Secrets Like Lies

It still looked like the old lair.

A Space Heroes pinball machine was off to the side of the room, their old high score from last year still waiting to be beat. There was no tree in the middle, but there was a shrine of their sensei that was surrounded by candles and training mats on the floor and some books stacked on a table. 

The brothers were silent for a minute, taking it all in. Despite having been in this strange new world for over two years, each of them felt the strong ache of homesickness for their old life, their old family, their old friends. 

Leo was the first to speak. 

“Should we train, then?” he asked, turning to his brothers. 

They all snapped themselves out of it, dragging the training mats out to the middle of the room. But even when they started sparring, none of them were really in it. Mikey threw a punch at Donnie, and Donnie only half-heartedly stepped to the side, not trying all too hard to dodge. After a few moments, Leo told them to stop. 

“I guess we should talk,” he said, giving up on training altogether. 

“I’ll start,” Mikey said, plopping down onto the couch. “My first day was—”

“Not about that, Mikey,” Raph said, hitting Mikey lightly on the back of the head. He turned to Leo. “About what Dumbledore said, right?”

Donnie nodded. “That was weird, right? He acted very nonchalant about it, but I think he knows something’s going to happen.”

“And what Harry said about Dobby,” Leo added, “and how Dobby warned him against going back to Hogwarts this year.”

“But what about Knockturn Alley?” Mikey asked. “We didn’t find much there, did we?”

Raph sighed. “Nothing we didn’t already know,” he said. 

“Oh! That reminds me, actually,” Donnie said, perking up a bit. “I did some research earlier, about the American wizarding school. It’s called Ilvermorny, apparently—it also has four Houses, so it’s pretty similar to Hogwarts, but the student’s start when they’re twelve instead of eleven. Anyway, I also found out about a bit more of American laws. They’re made by the Magical Congress of the United States, which is like the Ministry of Magic.”

“Did you find out anything about the trouble that’s been going on?” Leo said, frowning. 

Donnie shook his head. “Both the Ministry and the Congress have really been down-playing it,” he said, “making it seem like it’s not as big a problem.”

“Well, maybe it’s not,” Mikey said, ever the optimist.

Raph grimaced. “If only.” He paused for a moment. “Maybe the teachers will know more about it,” he said finally. “We could ask one of them. Or we could ask the librarian.”

Leo shook his head. “No. Asking the teachers questions will only lead to them asking us questions, and we can’t have that.”

“Well why not?” Donnie said suddenly. “Why can’t we tell them where we come from, Leo?”

“Haven’t we talked about this enough?” Leo said with a glare. “Because it could put us all in danger, Donnie, why don’t you get that?”

“How would it put us in danger? If we tell the teachers who we are, what would they do? They’re not gonna expel us—they have no grounds. In fact, they could help us if we tell them who we are. And it would make our job of protecting Harry easier, too—we could get special permission from Dumbledore to do more things, and—”

“I said no,” Leo snapped. Donnie glared at him, and he glared right back. “They might not expel us, but what if Shredder has a spy in the castle? If we tell one of them, who’s to say that they’re not going to turn around and run to Shredder?” He shook his head. “We are safe at Hogwarts, Donnie. In fact, this is probably the only place we’re safe.”

“Liar,” Donnie seethed. Leo straightened. “Liar,” Donnie repeated venomously. “We’re not safe here.” He spat the word ‘safe’ as if it was poisonous. “We’re not safe anywhere, and you know that. Even Dumbledore knows it, and it’s his school. And let’s say you were right, and a teacher here really is spying for Shredder; they would have told him already. They would have heard our names on the day of the Sorting Ceremony last year, they would have recognized them, and they would have told Shredder, and we would all be dead by now.”

The room was cast into a tense silence as the two glared at each other. Off to the side, Mikey and Raph watched, uncertain. Even they knew not to get in between an argument between the leader and the genius. 

Finally Leo sighed, clenching his jaw. “How about a compromise, Dee,” he said. “If we see something like the Turducken again—something that we know isn’t from this world, something that we know is from ours—then we can tell them. We’ll go straight to Dumbledore, and we’ll tell him everything. But that’s only if something else happens. Deal?”

Donnie thought for a moment. “Fine,” he said. “But we go to Dumbledore as soon as it happens.”

Leo nodded, and the room fell silent once more. 

“Ahem,” Mikey said after a moment. His brothers turned to him. “I still don’t exactly understand why we can’t go to the teachers,” he said. 

“For once, Mikey’s right,” Raph said. “Couldn’t we tell them we’re a bit worried? Or just curious in general?”

“I don’t think we should tell them we’re worried,” Donnie said, rolling his shoulders back. He and Leo were both still reeling, but they seemed to be calming down a little bit. “The teachers would probably soften it if we told them that. Honestly, I think curiosity is the best way to go here. The teachers wouldn’t shame some students for being curious, would they?”

“They might shame us,” Raph muttered. “After the stunt we pulled with Harry and Ron…”

“And also the fact that the four of us have that deal with Dumbledore,” Leo added. 

Mikey’s eyes lit up. “So we go to a teacher that doesn’t know about the bargain,” he said. 

Raph perked up, catching on. “And one that might not be so aware of the going-ons at this school.”

Donnie shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

Raph turned to him. “Why not, Donnie? It wouldn’t be that hard—”

“He’s an idiot! A meathead!”

“Which is exactly why we’re going to him,” Leo said. 

Donnie groaned.

They managed to catch Lockhart leaving his office on his way down to the Great Hall for dinner. He stopped when he saw them. 

“Yes?” he asked, grinning. Raph scoffed, and Leo elbowed him. 

“Er—Professor,” Donnie said, glancing at his brothers before turning back to the teacher, “we were just wondering—”

“I’m afraid I’m not giving out autographs at the moment,” Lockhart said, cutting Donnie off with a beam. “But if you come back tomorrow, I’d be happy to give you some. For a small fee, of course.”

“What?” Mikey said, bewildered. 

“Oh, fine, you’ve worn me down,” Lockhart said. He was still smiling, and the four brothers were beginning to get annoyed. “No fee for my students.”

“Professor,” Leo said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice, “we were just wondering what you knew about the—er—trouble going on. In America, I mean.”

Lockhart’s smile fell, and he raised a brow. “Trouble?” he repeated. Then he straightened. “Oh, of course! That trouble,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry much of it, nothing compared to what I’ve been through, truly, we’ll be fine so long as I’m—”

“Could you tell us anything about the trouble?” Raph snapped.

“We ask you because we’re sure you know all about it,” Donnie said quickly, glaring at the hot-head. “You know—with what you’ve been through, I’m sure you think it’s nothing to be worried about, and I’m sure you’re right, of course, but we were just wondering what, exactly, is going on in America that has everyone in a panic.”

Lockhart seemed to consider it for a moment. “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to tell you a few things, now does it?” he said finally. “After all, there truly is nothing to fear, so long as you have me as your teacher.” He paused, and Mikey nodded encouragingly while Donnie and Leo smiled awkwardly (Raph only crossed his arms, which wasn’t as bad as rolling his eyes, he thought). Lockhart cleared his throat and said dramatically, “There have been murmurs of… strange creatures running around American cities.”

When he didn’t elaborate further, Leo asked, “What kind of creatures?”

Lockhart beamed—honestly, it was a surprise his face didn’t hurt so much from smiling that widely all the time. “Excellent question, Leonardo.” He resumed his dramatic tone. “While no rumor has so far proved to be true, people say that there have been rat-like animals far bigger than the average rodent, monsters that reek of waste and human disappointment, strange wizards adorned in robes that don’t use magic.”

Donnie’s brows furrowed. “Is that what’s been causing the damage in the cities?”

“Well, of course, there have also been rumors that Ilvermorny students have been causing some of the damages—it peaked over the summer, I believe,” Lockhart said. He sighed. “If only I hadn’t been here preparing for this school year,” he said. “I could have prevented this madness from spiraling out of control and helped the Congress restore order to the United States. Alas,” he said, trailing off. It was silent for an awkward moment before his stomach growled loudly. “If that’s all, I’m going to go to dinner,” Lockhart said, turning back toward the Great Hall. “Good night—and the autograph offer is still open, by the way.”

As he walked off, Donnie tried to follow after him, but Leo held him back. “We won’t get anything more out of him,” he said. He turned. “Come on, guys. We’ve got some work to do.”

Harry spent a lot of time 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. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, “All right, Harry?” six or seven times a day and hear, “Hello, Colin,” back, however exasperated Harry sounded when he said it. He was incredibly grateful for Raph and the others, though—they were always quick to warn him whenever Lockhart or Colin was coming close. Although he had been noticing that they weren’t around as often; they’d even been seeing less and less of Raph, who was Harry and Ron’s roommate. Where they disappeared to, none of them were certain, but Hermione did point out one time that Raph and his brothers had eyebags that seemed to be getting worse by the day. Raph had just shrugged it off, but Harry could tell that something was bothering them. When he tried to bring it up again, though, Raph had glared at him until he’d backed off. 

Harry couldn’t do anything right recently, it seemed. Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disastrous car journey. Not to mention that Ron’s wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron’s hand in Charms and hitting 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 the others were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by none other than Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

“Whassamatter?” Harry said groggily, reaching for his glasses.

“Quidditch practice!” said Wood. “Come on!”

Harry squinted out the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn’t understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

“Oliver,” Harry croaked. “It’s the crack of dawn.”

“Exactly,” said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year, and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with crazed enthusiasm. “It’s part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let’s go,” he said heartily. “None of the other teams have started training yet; we’re going to be first off the mark this year—”

Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.

“Good man,” Wood said, nodding. “Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes.”

When he’d found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry scribbled a note to Ron and Raph explaining where he’d gone. As he turned to leave the dorm, he saw that Raph was already missing, but figured that the note would stand nonetheless. He went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind him. He turned, expecting maybe to see Raph (he was still groggy enough not to realize that Raph had never made that much noise, intentionally or not), and nearly groaned when Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral 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?” Colin asked eagerly.

“No,” Harry said flatly, glancing around the check that the room really was deserted. “Sorry, Colin, I’m in a hurry—Quidditch practice—”

He climbed through the portrait hole.

“Oh, wow! Wait for me! I’ve never watched a Quidditch game before!”

Colin scrambled through after him.

“It’ll be really boring,” 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?” Colin said, 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. 

“I don’t really understand Quidditch,” Colin said breathlessly. How he was still talking, Harry wasn’t sure, but he really wished he would stop. “Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?”

“Yes,” Harry said heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated rules of Quidditch. “They’re called Bludgers. There are two Beaters on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters.”

“And what’re the other balls for?” Colin asked, tripping down a couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry.

“Well, the Quaffle—that’s the biggish red one—is the one that scores goals. Three Chasers on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try to 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—”

“Is the Golden Snitch,” said Harry, “and it’s 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 and fifty points.”

“And you’re the Gryffindor Seeker, aren’t you?” Colin said in awe.

“Yes,” Harry said as they left the castle and started across the dew-drenched grass. “And there’s the Keeper, too. He guards the goal posts. But that’s it, really.”

But Colin didn’t stop questioning Harry all the way down the sloping lawns to the Quidditch field, and Harry only shook him off when he reached the changing rooms; Colin called after him in a piping voice, “I’ll go and get a good seat, Harry!” and hurried off to the stands. 

Harry sighed.

“They’ll be done soon,” Ron said. 

He, Hermione, Raph, Leo, Mikey, and Donnie were all sitting in the Quidditch stands. It was early in the morning, and a cool breeze made them shiver. The six of them munched on some toast they had grabbed from the Great Hall for breakfast as they waited for the Gryffindor team to go out onto the field. 

“Where were you this morning?” Ron asked suddenly, turning to Raph.

“What do you mean?” Raph said, taking a bite of his toast and raising a brow at Ron. 

“Er—just that you got up pretty early, is all.”

“Oh, that,” Raph said. He and his brothers exchanged a glance. “We were just studying in the library.”

“Studying?” Ron and Hermione said at the same time. 

“What for? We’ve only been here a week!” Ron said. 

“Without me?” Hermione looked hurt.

Donnie cleared his throat. “We kind of fell behind over the summer,” he said. “So, uh, we’re just trying to catch up with our school work before we fall even more behind, you know?”

Neither Ron nor Hermione bought the lie, but at that moment, Harry and the rest of the Quidditch team walked out onto the field, brooms in hand. 

“Aren’t you finished?” Ron called incredulously.

“Haven’t even started,” Harry replied. “Wood’s been teaching us new moves.”

He mounted his broom and soared through the air, racing Fred and George. Leo shot a glance over at a Gryffindor first-year who was taking pictures of Harry non-stop. 

“Look this way, Harry! This way!” he cried shrilly. Harry, Fred, and George all stopped, looking at him in disbelief. Raph snorted.

“What’s going on?” the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Oliver Wood, said. “Why’s that first year taking pictures? I don’t like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program.”

“He’s in Gryffindor,” Harry said quickly.

Wood glanced at Leo, frowning.

“And he’s with me,” Harry said. 

Leo smiled, waving at Oliver. “Trust me, you don’t have to worry about me leaking any secrets,” he called. 

“Besides, the Slytherins don’t need a spy, Oliver,” George said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because they’re here in person,” Fred said, pointing. 

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.

“I don’t believe it!” Wood hissed, outraged. “I booked the field for today! We’ll see about this!”

The four of them shot toward the ground. Leo, his brothers, Ron, and Hermione all looked over at the Slytherins curiously. Leo’s eyes were narrowed, and they all got up to see what was going on.

“Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. “This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!”

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.”

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, who were the Gryffindor chasers, had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder facing the Gryffindors. 

“But I booked the field!” Wood said, practically trembling with rage. “I booked it!”

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

“You’ve got a new Seeker?” Wood said, distracted. “Where?”

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face—Draco Malfoy.

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” said Fred, looking at Malfoy in disgust.

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” Flint said as the whole Slytherin team smiled more broadly still. “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun.

“Very latest model. Only came out last month,” Flint said carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own broom. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps”—he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives—“sweeps the board with them.”

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so widely his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

“Oh, look,” said Flint. “A field invasion.”

Ron, Hermione, and the Hamatos had finally reached them; the brothers were all glaring at the Slytherins, while Ron and Hermione just looked confused. 

“What’s happening?” Ron asked Harry. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?”

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasly,” Malfoy said smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought for our team.”

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him. 

“Good, aren’t they?” Malfoy said smoothly. Leo wrinkled his nose in disgust. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”

The Slytherin team erupted into laughter. 

“That wasn’t that funny,” Mikey mumbled, genuinely confused. Raph only rolled his eyes.

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” Hermione said sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”

The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered. 

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.

There was an instant uproar at his words. Oliver, Fred, and George all dove at Malfoy, and the rest of the Slytherin team had to shove him backward so he wouldn’t be pummeled by the three of them. Alicia shrieked, “How dare you!” 

Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, and yelled, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” He pointed it furiously behind the pile of fighting Quidditch players at Malfoy’s face.

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. 

Leo, Raph, Donnie, and Mikey all hurled Fred, George, and Oliver off of the Slytherin team. Oliver backed off first, still reeling, but it took all four of them to get Fred and George away from the fight. Everyone was panting and bloody, save for Malfoy, Harry, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie. 

“Ron! Ron, are you all right?” Hermione said, rushing over to where Ron lay. 

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch, and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his laugh. Raph gagged, dry-heaving into the grass below him. 

The Slytherin team was paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, despite his broken nose, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him; even Raph kept a healthy distance, his face unusually pale. 

“We’d better get him to Hagrid’s, it’s nearest,” Harry said to Hermione and the Hamatos. Donnie and Leo pulled 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 as they left the field. Ron gave a huge heave, and more slugs dribbled down his front. Raph shuddered.

“Oooh,” Colin said, fascinated and raising his camera. “Can you two hold him still?”

“Get out of the way, Colin!” Harry said angrily.

“Nearly there, Ron,” said Hermione as the gamekeepers’ cabin came into view. “You’ll be all right in a minute—almost there—”

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,” Harry hissed, ducking behind a nearby bush. Everyone followed, though Hermione was somewhat reluctant.

“It’s a simple matter of knowing 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 set it over. Well, good-bye!” He strode away toward the castle.

They all waited until Lockhart was out of sight before pulling 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—”

Donnie and Leo 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 hastily explained as Donnie and Leo lowered Ron into a chair.

“Better out than in,” Hagrid said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in front of him. “Get ‘em all up, Ron.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to do except wait for it to stop,” Donnie said, frowning. 

“I agree,” said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. “That’s a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand—”

Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Harry and Mikey. 

“What did Lockhart want, Hagrid?” Leo asked as Harry scratched Fang’s ears.

“Givin’ me advice on gettin’ kelpies out of a well,” Hagrid growled, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. “Like I don’ know. An’ bangin’ on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it is true, I’ll eat my kettle.”

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts teacher, and Harry looked at him in surprise. Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, “I think you’re being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job—”

“He was the on’y man for the job,” Hagrid said, offering them a plate of treacle fudge while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. “An’ I mean the on’y one. Gettin’ very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren’t too keen ter take in on, see. They’re startin’ ter think it’s jinxed. No one’s lasted long fer a while now, and with the trouble goin’ on, people don’ really want ter get involved in teachin’, at least not at the momen’. So tell me,” Hagrid said, jerking his head at Ron, “who was he tryin’ ter curse?”

“Malfoy,” Donnie said. 

“He called Hermione something,” Harry said. “It must’ve been really bad, because everybody went wild.”

“It was bad,” Ron said hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. “Malfoy called her ‘Mudblood,’ Hagrid—”

Ron dove out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged. 

“He didn’!” he growled at Hermione. 

“He did,” she said. “But I don’t know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course—”

“It’s about the most insulting thing he could think of,” gasped Ron, coming back up. “Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born—you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards—like Malfoy’s family—who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re what people call pure-blood.” He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it in the basin and continued, “I mean, the rest of us know it doesn’t make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom—he’s pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up.”

“An’ they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’ do,” said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta. 

“If Malfoy truly thinks that, he’s no better than the people of New York,” Mikey grumbled.

Everyone turned to him, and Leo cringed. 

“What do you mean by that?” Hermione asked innocently. 

Mikey froze. “Uh—just that they don’t like anything… different, I guess.”

“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone, anyway,” Ron said, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. “Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It’s ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we’d’ve died out.”

He retched and ducked out of sight again.

“Well, I don’ blame yeh fer tryin’ ter curse him, Ron,” said Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. “Bu’ maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. ‘Spect Lucius Malfoy would’ve come marchin’ up ter school if hey’d cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble.”

Harry seemed to want to say something, but Hagrid’s treacle fudge had cemented his jaws together.

“Can’t get in much worse trouble than slugs coming out of your mouth, can you?” Raph said, still looking slightly queasy. Next to him, Mikey grinned. 

“Harry,” Hagrid said abruptly, stopping Mikey from saying what would have surely made Raph punch him. “Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I’ve heard you’ve bin given’ out signed photos. How come I haven’t got one?”

Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart.

“I have not been giving out signed photos,” he said hotly. “If Lockhart’s still spreading that around—”

But then Hagrid laughed. 

“I’m on’y jokin’,” Hagrid 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 the. Yer more famous than him without tryin’.”

“Bet he didn’t like that,” Donnie said as Harry sat up, rubbing his chin.

“Don’ think he did,” Hagrid said, his eyes twinkling. “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 appeared.

“No thanks,” said Ron weakly. “Better not risk it.”

“Come an’ see what I’ve bin growin’,” Hagrid said as Harry, Hermione, Leo, and Donnie finished the last of their tea (Raph hadn’t even touched his cup, and Mikey was too busy fiddling with his robes to have more than a few sips). 

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 well, aren’t they?” said Hagrid happily. “Fer the Halloween feast… should be big enough by then.”

“What’ve you been feeding them?” asked Harry.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone.

“Well, I’ve bin given’ them—you know—a bit o’ help—”

Hagrid’s flowery pink umbrella was leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Harry and the others all strongly suspected that Hagrid’s old school wand was concealed inside it, even though Hagrid wasn’t supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but none of them had ever found out why—any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

“An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?” Donnie said. 

Hermione nodded, halfway between disapproving and amused. “Well, you’ve done a good job on them.”

“That’s what yer little sister said,” Hagrid said, 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. “If yeh ask me, she wouldn’t say no ter a signed—”

“Oh, shut up,” said Harry. Both Raph and Ron snorted with laughter, but the ground was sprayed with slugs. 

“Watch it!” Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.

Mikey’s stomach grumbled, and he chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry, dudes,” he said, rocking awkwardly on his feet. “It’s been a while.”

Hagrid frowned. “Best be gettin’ ter the castle fer lunch, then.”

“See you later, Hagrid,” Hermione said with a wave. Ron looked as though he was about to say something, but then his face paled, and he only shook his head. The rest of them bid Hagrid good-bye and walked back to the castle. Ron hiccuped occasionally, but he only brought up two very small slugs.

They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, “There you all are.” Professor McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. “You will all do your detentions this evening.”

“What’re we doing, Professor?” said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp. 

“You, Leonardo, and Raphael will all be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch,” said Professor McGonagall. “And no magic, you three—elbow grease.”

Raph sighed while Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school. Leo only nodded, surprise—and something like relief—written in his features.

“And you three,” Professor McGonagall said, turning to Harry, Mikey, and Donnie, “will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail.”

“Oh n—Professor, can’t I go and do the trophy room, too?” said Harry desperately. 

“Certainly not,” said Professor McGongall, raising her eyebrows. “Professor Lockhart requested you particularly, Potter. Eight o’clock sharp, all of you.”

She walked away. Mikey seemed perfectly happy with his punishment, but Donnie wore a horrified expression. 

Harry sighed. “I’m with you,” he said miserably.

“Is that all I get?” Leo said incredulously.

“Snape and the other teachers must be too busy to deal with us,” Mikey said in amusement. 

Most of them slouched into the Great Hall in the states of deepest gloom, but Hermione trailed after them, wearing a well-you-did-break-school-rules sort of expression. Harry didn’t enjoy his shepherd’s pie as much as he’d thought; both he and Ron felt as though they’d got the worse deal.

“Filch’ll have us there all night,” Ron said 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 with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart’s fan mail… he’ll be a nightmare…”

Raph remained silent for a moment, and Harry glanced over to see an angry expression on his face. 

“Are you all right?” he asked. 

Raph’s gaze shot up to Harry. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. Harry remained unconvinced, but before he could ask more, Raph turned to Ron and said, “Don’t worry about Filch. Leo’ll have the whole place spotless in no time.” He grinned at Harry. “And I think Lockhart will be too busy arguing with Donnie to make you too miserable.”

Harry sighed heavily. “I hope so.”

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight. Harry, Donnie, and Mikey made their way along the second-floor corridor to Lockhart’s office. Harry and Donnie were dragging their feet, but Mikey was bouncing up and down, a pleasant smile on his face. He had been taunting Raph and Leo about having to clean the trophy room, something that infuriated them both to no end. 

Harry was startled out of his thoughts when Lockhart’s door flew open, Lockhart beaming down at him. 

“Ah, here they are, the scalawags!” he said. “Come in, come in—Harry, wonderful you could come…”

“Not like he had much of a choice,” Donnie muttered bitterly. Lockhart either didn’t hear him or decided to ignore him, and he beamed at Harry as Harry stepped into Lockhart’s office.

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 all can address the envelopes!” Lockhart told them all, as though this was a huge treat. “This first one’s to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her—huge fan of mine—”

The minutes snailed by. Harry let Lockhart’s voice wash over him, occasionally saying, “Mmm” and “Right” and “Yeah.” Now and then he caught a phrase like, “Fame’s a fickle friend, Harry,” or “Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that.” Next to him, Donnie was seething silently as he wrote the address line furiously on the envelope. He, much like Harry, couldn’t stand Lockhart, but was much more open about it than Harry was. Mikey, meanwhile, only seemed bored. 

The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching over them. 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, Harry 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 and Mikey’s occasional groan and Donnie’s quiet frustration.

It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom. 

“Come… come to me… Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…”

Harry gave a huge jump and a large lilac blot appeared on Veronica Smethley’s street.

“What?” he said loudly. 

Donnie and Mikey looked at Harry in concern, but Lockhart seemed oblivious.

“I know!” he said. “Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!”

“No,” said Harry frantically. “That voice!”

“Sorry?” said Lockhart, looking puzzled. “What voice?”

“That—that voice that said—didn’t you hear it?”

Lockhart was looking at Harry in astonishment, but Donnie and Mikey exchanged a glance.

“What are you talking about, Harry?” Lockhart asked. “Perhaps you’re 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?”

Nobody answered. Harry was straining his ears to hear the voice again, and Donnie and Mikey remained still, their faces pale. Though Harry tried his hardest for even a whisper, there was no sound except for Lockhart telling them they mustn’t expect a treat like this every time they got detention. Feeling dazed, Harry left, Mikey and Donnie trailing after him. 

“Dude, what was that about?” Mikey asked as soon as they were out of view of Lockhart’s office.

“What voice, Harry?” Donnie said urgently. 

Harry shook his head. “It was… it was moving,” he said. “And it said something about killing somebody.”

The brothers exchanged a look again. “And you’re sure it wasn’t just your imagination?” Donnie said. 

Harry shook his head; he would have been irritated if it weren’t for the fact that Donnie didn’t sound accusatorial, but rather worried. 

“I’m sure.”

All was quiet for a moment. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Mikey said. “We can tell the others about this later—maybe Raph and the others are back in the Gryffindor common room.”

“For once, Mikey’s right,” Donnie said. “We can worry about this tomorrow. For now, let’s just go to bed.”

Harry bid them good-night, and they all went their separate ways to their common rooms. It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty. Harry went straight up to the dormitory, but Ron wasn’t back yet. He pulled on his pajamas, got into bed, and waited. Half an hour later, Ron arrived, nursing his right arm and bringing a strong smell of polish into the darkened room. 

“My muscles have all seized up,” he groaned, sinking onto his bed. “Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took me ages to get the slime off, even with Leo helping… How was it with Lockhart?”

“First, where’s Raph?” Harry wondered.

“Right here,” a miserable voice said. Raph walked into the room, rolling his shoulders as he got into bed. “What’s up?”

Keeping his voice low (though there were no other people in the room), Harry told them exactly what he had heard.

“And Lockhart said he couldn’t hear it?” said Ron. Harry could see him frowning in the moonlight. “D’you think he was lying? But I don’t get it—even someone invisible would’ve had to open the door.”

“He wasn’t lying,” Harry said. “Even Donnie and Mikey couldn’t hear it.”

Raph groaned. “Just great,” he murmured. “Look, my brothers and I can look into it, if you want,” he said. “But until then, just keep this on the down-low. I just don’t get it,” he said, and in that moment, he sounded as tired and frustrated as Harry felt. 

“I know,” Harry said, lying back in his four-poster and staring at the canopy above him. “I don’t get it either.”