Murmuring Mudbloods
Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry's schedule, and had no trouble finding him in a crowd, even with Harry's stunted growth. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "Alright, Harry?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hi Colin," back, however exasperated or tired Harry sounded when he said it. Atleast he wasn't being called Harley anymore, he figured, but nothing could make him feel less tried whenever Colin had found him.
Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disastrous car journey, and Hydrus had yet to return to the dorms. Sly hadn't cared in the slightest, however, when Harry put her in his pocket every morning. Ron's wand had been malfunctioning nonstop, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting poor Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck.
So, with one thing and another, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. He and his friends were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning, however, he was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by Henrietta Crocker-- Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Everyone called her Etta.
"Whassamatter?" Harry asked groggily, reaching for his glasses.
"We've got to get out to the pitch before Oliver Wood does-- thank Merlin that Steve's able to keep a conversation going. Insufferable, that bloke! Getting up this early to practice! The sun hasn't even risen yet," Etta said, handing Harry his glasses.
Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.
"I'm tired too, Harry, don't feel bad if you go back to sleep." said Etta, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "I'll meet you on the field in a couple minutes if you make it. Take the way I showed you last year."
When he'd found his blue team robes and pulled on his cloak over it for warmth, Harry scribbled a note for Anthony to give to the girls, explaining where he'd gone and went up the staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand over his shoulder. He had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing up the dormitory staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.
"I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show you--"
Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose.
A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognized as his own. He was pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture. "Will you sign it?" asked Colin eagerly.
"No," Harry said tiredly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. "Maybe later, sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry. Quidditch practice and all--"
He walked through the Common Room's door.
"Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!" Colin said, scrambling through the door after him.
"It'll be very boring you know, since it's just practice," Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement.
"You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren't you, Harry? Weren't you?" said Colin, trotting alongside him. "You must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there is?"
Harry didn't know how to get rid of him. It was like having an extremely talkative shadow. How was he supposed to take the secret way if Colin was following his every move? Shadows weren't supposed to talk to no end; they were not supposed to take a dozen pictures of you. He would've said it to Colin, and the voices really thought he should too-- but he didn't want to be more rude than he already had been. Colin was just excited. Too excited, but still. And it wasn't a nice feeling to have your questions treated like they were a waste of time...
"I don't really understand Quidditch." said Colin breathlessly. "Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?"
"Yes," said Harry heavily, figuring that explaining the complicated rules of Quidditch were a better time pass than silence or the sound of a camera snapping. "They're called Bludgers. There are two Beaters on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side. Roger Davies and Edward O'Farrely are the Ravenclaw Beaters."
"And what are the other balls for?" Colin asked, barely avoiding tripping down a couple of steps because he was gazing, open-mouthed, at Harry.
"The Quaffle, the big red one, it's the one that scores goals. Three Chasers on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through the goal posts at the end of the pitch-- they're three long poles with hoops on the end."
"And the fourth ball--"
"Golden Snitch," said Harry, taking a moment to yawn, "Very small, very fast, and difficult to catch. But that's what the Seeker's got to do, because a game of Quidditch doesn't end until the Snitch has been caught. And whichever team's Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra hundred fifty points."
"And you're the Ravenclaw Seeker, aren't you?" said Colin in awe.
"Yeah- oh, and there's a Keeper too. That's Etta's position. She's got to make sure the other team doesn't score the Quaffle. She's also Captain," Harry said, feeling relieved as he walked across the wet grass. Colin couldn't come on the Pitch. It was, quote on quote, "dangerous" for first years, or so Harry had said, and why would Colin think Harry would say anything that wasn't true? Brilliant, really, when he really tried to find a solution... Colin wouldn't be a problem to Harry, and he would get to see them practice, which he seemed very excited for. It was a win-win.
"I'll go and get a good seat, Harry!" Colin called as Harry walked onto the Pitch. Most of the Quidditch Team had been there already-- Steve Malerr, Penelope Clearwater, and Edward O'Farrely were standing there, and only Danial Green and Roger Davies had been missing.
"We're missing two... eh, it doesn't matter." Etta mumbled, counting all of them. "Everyone got your brooms? We're gonna run a quick practice, and then we may as well head back to sleep because none of us want to be up right now." She said, hopping on her broom tiredly. "Try not to fall asleep in the sky, because I'm not gonna remember the spell to make your descent to death slower!" She called over her shoulder, followed by a yawn.
Sometime while they were in the air, the Gryffindor Quidditch team had appeared on the Pitch, and Oliver Wood was certainly anything but pleased. He'd suggested a mock-game, but the Ravenclaws had walked off and huddled up without answering. Harry heard him muttering about how he'd booked the field as they walked off.
"Mock-game my arse!" Penelope whispered. "Let's stall 'em! 'Tryin' 'ta get one up on us! They'll have to wait their turn! Thinking-- ugh, he'd a bloody git!"
"I'm all for it-- waking up at five in the morning, the maniac-- maybe he'll learn the importance of being patient and not doing dumb things this early in the year!" Etta agreed, with a wicked laugh.
"You two scare me. Horribly." Steve admitted, nearly shaking. The sun had still yet to rise, and Harry could only guess how low the temperature would get later into the year if Wood kept waking up this early...
"Plan's a plan, they've already agreed on it." Harry shrugged, hopping back onto his broom. Once Etta denied, they had spent so long stalling that the sun had risen, and Padma, Luna, and Lisa had suddenly been in the stands.
"What's that weird clicking noise? Someone make it stop, I can't focus," Edward said, looking around confusedly. Harry noticed the source very quickly-- Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.
"Look this way, Harry! This way!" he cried.
"Who's that?" asked Etta. "And why's he taking pictures?"
"No idea," Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin.
"Think Slytherin's sent him, Etta?" asked Steve, and she shook her head.
"Couldn't've. A first year, I mean, Marcus is stupid, but even I've got to admit, he's not imbecilic. And check the ears, he's Muggleborn. Those guys don't care half a Knut for them. Even if he got into Slytherin, the most they'd ever interact with him is in their common room or when they're bullying him. Of course, they could've bullied him into it... think we wouldn't suspect him."
"They wouldn't send anyone," said Edward, pointing. Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands. "they're coming onto the field themselves!"
"Slytherins!" hissed Etta, staring down the Slytherin Quidditch Captain as if he were a roach. "Can't they see we're playing? Eurgh-- the nerve of Marcus! I know he sees us! Come on, you lot, we got another team!"
"Still haven't gone to a dentist I see, Flint." She said furiously when they landed on the ground.
"Oi, what's up with this? We were here first, can't 'ya see that?!" Steve shouted. "We're not doing a mock-game with you, either!"
"No mock-games," Flint said, flaunting a tiny piece of paper in his hand. "I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'"
"You've got a new Seeker?" asked Penelope. "Where? I only see brute force and Pureblood prats that don't ever shut it. None of you could focus long enough to even look for the Snitch."
And from behind five large figures and Draco, revealed a short girl with dark hair and long ears. She looked much more nervous than Flint's expression would've made any of them thought. She was the girl that Harry had seen with Parkinson-- he still didn't recognise her otherwise, though.
"Aren't you Ameliane Runcorn?" Edward said, shocked. "I forgot you were even a student here!"
"A lot of people did. Congratulations for being like everyone else, O'Farrely." The girl said sourly, her face suddenly contorted in disgust. Harry now knew for sure that she was friends with Parkinson.
"Funny you say that, because look at the presents this unknown student's mother just bought the entire team!" One of the Slytherins said, showing off their brooms.
"Nimbus two-thousand and ones?" Etta scoffed. "Really? My grandmother could buy out the entire stock for the next year without batting an eyelash,"
"Well you've still got a Nimbus two-thousand, haven't you? See, you'll notice, the two-thousand and ones outstrip the two-thousands by a considerable amount, and as for the old Comets--" Flint said, looking at Steve and Penelope; either ones face went red, "-- they don't stand a chance."
"Oh don't worry about it, you two, don't let that troll's words get to you. Neither he, nor majority of his team, know glass door from window," said Etta, as Lisa, Luna, and Padma ran over. Ron and Hermione, who had came from inside, when Harry had not noticed, were on their way down aswell.
"Oh? Would you look at that, we've got pests infecting the field." Runcorn said with a smirk. She was worse than how Draco acted around people he didn't like.
"What's happening? Why's Ameliane here?" Padma said as soon as she got close enough.
"You know her?" Harry asked.
"Of course I know Ameliane! Back when my dad did Ministry work, he had to take her and her mum out their manor after her uncle went berserk on them for not being "entirely" Pureblooded," Padma explained, just as Ron and Hermione made it over. "Her dad was a Pureblood squib, but her uncle hated that."
Ron's mouth fell open in amazement as he caught sight of the brooms the Slytherins were holding.
"Pretty, aren't they? Perhaps your parents could raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could sell off those Cleansweep Fives your brothers use; I expect a Thrift Shop would bid half a sickle for them, if you barter up enough pity. That'd be the most money your family's ever had, wouldn't it?" Ameliane said, seeming to pretend she wasn't affected by Padma's comment, but her ears, very pink and very low, gave her away.
The Slytherin team howled with laughter, but Harry could see Draco behind them, looking zoned out-- or atleast very bored. Then again, Harry felt bored too. He wanted to go to sleep.
"Atleast nobody had to buy their way in!" Hermione said. "I've seen you before today, Runcorn, and you haven't got an ounce of talent in a single one of your bones! You're in remedial mathematics-- I doubt you even know how many knuts go into a sickle!"
Runcorn's ears dipped even lower. She snapped at Hermione, "You're just a pathetic Muggle lover, Granger, and Potter's group is hardly your crowd. See their ears, don't you? You'll notice, not a single one of them are Muggles. So how about you run off and go back to that pink little crybaby friend of yours-- bet she's infecting you, hm, turning you into a Mudblood--"
Suddenly, it was an uproar. Hermione had punched Runcorn right in the nose, Flint had barely stopped Etta and Edward from pouncing on Runcorn, and Penelope, Ron, Luna, and Padma shouted or shrieked in shock. Harry felt inclined to do something more, but could only bring himself to pull Hermione back before she could cause any more damage. He was confused, but atleast he wasn't the only one-- Lisa and Steve looked like they were too.
Ron pulled his wand out angrily, yelling, "You're gonna get it, Runcorn!" Pointing the wand under Flint's arm and at Runcorn's bleeding, broken-looking nose. A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.
"Ron! Are you all right?" shouted Padma.
Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave a sharp cough and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.
Most of the Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter, before Hermione went to make another hit at Runcorn. Harry couldn't hold her back this time, and she got clear shots on Runcorn's ear and nose(again), and even a sharp slap on her cheek. The Ravenclaws were huddled around Ron, who kept coughing up large, glistening slugs. Nobody really seemed to want to touch him when he might cough a slug out on their shoe.
"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," Harry heard Lisa tell Padma, who both nodded, and Etta helped of the two of the pull Ron up by the arms.
"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.
"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"
"A little busy, Colin!" shouted Harry, still trying to pull Hermione off Runcorn. She had looked absolutely battered already, but the Slytherins couldn't get Hermione off her either; It didn't look like they'd wanted to either-- probably because she looked like she'd throw a punch at them too if they tried. After a long three minutes, Lisa, Padma, and Etta supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest while Harry, with the help of a giggling Luna, dragged a screaming Hermione along. Harry supposed the rage alone was enough to scare Colin off.
"Nearly there, Ron," said Padma as the gamekeeper's cabin came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute-- almost there, hey, hey! Don't you dare cough a slug on my nice day dress!"
They were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the front door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.
"Quick, behind here," Etta said, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. The rest followed, Harry, Luna, and Hermione a little slower.
"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got one-- I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!" And he strode away toward the castle.
Lisa watched quietly until Lockhart was out of sight, then gestured for Etta and Padma to pull Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. They knocked urgently.
Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.
"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me-- come in, come in, thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again--"
Etta and Padma supported Ron over the threshold into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry explained as they lowered Ron into a chair.
"Etta! Nice ter see yeh again!" Hagrid said cheerfully, dropping a large copper basin in front of Ron. "Get 'em all up, Ron."
"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said Lisa, watching Ron bend over the basin. "Pretty sure he used a curse, which are difficult to work even at the best of times, but with a broken wand, who can say--"
Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Harry, Luna, and Hermione.
"Get off me!" She yelled, clearly still enraged.
"What did Mr Lockhart want, Hagrid?" Luna asked, scratching behind Fang's ears.
"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. "Like I don' already know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."
It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts teacher, and Harry looked at him in surprise. Etta said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're being a teensy bit unfair, Hagrid. I mean, Mister Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job--"
"He was the on'y man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. "An' I mean the on'y one. Getting' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?"
"Runcorn said something about one of Hermione's friends-- it had to have been really bad, because everyone went wild, and she started beating up Runcorn," Harry said, looking at Hermione almost disapprovingly. Only almost-- he had to say, Runcorn probably deserved it.
"It was bad! She didn't have a single reason to --" Hermione screeched out, before Harry placed his hand over her mouth.
"Runcorn called someone a 'Mudblood,' now can someone tell us what--" Lisa said, before as a loud, fresh wave of slugs came from Ron's throat. Hagrid looked outraged.
"She didn'!" he growled.
"She did!" Lisa said. "But me and Harry don't know what it means! It was obviously really rude, but still, nobody's told us--"
"It's about the most insulting thing anyone could think of," gasped Ron, popping his head up. "M- mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born, you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards-- like Runcorn's entire family tree and more-- who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call Pureblood. But I hear she's got Halfblood family, so it's real dumb for her to think she's better than anyone." He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin.
"The rest of us got some sense and know it doesn't make a difference at all, blood purity." Padma said, patting Ron's back. "Look at Neville, right-- he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up, and I'm pretty sure Amanda's a Pureblood too, but you know, her family's too sweeteningly secluded from society to be considered what people call "pure" these days. They don't even think about politics or anything, I bet. And then there's Ron's family, and Luna's dad, too-- sort of."
"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione's face go red. "If anyone called 'er frien' a- er- well, they'd be in fer a werld of hurt, eh?"
"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Etta, looking out the window. "It means dirty blood, or... muddy blood, obviously... it's so... f.... Ugh! Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway, and if they hadn't married Muggles they'd have all died out! There's only so many "pure" Brits left, it's no wonder that they're more common in other states! It's not nothing you ever have to worry about in America or France! They care less about what you are and more about what you do!" She shouted, furious, as Ron retched and ducked out of sight again.
"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse her, Ron, or Hermione fer beatin' her up," said Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. She can be healed up nice an' new, but 'spect that 'er mum would've come marchin' up ter school righ' bout now if yeh'd cursed her daughter. Least yer not in trouble."
Harry would have pointed out that there weren't far too many curses worse than having slugs pouring out of your mouth, but he couldn't-- Hagrid's treacle fudge had cemented his jaws together.
"Harry," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"
Furious, Harry forced his teeth apart.
"I have not been giving out signed photos, and I never will!" he said sharply. "If Lockhart's still spreading that around, I'll--"
But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing. "I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more famous than him without even tryin'."
"I hope he hated that," said Harry, sitting up.
"Think he did," said Hagrid. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle fudge, Ron?" he added as Ron reappeared.
"No thanks," said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."
"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid as the six of them finished the last of their tea. Etta insisted she stay inside-- she had obviously been thinking very hard on something.
In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.
"Gettin' on real well, aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween feast... should be big enough by then."
"What fertilizer you been giving them?" said Harry.
Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone.
"Well, I've been givin' them- yeh know- a bit o' help--"
Harry noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Harry had had reason to believe before now that his umbrella was not all it looked; Infact, he had the strong impression that Hagrid had a wand was concealed inside it, his original wand or not. Hagrid wasn't supposed to use magic; He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but Harry had never found out why-- any mention of the matter and Hagrid would stop talking and become mysteriously deaf and mute until the subject was changed.
"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" Asked Hermione, calmed down now, looking halfway between disapproval and amusement. "You've certainly done a good job on them, charmed or not."
"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding at Ron. "Met her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. "Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house." He winked at Harry, who was confused at his words. "If yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed--"
"No." said Harry without a second thought. Ron and Luna snorted with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs that came out of Ron's nose. It only made Luna laugh harder.
"Watch it!" Hagrid yelled, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.
It was nearly lunchtime by time they left, and as Harry had only had one bit of treacle fudge since dawn, he was keen to go back to school to eat. They said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs. Lisa and Padma had declared he'd have to stay as far away from them as possible until he'd stopped, but Luna still thought it was terribly funny. Etta had gone back up to the Pitch.
They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, "There you three are, Potter, Granger, Weasley," Professor McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. "You three will do your detentions this evening."
"What're we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.
"You and Miss Granger will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch," said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley. Elbow grease."
Ron and Hermione gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school. And Filch loathed every student just as much.
"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," said Professor McGonagall.
"Wait, what? Why? Oh no, no, please -- Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too? Or- or anything but Lockhart?" begged Harry desperately.
"Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, all of you."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom, Hermione wearing a well-we-did-break-school-rules sort of expression. Lisa and Padma pretended to pray for Harry-- pretending, for they didn't actually know how to-- and Harry didn't enjoy his shepherd's pie as much as he'd thought he would. He felt he'd got the worst deal, and he wasn't the only one that thought so.
"Filch'll have us there till dawn..." said Ron heavily. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning!"
"I'd swap anytime," said Harry hollowly. "I've had loads of practice all my life. Answering Lockhart's fan mail... he'll be a nightmare and I'll be sick and tired of blond hair by the end of it. I can barely write my own signature, forget his..."
"I'm not switching anything for Lockhart, Harry, but you can leave as soon as all of the fan mail is finished," insisted Ron. "Filch'll probably keep spitting on the trophies and make us scrub them even after their spotless."
"Mione?" Harry asked hopefully.
Her face went a furious red and she shook her head. "Oh, I couldn't-- his signature, with my calligraphy skills- what a- a joke! I'd never be able to--"
"You can just say no," Harry frowned. He got a weird feeling with the way she reacted-- she couldn't have-- actually, fancied Lockhart, could she? She was brilliant-- if anyone knew of Lockhart's lies, anyone at all, it'd be her, without a doubt...
Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight, and Harry was dragging his feet along the second-floor corridor to Lockhart's office. He gritted his teeth and knocked.
The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him.
"Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in,"
Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles were countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He had even signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his desk.
"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though this was a huge treat. "This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her, huge fan of mine--"
The minutes flew by, as slow as possible. Harry let Lockhart's voice wash over him, occasionally saying, "Mhm," and "Right," and "Yeah." Every now and then he caught a phrase like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that."
Harry didn't want to be a celebrity. He didn't want to be famous either. Was that so hard to believe? He didn't think it was. Fame wasn't any good... it was all Lockhart's ego making it seem just fine. Harry had seen famous people before, being tailed by crowds, all wanting one thing or another to prove they'd met. He didn't imagine there was anyone in the world who could possibly stand that, and yet here was Lockhart, treating it as if it were some great thing...
The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Harry moved his aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley's address. It must be nearly time to leave, he thought miserably, please let it be nearly time...
And then he heard something-- something quite apart from the spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart's prattle about his fans.
It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathing, ice-cold venom--
"Come... come to me.... Let me rip you.... Let me tear you... let me kill you...."
Harry gave a jump, a scream, and fell out his chair-- a large lilacky dash appeared, nearly covering Veronica Smethley's street whole, and his glasses nearly slid off his face.
"What?!" he shouted loudly.
"I know!" said Lockhart, unaware. "Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"
"No, no, I- I..." said Harry frantically. "The... the..."
"Sorry?" said Lockhart, looking puzzled. "What's wrong?"
"That- that- it- it said-- didn't you hear it?" Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment and confusion.
"What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you are getting a little drowsy? Great Scott, look at the time! We've been here nearly four hours! I'd never have believed it-- the time's flown, hasn't it?"
Harry didn't answer. He was straining his ears to hear the voice again, but there was no sound now except for Lockhart telling him he mustn't expect a treat like this every time he got detention. Feeling suddenly dazed and tired, though incredibly grateful, Harry left.
It was so late that the Ravenclaw common room was empty. Harry went straight up to the dormitory. Harry pulled on his pyjamas, got into bed, and waited. Waited to hear the creepy voice again, or to feel Hydrus curl up near his head or on his stomach.
For the first time in however many days, Hydrus did curl up on his stomach.
"Snake- Sssnake- Little Snake! Wake up!" Hydrus hissed sharply, poking Harry's face with his tail.
"Hydrus, I'm not asleep," Harry hissed back, opening his eyes.
"Where invisibility cloak? I need to sshow you something I found."
"Hydrus, I won't see a dead rat or anything, will I? I'm not looking at a dead rat."
"I need to show you something I found."
He was being weird. He looked around multiple times and even disappeared from sight for a moment before reappearing. "Yes, something I found."
Harry moved to get up, and get his Invisibility Cloak, but then Hydrus stopped him.
"No," he hissed, pausing. He looked around curiously, as if he had expected something, too. "... nothing I found. It wass... a dead rat."
For some reason, Harry almost didn't believe him. But there was nothing else he could do anyway. Despite his annoyance, Harry smiled, relieved he wouldn't have to go anywhere. And he felt better that Hydrus had gone back to laying on his stomach.
Before Harry knew it, he was asleep.