24. The Duelling Club
Hope woke early Sunday morning, just as the first streaks of sunlight filtered through the dormitory windows. She lay still for a moment, her stomach twisting in knots.
Colin Creevey had been petrified. The Chamber of Secrets was open.
And on top of all that, she had lost her necklace.
She groaned softly, pressing her hands over her face. How could she have been so careless? Her mom had gotten that necklace from her parent in her first year. She had gone years without losing it, and now, after not even having it for a full year, it was gone. It was a piece of her mom she could keep with her, and now it had disappeared.
With a frustrated sigh, she shoved back the blankets and got up, dressing quickly. She couldn't just sit here and dwell on it.
The common room was quiet at this hour, the embers in the fireplace still glowing faintly from the night before. Hope sank onto one of the couches, pulling her knees up to her chest as she stared at the flames, waiting for Hermione and Ron to wake up.
It wasn't long before Hermione appeared, her hair still a little wild from sleep. She stopped when she saw Hope, her expression shifting to concern.
"Hope?" She frowned, noticing how unusually early she was up. "You're awake already?"
"I couldn't sleep," Hope muttered, looking down glumly. "I lost my necklace."
Hermione's frown deepened as she sank down beside her. "Oh, Hope..."
Before she could say anything else, Ron shuffled into the common room, stretching with a loud yawn. He stopped mid-stretch when he spotted them. "Why do you both look so serious? What happened?"
"Hope lost her necklace," Hermione explained.
"Oh," Ron said, dropping into the armchair across from them. "That's rough."
Hope sighed. "That's not even the worst part." She hesitated, glancing toward the staircase to make sure no one else was coming. Lowering her voice, she admitted, "I snuck out last night to try and find it."
Hermione's eyes widened. "You what?"
"I had to," Hope insisted. "I looked everywhere I could think of, but I didn't find it. So I went to check the hospital wing."
Hermione let out an exasperated noise. "Hope, that was incredibly reckless! What if someone had caught you?"
"I didn't get caught," Hope muttered.
"That's not the point," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms.
Hope ignored her and turned to Ron. "While I was there, I saw Harry—and Dobby was there."
Ron, who had been slouching in his chair, sat up straighter. "That house-elf Harry mentioned?"
Hope nodded. "Yeah. And you're not going to believe this—he's the one who made the Bludger go after Harry."
Ron sat up so fast he nearly fell out of his chair. "You're joking."
"I wish I was."
Ron's expression twisted with irritation. "That stupid—he nearly killed Harry! What was he thinking?"
Hermione shot him a disapproving look. "Oh, Ron, he probably thought he was helping. He must've believed it was the only way to keep Harry safe."
Hope glanced at Ron. "He also admitted he was the one who blocked us from getting through the barrier at King's Cross."
Ron let out a strangled sound. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. So he decided to ruin our whole year before it even started."
Hermione, looking deep in thought, said, "If he's that desperate to stop Harry from being at Hogwarts... then he must know something about the Chamber of Secrets."
Hope took a deep breath. "I haven't even told you the worst part."
Ron and Hermione both stared at her.
"There's more?" Ron asked, looking almost afraid of the answer.
Hope nodded. "While I was in the hospital wing, Dumbledore and McGonagall came in." She hesitated, then said, "They brought in Colin Creevey." Her voice faltered. "He was petrified, like Mrs. Norris."
Hermione gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth.
Ron went rigid. "No—"
A heavy silence settled over them. Even Ron, who always had something to say, was speechless.
Finally, Hope spoke again. "And Dumbledore said... the Chamber of Secrets is open again."
Hermione's face paled. "Again?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "So—it's happened before?"
Hope nodded grimly. "In fact Dobby mentioned it too, he said it would be opened once more" she added, tilting her head thoughtfully.
Hermione sat up straighter, her mind clearly racing. Then, after a moment, she nodded as if coming to a decision. "We need to start brewing the Polyjuice Potion."
Ron groaned. "Can we at least have breakfast first?"
Hermione shot him a sharp look. "This is more important than breakfast, Ron."
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Hope, Hermione, and Ron huddled inside a locked cubicle in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the dim candlelight flickering off the damp stone walls. Myrtle wailed dramatically from her usual stall, her sobs echoing around them, but they'd long since learned to tune her out.
A battered old cauldron sat precariously on the closed toilet lid, bubbling with thick, murky liquid. A crackling warmth radiated from underneath it, fueled by one of Hermione's portable, waterproof fires—one of her many magical specialties.
Hope rested her chin in her hand, staring warily at the swirling potion. "So, if Ron and Harry are turning into Crabbe and Goyle, who exactly are we supposed to be?"
Hermione adjusted the sleeves of her robes, avoiding Hope's gaze. "Well, I figured I'd be Millicent Bulstrode and you could..." She hesitated, glancing at Hope with a cautious expression.
"Pansy Parkinson," Hermione finished quickly, bracing for a reaction.
Hope let out a groan, tilting her head back against the cubicle wall. "Pansy? Really, Mione? Anyone but Pansy."
"She makes the most sense," Hermione pointed out. "She's always hanging around Draco. If you're with him, no one will question it."
Hope wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. What about Daphne Greengrass? She's slightly less insufferable."
"Pansy," Hermione repeated firmly.
Letting out a resigned sigh, Hope muttered, "I have to turn into Pansy Parkinson. That's an actual nightmare."
"Nothing can be worse than being Crabbe," Ron muttered, shuddering at the thought.
Before Hope could retort, the bathroom door creaked open.
The three of them froze.
Hope held her breath, exchanging a wide-eyed look with Ron and Hermione. Myrtle stopped wailing, letting out a delighted giggle instead.
"It's me," Harry's voice rang out as he shut the door behind him.
The three inside the cramped cubicle let out a collective sigh of relief. Hermione quickly reached to unlock the stall.
"Harry!" she exclaimed, swinging the door open. "You gave us such a fright. Come in—how's your arm?"
"Fine," Harry muttered, squeezing into the tight space.
"We'd've come to meet you, but we decided to get started on the Polyjuice Potion," Ron explained as Harry fumbled to relock the door. "This is the safest place to hide it."
Harry started to tell them about Colin, but Hermione cut in. "We already know. Hope told us everything about the Chamber and Dobby."
"The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," Ron grumbled. "You know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin."
Harry nodded, watching Hermione tear bundles of knotgrass and toss them into the cauldron. "Would've saved us some trouble if Dobby had just told me who opened the Chamber in the first place..." He exhaled heavily.
"Did he mention when it happened? How long ago it was?" Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head.
"It must've been Malfoy's dad, right?" Ron said, his voice triumphant. "Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here, and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious. Wish Dobby had told you what kind of monster's in there, though. I want to know how nobody's noticed it sneaking around the school."
He turned to Hope. "You didn't see anything odd when you were looking for your necklace, did you?"
"No, nothing at all," Hope murmured, frowning slightly at the thought of it.
"Maybe it can make itself invisible," Hermione suggested, prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. "Or maybe it can disguise itself—pretend to be a suit of armor or something. I've read about Chameleon Ghouls..."
"You read too much, Hermione," Ron muttered, dumping dead lacewings on top of the leeches. He crumpled the empty bag and turned to Harry.
"So, Dobby stopped us getting on the train and broke your arm..." He shook his head. "You know what, Harry? If he doesn't stop trying to save your life, he's going to kill you."
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The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first-years moved around the castle in tight-knit groups, afraid to be alone in case they were next.
Ginny, who sat next to Colin in Charms, was distraught. And Fred and George certainly weren't helping. They took turns covering themselves in fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues, cackling at her shrieks of terror.
Hope raised an eyebrow as she watched Ginny scurry past, looking absolutely miserable while the twins snickered to themselves. Rolling her eyes, she sauntered up to them and crossed her arms.
"You two do realize there's a fine line between being pranksters and just being complete gits, right?"
Fred turned to her with a mock-offended look. "Excuse you, we're bringing much-needed entertainment to these dark times!"
"Yeah, well, your 'entertainment' has Ginny looking like she might hex you in your sleep," Hope shot back, smirking. "And honestly? I'd help her."
George nudged Fred. "I told you she'd side with Gin."
Hope grinned and, in a sing-song voice, added, "And if you keep it up, I might just have to tell your mum!"
George gasped, clutching his chest. "You wouldn't!"
Hope's smirk widened. "Oh, I would. After all, I'm just sweet, innocent little Hope." She batted her eyelashes dramatically, mimicking Molly's voice.
Fred groaned. "Mum does always say that, doesn't she?"
"Like clockwork," George muttered, shaking his head.
Hope laughed, ruffling Fred's hair as she passed. "Then you should know better than to doubt me."
Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt-tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger: he was a pure-blood and therefore unlikely to be attacked.
"They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round face fearful, "and everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."
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In the second week of December, Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Hope, Ron, and Hermione signed her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him.
Unfortunately, the potion was only half-finished. They still needed the Bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place they were going to get them was from Snape's private stores. Harry felt he'd rather face Slytherin's legendary monster than have Snape catch him robbing his office, with Hope and Ron nodding in agreement.
"What we need," Hermione said briskly as Thursday afternoon's double Potions lesson loomed nearer, "is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and take what we need."
Harry and Ron exchanged nervous glances, as Hope nodded.
"I think I'd better do the actual stealing," Hermione continued matter-of-factly. "The three of you will be expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I've got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so."
Harry smiled weakly. He and Ron looked at each other again, neither eager to disrupt Snape's class. It seemed about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.
"I'll distract him," Hope volunteered.
"Are you sure?" Ron asked as he and Harry turned to her.
She nodded firmly. "I've been so distracted by Quidditch and the Chamber of Secrets, I haven't messed with Snape at all this year."
"Honestly, Hope, this grudge you're holding—" Hermione began.
"He started it," Hope grumbled, crossing her arms. "He tries to make Gryffindors' lives miserable any chance he gets. Someone ought to return the favor."
Potions lessons took place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon's lesson proceeded as usual. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, brass scales and jars of ingredients scattered among them. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors' work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, Snape's favorite student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron, Harry, and Hope.
Hope's Swelling Solution was far too runny, as she had spent the whole class eyeing Hermione, waiting for her signal. She barely registered it when Snape paused to sneer at her watery potion. When he turned to bully Neville, Hermione caught Hope's eye and nodded.
Hope ducked swiftly behind her cauldron, pulled one of Fred's Filibuster fireworks from her pocket, and gave it a quick prod with her wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter. Knowing she had only seconds, she straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air. It landed right on target—in Goyle's cauldron.
Goyle's potion exploded, showering the whole class. Students shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful, and his nose began to swell like a balloon. Goyle blundered around, hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of dinner plates, while Snape tried to restore order. Through the chaos, Hope saw Hermione slip quietly out the door.
"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught. When I find out who did this..."
Hope kept her head down, trying to suppress a grin. Beside her, Harry and Ron covered their mouths, snickering as Malfoy hurried forward, his head drooping under the weight of a nose like a small melon. As half the class lumbered up to Snape's desk—some weighed down with arms like clubs, others unable to talk through gigantic puffed-up lips—Hope spotted Hermione sliding back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging.
When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. The room fell into a sudden hush.
"If I ever find out who threw this," Snape whispered, "I shall make sure that person is expelled." His eyes locked onto Hope's face. She did her best to look puzzled.
The bell, which rang ten minutes later, could not have been more welcome.
"He knew it was you," Harry said as the four hurried back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "I could tell."
Hope nodded. "Yeah... though I'm sure he would've assumed it was me even if it wasn't."
They slipped inside and locked the stall door. Hermione immediately threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began stirring feverishly.
"It'll be ready in a fortnight," she said happily.
"Snape can't prove it was you," Ron added reassuringly. "What can he do?"
"Knowing Snape? Something foul," Hope muttered, watching as the potion frothed and bubbled.
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A week later, the four were walking across the Entrance Hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the noticeboard, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.
"They're starting a Duelling Club!" Seamus said. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind duelling lessons, they might come in handy one of these days..."
"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" Ron scoffed, but he too read the sign with interest. "Could be useful," he admitted as they went into dinner. "Shall we go?"
Harry, Hope, and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o'clock that evening, they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished, and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more, and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.
"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" Hermione mused as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young. Maybe it'll be him."
"I hope it's McGonagall," Hope said, with bright eyes. ""I hope it's McGonagall," Hope added."
"As long as it's not—" Harry began, but he ended on a groan as Gilderoy Lockhart swept onto the stage, resplendent in deep plum robes. Worse still, trailing behind him like a menacing shadow was none other than Snape, his black robes billowing as he took his place beside Lockhart.
Lockhart beamed at the crowd. "Gather round! Gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves, as I myself have done on countless occasions—for full details, see my published works."
Hope barely stifled a groan as Lockhart prattled on, she couldn't believe the two worst teachers in the school were the one's teaching the dueling club.
As Lockhart and Snape prepared for a demonstration, Ron nudged Hope. "Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" he whispered.
Hope snorted. "Best thing to happen all year."
The duel didn't last long—Snape blasted Lockhart off his feet with a single, well-aimed Expelliarmus, sending him crashing into the wall. Hope clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Hermione gasped, dancing on her tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.
"Who cares?" Harry and Ron chorused.
Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off, and his wavy hair was standing on end.
"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm – as you see, I've lost my wand – ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see ..."
Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he soon cleared his throat. "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me ..." he said.
They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.
"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered. "Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter –"
Harry moved automatically towards Hermione.
"I don't think so," Snape said, smiling coldly. "Mr Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger – you can partner Miss Bulstrode. And you, Lupin, pair up with Miss Parkinson."
Hope swallowed a groan as Pansy Parkinson strutted toward her, a pleased smirk on her face. Her dark hair was cut short, her features flat and squashed, like an ill-tempered Persian cat.
"Lousy Lupin," Pansy greeted with a smirk.
"Pug-face," Hope shot back.
Pansy's expression darkened, her smirk dropping into a deep scowl. Hope barely bit back a grin at the sheer satisfaction of wiping that smug look off her face.
"Face your partners!" Lockhart called from the platform. "And bow!"
Neither girl took their eyes off the other as they barely inclined their heads.
"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart shouted. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent—only to disarm them—we don't want any accidents. One... two... three!"
Pansy lifted her wand, but she wasn't quick enough.
"Expelliarmus!" Hope shouted, her wand cutting through the air. A jet of red light struck Pansy's wand, sending it flying across the hall. Pansy's scowl deepened as she stomped over to retrieve it.
"You got lucky," she spat, returning to her place.
Hope rolled her eyes. "You'd think Slytherins would be used to losing by now."
Pansy's face turned a mottled red, before she suddenly smirked, her gaze falling on hopes neck. "I see you're not wearing that dreadful necklace anymore... wonder what happened to it?"
Hope froze. Her stomach clenched as her fingers twitched around her wand.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, her grip on her wand tightening so hard it made her knuckles ache. Had Pansy stolen it? No—she had lost it during Quidditch... hadn't she?
Pansy shrugged, her smirk widening. "Shame, really. It was such an ugly little thing... matched your face perfectly."
Hope's vision blurred with fury. Before she realized what she was doing, her wand was forgotten, her hands tangling into Pansy's short hair as she yanked her forward. Pansy shrieked, clawing at Hope's wrists, trying to break free, but Hope's grip was like iron.
All around them, chaos erupted. Harry and Malfoy were hurling jinxes at each other—Harry had Malfoy gasping under a tickling charm, while Malfoy had sent Harry jerking and dancing uncontrollably across the floor. A greenish haze of smoke hovered over Neville and Justin, who lay panting on the ground. Ron was apologizing profusely for whatever his broken wand had done as he helped an ashen-faced Seamus stand. Hermione, meanwhile, had been wrestled into a headlock by Millicent Bulstrode, her muffled yelps barely audible.
Harry lunged forward, prying Millicent off Hermione. It took both Dean and Ron to pull Hope away from Pansy, her fists still clenched, breath ragged as she struggled against their grip. Pansy stumbled back, hair a tangled mess, whimpering as she rubbed her scalp.
"Hope, let it go!" Dean huffed, arms locked around her waist as Ron helped hold her back. "She's not worth it!"
Hope barely heard them, chest heaving. Her mother's necklace. Pansy knew about it.
And that meant she had something to do with it.
"Dear, dear," Lockhart bustled through the crowd, surveying the aftermath of the duels. "Up you get, Macmillan... careful there, Miss Fawcett... pinch it hard, Boot, that'll stop the bleeding in a second."
He clapped his hands together, looking slightly flustered as he stood in the middle of the hall. "I think I'd better teach you all how to block unfriendly spells! Let's have a volunteer pair—Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?"
Snape glided over like a large, menacing bat. "A bad idea, Professor Lockhart. Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley to the hospital wing in a matchbox."
Neville's round face flushed deep pink.
"How about Malfoy and Potter?" Snape suggested, a twisted smile curling his lips.
"Excellent idea!" Lockhart beamed, gesturing for Harry and Malfoy to step into the middle of the Hall. The students backed away, giving them space.
"Now, Harry," Lockhart said brightly, "when Draco points his wand at you, you do this."
He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated wiggling motion, and promptly dropped it. Snape smirked. Lockhart hastily picked it up. "Whoops—my wand's a little over-excited."
Snape leaned down and whispered something to Malfoy, who smirked. Harry glanced nervously at Lockhart. "Professor, could you show me that blocking move again?"
"Scared?" Malfoy muttered under his breath.
"You wish," Harry shot back.
Lockhart clapped Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!"
"What, drop my wand?" Harry muttered irritably, but Lockhart wasn't listening.
"Three—two—one—go!"
Malfoy raised his wand. "Serpensortia!"
A loud crack filled the hall. A long black snake shot out of Malfoy's wand, landed heavily on the floor, and reared up, hissing furiously. Students shrieked, scrambling backward as the snake coiled, ready to strike.
"Don't move, Potter," Snape said lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry frozen in place. "I'll handle it..."
"Allow me!" Lockhart bellowed.
He brandished his wand. There was a deafening bang. Instead of vanishing, the snake was blasted ten feet into the air before smacking onto the floor, now even angrier. With a furious hiss, it slithered toward Justin Finch-Fletchley, fangs bared.
Harry stepped forward, his brows furrowing. The hissing words came naturally, slipping from his mouth before he could think twice.
The entire Hall fell silent. People weren't just backing away from the snake now. They were backing away from Harry.
Ron's jaw hung open. Hermione had gone pale, glancing between Harry and the snake in alarm. Hope watched him with raised brows, her expression unreadable. Harry looked different—menacing, almost in a trance. And if Hope didn't know any better, she'd swear he was egging the snake on.
Grinning, Harry turned to Justin—
Justin recoiled in horror. "What do you think you're playing at?!"
Before Harry could respond, Justin spun on his heel and stormed out of the Hall.
Snape waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a puff of black smoke. His gaze lingered on Harry, sharp and calculating. Harry didn't like it.
The whispering started immediately. Everywhere he looked, students were muttering, throwing him suspicious glances. A few nodded to each other as if confirming their worst fears.
Ron, Hermione, and Hope rushed to his side.
"Come on," Ron muttered in Harry's ear. "Move—now."
He steered Harry toward the doors, Hermione and Hope hurrying alongside. As they passed through the crowd, students parted, pulling away as if afraid to catch something contagious.
No one spoke until they had dragged Harry all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room. Then Ron pushed him into an armchair.
"You're a Parselmouth," he said, his voice almost accusing. "Why didn't you tell us?"
Harry blinked. "I'm a what?"
"A Parselmouth! You can talk to snakes!" Ron said.
"I know," Harry said with a shrug. "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once—long story—but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil, and I sort of set it free without meaning to. That was before I knew I was a wizard..."
Ron stared. "A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?"
"So?" Harry frowned. "I bet loads of people here can do it."
Hope shook her head. "Oh no, they can't."
"It's not a common gift, Harry," Ron said seriously. "This is bad."
"What's bad?" Harry snapped, frustration mounting. "Why is everyone acting like I did something wrong? If I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin—"
"Oh, that's what you said to it?" Ron cut in.
Harry frowned. "What do you mean? You were there—you heard me."
"I heard you speaking Parseltongue," Ron said. "Snake language. You could've been saying anything. No wonder Justin panicked—you sounded like you were egging the snake on. It was creepy, you know."
Harry gaped. "I spoke a different language? But—I didn't realize—how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?"
Ron shook his head. Hermione and Hope both looked grave, as if someone had died.
"Harry, this isn't good," Hope said quietly.
Harry gave her a bewildered look. "D'you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a dirty great snake biting Justin's head off?" he said. "What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?"
"It matters," Hermione said, her voice hushed, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."
Harry's stomach dropped.
"Exactly," Hope added. "And with the Chamber of Secrets open, the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something."
"But I'm not!" Harry said quickly, a nervous edge creeping into his voice.
"You'll find that hard to prove," Hermione said grimly. "He lived about a thousand years ago. For all we know... you could be."
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By the next morning, the snow had turned into a full-blown blizzard, thick sheets of white swirling outside the castle windows. Even the warmth of the Gryffindor common room couldn't keep out the creeping chill. The fire burned hot, but it did little against the drafts that slipped through the cracks in the old stone walls. Professor Sprout had canceled the last Herbology lesson of the term, muttering something about fitting socks and scarves onto the Mandrakes. Apparently, it was a delicate process—one she didn't trust anyone else to handle, especially since the Mandrakes were key to reviving Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.
Harry stared into the fire, his fingers absently tugging at a loose thread on his sleeve, his mind far away. Ron and Hermione had taken over one of the tables, their chess game in full swing. Hope, curled up on the end of the sofa, a book open in her lap—Cinderella, the Muggle story Hermione had given her last Christmas. She was so absorbed in it that she barely noticed anything else.
"For heaven's sake, Harry," Hermione huffed, exasperated, as Ron's bishop knocked her knight off the board. "Go and find Justin if it's so important to you."
Harry hesitated, then stood and disappeared through the portrait hole.
Hope barely registered it—until a hand swiped her book right out of her lap.
"Oi!" She turned, startled, just in time to see George Weasley holding it up, flipping through the pages with an exaggerated frown.
"What in Merlin's name is this?"
Before she could answer, George vaulted over the back of the couch and landed beside her with a thump. He stretched out comfortably, still inspecting the book as though it were a foreign artifact. Hope shot him an unimpressed look.
"It's Cinderella," she said, reaching for it.
George leaned back, holding it just out of reach. "That a spell or something?"
She huffed and tucked her legs underneath her. "It's a Muggle story."
"Ah," George said knowingly, like that explained everything. He finally handed the book back, but not before squinting at the cover one last time. "Mum used to read us bedtime stories, but they were mostly Beedle the Bard stuff—The Warlock's Hairy Heart, The Fountain of Fair Fortune, Babbitty Rabbitty... you know, stories with actual excitement. Not whatever this is."
Hope smoothed her fingers over the cover and shrugged. "Mine as well. But I just got this last year from Hermione, and it's brilliant."
George raised an eyebrow. "Brilliant how?"
She hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of the page. "I don't know. It's not as exciting as wizard stories, but I love the romance. And the happily ever after."
George made a face. "Oh no, not another princess story." He let his head fall back dramatically against the couch. "Please tell me there's at least a duel in there somewhere."
Hope rolled her eyes. "No duels. Just magic and a happily ever after."
He cracked one eye open. "Magic, huh?"
"Well, sort of. There's a fairy godmother. She turns a pumpkin into a carriage, mice into horses, and gives Cinderella a beautiful dress and glass slippers so she can go to the ball."
George lifted his head slightly. "Glass slippers? That's got to be the worst shoe idea I've ever heard."
Hope grinned. "She loses one running away at midnight."
George snorted. "What, because they were impossible to walk in?"
"No! She had to leave before the magic wore off," Hope laughed. "The prince finds the slipper and searches the whole kingdom to see who it fits."
George gave her a flat look. "That's his big plan? A shoe fitting?"
Hope nodded, biting back a smile.
"That's a rubbish way to find someone," George said, unimpressed. "What if loads of people had the same shoe size? What if she'd tripped and broken it? What if some poor girl just happened to have the exact same foot shape but wasn't actually her? Imagine all the false alarms."
Hope giggled. "I mean, it works."
"Still think a good old-fashioned duel would've sorted things out faster," he muttered. "Winner gets the prince. Or the shoe. Or both."
She shook her head, still grinning.
George tilted his head, watching her for a beat, noticing she seemed a little down. "You alright?"
Hope hesitated, staring into the fire. "I still can't believe I lost my necklace," she mumbled, her hand absentmindedly going to her chest where the necklace used to be.
"I'm sure you'll find it," George said reassuringly.
Hope shook her head and sighed. "I already checked the Quidditch pitch. And the hospital wing. I've asked around... it's just gone." She frowned, her mind drifting to what Pansy had said during the Dueling Club. She wasn't sure if Pansy had anything to do with it or was just messing with her, but if she had stolen it, Hope knew she would probably never see it again.
George didn't say anything at first, just studied her with a quiet understanding. He understood how much it meant to her, especially since it was her mum's old necklace.
Then, with a mischievous grin, George's eyes returned to their usual twinkle. "Alright, read it to me."
"What?" Hope raised an eyebrow.
"Read me Cinderella," George repeated, leaning back and stretching out his arms. "Give me the full experience. Show me what it's all about."
"Really?" Hope perked up slightly.
"Really," George nodded with a smile.
And so, she did. Flipping to the first page, she began to read the story aloud. George, for his part, didn't think the book was all that brilliant. He only half-listened, finding it quite boring. But he didn't stop her. Seeing how much it brightened her mood made it worth it.