Exchanges

The morning after their detention with Lockhart, Harry and Ginny spent a few hours relaxing in the common room with Ron and Hermione. The two boys passed the time complaining about their detentions, but Ginny kept an eye out for Neville, hoping to have some sort of conversation with him. As far as she and Harry could determine, the round-faced boy had not returned to Gryffindor Tower after breakfast, and they had not seen him at lunch.

The third time Ginny craned her neck to see who was coming into the common room, Hermione sighed and put down her Potions book. “He has to come back sometime, Ginny,” she said. “Don’t fret about it.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“C’mon,” Harry said. “It’s time to meet with Professor McGonagall, anyway.”

He and Ginny packed away their things and left the tower. A few minutes later, Professor McGonagall welcomed them into her office, and soon they were comfortably ensconced on the sofa with hot cups of tea. Their minds, however, were less settled. They knew that the conversation they wanted to have might not be pleasant.

McGonagall saved them from bringing up the sore topic. “Would you like to discuss your brother Ronald’s punishment?”

Not exactly what we were after, but it’s a start, Harry said.

“Well, sort of, Professor,” Ginny said. “He hexed another student, and we know that’s against the rules, but . . . I think he got a really harsh detention. Especially since Malfoy called Hermione . . . err . . . did Oliver tell you?”

“Yes, he did, and you need not repeat it.” She sighed and set down her cup. “Ginny, Harry, you must first understand that you have no real right to know what I’m about to tell you. The situation, from the school’s point of view, was between Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy, with you others as witnesses to the events. However, I am quite sure that everyone else involved will be spreading the story liberally, so I am willing to explain the circumstances to you this once. Do you understand that you may not question me about every decision the teachers make?”

Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably, knowing that they were planning to do just that when the conversation gave them a chance, but he nodded as they thought about the general idea. “Yes, Professor.”

“Very well. Mr. Wood came directly to me, as I believe he told you he would. That was quite fortunate, as it happens. The Slytherin team had taken Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing while one of their number fetched Professor Snape. If I had not arrived at the same time, having heard the story from Mr. Wood and Mr. Creevey, then Professor Snape might have punished Mr. Weasley without hearing all of the details. Your brother might well have faced much worse than two weekends of detention.”

Ginny and Harry had no trouble imagining that Snape would enact the most severe punishment he could concoct, and two detentions was not so terrible on that scale. “All right, Professor,” Ginny said. “That makes sense. If you don’t mind my asking, though, why didn’t Malfoy get detention, too?”

“That, Ginny, is a perfectly fair question. To be honest, I would certainly have given him detention for using such a foul word, but I thought it would be very difficult to justify the punishment given that he was still coughing up slugs. Your brother’s spell was remarkably long-lasting. I took house points, instead.”

Harry and Ginny grinned and were rewarded with the tiniest twist of their professor’s lips, showing that their friend and confidante remained beneath their Head of House’s demeanour.

“Thank you for telling us,” Harry said. “There was . . . err . . . one other thing we wanted to ask about.” McGonagall’s raised eyebrow spoke volumes, and Harry continued quickly. “Not to question anything. Just . . . ahh . . . to explain something?” Harry had not intended to ask a question, but the professor’s expression made firm statements very difficult.

After a moment, McGonagall nodded. “I am always happy to listen to explanations, Harry, provided that you understand that our conversations here will not necessarily change any outcomes.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said. “It’s too late, anyway. The thing is . . . d’you remember how Professor Lockhart gave me detention for being late to Herbology?”

“I do. He promised to be more diligent about informing students of their punishments.”

“That’s just it, Professor. He’s the one who made me late for Herbology.”

McGonagall’s face stilled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Harry was with all the rest of us when we went down to the greenhouses from breakfast,” Ginny said. “We were all waiting outside for Professor Sprout, and Lockhart came along with her a few minutes later.”

“Professor Lockhart, Ginny,” McGonagall said, though her tone lacked conviction.

“Sorry,” Ginny said. “Professor Lockhart asked to speak to Harry for a minute and kept him outside while the rest of us went in. Harry would have been on time if the professor hadn’t held him back.”

McGonagall was silent for a few heartbeats, and Harry spoke up to convince her. “We can’t truly prove it, I suppose, but I’m sure that any of the other second-years there would tell you the same thing.”

“And if I were to ask Professor Sprout, would she tell me the same thing?” the professor asked, her gaze sharpening.

Harry and Ginny straightened reflexively. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “It’s the truth.”

The stern woman’s posture relaxed, and she waved her free hand. “Please, be comfortable. I apologise for interrogating you. Of course you’re telling the truth.” She tapped her fingernails against her cup, staring out of her office window. “I assumed you’d had another confrontation with Mr. Malfoy or some such,” she muttered. At last, with another small sigh, she faced them again. “As I said, what you’ve told me cannot affect your punishment. However, I promise you that I will remember what you have said, and I will keep a close eye on Professor Lockhart in the future.”

That’s about the best we could hope for, isn’t it?

Yeah, Ginny said. I can’t picture her marching out of here and throwing him out of the castle.

“If I may ask, Harry, what did Professor Lockhart wish to say? You do not have to answer, of course.”

Ginny tossed her hair behind her shoulder and locked her gaze on McGonagall’s. “He told Harry not to get too close to me. Said girls are useless, more or less.”

“Did he, now?” McGonagall asked in a low voice. Harry and Ginny both nodded. “Well, then. We’ll be proving him wrong, won’t we, Ginny?”

“He doesn’t need to be proved wrong,” Harry mumbled. “He’s already proved himself stupid.”

Both women smiled at him, and Ginny leaned her head on his shoulder as a warm rush of affection passed between them.

“Oh, well put, Harry, well put,” McGonagall said. “Now, on to more useful topics.

“Sometime soon, perhaps this week, Professor Flitwick will introduce your class to a new spell. I’ll not tell you what it is, because it’s one of his favourite lessons for surprising students. What’s important is that it’s from the third category of spells.” She held up a calming hand at Harry and Ginny’s worried looks. “I am confident that you will be able to control the spell adequately, because it is difficult to make it dangerous unintentionally. Manipulating the charm will feel very similar to manipulating the throw-dough conjuration, so I’d like the two of you to continue practicing that this afternoon. Hopefully, when the time comes, you’ll have no trouble at all in your Charms lesson.”

Harry and Ginny spent the rest of their time with McGonagall hurling dough across the office, and although their dough-balls lacked the consistency of their best, McGonagall did not comment on the change.

As they were leaving, Harry remembered their last question. “Oh, Professor, do you happen to know if anyone is using the pitch this afternoon?”

“Unless someone has booked it for a special practice, it is available until five o’clock.”

“Would it be all right if we use it until then?”

“Certainly. You’re working to correct the problems you told me about when you both fly?” Harry nodded. “Very well. You should leave if a full team arrives to practice, but otherwise you have my permission. If anyone questions you, refer them to me.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Ginny said. “Have a nice afternoon.”

“Good luck, Harry and Ginny.”

With a smile and wave for their professor, they hurried back to Gryffindor tower.

Pulling Ron and Hermione away from the common room was easy enough, but the twins needed a few minutes to get away from Angelina, Alicia, and Lee. By the time all six students had gathered at the pitch, they only had an hour to practice.

At Hermione’s suggestion, Harry, Ginny, and the twins confined their flight to one end of the pitch. Ron remained on the ground below, ready to Levitate any of them in case of an accident. Hermione sat high in the stands, her wand also ready, watching the fliers and keeping an eye out for anyone who might approach the pitch.

With both of the twins available to help, Harry and Ginny each had someone on the broom with them at all times. George flew behind Ginny with little protest, but apparently Fred could not pass up the opportunity.

“All right then, my young lad,” Fred said as they settled into an easy warm-up lap. “This part of the broom is called the handle. Can you say ‘han-dle’? If you push down on it, the broom goes down. If you pull up, the broom goes up.”

“What if I do this?” Harry performed a quick roll, which very nearly dropped Fred headfirst onto the grass. Only the older boy’s desperate grip on Harry’s torso kept him on the broom.

“Ah, well,” Fred said after slowly releasing Harry’s shoulders, “perhaps we’ll just let you figure out the basics as we go along, eh?”

Harry and Ginny flew in slow laps, rising and falling separately as much as possible. Occasionally, one of the twins would take over flying while they sorted out their senses. As the hour progressed, Harry and Ginny found it easier to fly for longer periods without assistance.

Should we get you your own Nimbus? Harry asked as he and Ginny steadily bobbed their separate ways around the pitch. Then we’d be able to practice on the same brooms we really fly on.

The thought of having her own broom thrilled Ginny, but she forced herself to think about the idea practically. I don’t think it’s worth it, Harry. Flying separately, there’s nothing we can do that the twins’ brooms can’t, and we won’t have to play Quidditch together any time soon.

We could get you one anyway.

With a small sigh, Ginny let reason override her excitement. I know, but it’d be silly right now. Let’s wait until we can really have some fun with two brooms instead of just going round and round in circles.

“This is starting to look easy,” George said. “Let’s try something else.”

Ginny nodded and, after a moment’s thought, began slaloming across the width of the pitch while Harry continued his shallow climbs and dives. The change in Ginny’s motion did, in fact, confuse their senses more quickly, and they spent the rest of their hour working on the new combination before they landed and thanked the twins.

Their progress on the pitch gave Harry and Ginny a warm, satisfied feeling. They returned to the common room with their friends and settled in to revise a bit before dinner.

The first full week of classes cemented Harry and Ginny’s feeling that life at Hogwarts was fully back to normal. Ginny, out of a sort of morbid curiosity, kept track of their personal house points on a scrap of parchment she kept in her satchel. In one week, they lost fifteen points, all deducted by Snape and all for spurious offences. At the same time, they gained twelve points from the other professors, including five from Professor McGonagall for demonstrating a thorough mastery of the beetle-button Transfiguration. In the end, they were content that they could mostly balance out Snape’s prejudice. They knew that Hermione and several of the other students were more than capable of ensuring that Gryffindor’s point total actually increased every week.

On Saturday morning, Harry and Ginny had an uninterrupted Quidditch practice while Ron suffered through the morning with Professor Snape. The tall boy entered the Great Hall for lunch with a fierce scowl on his face, and when asked about the detention, he spent several minutes describing the most efficient way to clean overcooked, months-old armadillo bile out of a one-ounce vial using only the tip of a quill. After his recitation, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione all let him eat his lunch in silence, and they carefully avoided all mention of Snape, vials, quills, or armadillos for the rest of the day.

After lunch, Ron was in a decidedly better mood, and the four of them caught up with Luna in the Entrance Hall. After a brief discussion, they decided to visit Hagrid. The day was clear and cool, and Luna seemed delighted as they walked down the long path to the gamekeeper’s cabin.

I guess her second week went better than her first, Harry said, watching their friend smile as she looked around at the grounds.

Everyone’s probably does.

Hagrid was waiting for them in the doorway with a huge smile. “I can reco’nise yeh lot righ’ from the doors. But who’s yer li’l fair-headed friend?”

“Hagrid,” Hermione said, “this is our friend, Luna Lovegood. She’s a first-year in Ravenclaw. Luna, this is Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper.”

“Well, ‘ello, Luna,” Hagrid said. “Nice ter meet yeh. Jus’ call me Hagrid.”

Luna craned her neck back and smiled. “Hello, Hagrid. I believe you’re quite the largest person I’ve ever met.”

“Glad t’ hear it,” the big man replied. “Let’s hope it stays tha’ way, eh? Come on inside, all of yeh.”

Hagrid led them inside and found places for them all to sit, although Ron ended up perched on an upturned crate. As usual, the tea was hot, the food was inedible, and Fang wasted no time in dropping his head into Hermione’s lap. With a furtive look at Hagrid, she tucked her handkerchief between the dog’s drooling jaws and her jeans.

“Now, then,” Hagrid said. “How were yer ‘olidays?”

Ron and Hermione both looked at Ginny, but she shrugged. “We had fun,” she said. “Harry came to stay with us for the last half, and Hermione came by for my birthday. Luna lives close by, so she came over a few times, too.”

“You two’ve known each other a long while, then?”

“Yes,” Luna said, looking away from the many things hanging in Hagrid’s rafters. “Ginny’s my oldest friend.”

“Far’s I know,” Hagrid said, chuckling, “she’s my youngest, ‘less yer jus’ barely eleven yerself.”

Luna blinked once at Hagrid, but then she grinned. “No, I was born first. I suppose she’s my youngest friend, too.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. That topic has to get old sometime, doesn’t it?

Not until you do.

“Luna,” Ginny said loudly, “tell Hagrid about the nundus.”

Luna nodded. “All right. Daddy and I went to Africa last year, Hagrid. He’s campaigning to have nundus declared an endangered species.”

“Blimey, really?” Hagrid asked. “Did yeh see one?”

“No,” Luna said. “We saw a few tracks, though. The prints make wonderful pools for wading.”

Hagrid shook his shaggy head. “I’ll be. There’s few enough tha’ get t’ see even tha’ much. Always dreamed o’ seein’ a nundu, but I reckon it isn’ tha’ likely.”

“One of the people Daddy met with talked about that. He said that if we find a way to track them and keep people from getting in their way, then we ought to be able to find a way for people to see them from a distance.”

“Wouldn’ be too hard, now would it?” Hagrid asked, looking around at the other students. “Not like yeh have t’ get very close t’ see ‘em an’ all. If yer dad ever gets tha’ started, Luna, you let me know, all righ’?”

“Of course.” Luna looked up again. “Excuse me, but is that unicorn hair?”

Following her gaze, Harry and Ginny saw a loose bundle of long, silvery hairs hanging from one of the rafters.

“Sure is,” Hagrid said. “I find one ever’ week or so in the forest.”

“What do you do with them, Hagrid?” Hermione asked.

“Well, once they’ve hung a bit, I take the good ones down to Ollivander’s. He’s been gettin’ most of ‘is unicorn hair from the forest fer as long as I can remember.” Hagrid snorted loudly, causing the students to lean away from him. “Professor Lockhart was in here jes’ yesterday, tellin’ me he’d once had a job gatherin’ unicorn hairs right from their tails. If tha’ bloke’s been within twenty yards of a unicorn in the las’ forty years, I’m a house-elf.”

The five friends stared at him, and Hagrid shook his head. “Shouldn’a said that.”

“You . . . you don’t like Professor Lockhart?” Hermione asked.

Hagrid sighed. “He’s not my favourite person in th’ world, no. Tryin’ to tell me I’m hangin’ the hairs all wrong, when anyone can see plain as day they’re hangin’ jus’ right. Then, this mornin’, he comes down ‘ere tellin’ me how to get them kelpies out of my well. As if I don’ know.”

Hermione frowned slightly. “Well, he is the Defence professor. Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t the most qualified candidate for the job.”

“Most qualified?” Hagrid shook his shaggy head. “He was the only person who’d take it. Folks’re startin’ to think the position’s cursed, y’see. No one’s lasted more’n a year since . . . well, it’s been a good while.”

“Still,” Hermione said, unfazed, “I’m sure he was just trying to help.”

With surprising subtlety, Hagrid’s gaze slid to Ginny, and he raised his eyebrows in question. Ginny gave a tiny, silent sigh and shrugged.

“Yer prob’ly righ’, Hermi’ne,” Hagrid said.

Luna nodded. “He does tell very exciting stories.”

“Pretty exciting lessons sometimes, too,” Ron said wryly.

The four second-years spent the next several minutes describing their first Defence lesson. The story left Luna looking a bit puzzled, but Hagrid roared in laughter, shaking the walls of his cabin.

“Did anyone ask the pixies to go back into the cage?” Luna wondered.

“Pixies can’t really hear our voices, Luna,” Hagrid said as he continued to chortle. “Their ears aren’ built righ’ fer it. If yeh wan’ t’ settle a pixie, though, all yeh have to do is throw out a bit o’ beef. They’ll swarm all over it, not eatin’ it, but jus’ lickin’ it. Makes a righ’ mess o’ th’ beef, but they’re as calm as ol’ Fang here when they’re done.”

Luna smiled brilliantly and started an animated conversation with Hagrid about obscure magical creatures. She asked him question after question, and though Harry and Ginny had only heard of a few of the things she mentioned, Hagrid managed to answer nearly a quarter of her queries. The rest involved things her father had told her about but Hagrid had never heard of. He did not seem bothered by the odd questions, though Hermione developed a rather glazed expression. When the students finally left, Luna waved cheerfully at Hagrid, and Ginny and Harry were happy that she had found a new friend who understood her love of magical creatures.

On Sunday, Professor McGonagall had Harry and Ginny spend their whole session together working on the dough-ball spell. With a few hours of supervised practice behind them, they were getting better at controlling the size, colour, and consistency of their dough. With Harry’s wand, either of them could produce a five-inch mound of dough in any colour they chose. Sometimes their smallest balls were a bit dry or moist, but they could correct that problem if the ball were only an inch larger. With Ginny’s wand, their results were not as good, but their improvement from the holidays was significant.

During the practice session, Harry and Ginny chatted with Professor McGonagall about almost everything that crossed their minds, as they always had. The conversation rambled from an explanation of Wood’s training regimen to a summary of their classes from a student’s perspective, which the professor seemed genuinely interested to hear about. Eventually, Ginny broached the subject of Neville, and although Professor McGonagall’s advice was not immediately helpful, she helped Harry and Ginny to accept that their reconciliation with the other boy might not be quick or easy.

In spite of the amount of work they did during their time with McGonagall, Harry and Ginny left it feeling calmer and more content than they had been before. As always, it seemed, simply being allowed to talk freely about their lives together was an indescribable boon.

Two days later, most of the second-years spent their evening revising anxiously. They had double Herbology the next morning, and Sprout had hinted that they would be tested on their lessons so far. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione shared a table with their books and various drawings of Mandrakes spread out between them.

At the next table, the twins and their friends were hard at work on a Potions essay. Harry and Ginny were engrossed in their revision when a flurry of activity from the fourth-years caught their attention.

“. . . thought it was asphodel?” Alicia asked, flipping rapidly through the pages of a textbook.

Fred shook his head, also searching a book. “Nah, that one gets powdered. I’m sure he said chopped something.”

Hermione had also noticed the discussion. “What is it you’re looking for?” she asked, turning towards the other table.

“Snape’s got us researching the Wit-Sharpening Potion so we can make it later,” George said. “All he did was tell us the ingredients, but he went really fast. Somehow, none of us managed to write down the third one. He wouldn’t say it all again, the old git, and it doesn’t seem to be in our book.”

Angelina put her head in her hands, scowling in thought. “Ground scarab beetle, armadillo bile, and . . . something. Damn.”

Ron shuddered silently.

“Oh,” Hermione said, straightening and smiling proudly. “It’s ginger root. Sliced, I think.”

“Yes!” Lee crowed. “Ginger root! That was it.”

“Blimey, Hermione,” Fred said. “How’d you know that?”

“Oh, well . . .” Hermione coloured slightly, but her smile remained. “When I learned the common ingredients last year, I made up ways to remember what they were usually used for. Ginger tastes a bit sharp sometimes, right? So that helps me remember it’s the Wit-Sharpening Potion.”

George nodded at her. “That’s brilliant.”

“Rotten for us, though,” Alicia said. “How’re we supposed to write two feet on ginger? I mean, it’s just ginger, right?”

“Well . . .” Hermione began, but then she trailed off.

“What, Hermione?” Fred asked. “We’ll take any help we can get.”

“I’m happy to help, but . . . I really don’t like just giving people the answers.”

The twins snorted. “That’s all right, then,” George said. “But d’you suppose you could help us work out the question? Point us in the right direction?”

“Oh, yes, that’s easy,” Hermione said. She rummaged through the books stacked next to her chair and pulled out her first-year Potions book. “It’s in here, in the chapter about basic ingredients.”

“Hang on, I remember now,” Lee said. “It’s one of those where it matters how you cut it, right?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Hermione said, looking excited and relieved as she rifled through her book. “It works differently based on the angle of the slice, and it’s used in different potions that way.”

“Wit-Sharpening is a mind potion,” Alicia said, “so it probably wants the triangle-slice.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I did,” Hermione said. She pointed at a passage in the text. “The book says that’s not it, though. Here, have a look.”

She stood and carried the book over to the fourth-years’ table, and in less than a minute she had sat down. All six of them peered at the first-year textbook, but they spoke in voices too low for Harry or Ginny to hear.

I think we’ve lost her for the evening, Harry said, grinning at Hermione’s intense expression.

At least she’s enjoying herself. I can’t imagine how, though.

Ron sighed and pushed his Herbology book away. Then, after glancing at Hermione and the fourth-years, he pulled a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages out of his satchel and began reading it instead.

Her brother’s behaviour gave Ginny an idea. While Harry kept a casual watch on Hermione to be sure she was fully occupied, Ginny crossed the common room to a bookshelf. It was crammed with battered textbooks, leisure books, a few ragged comics, stacks of old Witch Weekly issues, and an assortment of catalogues. Ginny picked out a few of the catalogues and brought them back to the table.

Let’s find a couple of things for her birthday, Ginny said. One chocolate frog and a card just won’t do this year.

Glad of the distraction, they searched for something Hermione might like, keeping in mind their promise not to get her anything as grand as the cashmere scarf from Christmas. Half an hour later, Harry made a surreptitious trip to the owlery and sent Hedwig off to Diagon Alley with two short notes. He slipped back into the common room while Hermione was still discussing Potions with the older students.

What do you suppose she’ll do when she remembers our Herbology revision? Harry asked.

Panic a bit, stay up late reading, fret about it at breakfast tomorrow, and then get top marks anyway.

“Hey, Ron,” Ginny said, drawing her brother’s attention away from his book. “Hermione’s birthday is on Saturday. Did you remember?”

Ron’s expression answered her question. “Err . . .”

“Never mind. Just get her something before then, all right? Let us know if you need help.”

Hedwig stayed busy that week. The next day she delivered a letter from The Burrow, in which Ginny’s parents offered general advice about their lessons. Mrs. Weasley, who had penned most of the letter, responded to Ginny’s opinion of Professor Lockhart by suggesting that they keep an open mind for a few more lessons. She then advised them to learn on their own, as they had the previous year, in case Lockhart proved to be ‘consistently unable to communicate his talent verbally.’

Mr. Weasley added a note in his own handwriting at the bottom. A few days earlier, while everyone in the castle had been at breakfast, he had returned to Hogwarts and taken Robin back to The Burrow. He thanked Harry and Ginny for watching the old car and reported that it was in excellent spirits. It had become more playful since its taste of freedom, so Mr. Weasley allowed it to roam in the paddock rather than keeping it in the garage.

“Blimey,” Ron said when he and Hermione had read the letter. “That car is alive!”

“No, Ron, it’s not,” Hermione said firmly. “Didn’t you hear Professor McGonagall tell us that no one can create something that’s truly alive? It’s one of the fundamental premises of Transfiguration, and it’s just the same for Charmed objects.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah? Then how do you explain this?” He waved the letter in her face.

“It simply has a lot of charms that are . . . err . . . interacting oddly,” Hermione said.

“He never Charmed it to roll around the paddock sniffing flowers, I promise you that,” Ron retorted.

“It does sort of sound like it’s alive,” Ginny said. “It was almost purring when we saw it, remember?”

“That’s not the same as really thinking for itself,” Hermione insisted, her tone indicating that the conversation was over.

The second-years had a short afternoon of lessons, so Ginny wrote a reply to her parents’ letter the same day. Rather than further exploring the sensitive topic of their Defence professor, Ginny and Harry decided to tell her parents about the meeting between Luna and Hagrid. They also wrote about the encounter with Malfoy, but they carefully avoided any mention of Ron’s hex or his punishment. To her father, they said that they were glad the Anglia was happy in some way and that no official trouble had come from her brothers’ adventure.

After a bit of thought about her own birthday, Ginny decided that Hermione deserved something more than a few presents delivered in the common room. If nothing else, that would mean that Luna could not attend, and Harry and Ginny were both confident that the two girls liked each other well enough that Luna would be welcome at Hermione’s celebration.

Who else should come, then, and where should we have it? Harry wondered.

Well, Ron, of course. The twins and their friends, too, I think. They all seem to have a great time when they drag her into their Potions revision.

Hagrid, too. He’d hate to miss it.

Oh, yes, Ginny said. Definitely.

That’s, what, eleven people? Where can we fit them all?

Well, we should plan to do it indoors in case it rains. Hagrid’s cabin would be good, but I think it’s too small. They thought for a moment. D’you suppose Professor McGonagall would let us use the Transfiguration room?

Harry shrugged. It’s worth asking.

After dinner that evening, Ginny caught up with their Head of House, and the older witch gave her permission after extracting a solemn promise that nothing in the room would be disturbed. With a location secured, Harry and Ginny climbed to the owlery and sent an invitation to Hagrid. The next day, Harry slipped away from Hermione long enough to inform Luna and the fourth-years of their plans. All of them were happy to attend, and Luna assured Harry that she could procure a gift on short notice. The twins and their friends had already started working on something for Hermione, though they did not tell Harry what it was.

The days passed, and Harry and Ginny went to each Charms lesson hoping that Professor Flitwick would introduce the spell that Professor McGonagall had mentioned. For most of the week, the tiny man continued his review of the previous year’s material. In the double lesson on Friday morning, however, he finally started something new.

“All right!” Flitwick said, climbing onto his desk once the students had all settled. “Now that we’re all nicely warmed-up for the term, it’s time to do something interesting. Wands out!”

No one ever put their wands away during Charms, but Flitwick always said the same thing. He waved his own wand, and several bolts of heavy cloth unfolded themselves, rose into the air, and fitted themselves across the windows. The room’s candles remained alight, but it took a moment for the students’ eyes to adjust.

“Light charms,” he said, smiling excitedly. “Light charms, everyone. Lumos!” Hermione and a few others dutifully lit their wands, but most of the class just looked at the professor, perplexed. “Come on, let’s see them. Aim at the walls and ceiling, if you please. Not into people’s eyes, Mr. Finnegan. Walls and ceiling only.”

When everyone had cast the charm, which was no longer a challenge even for Neville, the room was full of odd shadows and shifting bright spots. “Excellent,” Flitwick said. “Now, who can tell me something interesting about these lovely light charms?”

Hermione’s hand shot into the air. “The light is white,” she said, not waiting to be acknowledged. Flitwick’s class was the only one where such informality was normal.

“Quite right, Miss Granger,” he said over the sniggers of some of the students. “Her observation may sound trivial, but it is not. The colour of the light is one of the fundamental properties of the spell, as I suspect Miss Granger knows. Now, what else? Someone else, please.” No one raised a hand or spoke. “Come now, look around, and tell me something about this spell.”

Harry and Ginny dutifully examined the various charms, wracking their brains for any observation that might please the little man. Professor McGonagall’s words from the previous year came back to them, and they examined each beam of light more closely.

“They’re all the same,” Harry said, keeping his eyes on the charms.

“Oh?” Flitwick asked, drawing the word out into a blatant hint. “How so, Mr. Potter?”

Harry looked back to see the professor smiling and waggling his eyebrows excitedly. “Well,” Harry said, “they’re all white, like Hermione said, but they’re also all the same size and the same brightness.”

“Aha!” the diminutive man said, hopping a few inches into the air. “They’re the same. Yes, that’s it precisely. Mr. Potter, Miss Bulstrode, kindly keep your wands lit and pointing straight up. Everyone else can cancel the spell.” One by one, Flitwick and the other students lowered their wands, until only Harry’s and the large Slytherin girl’s lights remained. “Now that there are only two to look at, perhaps we can all see the similarities more easily. Tell me — does anyone see any differences?”

The room was silent for a few moments, and Flitwick hopped down from his desk. “I hope you don’t,” he said, walking down one of the aisles between the desks, “because there aren’t any. The Lumos charm always produces precisely the same effect. White light of a certain brightness, projected in a cone out of the tip of the wand. The cone is rather broad, so the spell provides general lighting, but nevertheless it is always the same.”

The professor stopped when he was standing halfway between Harry and Millicent. “Neither of them looks anything like this.” He flicked his wand, and a tight beam of green light shot out from his wand. It shone on the high ceiling of the classroom, but the resulting bright green circle was only a few inches across.

Harry and Ginny flinched, causing his Lumos charm to sway. The green beam had appeared in a flash, and it reminded them eerily of their recurring nightmare.

Flitwick moved his wrist, and the spot travelled across the ceiling and stopped on the front wall. “And neither of them can do this.” The green circle expanded, growing dimmer as it went, until it covered the front wall.

It’s just a light spell, Harry said. Right?

Right.

They focused on Flitwick’s words, pushing away their instinctive fear.

“Cancel your spells, please, Mr. Potter and Miss Bulstrode. Thank you.” When the only illumination in the room came from the dim candles and Flitwick’s spell, the professor changed the charm again, causing the circle of light to expand until it was not a circle at all. A green glow radiated in all directions, as though a tiny star had been captured at the tip of his wand. Then the light brightened, enhancing the resemblance, until Harry and Ginny both put up their hands to avoid looking directly at the shining green speck.

“Isn’t that interesting?” Flitwick whispered in the quiet room. “I can change the size of the cone, alter the brightness, and, should I cast it again . . .” The room went dark for a second, and then the same light appeared in a vivid purple. “. . . . I can change the colour entirely.”

Another moment of darkness, and then the room was illuminated by a bright, pale green glow. The colour was much softer than the lurid green flashes from Harry and Ginny’s nightmares, which made it easier to imagine that it was just general light of an odd colour. Harry looked over at Ginny. Her skin looked a bit sickly, and the brightness of her hair was strangely muted. Through her eyes, Harry’s hair shone in a way that reminded them of the shell of one of McGonagall’s beetles.

“As Miss Granger observed, the basic Lumos charm produces white light, and Mr. Potter correctly told us that the spell’s effects are rigidly fixed. This new charm, however, is just the opposite. The effects are quite flexible, and it can be cast in any colour of the rainbow, which by definition excludes white. Five points to Gryffindor for your helpful observations.

“A most useful spell, as I hope you all can see. The wand motion is the same tiny loop as we used for Lumos, and the incantation is Lumosfacila. Notice that the accent is no longer on the first syllable. It’s pronounced lu-mos-FA-ci-la. Wands up!” As the students raised their wands, Flitwick’s charm shrank to a cone of light, which he pointed at the ceiling again. “When I give the word, try the spell. Try to make your charm look just like mine — medium green and medium size. Go on! Lu-mos-FA-ci-la.”

Hermione immediately twirled her wrist and produced a charm that was only a bit dimmer than the professor’s. The colour was perhaps a shade or two darker, but it was still a very respectable green.

“Well done, Miss Granger!” Flitwick said.

The rapid appearance of more greenish lights caused Harry and Ginny’s hearts to race, but they continued to fight their instinctual fear. Instead, they focused on each student’s incantation, and the variation in the results showed how the Lumosfacila charm was different from the Killing Curse.

Dean Thomas’s light was yellow, but Flitwick applauded the result before having him re-cast the charm. Ron fumbled with the incantation for a minute before he produced a garish orange beam. Malfoy’s spell was green, but as Harry and Ginny watched, he extinguished it and cast again to produce a blood red colour.

“I said green, Mr. Malfoy!” Flitwick said, hurrying across the room. “We’ll move on to other colours once you’ve mastered green, and your first charm was a bit weak. One point from Slytherin for not following instructions.”

Malfoy’s lip curled, but he cast the charm in green again.

Ready? Ginny asked. You’d best try it first with the better wand.

Yeah, all right.

While working with Professor McGonagall, they had learned to associate certain practices and images with a carefully restrained spell. A tiny wand motion, a quiet incantation, a feeling as though the magic they were using was nothing more than a puff of air. With all of these in mind, Harry circled his wand and whispered, “Lumosfacila.”

To their delight, the spell’s light was not as bright as Ron’s, and the colour was tinged a tad more yellow than Flitwick’s example. Ginny, encouraged by his success, tried it herself. Her version was a touch brighter and more yellow than Harry’s, but it was one of the better efforts in the room. Their success distracted them even more from their memories of flashing green curses.

For the rest of the long lesson, they practiced the new charm. Flitwick never let them try any other colour, but he was very patient with those who tried but did not achieve the proper colour on the first few attempts. He also did not seem to mind that some students, including Harry and Ginny, produced slightly paler charms than the suggested bright green. When the room was full of green glows, he began teaching them how to widen or narrow their beams of light. Hermione earned two more points for Gryffindor when she widened her charm enough to leave only her wand hand in darkness. Seamus Finnegan narrowed his beam enough to amuse the class — or at least the Gryffindors and Flitwick — with shadow puppets cast on the stone wall.

After the excitement of Charms, their afternoon Defence class was woefully inadequate. Lockhart, as always, told stories from his books, complete with re-enactments. He conscripted students to act the parts of his enemies, and, unfortunately, Harry was the professor’s favourite victim. Harry was quite sure that everyone thought him a fool, because even Ginny had to laugh at his half-hearted imitation of the Bewitched Bear of Babylon.

Hermione insisted that Lockhart’s lessons provided them with valuable information about creative and skilful ways to use magic in the face of mortal peril, and Harry and Ginny reluctantly had to agree on that point. They countered, however, by saying that any of them could have learned the very same things simply by reading Lockhart’s books. The man had yet to teach them anything new or readily applicable, and they had not used their wands since the first lesson of the term.

That night, Harry and Ginny fell asleep without any difficulty. After what seemed like only a few minutes, however, a nightmare disturbed their sleep. They were together, suspended side-by-side in a featureless void. From all directions, bolts of lurid green light flashed towards them, and they scrambled to avoid being struck. Maniacal laughter poured into their ears and crescendoed each time they narrowly avoided one of the lightning-fast curses.

Through the tangle of spells, it began to rain. Liquid fell from all directions towards them, as though they were somehow in the centre of a three-dimensional drain. At first, they focused on dodging the curses without becoming separated, and the rain splashed harmlessly against their skin and clothes. Then Ginny looked down. The thick fluid spotting her robes, legs, and hair was silvery-blue, and it shone with a faint light of its own.

She wanted to scream, but she could not bear the thought of opening her mouth to that grotesque rain. Suddenly, she felt as though she could not breathe. She would have to open her mouth so that she did not suffocate.

“Ginny!” a voice called softly. “C’mon, Ginny, wake up!”

Ginny opened her eyes and sat up abruptly, shoving Ron’s hands away from her shoulders. Panting, she pushed the hair out of her eyes. In her mind, the rain stopped, but the green lights still flashed.

Harry!

Qui ckly, she turned back to Harry and stroked his face, pushing his sweaty fringe away from his brow. Her touch was more forceful than a simple caress, and it woke Harry almost instantly.

“Ruddy hell,” Harry whispered.

“You two all right?” Ron asked. He stood in the narrow space between the side of the bed and the curtains, clutching his wand in one hand and wiping the other on his pyjama shirt.

“Did I scream?” Ginny asked as quietly as she could, trying to calm her breathing enough to hear whether or not the other boys were awake.

“No,” Ron said. “One of you was thrashing around or something, but I didn’t really hear anything. The heat woke me up. Don’t think anyone else noticed.”

Harry and Ginny each released a quiet, relieved breath. She tugged the Invisibility Cloak completely over her head and body, and then Harry pulled open the curtains to allow the heat to dissipate.

Ron moved to perch at the foot of their bed. “What happened?” he whispered. “Thought you’d done with the nightmares.”

“Mostly,” Harry said. “Every now and then we get a little one, but today . . .” He shivered in the cooling air. “Too many green lights.”

While they had never told Ron the full contents of their nightmares, he knew enough, and the connection was not particularly difficult to make. “Oh.” He grinned feebly. “Well, I tried for orange, you know, but old Flitwick wasn’t having any of it.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks anyway.”

One of the other curtained beds produced a rustling sound, and Harry and Ginny froze. They glanced about, but there was no further noise. Even so, Harry lowered his voice back to the barest whisper. “We’re all right. Really, thanks.”

“S’nothing,” Ron said in the same tone. “Want me to stay up a bit?”

“No, go back to sleep,” Harry said. “Wait, stand still.”

Ron froze, a puzzled frown on his face. Ginny, keeping the Cloak wrapped around her, stood up and put her invisible arms around her brother’s ribs. “Thank you,” she breathed.

Ron patted her back awkwardly. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Night, Ron,” Harry said as Ginny sat back on the bed.

Harry closed the curtains, and a few minutes later they felt cool enough to lie back down.

Just what we need, Harry said, sighing. Nightmares so bad we wake up the whole room, all because of a stupid light charm.

We didn’t ask for them, Harry.

I know. It’s just one more thing people would whisper about if they knew.

We’ll make sure they don’t find out, then. Ginny forced them to find a bright side. Ron’s doing his bit, isn’t he?

Yeah. And it has been a while since we had one like that. Last year was much worse.

Ginny nodded against his shoulder. There you are. Progress.

It took them some time to fall asleep again, but when they did their slumber was blessedly peaceful.

The following morning, just in time for Hermione’s birthday, Hedwig delivered the items Harry and Ginny had ordered. Two of the school’s screech owls brought Hermione a package from her parents, and Ginny grinned as Hermione took the package. The last remnants of their nightmare had faded in the bright light and friendly babble of the Great Hall.

“Anything interesting in there?” she asked as Hermione read the note affixed to the parcel.

Hermione coloured slightly as she answered. “No. Mother says it’s full of books, though I don’t know precisely which ones.”

“Probably a good thing,” Harry said, earning a mock glare from Hermione.

“What?” Ron asked in between mouthfuls of porridge.

“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly. “Shouldn’t we be going if we need to stop by the tower before practice?”

“You lot go on,” Ron said. “I’m not going to Snape until I absolutely have to.”

Harry and Ginny went upstairs with Hermione and tucked their parcels away in their trunks. Then the three friends went down to the pitch for Gryffindor’s Quidditch practice. Hermione had taken a moment to open her parents’ present, and she was carrying a large, unfamiliar volume under one arm.

When they got back to the common room after lunch, Ginny directed Hermione to a sofa. “Wait here, Hermione,” she said. “We need to be somewhere at two o’clock, so don’t start on anything you won’t want to interrupt. I’ll be upstairs for a bit.”

Before Hermione could respond, Ginny darted up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. She pulled out Hermione’s gift, found a clean sheet of parchment, and then began digging in her trunk, looking for her bottle of blue ink. Harry struck up a game of Exploding Snap with Ron, ignoring Hermione’s befuddled look.

Lavender and Parvati were also in the dormitory, flipping through the latest issue of Witch Weekly on Lavender’s bed. “What are you looking for, Ginny?” Lavender asked.

“Blue ink for Hermione’s birthday card,” she said, moving a few odds and ends onto her bed so she could see the rest more clearly.

“I have pink and green, if you want those,” Lavender said.

“Or colour-changing,” Parvati added. “I got a bottle from a cracker last year.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Ginny replied. “I know it’s in here, I just have to find it. Thanks, though.”

Parvati leaned against her four-poster and sighed. “We got her some coloured parchment for letters and such, but she caught us last night while we were wrapping it.”

Ginny looked up and grinned. “Doesn’t miss anything, does she?”

Lavender shook her head. “Not a thing. We knew we weren’t supposed to tell her about this afternoon, so we just gave her our present early. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Nah. I’m sure she was pleased.”

“Seemed to be,” Lavender said. “We’ll still stop by the party, of course.” She stepped closer and stood at the edge of Ginny’s bed. “I didn’t know you kept a diary.”

“What?” Ginny looked up and saw Lavender pointing at Tom Riddle’s old journal. “Oh, that. It’s not mine. I found it tucked into one of my textbooks. It’s charmed to write back, actually.”

“Write back?” Parvati asked, crossing the room to look at the small book. “You mean it answers you when you write in it?”

“Yeah, basically,” Ginny said, finally pulling the bottle of blue ink out of the back corner of her trunk. She put the ink aside and began to repack her trunk while Lavender examined the diary. “The bloke who Charmed it was trying to make a book that told its own jokes, but none of them are very good,” Ginny said. “He’s rather glum about the whole thing. It’s a bit boring, to be honest.”

“Still, you don’t see something like that every day,” Lavender said with a glint of interest in her eyes. “D’you mind if I try it?”

Ginny shrugged. “You can have it if you want. I only kept it because I felt bad about binning it.”

“Really? Thanks!” Lavender picked up the diary and turned it over in her hands. “So you just write in it, and it writes back?”

“That’s it,” Ginny said, nodding. “The words fade, though, so you can’t just leave it without reading what he’s said.”

Lavender went back to her bed, and Parvati followed. As Ginny started making Hermione’s card, she heard the scratch of Lavender’s quill, followed by quiet gasps of surprise.

Ginny quickly wrote a note for Hermione and decorated it with flowers, a prancing unicorn, and a sketch of Hermione in a blue dress. Her art was nothing like Luna’s figurines had been, but she was rather proud of it nonetheless.

When Ginny was almost finished, Harry stopped the game and whispered to Ron. “You have something ready for Hermione, right?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, rubbing soot off of his fingers. “Twins got it for me. It’s already wrapped and everything. Didn’t ask how.”

“Probably wise. Let’s go get yours and mine both.”

They climbed up to their room, and Harry picked up his present for Hermione. As he closed the lid of his trunk, he noticed the spine of Lockhart’s autobiography poking up at one end. D’you suppose she’d like this? he asked, pulling the book out and flipping through the first few pages.

She has a copy, but not one with his autograph. He stopped signing books and started talking to that reporter as soon as he was done with you. Ginny shrugged. I think we can offer it to her as long as we give her the other things, too.

Nodding, Harry tucked the book and the other parcel into his rucksack. He went back downstairs, and Ron followed, carrying a thin package wrapped in maroon paper.

Ginny went downstairs also, waving briefly to her distracted dorm-mates, and she and the two boys converged on Hermione. “All right, time to go,” Ginny said, pulling Hermione up from the sofa.

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked in the corridor outside.

“This way,” Harry said, pointing at the staircase.

Hermione gave them an odd look, but she did not ask any more questions until they reached the Transfiguration classroom. There, Ginny had Hermione sit at one end of a table near the back of the room.

Should we start without everyone else? Ginny asked.

Well, I’d say we can wait a few minutes, right? We’re a bit early.

“Now will you tell me what’s going on?” Hermione asked.

“I should think it’s perfectly obvious,” Ginny said.

Ron nodded. “Yeah, definitely obvious. Even to me.”

Hermione’s response was interrupted when the door opened and Luna entered. She was carrying a small envelope, and Harry spotted strange, animated creatures cavorting across the parchment.

“Hello,” Luna said. “Am I late?”

“Not at all,” Ginny replied. “You’re right on time.”

Hermione waved her hand to draw attention to herself. “On time for what?”

“She doesn’t know?” the blonde girl asked. “How peculiar.”

What Hermione knew became irrelevant as Hagrid ducked through the doorway and shouted, “Happy Birthday, Hermi’ne!” as soon as he saw the gathered students.

Well, I guess that means we’re starting.

“Happy birthday!” the others chorused.

“Surely you guessed that’s why we’re here,” Harry said.

Hermione smiled. “Well . . . I suspected, but you never know.”

“Here you are, Hermione,” Ginny said, offering her present. “How does it feel to be a teenager?”

Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. “It feels just the same, except that suddenly everyone’s teasing me.”

“How’s that new?” Ron asked in an undertone.

“You’ll have to become moody now,” Ginny said. “Probably mope around for hours on end complaining about spots.”

“I’m a witch, aren’t I?” Hermione asked. “Parvati’s already shown me the glamour for spots.”

Fooey, Ginny said.

Harry grinned and pointed at the parcel in Hermione’s hands. “Go on, open it.”

Hermione carefully prised the paper off of Ginny’s gift, which was a copy of One Hundred Charms for Young Witches.

“The spot glamour is on the very first page,” Ginny said, “but there are loads of others. It’s makeup for witches, basically.”

Skimming the first few pages, Hermione grinned. “Mum’s going to be terribly jealous. Thanks, Ginny.”

“You’re welcome. Here’s the card, too.”

When Hermione had finished reading the card and leaned up to give Ginny a quick hug, Ron pushed his package into her hands. “It’s not a book,” he said, “but I took a chance that you’d like it anyway.”

“Ron!” Hermione cried softly. “I have lots of things that aren’t books.”

“Yeah, but I bet you have more books than anything else.”

Ginny nodded. “I’ve seen your things, Hermione, and you know he’s right.”

A faint tinge of pink rose in Hermione’s cheeks. “Oh . . . hush. Just hush.”

She opened the parcel and pulled out a lurid quill. The feather, which could not possibly have come from anything natural, was flamingo pink with green dots. “Oh my,” Hermione said, blinking. “It’s lovely, Ronald.”

Luna nodded. “Quite spectacular.”

“It’s hideous,” Ron said. “It’s not even a real feather.”

“No, really,” Hermione said. “It’s a bit shocking at first, but it’s rather pretty in its own way. And I don’t care if it’s real, as long as it writes.”

Ron brightened a bit. “Yeah, it writes. Self-inking, too, at least for a while.”

“Thank you, Ron. I really do like it.”

“Told you she would, little brother,” Fred said, entering the room with George, Lee, Angelina, and Alicia.

George nodded as he perched on one of the desks nearby. “She’s Hermione. It’s a quill. A match made in heaven, I’d say.”

“We, of course, had to come up with something more complex, as we’re more complex blokes.”

“Blokes with a complex, more like.” Alicia stopped a few feet away with her hand on her hip, rolling her eyes at the twins. Lee and Angelina stood on either side of her.

Hermione laughed, but Fred shook his head. “Still don’t get that.”

“Anyway, happy birthday, Hermione,” George said, handing her a flat wooden box with a hinged lid. “This is from all of us.”

Hermione opened the box, and Ginny saw that it was divided into small compartments. Inside each compartment was a tiny bottle, a cloth bag, or a bundle of something.

“Bit of everything there,” Fred said. “All the stuff you don’t get in the first couple of years of Potions. We thought you might like to have some of the more interesting bits for yourself, so we cobbled this together.”

“Wow . . . are these Jobberknoll feathers?” Hermione asked, brushing a bundle of tiny feathers with her fingertip.

“Yeah,” Angelina said. “You don’t need them very often, but they’re not always easy to find.”

Lee pointed at one of the compartments containing a cloth pouch. “Also some bicorn horn there. Shows up in all kinds of odd potions.”

“This is excellent,” Hermione said, smiling up at the older students. “Thanks very much, all of you.”

“Anytime, Hermione,” Fred said, and the others all nodded their agreement.

“Would you like mine next?” Luna asked.

The brunette blinked. “Of course, Luna. Thank you.”

Luna handed her the envelope she had brought, and Hermione slit it open. She peered inside and then tilted it over her upturned hand. A foot-long, thick, textured string made of some sort of silvery material slid into her palm. At one end was a simple, silver bead, and at the other end was a multicoloured tassel adorned with several more beads.

“It’s a bookmark,” Luna said. “I had to use unicorn hairs because I couldn’t find any Porlocks. It worked nicely, though. The hairs are thin, but very strong.”

“Unicorn hair?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide.

“Yes. Hagrid let me have it.”

“Gave ‘er a few of the shorter ones, is all,” Hagrid said. “She’s not doin ‘erself justice, though. Luna braided all tha’ together herself. Made the beads out of some sort of clay, I watched ‘er do it, an’ then had Professor McGonagall spell ‘em dry.”

Luna shrugged. “It really wasn’t that difficult,” she said.

Hermione let the braid of hairs slide across her palm and fingered the coloured yarn at the end. “Thank you, Luna,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “This is really special.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Here’s mine,” Harry said, pulling the wrapped parcel out of his knapsack and handing it to her.

Hermione unwrapped his gift, and Harry could not help grinning at her expression. He had bought her the largest single package of Chocolate Frogs that Honeydukes’ carried. Twenty-four frogs waited in two trays of twelve, all wrapped individually.

“Reckoned it was tradition by now,” Harry said.

Hermione smiled. “I suppose so. It’s going to take me forever to eat these, though.”

“Bet you can find help,” Ginny said, tilting her head towards Ron.

“Would you like one, Ron? Or anyone?” Hermione asked.

“Sure, thanks.” He casually extracted a frog from the package, unwrapped it, and bit off its head. As he chewed, he turned over the card. “Dumbledore again,” he mumbled, and then he swallowed. “Say, did you know that he worked on alchemy with a bloke named Nicolas Flamel? I’d swear I’ve heard of him somewhere before.”

Everyone grinned, and Hagrid’s laughter echoed off of the walls. Ginny reached out and smacked the back of Ron’s head. “Moron.”

“Time fer me, then,” Hagrid said. “I knew Luna and th’ rest would find yeh good stuff, so I decided to make yer birthday cake. Harry can tell yeh, I make good cakes.” He pulled a cake box out of his coat and set it on the table.

Harry smiled at the memory of his first birthday cake. It had not been very good, he now knew, but for Hagrid it had not been bad at all. He nodded at the big man’s cheerful look.

They shared the cake, eating it with their fingers and magicking their hands clean afterwards. The cake was not nearly as bad as Hagrid’s usual cooking, though that might have been because it was mostly icing.

Lee sighed theatrically as Alicia finished her slice. “Unfortunately, we have to go back to revision,” he said. “I think McGonagall’s decided that she needs to fill all of our free time.”

“Except she’s forgotten that we have to sleep, too,” George said.

“D’you suppose we could convince her that we’d Transfigured ourselves into sleeping copies of ourselves?” Fred asked.

“Come on, you idiots,” Angelina said, pulling George up from the desk where he was sitting. “You can try that one, but we’d best have our essays done, just in case. Happy birthday, Hermione.”

“Thanks!” Hermione said, rising to her feet and smiling. “It was great of you to come.”

The fourth-years chorused their goodbyes and filed out of the room.

Hagrid reached into his coat and pulled out a huge pocket watch. Upon closer inspection, Ginny realised that it was actually a normal cuckoo clock attached to a length of stout chain. “Oh, would yeh look at tha’,” Hagrid said. “I’ve got ter go an’ check on th’ pumpkins. Special ones, yeh know, fer the Halloween feast. Require a bit o’ special care. Yeh’ll not believe ‘em when yeh see ‘em.”

“May I come along, Hagrid?” Luna asked.

“Course you can, Luna. Yer welcome anytime, yeh should know tha’ by now.”

After another round of farewells and birthday wishes, Hagrid and Luna left together, already discussing the various pests that fed on pumpkins in magical environments.

“Should’ve known they’d hit it off,” Ron said.

“Be nice, Ron,” Hermione said, rounding on him. “There’s nothing wrong with their being friends.”

“Did I say there was?”

Harry pulled Lockhart’s autobiography out of his bag. “One more, Hermione,” he said, holding it out towards her. “Thought you might like to have this, too, though it’s not really a proper present.”

“Don’t you want it?” Hermione asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Well . . .” Harry was tempted to simply say ‘no,’ but he knew that would not be kind. “Not as much as you do, I suspect. I know you’d loan it to me if I ever wanted to read parts of it.”

Ron snorted, and Harry’s effort at misdirection was wasted.

“I rather doubt that would ever happen,” Hermione said. She took the book from his hands and opened it to the autograph, stroking the paper gently. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

Hermione bit her lip for a moment before speaking again. “He’s really not that bad,” she said, glancing from Harry to Ginny. “I know . . . I know he’s said some rather awful things, but . . . He probably has a lot of trouble making friends, you know? There must be loads of people in the world who are only interested in him because of his fame or his money. Especially witches. I’m sure he’s been hurt badly.”

She had said the same thing before, more or less, but in their anger Harry and Ginny had not really thought about it. Now, however, her words struck a chord with Harry. He knew what it was like to be viewed as an object rather than a person. Though he hated to admit it, he and Lockhart probably did have that much in common. “You may be right,” he said at last.

“What about that detention, though?” Ginny asked. “You know Harry wasn’t late to Herbology. You were there. Lockhart practically framed him.” They had rather carefully avoided mentioning Lockhart’s deceit to Hermione for the last two weeks, but Ginny thought that the time had come to bring it up again.

“Well . . .” Hermione’s expression grew pensive, but she faced Harry and Ginny squarely. “I wondered about that, yes, but . . . I wonder if perhaps he said you were late to keep you from getting into even worse trouble.”

Ginny and Harry could not imagine what their friend was trying to say. “What do you mean?” Harry asked.

Hermione took a deep breath and spoke carefully. “From what you said, it sounded like you and Professor Lockhart . . . err . . . disagreed rather strongly. I think he might have given you detention for being late instead of doing a lot worse for being rude to a professor.”

“What?” Harry burst out. “I was rude to him? He said Ginny wasn’t worth my time!”

“I know, Harry,” she said, nodding emphatically. “And that was awful. But . . . don’t you see? He’s defensive about relationships because he’s had such bad experiences. You and Ginny are incredibly protective of each other. As you should be,” she added with a quick nod. “I think that you and Professor Lockhart were just . . . you know . . . really pushing each others’ buttons, and perhaps you both said things you didn’t really mean.”

Rubbish, Harry fumed silently. I meant every word.

“Hermione . . .” Ginny began, but she stopped with a short sigh. She had no idea how to respond.

“And you can’t say he doesn’t know things,” Hermione said quickly. “Ginny, don’t you dry your hair with one of his charms? You can’t deny that it’s useful.”

Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Which is almost exactly what I said when I told off the twins last month.

“Okay, Hermione,” she said, looking at the other girl again. “I admit that he’s not completely useless. That doesn’t mean I like him, and we still say he’s utterly wrong about some things.”

“And he’s an awful teacher, Hermione, you have to see that,” Harry said, hoping to get through to her with a different tactic. “Those stories of his are fun sometimes, if I’m not part of them, but they’re hardly proper lessons.”

“Well . . . yes,” Hermione said. “He could use some help in that department. But he’s never taught before, has he? Perhaps he’ll get better with practice. And maybe he’ll learn to be less defensive, too,” she added with an encouraging nod.

Anything’s possible, Harry said.

Yeah, I’ll expect all that right after the twins start saying nice things about Snape.

They both sighed. This is just not worth it.

“Maybe he will,” Ginny said, and Harry nodded his concession.

Hermione beamed and held the book to her chest. “Thank you, Harry. And you, Ginny. It means a lot to me that you’ll give him a chance.”

That is worth it.

“I’m glad, Hermione,” Harry said, letting himself smile. “You’re welcome.”

“All right, all right, emotional overload alert,” Ron said, breaking his silence as he finished a second slice of cake. “Lockhart’s a flake, Harry and Ginny don’t like him, and Hermione does. Me, I think he’s a bit of a ponce. Are we done now?”

The brunette rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ron, we’re done.”

Ginny crossed to the door and glanced out into the deserted hallway. “Parvati and Lavender said they were going to come by, but I suppose they got caught up in something.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione said. “I’ll see them soon enough, I’m sure.”

They tidied the room and walked back towards the tower with Ron and Harry carrying Hermione’s gifts between them. Hermione stepped between Harry and Ginny, looped one arm through Ginny’s, and put the other hand on Harry’s elbow. Although they usually walked side-by-side, Harry and Ginny did not consider objecting. He thought that he had rarely seen Hermione look so openly happy.

“Thank you so much,” she whispered when Ron had pulled a few yards ahead in the corridor. “I know this was all your idea. Not just the presents, but everything. It was . . . it was just perfect.”

Harry and Ginny could tell that she truly wanted to get past their disagreement about Lockhart, and they decided to let it go. “You’d do the same for us if you got the chance, Hermione,” Harry said as she turned to smile at him. “But you’re welcome anyway.”

“It’s still your birthday,” Ginny said. “Is there anything you’d like to do this afternoon?”

“Actually, I was hoping to practice the Lumosfacila charm a bit more. You lot can join me if you’d like.”

Her expression was so bright and hopeful that Harry and Ginny agreed despite their reaction to the spell. “Sure, Hermione.”

Ron groaned when he heard the plan, but he did not object. After Hermione put away her presents, the four of them spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening manipulating beams of green light under her direction. It was, after all, her birthday.

That night, as they readied themselves for bed, Harry and Ginny decided that they had cast enough light charms to illuminate all of Devon. Although practicing magic excited them, especially when it helped them to hone their control, their enthusiasm was simply no match for Hermione’s dedication.

Harry stared up at the canopy of their bed once they were settled. I suppose that’s the downside. She’s amazing about revision and practise, but . . . He sighed. She’s also frighteningly stubborn about Lockhart.

She’s got a bit of a crush, Ginny said, idly toying with the buttons of Harry’s pyjama shirt. It’s not that weird for girls our age.

But Lockhart?

She grinned. It doesn’t have to make a lot of sense to other people, either.

You’ve never had a crush, though.

True. Ginny stifled a giggle. Well, I was once convinced that I would marry Bill when I grew up, but I was four, so I don’t think that should count.

Err . . . probably not. Still, you’ve never been barking mad about someone ridiculous. The closest you ever got was me, really, and I know that wasn’t the same. Harry still felt grateful for her childhood concern, even if it had started long before they met.

I . . . She struggled to form a coherent thought from the jumble of feelings and ideas swirling in their heads. I might have eventually, I suppose. But I was barely ten when we met, so I hadn’t had a lot of time. Since then . . . well . . . Ginny smiled and gave a slight sigh. Hermione’s right. Not everyone has it as easy as we do in some things.

I just wish it wasn’t Lockhart.

That I agree with.

Harry turned and looked into her eyes in the darkness of their four-poster. But she’ll get over it, you said.

Yeah. Eventually, she won’t be able to come up with excuses for him any more, and she’s not nearly stupid enough to carry on for long after that.

So we wait?

We wait.

Harry closed his eyes, and Ginny placed a light kiss on his shoulder before settling her head once more. He began stroking her soft hair from her forehead to the top of her long braid. Their thoughts wandered, slowly reconciling their old knowledge of Hermione with her recent crush. After a few minutes, on the edge of sleep, Harry said, You’re the best, Ginny.

Thanks, Harry. You are, too.

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Meaning of One, Part Two: Chambers and Secrets - Chapter 12: Exchanges by Sovran