the names. “Here’s yours,” she said, setting Ron’s on the table in front of him. “Oi, twins!” Fred and George, sitting a few yards down the table, leaned forward to see her. “Mail!” she said, grinning. Ginny passed them down, and the people sitting between her and her brothers quickly ferried the Howlers to their recipients.

Seconds after the twins laid their hands on the envelopes, the flaps at the top of each one opened themselves.

“FREDGEORGERON WEASLEY!” Mrs. Weasley’s amplified shout filled the Great Hall, the three boys’ names overlapping as the Howlers started at slightly different times. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT MADE YOU THINK OF STEALING A CAR! YOU WEREN’T THINKING AT ALL! I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF YOU’D BEEN EXPELLED OR TAKEN TO THE AURORS!”

Ginny and Harry slapped their hands over their ears. The asynchrony of the three Howlers and their reverberations about the room in two sets of ears formed an intolerable cacophony in their heads, giving them instant headaches and making them slightly nauseous.

“JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET HOLD OF YOU! I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE HEARD YOU’D FLOWN TO SCHOOL IN SOME UNRELIABLE CONTRAPTION! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED, AND WE NEVER WOULD HAVE FOUND YOUR MANGLED BODIES!”

Harry forced his eyes open, trying to fight the throbbing in his head, and saw that no one else seemed to be having any problems. Some of the students nearby had their fingers in their ears, but most of them were smiling.

“WE ARE ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! WHY COULDN’T YOU HAVE USED YOUR BRAINS LIKE GINNY AND HARRY DID? YOU’RE SETTING AN ABSOLUTELY HORRID EXAMPLE! IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE THIS YEAR WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!”

As a ringing silence fell over the hall, the three boys threw the envelopes onto the tabletops. The parchment burst into flames, and the Howlers vanished a few seconds later. A few people laughed, and soon the students resumed their conversations amid much pointing at the Weasley brothers. Harry and Ginny lowered their hands and blinked slowly, trying to regain their ability to think.

“She has a point, you know,” Hermione said. “Would it have been so difficult to wait a few more minutes?”

“Stuff it, Hermione,” Ron said, his shoulders slumping.

Hermione glared at him, sniffed dismissively, and returned to her book.

“Good one, eh, Ron?” Fred said. At Ron’s dark look, Fred shook his head. “Chin up, little brother. You can’t say it wasn’t worth it.”

“It wasn’t worth it,” Hermione muttered.

Ron scowled at Hermione and then loudly declared, “It was completely worth it.”

The twins gave Ron the thumbs up before turning back to talk to their friends.

“What’s the other one?” Harry asked, remembering at the last moment to speak aloud.

Ginny picked up the white envelope, and they read her name on the flap. “It’s for me.” She unfolded the parchment and read it quickly.

Ginny and Harry,
I hope everyone enjoyed the Howlers. Your mother worked on the wording for a while, but she truly was worried the entire time your brothers were missing. We’re also very pleased that you tried something else rather than giving them a chance to take you along in the car.

The Headmaster called me to get the Anglia off the lawn during the feast, but I haven’t brought it home yet. It’s possible that someone might come looking for it here, and I’d rather not have it here to find. Instead, I took it around the back of the Quidditch pitch and put it under the stands. In a week or so, I’ll bring it home.

Would you mind going to check on it every now and then? I told it not to wander off, and I’m pretty sure it will stay put. Still, I’d feel better if someone made sure it was there. If you could just visit it, and perhaps talk to it a bit, I’d appreciate it. I know it sounds silly, but the old car really seems calmer when you talk to it. Just don’t say any driving words, like ‘park’ or ‘go’ or anything. I think that’s what got it circling that willow to begin with.

Write soon. We’d love to hear about your classes and know how well the car is behaving.

Love,
Dad

P.S . The car’s name is Robin.

Ginny handed the letter to Harry, who scanned it rapidly for form’s sake. Robin?

That’s Dad for you.

“Guess we did something right, for once,” Harry said.

Professor McGonagall came down the aisle, handing out their timetables. The second-years had double Herbology first, followed by Transfiguration, and then Defence in the afternoon.

“Not bad,” Ron said. “No Snape on the first day.”

“Lockhart, though,” Harry said. He glanced up at the flamboyant professor, who was smiling widely as he spoke to Professor Sprout.

Hermione looked up from her book and smiled, her eyes alight. “I know! It will be so wonderful to learn from him.”

Ron rolled his eyes, and Harry nodded vaguely.

I hope he’s a good enough teacher to make it worth putting up with him, Ginny said.

Shortly before nine o’clock, the four friends got up to go to Herbology. Ginny spotted Luna at the Ravenclaw table and intended to say hello, but the blonde girl was still eating her breakfast and, for once, not paying much attention to her surroundings.

They made their way to the greenhouses and stood in a cluster, waiting for Professor Sprout to arrive. A few minutes later, the plump woman emerged from the castle with Gilderoy Lockhart sauntering along in her wake.

“Good morning, everyone!” he said, pre-empting Sprout’s attempt to speak. “I was just talking to Professor Sprout about our shared passion for plants. I acquired my skills in the wild, of course, but no one can say that Pomona here isn’t an expert! Perhaps it’s the Hufflepuff trait.”

Professor Sprout had always been cheerful and enthusiastic in the past, but her face twisted into a frown as Lockhart spoke. “Greenhouse three, then, students!” she shouted.

The second-years started across the lawn towards the next greenhouse in line, muttering excitedly about the more interesting plants housed there, but Lockhart strode forward. “Harry!” he said. “How nice to see you again. I wonder if I might have a word. You don’t mind, do you, Professor? I’ll not keep him long.”

Sprout waved her hand sharply, and Ginny got the distinct impression that the woman would have agreed to many things in order to be rid of Lockhart. She felt odd leaving Harry outside with the man, but they could not think of any pretext for her to avoid the lesson. Instead, she walked along beside Hermione as the students lined up facing a long table.

Professor Sprout began to talk about the caution required to work in greenhouse three and the potential harm that could come from carelessness. Ginny only barely listened, hoping that Hermione would fill her in later.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Lockhart said, pushing the greenhouse door closed after the last of the second-years. “I admit, you surprised me.”

Nonplussed, Harry just stared at the blond man, who was smiling knowingly.

“I don’t blame you, of course. Once you’d had a taste of fame, even just borrowed fame, you had to have more. Completely understandable. And you did fairly well, for someone of your age. Now, go ahead and admit it . . . you suggested that those boys fly here in that car, didn’t you?”

What? Why would I have done a silly thing like that?

Err . . .

Lockhart’s grin widened. “Ah, never mind. It’s best that I don’t know for sure, right? And it doesn’t matter! They arrived in that car, while you did the responsible thing by finding an adult. They received those spectacular Howlers this morning, leaving you smelling like roses. Truly, very well done.”

I didn’t . . . I . . . but . . . how . . . could he possibly think that?

Ginny grimaced. It must be something he would do.

“That’s not it at all, Professor,” Harry said. “I didn’t . . .”

“Shh, shh,” Lockhart whispered, placing his finger an inch from Harry’s lips. “What I don’t know can’t get you into trouble, and the more you say, the more obligated I am to report my suspicions.” He winked at Harry and patted his shoulder as if they were sharing a clever joke. “Take my advice, though, young Harry . . . try to be just a bit more subtle. I doubt anyone made the connection - other than me, of course - but old Dumbledore is quite a sharp fellow too, you know. If you keep up with this sort of thing, he might notice, and then all of your effort will be for naught.”

Harry raised his voice to get a word in. “I swear, it wasn’t my idea.”

The tall man smiled again and winked. “Of course it wasn’t, Harry. Of course.” He dropped to a crouch, lifting the hem of his cloak so that it hung evenly behind him. “Here’s another tip, Harry, and this one is priceless. No one in the world knows more about this than me.

“I’ve noticed that you spend quite a lot of time with that little red-haired girl. That can be a good thing. She’s pretty, and a pretty girl can help you to stay visible. But . . .” He tilted his chin down as though peering over invisible spectacles. “Don’t get too close, Harry. When you get involved with a girl, your head goes right out the window, and before you know it she’s telling you what to do all the time and living off your accomplishments.”

Harry scowled and clenched his fists, struggling to keep himself from hitting or hexing the professor. “That’s stupid.”

“It does sound strange, I know,” Lockhart said, nodding. “But believe you me, I could tell you stories that would change your mind like that.” He snapped his fingers crisply, and his immaculate fingernails flashed in the sunlight. “Have some fun, enjoy spending time with a pretty girl, but don’t get close. They’re just not worth it.”

Now I really hate him, Ginny said, her anger starting to rise.

Straightening as much as he could, Harry looked Lockhart in the eye. “Ginny’s not like that. I feel really sorry for you if that’s what you think.”

The professor’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of an instant, but then he smiled indulgently. “Ah, well. We must each learn life’s lessons for ourselves. I’m sure you read that in my autobiography, and I still say it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said. Good luck, Harry.” He clapped Harry’s shoulder, causing him to stagger a bit, and then rose to his feet. With an artful twirl, he spun around and headed back towards the castle.

That . . . that . . . Harry stood, frozen in place, and stared after Lockhart.

Go on, say it.

That bloody arse! How can he . . . Harry could not find words for the outrage he felt.

“Ginny!” Hermione whispered. “Calm down! What’s wrong?”

In their separate locations, Harry and Ginny closed their eyes and took deep breaths.

He’s wrong, Harry said.

Ginny nodded slightly. I know, and I know you don’t believe a bit of it.

I’m not that stupid. He’s a fool, Ginny.

She opened her eyes and muttered out of the corner of her mouth. “Later.”

Hermione nodded and then turned back to Professor Sprout, but she frowned in worry and frequently glanced back at Ginny. Outside, Harry took another breath and then entered the greenhouse, stepping into the spot between Ginny and Ron. They decided to put the encounter aside for the moment and to concentrate on something else.

Professor Sprout finished her warnings and moved to stand behind a long bench. On the bench were dozens of pairs of ear muffs, all in different colours and patterns. “We’ll be re-potting Mandrakes today,” she said. “Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

Hermione’s hand shot into the air, and she answered the moment the professor acknowledged her. “Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative ingredient. It’s generally used to reverse transfigurations or certain types of curses. It can be used fresh, pickled, dried, stewed, liquefied, or sometimes fossilised.”

“Excellent,” the professor said. “Ten points to Gryffindor. Now, who can tell me why the Mandrake is so dangerous?”

Again, Hermione raised her hand. “The cry of the adult Mandrake is fatal to any person who hears it.”

“Precisely. Take another ten points.” Sprout pushed her hands into the voluminous pockets of her work robes, her eyes roaming among the students. “The cultivation of Mandrakes is a very tricky process. Aside from their deadly voices, they require particular care in order to grow into healthy adult specimens.”

The professor nodded towards a row of trays along one wall of the greenhouse. Each tray contained six small pots, and each pot contained a leafy, purplish-green plant. All together, there were easily a hundred of the plants arranged in neat rows.

“The most interesting and problematic property of the Mandrake is its social nature. Mandrakes cannot grow properly as individuals or in small groups. They must be raised as a colony. Hogwarts cultivates a full colony over the course of each school year, and then I harvest them over the holidays.

“You second-years will be working with the Mandrakes only while they’re very young. At this stage, their cry is not deadly, but it will knock you out for a good while. That’s why we have these ear muffs. Everyone take a pair.”

The students rushed forward, and Harry managed to nab two pairs without ending up with polka-dotted or fluffy pink ones.

It’s always pink, Ginny said. Why can’t there be fluffy green things, or even purple? I wouldn’t mind that.

No one’s going to nick the fluffy pink ones, though, are they?

“Now, everyone watch me, and I’ll show you what you’ll be doing. When I give the thumbs-up, you can take off your ear muffs. Everyone put them on now.”

Harry and Ginny fitted the ear muffs over their ears. When Professor Sprout saw that everyone was ready, she lifted one of the little pots onto the now-empty bench. From behind her, she picked up a larger pot, a bag of compost, and a small shovel.

With everything arranged to her liking, she grabbed the little plant by its leaves and pulled it sharply out of its pot. The Mandrake was even more strange-looking in person than in the pictures Ginny had seen. The squirming root resembled a small, wrinkly baby with leaves for hair. With the ear muffs on, the students could not hear anything, but Ginny and Harry could see its tiny mouth stretched wide in a scream.

Professor Sprout dropped the plant into the new pot, quickly shovelled compost in around it until only the leaves were exposed, and then gave them all the thumbs-up. Everyone removed their ear muffs. “There you have it,” she said. “Make sure your ear muffs remain firmly in place. Four students to a tray, now. There’s a large supply of pots here, and plenty of compost in the sacks over there. I’ll attract your attention when it’s time to pack up.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny shared a tray of Mandrakes. A Hufflepuff at the next table began rambling to his group members as soon as Professor Sprout set them to work, which made Harry and Ginny glad that they had to put on their ear muffs quickly.

On the way back up to the castle after the double lesson, Hermione led the other three students off of the main path. “What did Professor Lockhart say, Harry?”

He scowled. “He said I was smart for sending Ron and the twins here in the car so that I’d look good for not being involved.”

“What?” Ron asked. “It was my idea.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I tried to tell him I had nothing to do with it, but he wouldn’t listen. Then the git said that I shouldn’t spend so much time with Ginny, because girls aren’t worth the trouble and they try to take over your life.”

Hermione’s steps faltered. “He . . . he said that?”

“Yeah, basically,” Ginny said with a dark scowl. “But his version was worse.”

“Well . . .” Hermione trailed off and then nodded slowly. “You mustn’t take that personally, Ginny. He obviously doesn’t know you.”

Ginny stopped and faced her friend. “You’re kidding, right? He wasn’t just talking about me. He said it was all girls. Pretty baubles to get you noticed, but not worth anything else.”

Hermione rubbed the spine of one of her books and did not meet Ginny’s eyes. “I’m sure he didn’t really mean it quite that way.”

“He said he could tell me stories all about it,” Harry said flatly. “It definitely sounded like he meant it.”

“Well . . . perhaps he can,” Hermione said. “I’m sure he’s met any number of people who were only interested in his fame and money. Relationships must be very difficult for him. Not everyone has it as easy as you two.”

Ginny could only stare up at the older girl, speechless. Harry blinked and fought the urge to scowl.

Hermione fidgeted and looked away. “I didn’t mean . . . of course it hasn’t been easy for you in every way, just . . . you know . . . I think knowing how each other feels is a big advantage.” She sighed and looked directly at Harry and Ginny. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it at all. I just think that . . . that he may have had some different experiences than you’ve had.”

Ron snorted, breaking the tension. “That’s not difficult. Nobody’s had the ‘experiences’ they’ve had.”

After a few seconds of silence, Ginny released her breath in a rush. “Maybe. He shouldn’t have said that, though, not even just to Harry.”

“Of course he shouldn’t have,” Hermione said, nodding quickly. “It was a bit rude.”

A bit rude, Harry scoffed. If he says it again, he’ll get ‘a bit’ hexed.

The brunette started towards the castle, pulling Ginny along by the hand and squeezing gently. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

Professor McGonagall started their Transfiguration lesson by having the students clear their desks. “Today, you will practice your spell-work and regain the skills you had at the end of last term,” she said. “I will distribute a beetle to each of you, and you will attempt to Transfigure it into a button. These beetles are black and round, so your buttons should also be black and round.”

The professor gave each student a small beetle in a jar, and the class spent most of the hour attempting the Transfiguration. Hermione managed it half-way through the class, and Harry and Ginny got their buttons to match a few minutes later. Ron struggled a bit more, spending most of his time chasing the beetle across his desk, but eventually he succeeded in eliminating its legs.

“As you can see,” McGonagall said near the end of class, “the constant practice of magic is important if you want to retain your skills. For tomorrow, read the first chapter of your textbook, which discusses insect transformation. We will continue to practise for the first half of tomorrow’s session.”

The four friends were glad to go to lunch. Harry and Ginny privately thought that, though Professor McGonagall was an excellent teacher, she always left her students feeling as though they had only just started to learn something. As soon as they all sat down in the Great Hall, Hermione pulled out a small, spiral-bound date-book.

“What’s that?” Ginny asked.

“It’s my planner,” Hermione said. “I’m going to write all of my homework assignments down on the day they’re assigned so that in the evenings I can be sure I’m working on everything I need to do.” She opened the date-book to the week of 31 August and began writing ‘Herbology’ near the top of the Wednesday block. “I wish they’d give us our timetables before the first day of class. I absolutely hate not knowing what’s coming on the first day.”

Ron leaned over to look at the planner, shaking his head, but then his gaze sharpened. “Say, why’re you putting little hearts on top of all the i’s for this afternoon?” He snatched the planner out of her hands and shoved it at Harry. “See?”

Sure enough, Hermione had written “Defence Against the Dark Arts ~ Professor Gilderoy Lockhart” at two o’clock on Wednesday. Each of the i’s was topped with a tiny heart, and the o’s were plump little hearts themselves. Harry processed this information in an instant and pushed the date-book back to Hermione.

Blushing, she snapped the book closed and glanced up at Harry, her face registering both gratitude and apology. Ginny sighed, and Hermione busied herself putting the book back in her bag.

I wish she’d get over that, Ginny said. He’s a git, no matter how much he’s done.

They began to eat, and as the lunch hour progressed, the tension faded from the table. Ginny, Harry, and Ron began discussing the year’s Quidditch prospects, and Hermione’s embarrassment faded as she focused on Voyages with Vampires.

Harry and Ginny were engrossed in their conversation, but they looked up when Hermione cleared her throat. The older girl was looking directly between them and a bit over their heads, and her eyebrows were raised. They turned around and recognised the small first-year that had been the first student Sorted into Gryffindor. The boy was standing behind them holding a camera, and his wide eyes were fixed on Harry.

“Hi, Harry!” he said. “I’m Colin . . . Colin Creevey. I’m in Gryffindor, too. First-year.”

“Err . . . hi, Colin,” Harry said, leaning away from the younger boy. “It’s good to meet you.”

He’s not going to bite, Harry, Ginny said, her polite smile hiding her mirth. He’s just excited.

“Yeah!” Colin said. “You, too. How are you? I’m having a great time. Is it true you grew up with Muggles? I read that in a book. My parents are Muggles. They didn’t believe it when I got my letter, thought I’d written it up myself. But then Dumbledore came by, and they believed it then. Who wouldn’t?”

Colin’s chatter rolled over Harry and Ginny, who stared at him with identical expressions of confusion. “Umm . . . yeah,” Harry said. On sudden inspiration, he twisted back towards the table. “Colin, these are -”

“Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. I know. Doesn’t everybody? Say, Harry, could I have a photo?” He raised the camera in his hands. “My family will never believe I actually met you. We’ve read all about you. Maybe you could sign it? We can both be in the picture if someone else will take it. You know, just as proof?”

On the other side of the table, Hermione and Ron were struggling to contain their grins, and Ginny laughed in their minds.

Oh, sure, this is hilarious for you, Harry said.

Come on, Harry. You know it’s funny.

“Maybe later, Colin,” Harry said, suppressing a grin based entirely on Ginny’s amusement. “I . . . err . . .” Ginny relented and provided a useful suggestion. “You should learn about magical photos first, don’t you think? That way, your pictures will move. Your family would love that.”

“Oh, yeah! That’d be brilliant. How does it work? Do you need a magical camera? ‘Cause I don’t have one, you know.”

“You don’t need a special camera,” Hermione said with a bright smile. “Actually, there’s a book in the library that tells you everything you need to know. It’s called Get a Move On (Paper). Madam Pince, the Librarian, can help you find it.”

“Really? I haven’t been to the library yet. Really good thinking, Harry. I’ll catch you up later!” Colin grabbed Harry’s hand and pumped it up and down. The sensation was a bit like shaking hands with a flopping fish, but to Harry’s relief, Colin released him quickly, turned, and trotted out of the Great Hall.

Harry turned back to the table. “Thanks, Hermione.”

Her grin resurfaced, full of humour. “You’re welcome. I couldn’t bear to watch that any longer, as much as I wanted to.”

“Yeah, right,” Ron said, snorting. “You realise you just set Pince on that poor kid, right?”

Hermione’s face fell. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. I was rather thinking of setting him on her. Maybe I should go and catch him.”

“He’s going to have to meet her sooner or later,” Ginny said. “At least this way he’ll be happy with the book.”

Soon after they finished eating, Harry and Ginny saw Luna get up from her house’s table and walk towards the Entrance Hall. Excusing themselves, they hurried down the hall and caught up with their friend at the base of a staircase.

“Luna!” Ginny said.

Luna smiled. “Hello, Ginny, Harry.”

“Hi. How is your first day going?” Ginny asked.

“I’m enjoying it very much. Everything is just as wonderful as you described it. I hadn’t really thought about all of the rules and such, though.”

“You get used to that,” Harry said. “Most people end up getting in trouble one way or another, anyway.”

“Well, that’s good. Is it wrong for someone to sit at a table other than their own house’s?”

Ginny thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen anyone do it, but I don’t know that it’s actually forbidden. We could ask Professor McGonagall, if you’d like.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find out.”

“We have to get to Defence soon,” Harry said. “Can we meet up later? It’d be great to spend some time with you.”

“All right,” Luna said, nodding slowly. “Perhaps on Saturday? I’m finding that I have quite a lot to do until then.”

Harry shrugged. “That’s fine with us. Maybe after lunch? We typically have a lie-in on Saturday mornings.”

“That sounds nice. I’ll see you after lunch on Saturday.” With another smile and a cheerful wave, Luna started up the stairs. Harry and Ginny walked back to the Great Hall and waited with Hermione while Ron finished his meal.

The four second-years made their way to the Defence classroom a short while later. Most of the room looked the same, but scattered about the walls were strategically-placed copies of Lockhart’s books, all on glass stands so that their covers were visible. At the front, behind the professor’s desk, was a large moving portrait of Lockhart himself, which smiled and waved at the students as they entered.

After all of the students were seated, Lockhart swept through the door, strode up the centre aisle, and then spun to face them. Reaching forward, he picked up Neville’s copy of Travels with Trolls and held it up to show the small portrait of himself on the cover. “Me,” he said, winking at the portrait. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award - but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

Hermione smiled and leaned forward in her seat, and a few of the girls in the class giggled. With another smile and a flourish, Lockhart produced a stack of parchment and started the class with a quiz, which he said was based on his books.

Harry and Ginny dreaded taking a comprehensive test of material they had only skimmed, but they were surprised. Rather than questions about his accomplishments, the quiz focused on the man himself. Fifty-four questions filled three sheets of parchment, covering everything from Lockhart’s favourite colour to the month and day of his birthday. Mixed in were even more bizarre questions about his secret ambition, his most rousing public appearance, and the best angle from which to photograph him.

What is this? Harry asked, reading down the list. It has absolutely nothing to do with Defence.

Dunno, Ginny mused, perusing the third page. We might be able to use his favourite type of hairbrush to hold off a butterfly, I suppose.

They spent half an hour making up answers to most of the questions. For the rest, they made reasonable guesses. Lockhart’s favourite colour was easy to guess by the photographs on the covers of his books, and it seemed only fitting that his personal favourite among his own works would be his autobiography.

Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them briefly. “Tut, tut,” he said. “Hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And some of you need to re-read Travels with Trolls to notice what famed naturalist Newt Scamander said about photographing someone of my colouration in natural sunlight.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and Ron groaned quietly.

Honestly, Ginny said. Who could possibly care?

“However . . . ,” the professor said, “Miss Hermione Granger remembered both of those, and she knew that my most rousing public appearance occurred when I promised the people of Erechilubi that I would cure them of their virulent halitosis.” He looked up at the students, grinning roguishly, and winked. “It was a very loud speech, after all. Where is Miss Hermione Granger?”

Hermione, beaming, raised her hand.

“Well done, Miss Granger. Full marks, and take ten points for Gryffindor.”

I love her dearly, Ginny said, but I hate that she gets thirty points in a day while we struggle to really gain three in a week.

“And now, to business,” Lockhart said, tossing the pile of papers into his chair. He bent down and lifted a large, covered cage onto the top of his desk.

“Be warned,” he said in a hushed voice. “It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind. You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here.” His gaze swept across the students, and he smiled. “All I ask is that you remain calm.”

Our worst fears? Harry asked, eyeing the cage. Isn’t there a creature that does that?

Yeah, but I don’t remember what it’s called.

“I must ask you not to scream,” Lockhart said. “It might provoke them.”

With an artful flourish, he whipped the covering off of the cage. Inside, a group of Cornish pixies fluttered and flapped in a swirling mass. Each one was only around eight inches tall, with electric blue skin, tiny wings, and demonic little faces.

After a moment of silence, Seamus Finnegan snorted loudly. “Not very dangerous, are they? They’re only pixies.”

“Oh?” Lockhart asked, drawing away from the cage in mock terror. “Let’s see what you make of them, then!” With no more warning and no instruction at all, Lockhart opened the cage and let the pixies loose in the room.

The tiny fliers wreaked havoc on the room and its occupants. Pixies were much stronger than their size implied, and they bit viciously when roused. After being trapped in a cage for some time, the score of Cornish pixies were restless and angry. They flew about the room, casting books to the floor, pulling hair, biting exposed skin, and teaming up to swarm around students’ heads.

“They’re only pixies!” Lockhart called into the chaos. “Harmless, right? Go on, round them up. Here, watch this.” He flourished his wand. “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”

The spell did nothing to the pixies, if it did anything magical at all, but it did attract their attention. Nearly a dozen of the little beasts converged on the professor, pulling his wand from his hand and yanking his hair in multiple directions. Lockhart managed to bat them away with his hands for a few moments, and then he retreated into his office. “Well, I’ll ask you lot to just nip the rest of them back into their cage,” he said as he shoved the door closed behind him.

Ginny and Harry were busy keeping the pixies away from her long, bright hair. Hermione was crouched beneath her desk with her robe pulled up over most of her head, and Ron was backed against one wall, swinging Gadding with Ghouls in front of him with little effect. Ginny followed Hermione’s example, pulling her robe up to cover her hair, which caused several of the flying terrors to divert their attentions to Harry. They were fascinated with his glasses, trying to pull them off of his head.

Looking around, Ginny saw that the four of them were the only students left in the room. The others had all fled, and someone had been considerate enough to close the main door to the classroom behind them as they left. A few of the pixies appeared to have escaped by breaking window panes and flying away, but the rest were still frolicking inside the room.

“Ugh!” Ginny said. “This is ridiculous!” She whipped out her wand and aimed at a group of pixies two yards away that were pulling pages out of one of Lockhart’s display books. “Petrificus Totalus!”

One of the creatures stilled and fell to the floor. “They’re like the keys,” Ginny said loudly, taking aim at another pixie. “Just hex them all.”

Before she finished speaking, Hermione emerged from beneath her desk with her wand out. She muttered an incantation that Harry and Ginny did not recognize, and a wave of cold passed through the air above Harry’s head. Two of the pixies that had been harassing him literally froze. With another flick of her wand, Hermione Levitated the small creatures before they hit the ground and guided them into the open cage.

The four of them spent the rest of the allotted class time chasing pixies, immobilising them in any way they could. In the end, it took the four of them casting in rapid succession to catch the last pixie, which had found refuge by flying around and behind the room’s decorations. When the cage was once again full and locked, they all stood in the middle of the room, panting.

“Well,” Hermione said between gasping breaths. “That was useful, wasn’t it? Look at all those spells we got to use against actual moving targets. That’s far more practical than anything Quirrell ever taught us.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ron said. “That’s what the ponce had in mind, I’m sure.”

Ginny opened her mouth to agree with Ron, but she and Harry realised that they had indeed gained something from casting spells and learning the little creatures’ patterns of movement. Instead, Ginny and Harry shrugged and began gathering their scattered books and supplies.

The second-years had the rest of the afternoon off, so the four friends went back to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione immediately claimed an empty table and pulled out her planner to fill in her classes for the rest of the term. “We should do our reading for Transfiguration now,” she said. “It’s our only assignment for tomorrow, and if we get it out of the way, we won’t have to worry about it this evening.”

Ron rolled his eyes and slouched in his chair, but Ginny and Harry could see the merit in their friend’s suggestion.

It really wouldn’t take that long, Ginny said. We already looked at that part once.

You’re right. Harry glanced around the common room. “That makes sense, Hermione. What do you think, Ginny?”

Oh, very subtle. “Yeah, all right. You, Ron?”

Her brother sighed. “Fine. But I’m not doing any other revising tonight if there’s nothing else due tomorrow.”

I suppose that means we both have to read it, Ginny said.

You mean you have to read it while I stare at the book and turn pages every now and again.

Humph. Maybe you should do the reading this time.

Harry shrugged and pulled out his book. You know I will if you’d rather.

It’s okay, I can do it.

Ginny dug her thick, battered Transfiguration book out of her bag and laid it flat on the table. Ron already had his book open in his lap, and Hermione was poring over hers intently.

This poor book is a mess, Ginny said. She straightened the bent pages at one corner, and her fingers brushed against something tucked into it. Flipping the book open, she found a very thin and somewhat smaller book pressed flat in the middle of the section on mammal-to-mineral Transfigurations. The small volume was barely larger than her hand and only about a quarter of an inch thick. Its black cover was as battered as the Transfiguration text, and faded silver lettering at the bottom read ‘1944’.

Looks like a diary or something, Harry said, looking away from his own book.

Ginny opened the smaller book and flipped through the pages. Each one contained several blocks with a pre-printed date in the upper-right corner, but none of the pages had been written on at all. The only writing she could find was on the very first page, where the name ‘T. M. Riddle’ was scrawled in faded black ink.

“What’s that, Ginny?” Hermione asked, peering curiously at the little book.

“It’s an old diary, I think,” she said, flipping through it again. “I found it in my textbook. It’s all blank, though.”

Hermione cocked her head to one side. “That’s odd. Do you suppose it belonged to the previous owner?”

“Err . . . could be. It says 1944 on the cover. Could the Transfiguration book be that old?”

Hermione pulled the textbook across the table and flipped to the first few pages. “I can’t tell. Why don’t wizarding books have proper title pages?”

“It looks fifty years old,” Ron said, his own book forgotten on the table at his elbow.

“Should I try to return it to the bookshop?” Ginny asked. “It’s got a name in the front, but it’s no-one I’ve ever heard of.”

“T. M. Riddle,” Harry said. “Could be anyone.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, it’s probably a Muggle-born. The book is from a shop on Vauxhall Road, see?” she said, pointing at the back cover of the diary.

“Do you suppose a Muggle-born who went to school fifty years ago wants a blank diary back?” Harry asked.

“Well . . . it seems unlikely,” Hermione said.

“’Course not,” Ron said. “Chuck it, nobody’ll care. Or keep it if you want.”

“You think?” Ginny asked.

Hermione brightened. “It’s already divided up into days. You could just mark out the old dates, and then it’d be perfect for keeping track of your assignments.”

Ron snorted. “Everyone should have a homework planner, right?”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt.”

She has a point, I suppose, Ginny said. We could at least make sure we don’t forget anything.

As if Hermione would let us anyway, Harry said, grinning. But if you want to, we might as well.

Ginny nodded and pulled out a quill and a bottle of ink. With a single, careful line, she marked out the date in the first block, and then she wrote ‘Wednesday, 2 September 1992’ at the top. Below that, she noted the reading assignment that Professor McGonagall had given them.

As she finished writing the assignment, the line and the first few letters of the date began to fade away. “That’s odd,” Ginny said.

Hermione and Ron leaned over the table to watch as the rest of Ginny’s writing disappeared. A moment later, new letters appeared on the page in a flowing hand.

‘Hello.’

Ron sucked in a breath. “Bloody . . .”

“Is that . . . is that normal?” Hermione asked as the word faded. “For magical diaries?”

“No,” Ginny breathed. “I’ve never seen any book write back before.”

She and Harry stared at the page, trying to decide what it might be. The writing appeared again.

‘Are you there?’

After glancing around at Ron and Hermione, who were wide-eyed and silent, Ginny wrote, ‘Yes.’

‘My name is Tom Riddle. What’s your name?’

Ginny looked up from the page, her curiosity piqued. “Should I tell it?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said.

“I don’t see how it could hurt,” Harry said. “Everyone knows our names, right?”

Ron did not say anything, so Ginny nodded. ‘My name is Ginny Weasley.’

‘Weasley? I’ve heard of that name. A proud wizarding family. Are we in England, then?’

‘Scotland,’ Ginny wrote.

‘Ah, Hogwarts, most likely. I remember it well.’

“He remembers? How is that possible?” Hermione asked.

When the last message had cleared, Ginny wrote again. ‘What are you?’

There was a pause before the reply appeared. ‘This book is my diary. A magical diary, with a little piece of my voice in it.’

Harry rubbed his forehead as he watched the words write themselves. “That must be one heck of a charm.”

“I suppose . . .” Hermione frowned as her eyes darted around the table. “I suppose that if you can make a mirror talk, or have a portrait guard a door, you can make a diary write back. The mirrors have to sound like somebody, right?”

The diary reacted again, interrupting their speculations. ‘What house are you in?’

‘Gryffindor.’

‘A strong house. I’m sure you have great friends there.’

Ginny smiled slightly as she wrote. ‘Yes. They’re with me now.’

‘What are their names?’

‘Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and my brother, Ron. We’re second-years.’

“Careful, Ginny,” Ron said. “Remember what Dad says. ‘Never trust anything that thinks for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.’”

Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly. “I’m not stupid, Ron. It’s not as though I’m telling it how to find the secret Weasley fortune.”

Harry and Ron grinned, but Hermione looked perplexed. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ron said.

Ignoring her brother, Ginny turned to face Hermione. “Old family story. According to legend, the Weasleys were once fairly well-off, like most of the old wizarding families. A few hundred years ago, though, there was an old Weasley who didn’t trust goblins. He took all of the family’s gold out of Gringotts and buried it under the paddock. Then, of course, he died before he could tell anyone exactly where it was. Dad says that every few generations, one of us goes out and tries to find it. Fred and George swear they’re going to once they’re seventeen.”

“Do you . . . err . . . do you suppose it’s true?” Hermione asked, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Ginny snorted. “No. There’re charms that can detect that much gold in one spot. Bill tried them a few years ago, and there’s nothing there.”

“It’s writing back,” Ron said.

Harry and Ginny looked down at the diary just in time to read it before the words faded away.

‘I’ve heard of the Potter line, too.’

Harry glanced up at Hermione, but she shrugged. “There’s no reason he’d have heard of my family.”

Ginny dipped her quill in the ink again. ‘Why did you make a diary like this?’

Nearly a minute passed without a response, and she and Harry began to wonder if the diary had finally worn out. Then letters appeared on the page, more slowly than before.

‘Well, it’s embarrassing in retrospect, actually. I wanted to make a joke book that could tell its own jokes.’

‘Did it work?’

‘Yes, but no one else seemed to find the jokes as funny as I did.’

Ginny shrugged. ‘Tell us one.’

‘All right. What do you get when you drop a Puffskein in Pepper-up Potion?’

‘I don’t know, what?’

‘A devoted hyperpuff.’

“Ugh,” Ron said. “That’s awful. It doesn’t even make sense.”

‘Bad, isn’t it?’

Ginny rubbed the feather of her quill against her temple. ‘Well, you might have better luck with a different one.’

‘Knock, knock.’

‘Who’s there?’

‘Hippogriff.’

‘Hippogriff who?’

‘Oh, err - the joke is, “Hippo Gryffindor. Run for your lives, he’s hungry!” Maybe that wasn’t the best choice on my part.’

“The charm can’t be that hard if this guy managed it,” Ron said to Harry.

‘Well, at least you managed to make the book,’ Ginny wrote.

‘I suppose so.’

‘We have to do our revision for tomorrow. Should I give this diary back to someone? I found it inside an old textbook.’

‘Don’t bother. If I’m alive and I’ve managed to forget about this diary in the last fifty years, I’m sure I’m happier that way.’

Ginny shrugged. ‘Okay. It was nice talking to you.’

‘You, too, Ginny Weasley. If anyone else wants to say hello sometime, I’m happy to talk to them.’

‘I’ll remember that. Bye!’

Ginny closed the diary and held it out. “Anyone else want a go?”

That much was enough, Harry said, laughing in their minds.

Hermione and Ron shook their heads, so Ginny stuffed the book into her bag. Oh well. I guess we got to put off our revision for a few minutes. Ron appreciates that, I’m sure.

Reading their Transfiguration texts kept them busy until dinner, and after eating Harry and Ginny persuaded Hermione to find the car with them. Together, the four students walked down to the Quidditch pitch. On the side facing the castle, the space beneath the stands was taken up by the four house changing rooms. On the other side, however, a blank wall dropped from the back of the seating to the ground.

Where could he have put the car?

Harry shrugged. Under the stands, he said. Maybe there’s a door.

“Err . . . car?” Ginny called. “Robin?”

They walked along the wall, looking for a door and calling out to the car. Halfway down the length of the pitch, a portion of the wall separated a few inches from the rest. Ginny led the others forward, and Ron and Harry pulled open a set of large double doors, which had been cleverly set into the wall without any obvious markings. Inside, the old Anglia waited, its engine idling quietly. The area under the stands was partially lit by sunlight shining through small openings near the top, and the space was criss-crossed with stout wooden beams. There was just enough room between the supports for the car to manoeuvre, and tracks in the dirt showed that the car had explored the space.

“Hello, Robin,” Ginny said. She patted the hood, and the car’s engine revved slightly. “Ahh . . .how are you?”

“Come on, Ginny,” Ron said. “How exactly do you expect it to respond?”

At the sound of his voice, the car backed away a few yards, its tires spinning in the dirt. It came to a halt facing Ron, and its headlamps flashed into the boy’s eyes.

Harry grinned. “Like that, maybe.”

Ginny approached the car again, and its engine quieted to a dull rumble. “Sorry about that. Dad asked us to make sure you’re all right in here.”

At the sound of a familiar clicking, Harry and Ginny turned to see Hedwig perched atop one of the large, open doors. “Hello, Hedwig,” Harry said, glad to see his faithful owl.

Hedwig drifted down from the door to alight on his shoulder. After a few more clicks of her beak, she rubbed her head against his hair and nipped his ear gently. After Harry had scratched her neck for a moment, she took off and flew to Ginny’s shoulder for the same treatment.

“Rough trip, girl?” Ginny asked.

Hedwig fluffed her feathers and glared at Ron.

“I’m sorry, all right?” Ron said, throwing his hands into the air. “I said I was sorry. Nothing likes me today.”

“Say, Hedwig,” Harry said, crossing to Ginny and stroking the owl’s head, “could you do us a favour? Mr. Weasley asked us to keep an eye on the car . . . Robin, here. When you’re out hunting or whatever, d’you suppose you could just stop by to see if it’s still here? I bet you can get in through one of those holes at the top, so we won’t have to open the doors for you.”

With a loud creak and a bang, the Anglia’s doors flew open. Ginny was standing next to the front wheel arch, and she leapt away from the car even though she was not in harm’s way. The movement dislodged Hedwig, who flapped to Harry’s shoulder and clicked her beak sharply.

“Ruddy hell,” Ron said. “I told you the car’s barmy.”

You said ‘open the doors,’ Ginny told Harry. Dad warned us, remember?

Oops. Harry stepped closer to the car and said, “Err . . . close the doors.” Robin’s doors closed as abruptly as they had opened. “Right. Hedwig, would you mind helping us?”

With a strong flap of her wings, the owl flew off of his shoulder, through the door, and out of sight. A few seconds later, she descended from the top of the pitch to land on Harry’s shoulder. Once again she nipped his ear.

“Thanks, girl,” Harry said. “Just when you’re out and about, anyway. We’ll come by to check ourselves, too. Come and find one of us if the car goes anywhere, all right?”

Hedwig bobbed her head once.

“Well, it seems fine for now,” Ginny said, patting the car again. “You stay here, Robin, and we’ll come back to check on you soon. Dad will be along to take you home in a week or two.”

The car backed further away from the door, and Harry and Ginny clearly heard its handbrake set. “Good car,” Ginny said. “We’ll see you later.”

After pushing the doors to the stands closed, the four friends walked back towards the castle, Hedwig soaring in circles above them.

“I hope my father never hears about that car,” Hermione said. “He’s already completely enamoured of his, and if he finds out there’s a way to make the car respond . . .”

“Probably too late,” Harry said. “Mr. Weasley will talk about the Anglia any chance he gets.”

Ron shook his head. “You shouldn’t worry, though. I doubt he could even remember all the charms he’s put on that thing.”

“Let’s hope.”

The rest of the week was far less relaxed than the first day. Each class the second-years attended for the first time resulted in more reading and homework, and by Friday they all felt as though they had been at Hogwarts for weeks instead of days. Aside from revision, Harry and Ginny only found time to write letters to her parents and eldest brothers. Both letters talked about their classes and the new Defence professor, though they left out Lockhart’s condescending advice to Harry. Ginny also assured her father that the Anglia was staying hidden under the Quidditch pitch.

On Saturday morning, Harry and Ginny had every intention of having a lie-in. Far earlier than they would have liked, however, Harry was awakened by the sound of someone pulling at his bed curtains.

“What the hell?” a voice whispered. Harry recognised Oliver Wood’s distinctive brogue.

Ginny, go! Harry woke her as gently and quickly as possible, and as soon as she was conscious she Shifted to her own room. The Invisibility Cloak was still wrapped around her, and she clutched her pillow and Bun-bun in her arms.

After pulling his wand from his bedside table and hiding Ginny’s under his blankets, Harry removed the Sticking Charm from the curtains. Oliver yanked them open immediately, leaving Harry staring drowsily up at the burly sixth-year.

“Wha’s’it, Wood?”

Oliver looked puzzled for a moment, but then his face settled into a familiar expression of grim determination. “Quidditch practice! Come on, we’ve got to get an early start if we’re going to keep that Cup this year.”

He’s kidding, right? Ginny asked, letting herself collapse onto her side once again. He’s got to be kidding.

Harry stared at his captain, hoping that the older boy would simply go away. After a minute, he sighed and swung his legs out of bed. “All right.”

“Great! I knew you’d be on-board. I’ll meet you down at the pitch as soon as you can get up.”

Wood left the room, and Harry rubbed his eyes. He’s insane.

D’ you suppose he’d be any different if we’d lost last year?

Worse, probably.

Harry climbed out of his bed, stretched, and began digging through his wardrobe to find his red Quidditch robes. As he pulled them on, Ginny heard the girls’ dormitory door open.

“Ginny?” Hermione’s voice called softly.

Sighing, Ginny sat up, folded away the Cloak, and opened her curtains. Lavender and Parvati were still asleep. “He wants me, too, doesn’t he?” Ginny asked.

“Oliver? Yes, I’m afraid so. You got away before he saw you, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I told him I’d wake you. I’m sorry.”

Ginny shook her head. “Not your fault, Hermione. Thanks.”

Leaving her hair in its braid, Ginny picked out a pair of jeans and a jumper to wear for the day. After changing in the bathroom, she plodded downstairs to meet Harry, and together they crossed the room toward the portrait hole.

“Hey, Harry!”

With a sub-vocal groan, Harry turned to see Colin Creevey rushing towards him from the boys’ staircase. The boy was carrying his camera and had a large book tucked under one arm. To Ginny and Harry’s dismay, Colin bounced across the room, fully alert and energized.

“Look, Harry!” Colin said, pulling a small photograph out of his pocket. It had been taken the previous evening in the common room, and Harry and Ginny were shown in the foreground reading their Potions books. Upon closer inspection, Harry saw that all of the figures in the picture were twitching, as though only a half-second of action had been captured in the photograph. “I’ve got them to move a bit, finally,” Colin said. “I bet I’ll have it down in another day or two. What do you think?”

“Err . . . that’s brilliant, Colin,” Harry said.

“Yeah! What’re you doing?”

Harry plucked at the front of his robes. “Quidditch practice.”

“Really? Can I come? I’ve never seen Quidditch before. You were on the team last year, weren’t you? Youngest player in a century, I heard. And you won the trophy for Gryffindor!”

“Actually,” Harry said, overriding the first-year’s enthusiasm, “Ginny’s the youngest player ever, and she’s the one who won the Cup.”

Gee, thanks, Harry.

Fair’s fair.

“Well, yeah, but everyone says you were in hospital for that game because you got hurt helping Dumbledore with something really dangerous.”

“Err . . . yeah, mostly. Ginny was there for that, too, and she still won the game.”

Finally, Colin turned his attention to Ginny and gave her a wide, genuine smile. “That’s great. Congratulations. You’re my age, right?”

With the mental equivalent of a raspberry, Ginny nodded and returned his smile. “Yeah.”

“It must be great to be in Harry’s year and on the Quidditch team. Harry, would you -”

Harry raised a hand. “Sorry, Colin, but we really have to get to practice.”

“Oh, sure. Let’s go.”

Creevey went through the portrait and started down the stairs, leaving Harry and Ginny little choice but to follow him if they wanted to get to the pitch the normal way. On their way out of the room, Hermione waved goodbye to them from a corner table. Her face was screwed up in barely contained mirth, and Ginny and Harry heard a burst of laughter as the portrait closed.

Along the way to the pitch, Colin pressed Harry to explain how Quidditch was played, and they only managed to escape him when they reached the changing rooms.

“I’ll get a good seat, Harry!” Colin said in farewell, waving his camera.

Harry and Ginny walked down the short hall to the room where the team always met before games. Inside, the rest of the team was already seated on the benches. Fred and George were only half-conscious. The Chasers were slightly more alert, but their dark looks showed their irritation with Oliver.

“Finally!” Oliver said, as Harry and Ginny looked for two open seats. “What took you two so long? Sit down and we’ll get started.”

Angelina nudged Fred until he made room on the bench, and Harry and Ginny squeezed onto the end.

“All right, first things first.” Oliver picked up a bundle of red fabric from a nearby table and pushed it into Ginny’s arms. “That’s your uniform. Go ahead and get into it now so we don’t have to take time later.”

“Really?” Ginny asked, blinking in surprise. “I thought, you know, as a reserve . . .”

“You’re on the team, so you get a uniform. Put it on.”

More awake now and grinning, Ginny unrolled the robes and pulled them on over her head. Harry pulled her braid out of her collar, and she stood for a moment to let the material fall to her ankles. On the back of the scarlet robes, Harry saw a large number eight. Ginny twirled in place once and admired the uniform from all sides through Harry’s eyes. Katie Bell smiled and gave Ginny a thumbs-up as she completed her turn.

Brilliant, Gin. You look great.

Thanks!

“Now, then,” Oliver said as Ginny sat back down. “Before we go out onto the pitch, I want to take a few minutes to go over some new plays. The first one, here on the board . . .” Two hours later, Wood had managed to ‘discuss’ three new plays, and George had managed to fall asleep leaning on Alicia Spinnet’s shoulder.

Oliver finally led the team out onto the pitch, and even the twins roused a bit in the cool morning air. “Ginny,” Oliver said, “why don’t you go and get one of the school brooms to practice with?”

Oops.

Didn’t consider that, did we?

“Err . . . I was thinking, Captain,” Ginny said, adopting her best thoughtful expression. “If I practice too much on one of those old sticks, then my reflexes will be all wrong for Seeking on the Nimbus. Do you think it might be better if I just took a turn on Harry’s broom for part of practice? I can do some drills and such on my own to make sure I get plenty of time in the air.”

Bless Ron for his insistence on using the lingo at every possible moment, Harry said, hiding his grin.

Wood clapped Ginny on the back, making her stagger a bit. “Good thinking, Ginny. You can take Harry’s place later today. All right, get off the ground, all the rest of you.”

That excuse won’t work forever, Ginny said as she watched Harry soar into the air. The morning was breezy and clear, perfect for flying.

In a loose group with the rest of the team, Harry performed a few fast laps around the pitch to warm up. Yeah. We need to learn to fly at the same time.

Ginny leaned against the interior wall of the pitch rather than sitting in the grass and possibly staining her new robes. She considered climbing into the stands to watch, but she did not want to risk drawing Wood’s ire by taking a long time to get back to the field. Glancing up, she saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands not far away, and she walked over to stand beneath them.

“Almost finished?” Ron called, his hands full of toast and marmalade.

“We just started,” Ginny said. “Wood’s been teaching us new plays.”

Hermione leaned forward, smiling, and spoke so quietly that Ginny could barely hear her. “Your fan club is here, Harry.”

Following Hermione’s pointed finger, Ginny spotted Colin Creevey sitting on the other side of the stands, taking pictures as fast as his fingers could wind the camera. “Lovely,” Ginny said, echoing Harry’s thoughts.

The Gryffindor team had barely finished their warm-up laps when Ginny spotted the Slytherin team, in their green and silver robes, emerging from the Snakes’ changing rooms. “Oliver!” Harry called. When he had the captain’s attention, he pointed down at the other team, and Wood led them all down to land in front of the Slytherins.

“Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin captain. “This is our practice time. You lot can clear off now.”

Marcus Flint, who was taller and broader than anyone on the Gryffindor team, smirked. “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.”

As Ginny walked across the pitch to join her team, she saw Fred and George sidle in front of the three Chasers. Following the twins’ angry gaze, Harry realised that the all-male Slytherin team were leering openly at Angelina, Alicia, and Katie. In spite of his relative size, Harry stepped in front of Katie to do his part.

“I booked the field!” Wood shouted.

Flint’s grin twisted. “Ah, but I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. ‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.”

Ginny reached her team-mates, and she reluctantly stood just behind Harry’s shoulder.

Thanks, he said.

She sniffed, but Harry knew that her ire was directed at the other team, not at him.

“You’ve got a new Seeker?” Wood asked. “Where?”

Harry belatedly counted and realised that he saw only six large boys. From behind them, a much smaller figure emerged. “Malfoy,” Harry growled.

“Malfoy?” Wood asked.

“Yes,” Flint said. “Draco Malfoy. Maybe you’ve heard of his father, Lucius Malfoy? He’s the one who made such a generous gift to the Slytherin team.”

All seven Slytherins held out their broomsticks. The handles were highly polished, and at the end of each one was gold lettering spelling out the words ‘Nimbus Two Thousand and One’.

Ruddy . . . those weren’t even released until two weeks ago! Harry said.

“Latest model,” Flint said, brushing his sleeve across the end of his broom. “Loads better than the old Two Thousand. The way I see it, if your Seeker can have a broom that belongs to your house, then why can’t we all have brooms that belong to ours?” He looked past the Gryffindor team and scowled. “Merlin, Wood. Are first-years the only ones who’ll support your team? Pathetic.”

Ginny glanced over her shoulder. Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass towards them, and Colin was running across the pitch from the other direction.

“What’s happening?” Ron asked, his wand in hand. “What’s he doing here?”

“I’m the new Seeker, Weasley,” Malfoy said. “We were all just admiring the new brooms my father’s bought our team.”

“He bought the team itself, you mean, just so you’d get to play,” Hermione said in a clipped voice. “You certainly don’t have the talent.”

Malfoy sneered. “Shut up, you filthy Mudblood.”

The Gryffindor Chasers recoiled with startled gasps, and Alicia shrieked, “How dare you!”

Harry and Ginny knew what the word meant, but they had never expected to hear it, even from Malfoy. Harry shifted his broom to his other hand and pulled out his wand, and Ginny began to lift up the side of her robes to pull her wand from her jeans’ pocket.

Fred and George leapt towards Malfoy, their arms outstretched, but Flint and two of his players moved to protect Malfoy from the twins.

“You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” Ron said. He darted around the Gryffindor team and aimed his wand between two of the Slytherins. “Pulmonatus!”

A jet of bright yellow light shot out of the end of Ron’s wand and impacted Malfoy directly in the face. The blond boy staggered backwards, shaking his head and looking down at his own body.

“Good shot, Ron!” Fred yelled, giving up his attempts to get past the Slytherin barricade.

“Excellent choice,” George added.

“Stupid Weasleys,” Malfoy said, clearing his throat. “Your spell didn’t even do-”

The Slytherin’s words were cut off as a writhing mass of slugs poured out of his mouth. His team-mates took a step away, and Flint turned back towards the Gryffindors. Malfoy made a horrible belching sound, and another batch of slugs erupted from his mouth and slid down his front.

“Professor Snape will hear about this,” Flint snapped. “Come on, lads. Let’s get him back to the castle.”

The Slytherins hurried off the field, carrying Malfoy between them and shooting dirty looks back at the Gryffindors. Just as they disappeared into their changing rooms, a bolt of red light flashed out of the group and impacted the ground just in front of Harry and the twins. Harry and Ginny raised their wands, the Full-Body Bind hovering on their lips.

“Stop!” Wood shouted. He stepped forward and spun around to block Harry’s view, and Harry stared defiantly up at his captain. “He’s a filthy bigot, Potter, but if you go hexing him now, you’ll all be in more trouble than we can handle.”

“Harry? Ginny?” Hermione’s soft voice caused them to turn around. The brunette was standing a few feet away, her face creased with concern and her eyes tinted with hesitation. “Please don’t.”

“But he -” Ron said.

“He’s not worth it, Ron,” Hermione said, her voice stronger. She walked closer, her eyes now locked on Harry’s. “Please don’t.” When she was barely an arm’s length away, she spoke again, her voice barely a whisper. “Remember last year.”

She’s right, Ginny said, her mind finally breaking through her emotions. I hate letting him go, but she’s right.

Harry and Ginny took deep breaths and let them out in a rush. Harry jammed his wand back into his pocket. “Stupid Malfoy,” he said. “Glad you got him once, Ron.”

Ron frowned, but he put away his wand. “Wish I’d got bigger slugs.”

“That was more than enough,” Wood said. “Now, listen. Those Snakes are going right to Professor Snape. I’m going to talk to Professor McGonagall and tell her what happened, but if any of you lot,” he waved at Harry and the Weasleys, “get involved, it’ll only be worse. You stay here, all of you. I’ll do the best I can to keep this fair. All right?”

Grudgingly, Harry and Ginny nodded, and her brothers followed their lead.

“Good. Stay out here, away from the Slytherins or anyone else, until you’ve cooled off.” Oliver turned to Colin. “You’re a Gryffindor, right?” The small boy nodded. “You saw and heard it all? Good. Come with me.”

Wood turned and stormed off towards the castle with Colin in tow. After a slight smile for the Weasleys, Angelina followed him, and soon all three Chasers had left the field.

“Merlin,” Fred said. “That little shit doesn’t know just how lucky he is.”

“Language, please,” Hermione muttered.

Ron opened his mouth, his eyes ablaze, but then he froze. Cocking his head to one side, he said, “You don’t know what it means, do you, Hermione?”

She swallowed and shook her head. “I suppose it’s bad, given . . . you know, but I’ve never heard it before.”

Ron sighed, and Harry shook his head. Her temper somewhat restored, Ginny stepped forward and squeezed Hermione’s hand in her own. “That word is . . . it’s awful, Hermione. It’s a really, really foul term for a witch or wizard who’s born to Muggle parents. It means, you know . . . dirty blood.”

Hermione blinked, and for once Harry thought she did not understand. “I don’t know any word that’s the same for Muggles,” he said, “and if I did I’d never say it, not even to explain. Whatever you can think of to compare it to, Malfoy’s word is probably worse. It’s . . . they use it to say you’re not even human, Hermione.”

“I heard it once in Diagon Alley when I was little,” Ginny said in a quiet voice, glancing apologetically at her brothers. “I told Mum the boys had said it, and I asked her what it meant.”

Fred and George paled. “Thought she was going to kill us,” Fred said. “Actually, literally kill us, right then and there.”

“Sorry,” Ginny said.

“S’okay, Gin,” George said, grinning faintly. “The scars have healed.”

“Well . . .” Hermione swallowed and dropped Ginny’s hand. “Thanks for . . . for standing up for me. If I had known what it meant, maybe I . . . well, who knows? Still, it’s not worth you all getting into more trouble. Malfoy’s too stupid to bother with.”

“Too right,” Fred said. “You’re a hundred times better at magic than he is, never mind what kind of blood he’s got.”

Hermione’s face settled into a familiar expression of curiosity. “Is there anything to that, though?” she asked him. “The blood thing, I mean. Your family is pureblood, and you’re all really strong wizards, right?”

“It’s utter rubbish, Hermione,” Fred said, shaking his head. “No extended wizarding family is any more than half magical these days. We’d have died out ages ago if we hadn’t married Muggles or Muggleborns.”

George nodded. “Dad says that, legally, anyone who has four wizarding grandparents and two wizarding parents is a pureblood. It just doesn’t matter, though. If we’re fair shakes at magic, it’s just a coincidence.”

“Look at Harry,” Ginny added. “His mum was Muggleborn, and he was doing really complex magic even before he came to Hogwarts.”

Hermione grinned. “Using either of you as an example is completely ridiculous, and you know it. Thanks, though. I’m glad it doesn’t matter.”

“Ugh,” Fred said loudly. “This conversation got depressing fast. Aren’t we supposed to be cooling off?” He glanced at George, and then the two boys threw their brooms to Ginny and Ron. “Fly, angry siblings. First one around the pitch gets a Chocolate Frog.”

With a grateful smile, Ginny mounted George’s broom and took off. She and Ron lined up, and at the twins’ signal, they sped off along the wall of the pitch.

Harry closed his eyes and lowered himself to sit on the grass. “Thanks.” He heard Hermione move to sit next to him, and he thought that the slight pressure of her arm against his shoulder was probably deliberate.

“Don’t mention it,” Fred said.

Ginny pulled a bit ahead of her brother as they curved along one end of the pitch, but Ron was close enough behind to keep the race interesting.

It’s already over, Harry said. You’re smaller and a better flyer.

Hush. It’s still fun.

“Say, would you two mind doing us a favour?” Harry asked aloud. “Remember how Charlie helped us to practice flying at the same time?”

“Yeah.”

“D’you think you’d be willing to do that? It’s a big help, and Oliver’s going to want us in the air together before long.”

“Sure, why not,” Fred said. “Mind you, we’ll have to schedule practice around our detentions.”

“And probably when no-one’s on the pitch, just to avoid pesky questions.”

“I’d like to help, also,” Hermione said. “I still want to know just what the problems are, and I could be ready to help catch you if you fall somehow. I’m sure Ron would come, too.”

“Great, thanks,” Harry said.

Ron and Ginny swept back onto the long side of the pitch where they had started, and Ginny was still a broom’s-length ahead. The two siblings blasted past the rest of the students at full speed, and then they swept around in a slower circle to land.

“To the winner go the spoils,” Fred announced. He pulled a Chocolate Frog from his pocket and tossed it to Ginny, who snatched it easily out of the air.

Tearing off the wrapper, Ginny broke the Frog in half and gave one side to Ron. “Close enough for me.”

Ron shrugged and took the chocolate without comment.

The six students walked back through the Gryffindor changing rooms and towards the castle, talking more casually about Quidditch and flying. Ron, as Hermione had predicted, was more than willing to help Harry and Ginny learn to fly separately. Ginny secretly suspected that her brother was interested in anything that kept him away from revision.

After a short trip to the common room for the Quidditch players to put away their robes and brooms, they all went down to lunch together. They had just served themselves and started eating when Professor McGonagall walked down from the high table to stand behind Harry and Ginny.

“Can I not expect you all to avoid trouble for at least one week while at school?” McGonagall asked, her voice clipped.

Ron looked up imploringly. “But, Professor, he -”

“No buts, Mr. Weasley. Did you, or did you not, hex a fellow student?”

Ron compressed his lips, but he straightened his back and nodded.

“That is expressly forbidden, as you well know. For the next two weeks, you will serve detention with Professor Snape between breakfast and lunch on Saturdays.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Ron nodded again.

“Additionally, you and your brothers will serve detention this evening for your unorthodox arrival earlier this week. Report to Mr. Filch in the Entrance Hall at eight o’clock.”

Fred and George saluted the professor sharply, and after a moment Ron copied their move.

McGonagall then turned to Harry. “Mr. Potter, your detention with Professor Lockhart will also be this evening at eight o’clock. Report directly to his office.”

Harry started and looked up at the professor, confused. Next to him, Ginny’s brows knit in indignation. “Err . . . excuse me, Professor?” Harry asked.

“Your detention, Mr. Potter. Tonight at eight.”

“But . . .” Seeing McGonagall’s unyielding expression and remembering her words from before the Welcoming Feast, Harry rephrased his protest. “I’m sorry, Professor, but I wasn’t aware I’d got a detention from Professor Lockhart.”

“You weren’t?” McGonagall asked. “Professor Lockhart informed me that he found you late to Herbology on Wednesday and gave you a detention. Do you deny that?”

Harry glanced at Hermione, looking for help, but she appeared as confused as he and Ginny were. “Err . . . well, I suppose I was late, technically, but it wasn’t my fault. It was-”

“Mr. Potter.” Professor McGonagall held up a hand to stop him from speaking. She stared at him for a moment, and her face softened a bit as she sighed. “Mr. Potter, regardless of whose fault it was, tardiness is against the school’s rules, and detention is the usual punishment.”

Seeing that his Head of House could not change the facts of the situation, Harry stopped arguing. She was not at fault, and he did not want to argue with her. “Yes, Professor. I didn’t know he’d given me a detention, that’s all. I’ll go to his office at eight.”

McGonagall paused, looking less unstoppable than usual. “Very well,” she said at last. “I will remind Professor Lockhart to inform students of their punishments, even when said punishments are standardised.”

With another nod, the Head of Gryffindor House strode back to the high table.

“That’s total bollocks!” Ron said, quietly enough not to be overheard by McGonagall. “He’s the one who made you late!”

“I know,” Harry said, stabbing his fork into a potato. “Wouldn’t change anything, though. We’ll tell her the whole story tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll listen.”

“Won’t help you tonight,” Ron muttered.

Near the end of the lunch hour, Luna strolled into the hall. She spotted Ginny and waved, but she walked over to the Ravenclaw table. There, she picked up two rolls and began eating one as she crossed the hall to the Gryffindor table. Wordlessly, she sat backwards on the bench next to Ginny, her feet poking out into the aisle and her unkempt hair falling dangerously close to a dish of beef.

“Hello, everyone. How are you today?” Luna said before taking another bite of her roll, turning her head sideways to see them.

“Well,” Ginny said, “the boys got detention for tonight, and we had a run-in with Malfoy this morning, but I suppose we’re all right for now.”

Keeping her feet firmly planted, Luna contorted further to face Ron. “What did you get detention for, Ronald?”

Ron averted his eyes from Luna and answered in a mumble. “Got here by flying car, didn’t I? Then I hexed Malfoy.”

“I don’t see how either of those things was terribly wrong of you, but I suppose they are against the rules. I hope you enjoy your detentions.”

Ron snorted and briefly met Luna’s gaze. “Not likely, but thanks anyway.”

Luna smiled. “You’re welcome. And you, Harry?”

“Long story,” Harry said. “Basically, I was late for Herbology the other day.”

“Oh, that was wrong of you. Professor Flitwick made that quite clear. Did you apologise to Professor Sprout?”

“Well . . . no.”

“You should.”

Harry shrugged, but despite his innocence, Luna’s words left a gnawing feeling of guilt in his stomach. “I’ll remember next time.”

“It wasn’t his fault, Luna,” Ginny said. “Like he said, it’s a long story.”

Luna frowned. “That does sound confusing.”

“Don’t you want more than a couple of rolls for lunch?” Ron asked.

“No,” Luna said, shaking her head and sending her hair floating around her shoulders. “I had too much breakfast. I like breakfast.”

“Wait’ll tomorrow,” Ron said. “It’s even bigger on Sundays.”

“That’s delightful. Thank you, Ronald.”

Ginny tugged on Luna’s sleeve to regain her attention. “What did you want to do this afternoon?”

“I’ve been walking ‘round the castle, meeting the portraits. I’d like to keep doing that, if you don’t mind.”

Meeting the portraits?

Why not? Ginny said. Just because we never thought of it doesn’t mean it’s not interesting.

“Sure, Luna,” Harry said. “I don’t think I know any of them except the one outside our common room.”

“Oh, they all know you,” Luna said. “Hermione, would you like to join us?”

Hermione’s smile was friendly and not at all contrived. “No, thank you, Luna. I’d prefer to do some reading.”

“That’s all right. It’s your Saturday, too. Ronald?”

“Err . . . no, thanks.”

“All right. I’m ready when you are, Harry and Ginny.” She turned back towards the aisle, munching on her second roll and ignoring the looks she was getting from the nearby Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.

“We’ll see you later in the common room,” Ginny said to Hermione and Ron. She and Harry finished their pumpkin juice and left the Great Hall with Luna.

For most of the afternoon, they wandered the main passages of the castle. All of the corridors had at least one portrait every few yards, in addition to a scattering of landscapes and other relatively fixed paintings. Luna said that, after the first day of classes, she had begun wandering at random and introducing herself to the subjects of the portraits. When she got lost, the people in the pictures were always glad to point her back in the right direction.

None of the subjects they met that afternoon were terribly interesting, but some were quite strange. Most memorable of them was a small knight who charged from painting to painting on his ‘courser’, which Harry and Ginny privately agreed was nothing more than an overweight pony. Sir Cadogan, as the little chevalier identified himself, delighted in charging headlong at anything that stood in his path. In one corridor, the three students watched him engage in battle with several trees, a stone hut, two cliffs, and a rather large windmill. The woman living in the windmill, amidst her screeching, told Luna that Sir Cadogan actually lived in a distant tower someplace, but he charged through her painting at least once per week.

Ginny and Harry enjoyed the impromptu tour, but they could not imagine spending a lot of time talking to the portraits. Luna, however, revelled in the opportunity, asking each portrait about its history. The pictures of real people always had plenty to say, and the fictional characters were absolute experts on the contents of their own paintings.

As they walked along, Luna talked about her first few days at Hogwarts, and Harry and Ginny were happy to listen to their friend’s excited stories. As far as they could tell, Luna was having a wonderful time in the castle, but Ginny noticed that Luna did not talk about her housemates very much. Harry and Ginny hoped that Luna was simply still settling in with her room-mates and the other Ravenclaws.

Not long before dinner, the three friends were on the fifth floor near the stairs. “We had fun this afternoon, Luna,” Ginny said. “We’d like to go back to our dormitories for a while before dinner, though.”

“That’s fine, Alex,” Luna said. “I’m looking forward to dinner myself.”

“Let’s meet up again sometime soon. Maybe we could introduce you to Hagrid.”

“All right.” Luna hugged them each and then waved as she set off down the corridor. “See you later.”

“’Bye, Luna.”

Harry and Ginny climbed the last two flights to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

It’s odd that she’s here in the castle all the time, but we really don’t see her very much, Ginny said a bit wistfully.

Yeah. Different year, different house. All we really get is a few minutes here and there in the halls or at meals.

We’ll just have to do the best we can with what we’ve got. I’d hate for her to be lonely.

Harry scratched his head. We’ll keep up with her, of course, but I think she’ll be all right. ‘Lonely’ isn’t the same for Luna as it is for other people, I think.

Ginny smiled and looped her arm through his, squeezing him cheerfully. You’re getting dreadfully clever, you know.

It’s the company I keep.

Dinner that evening was much like a reversed version of lunch. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione started out talking cheerfully, but as the meal went on, the looming prospect of their detentions dampened the boys’ spirits. The injustice of his punishment rankled in Harry’s mind, and Ron’s upcoming evening with Mr. Filch made it very easy to ignore the blatant rule-breaking that had landed him to detention in the first place.

“Oh, cheer up,” Hermione said. “It will only be a few hours. Nothing can be so horrid if it ends quickly.”

Ron snorted. “So says the person who’s never had detention.”

“That doesn’t make my point any less valid, Ron.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ron said, glaring a bit at Hermione. “While you’re in the common room enjoying yourself and I’m scraping gunk off of toilets with my fingernails, I’ll be sure to remember that your point is valid.”

The brunette blinked. “Is it really that bad?”

“Like I said, you’ve never had detention. I’ve at least heard the twins talk about theirs, and they say Filch makes the whole thing even worse.”

“I’d almost take Filch, just so I’d know what to expect,” Harry said. “With Lockhart, who knows what he’ll have me do? Writing lines about how wonderful he is would be just as bad as Filch.” At Ron’s flat stare, Harry added, “Well, almost.”

Don’t worry, Harry, Ginny said, squeezing his hand under the table. I’ll keep you company.

I know. Maybe you can find something fun to do while I’m doing whatever.

At a quarter to eight, Ron and Harry left the girls on a sofa in the common room. They walked together down to the second floor, where Harry waved at his friend and turned down the corridor towards Lockhart’s office. He was a few minutes early, but not wanting to be caught standing around, he knocked on the wooden door.

The door opened, and Lockhart stood behind it. The ostentatious man grinned just as he did on the covers of his books, and his eyebrow crooked knowingly. “Welcome, Harry. Come in, won’t you?”

Do you suppose I could say no? Harry asked.

Trudging into the room, he found it even more garishly decorated than the Defence classroom. Large, animated portraits of Lockhart hung on every wall, winking, preening, and smirking at each other constantly. Directly across from the professor’s desk was a larger painting, showing Lockhart squared off with a large troll.

Ginny, who had a book open in her lap without actually reading it, stifled a laugh. Trolls do not cower and back away like that just because you brandish your wand and toss your hair about.

“Now, Harry,” Lockhart said, leaning against his desk and drawing Harry’s attention, “I don’t really believe in harsh punishments for silly things like being late. After all, we have to live our lives, don’t we? So you won’t be getting your hands dirty. Come, sit.” He gestured at a student desk which had been pulled into the room.

Harry sat down facing Lockhart’s desk and with his back to the ridiculous troll. As he did, he noticed two stacks of parchment on the desk.

Lockhart sat in his own chair, and his smile grew. “Fan mail! I get loads of it, of course. I simply don’t have time to answer it while teaching, so you’re going to help me. Those,” he pointed at one of the stacks on Harry’s desk, “are ready for simple responses. These,” he rested his other hand on a smaller pile on his own desk, “are for my eyes only.”

I’d rather clean toilets with my fingernails, I think.

Hang in there, Harry.

“Err . . . what do I say?” Harry asked.

“Precisely what I would say!” Lockhart said, springing up from his chair again. He unrolled a sheet of parchment and laid it on Harry’s desk. “There are three types of letters in your pile, and here are the three responses. All you have to do is write out the correct one, using the proper names and all that, onto the autographed parchment in the other pile. Then roll it up for delivery and move on to the next.”

Resigned to his task, Harry unfolded the first letter and scanned it. An elderly witch had read Lockhart’s autobiography, and apparently it ‘spoke to her’ and made her ‘appreciate the people who toiled so that she might have a quiet life.’ A response of a few sentences was written under ‘Autobiography’ on Lockhart’s reply sheet. Harry pulled a sheet of pre-signed parchment in front of him and began copying the reply.

Won’t she wonder why the handwriting looks so different? Ginny asked.

I’d expect so, but that’s his problem. Besides, if she’s writing to him, what are the odds she’ll care?

In the common room, Ginny shrugged and turned a page of her book.

“What’s he doing?” Hermione whispered.

Ginny glanced around, but no one was within a few feet of them. “Answering fan mail,” she replied.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Really?” she asked, her voice several steps higher.

“Yeah.” Ginny examined her friend’s startled look, and she made a guess. “You wrote him a letter, didn’t you?”

“No! I . . . well . . . I thought about it.”

“Hermione, please,” Ginny said, taking the other girl’s hand. “Please don’t. You can’t imagine how silly those letters sound when they’re all bunched up, and you’re just not a silly person.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said. She looked a bit crestfallen, but then she smiled. “After all, I could just speak to him in person, couldn’t I?”

Ginny and Harry both sighed. “Yeah, I suppose you could,” she said.

For the rest of the evening, Harry copied responses. Ginny, unfortunately, was unable to do anything entertaining without distracting him too much, so she pretended to read. Along with her revision, Hermione made sure to warn Ginny whenever someone was approaching who might seek their attention.

By half past ten, Ginny and Harry were incredibly bored, but Lockhart pressed onwards, oblivious to the late hour. He sat at his desk, smiling and chuckling as he read his mail. Occasionally he would stop and write a reply, but either way he ignored Harry completely.

Hermione yawned, and Ginny realised that it was not the first time. “Go on to bed, Hermione,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Most people have left already, anyway.”

“Are you sure?” her friend asked. “I don’t mind.”

“I know, but you’re tired, and it’s just not necessary. I’m sure it won’t be much longer before we’re done.”

“Well, all right,” Hermione said. “But if you want company, don’t be afraid to wake me.”

Never going to happen.

Ginny smiled. “Thanks, Hermione. That’s really kind of you.”

“Goodnight, Ginny.”

“’Night.”

The common room was nearly empty. Ginny dug her handmade playing cards out of her bag and slid to the floor in front of the sofa. With practised, unhurried movements, she dealt a game of patience. Harry had copied each response often enough that it did not require quite so much concentration, which meant that they could play the game without slowing his work noticeably.

Some time later, the portrait opened, and Ron stomped into the tower. “Hi, Ron,” Ginny said, looking up from her cards. “Bad?”

Her brother’s face was set into a frown, and he dropped onto the sofa with his arms crossed. “Awful,” he said. “Filch had me straightening the portraits, but Peeves kept coming by to upset them again.” Ron glanced down at the cards arrayed on the floor. “You and Harry still at it?”

“Yeah. Answering Lockhart’s fan mail.”

“Seriously?”

“Serio usly,” Ginny said. “You wouldn’t believe how stupid people get when they write him letters.”

Ron grinned a bit at that. “A few weeks ago I’d not have been surprised if you wrote him a letter. You thought he’d hung the moon.”

Ginny picked up a wad of discarded parchment and lobbed it at his head, but he batted it away. “Sod off,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration and bitterness. “He isn’t like I thought he’d be.”

Ron nodded. After a few moments of silence, he said, “Fan mail?”

She flicked another card from her hand to the floor. “Yeah.”

With a grunt, the tall boy pushed up from the sofa and started towards the boys’ stairs. “I’ll take the portraits.”

Me, too, Harry said, adding another ‘Other Written Works’ letter to the stack of completed copies.

A few minutes before midnight, Lockhart finally looked up from his letters. “Heavens! Look at the time.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, trying feebly to feign surprise.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?” the professor asked. Without waiting for a response, he stood up, stretched, and crossed to clap Harry on the back. “Well done, Harry. That’s a good bit of work you’ve saved me. The practice might someday be good for you, so we both win, eh?”

Harry grunted in response. After responding as well as he could to Lockhart’s cheerful farewell, Harry stumbled out of the office and back up the stairs to Gryffindor tower. He and Ginny were grateful that he did not encounter any professors, poltergeists, or caretakers on the way.

Saved him some work, Harry grumbled. He set the whole thing up so I’d have to do that, I bet.

Gathering her cards, Ginny nodded. I think you’re right.

The common room was empty of other students when Harry arrived, and he walked directly into Ginny’s hug. Her eyes closed as they leaned on one another. Time for bed?

Merlin, yes. See you in a minute.

When they were curled up together in Harry’s bed, with Ginny safely under the Cloak and Bun-bun nestled between them, Harry breathed a long sigh. I really hope Professor McGonagall will listen to us about this.

She will, I’m sure of it, Ginny said. I just don’t know that she can do anything about it.

You mean she can’t change the fact that I’ve just spent some four hours wishing I was anywhere else? Pity.

Ginny patted his chest. It’s over now. Go to sleep.

Yeah. Thanks, Ginny.

Any time, Harry. She grinned in the darkness. All the time, in fact.

Harry nodded in their minds, his body already drifting off. All the time.

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Thu, 07/29/2010 - 13:58 — NotACat

Witness the unfairness inherent in the system

Here we see the consequences of McGonagall assuming that her fellow teachers would never assign an unfair detention…which is remarkable given how long she's had to put up with Snape and his vendetta against her Gryffindors. At least your McGonagall isn't quite so bad as in canon, as we'll witness in the next chapter IIRC, but everybody has to be stupid once in a while, as we saw last year when she refused to consider the possiblity that the children might have twigged to the Stone plot while the staff (or at least most of them) remained blissfully ignorant.

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Meaning of One, Part Two: Chambers and Secrets - Chapter 11: Misdirection by Sovran

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Witness the unfairness inherent in the system