Diospyros

Harry poured himself some tea slowly, trying to push the sleep away from him as he made his way from the cup to the toast and eggs. Much due to the holidays as much as Professor Lockhart, his new daytime routine was defined the previous weekend.

As much as Gilderoy was satisfied with his exact answers and his ability to act, Harry avoided, as much as he could, crossing paths with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor both outside and inside the classroom. He was a threat to be feared, and Harry didn't really want to be around him – which proved irritating, considering the man woke up surprisingly early.

His desire not to be in the same room as the man led him to wake up almost an hour earlier than before, getting moving when the sunlight didn't even scratch the waters near the windows in Slytherin. For some reason Malfoy had already gotten up, but Harry took his attention away from that as he shuffled into the bathroom.

The Great Hall was perfectly empty; the golden plates and cutlery rested in their places, shining clearly, no food yet filling the gap formed by crystal dishes between the two parts of the tables. The candles were still smoking from the recently extinguished fire, all in a strange blue tone in the low light. The enchanted sky on the ceiling did not even remotely indicate where the sun was, it only contained greyish-white clouds floating scattered across a blue plane. It was only when he settled down at the table and watched the light breakfast materialise that he realised it was Saturday, and that no one was getting out of bed anytime soon.

Swearing under his breath, he helped himself to tea and biscuits and planned what to do with his free time. The weather was perfect, the first week of the end of summer. The trees were still very green and the grass was very soft, so it was a bit quick to opt for a walk around the school grounds.

Hogwarts had something truly attractive about its fauna; an immense green carpet that looks like satin stretched across the entire castle island, accompanied by bushes and hedges scattered in a semi-wild garden with many decorative plants. An abnormally large group of trees made up the Forbidden Forest, creating a gloom that made it difficult for the Sun to spread even on clear days. The air gently swayed the summer-nourished leaves, plucking some and carrying them away for a short but meaningful adventure. The geography was odd; There was no way the castle island could house all the vegetation, but apparently it could. The Black Lake was larger than what one normally sees, but it is still largely impossible to be able to surround a forest without something other than magic.

The Giant Squid ventured below the surface, swimming beneath a thin layer of water held only by hydrostatics. The sunlight reflected off it brightly, seeming not to even bother the creature's huge eye, which was brighter than Harry expected. She seemed very pleased with her little exercise.

The Quidditch stadium rose beyond the lake and diametrically opposite the direction of the Forbidden Forest, being very visible throughout the eastern area of ​​the island, obscured by the Towers on the other side. Banners flew atop four long poles, and the stands were coloured in the colours of the Hogwarts houses. Harry thought that, with time to spare, resting in the silent and empty stadium was a good option before heading back to the castle. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't that empty.

Colin Creevey, the crazy first-year Gryffindor who was always chasing Adrien, stood right in front of him as soon as he climbed into the stands to sit down.

— Harry!

The squeaky voice momentarily filled Harry with pure dread, right before he was drowned in a haze of compliance. When he finished climbing, he greeted the boy.

— Hello, Colin.

— What are you doing here? Watch your brother train?

— Training?

Lifting his head, Harry saw the Weasley twins fly in a zigzag pattern with a Bludger behind their broomsticks; Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell were flying alongside Oliver Wood, who was keeping the goals on one side. Adrien seemed to fly aside, watching his teammates in motion.

— I didn't know they had training. – Harry commented.

— Didn’t you? – The abominable voice squealed. – I came as soon as I heard! Adrien was telling me about Quidditch, you know? We met this morning and he decided to teach me...

The obsession was a worrying thing about Creevey (and the thought that Adrien wanted to teach him something was kind of sad), but Harry couldn't think too much before he was surprised again.

— What are you doing here? – Ron exclaimed rudely as he stepped into the stands, Hermione in tow.

— Don't do that – Harry hissed angrily as he turned to Ron.

— Hi Harry — Hermione greeted him.

— Hello Hermione. Ronald.

— It's Ron – the redhead grumbled, but looked back at Harry. – But what are you doing here? – Suddenly, suspicion appeared on his face. – You didn't come to spy on Gryffindor, did you?

Hermione's kick at him had its grace slightly muffled by the expression of realisation that finally fell on Colin's face, soon followed by a frightened widening of his eyes.

— No — he denied. – But I don't think I need to do something like that.

— What do you mean? – Hermione questioned.

— I see green dots entering the field right now.

The Gryffindors immediately lowered their heads towards the ground, to watch Flint and the other dimwits from the Slytherin Quidditch team take the field, all indistinguishable in the flashy green and silver.

— What!

Ron's outrage was a tangible energy, seeing as how he descended the stairs much more quickly than he had climbed them. Hermione hurriedly descended close behind, followed by Colin jumping up two steps at a time. Sighing, Harry walked down the stairs towards the field as well.

Wood looked a mix of apprehension and anger, while the rest of the team was in a strange dejected stupor. The Slytherin boys were very comfortable, and Malfoy (who was apparently part of the team, based on his uniform) was at the front of the group, confronting Adrien and Ron, who were behind Wood. Harry was almost there when he heard Draco say to Hermione:

— No one asked for your opinion, you little mudblood.

Flint was thrown away as he tried to step in front of Draco, skidding in circles across the lawn. The other Slytherin players straightened up, jutting their bodies to attack. Malfoy turned to Harry in fear.

— Potter! – The blonde shouted.

Harry growled, furious, sliding the distance between him and the other students so that it seemed like the space between them doubled, stopping directly in front of Draco and punching him so hard that he knocked the other boy down. Bletchley tried to move forward, only to get stuck entirely.

— I say now, Malfoy, you'd better apologise before I decide to break that damn broom over your swollen head.

Draco got up from the ground, his face turning pink and the halo immediately marking itself over the injured eye, igniting angrily.

— As if I'd apologise to a Mudblood!

Another punch hit him, knocking him down again. Now, he had a pair of areolas. It looked like it was going to swell soon too. Harry was prepared to actually grab Draco's broom when his arms were grabbed by Fred and George.

— I think that's enough – Fred shouted, tightening his hold.

— I agree, my brother – Jorge nodded. – I think we'd all go our own way, yes? Flint? – The Slytherin captain still seemed dazed from the hit on the floor. – Take Malfoy, now.

No one looking like they wanted to fight anymore, the Slytherin team quickly left the field, Bletchley dragging Malfoy by the neck immediately after thawing out, looking the most scared of them all. It took a while for them to release Harry too.

There was a certain silence; Hermione was still very confused, while Ron seemed to glow with satisfaction. Adrien was strangely shy.

— Wow – That was the only thing anyone could say, and it was Colin, right before his camera clicked.

***

Harry found himself, in the middle of lunch, being dragged to the Professor Snape's office by the Slytherin prefect, Genma Farley. His mood was certainly low as he had to swallow his tart as quickly as he could, only scratching his throat in the process. Seeing Draco Malfoy so soon as he entered the Potions professor's office also soured his stomach even more.

— Thank you, Farley – Snape said dryly to the monitor, who just nodded. – Dismissed.

The monitor left the room disconcertingly quickly, in an obvious state of discomfort with the whole situation. Flint and Bletchley were with Malfoy. The brat had an expression of barely contained malice.

— Now, Potter — Snape turned to Harry. – Flint came asking for you to be suspended. Apparently, you attacked the Slytherin team. How do you declare?

The other three boys had very stupid smug smiles, which made Harry's mood cool very quickly.

— I attacked Flint and Malfoy, only.

Snape's face contorted in a not very pleasant way.

— And you think this improves your situation? – the professor asked in a very dangerous tone. – Maybe I was wrong about you; Just like your father and your brother, very arrogant...

Harry's coldness could certainly have frozen his own brain, if the absolute emptiness he felt was anything to go by – although the lack of discomfort was more significant than the coldness itself.

— I ask, Professor Snape, that you do not deviate from the central issue of my presence here – Harry's tone certainly made Snape stop his insulting rambling, looking at him in a very strange way. – I would like to ask: did they tell you exactly why I attacked them?

The professor's expressions reformed into a calculation far faster than Harry could correctly perceive. His eyes fell on the other Slytherins, who squirmed in their seats.

— I don't think so.

— Well — Harry warmed up. –, Draco called Hermione a mudblood.

Harry was actually startled by all the fervour he saw emanating from the professor instantly, and marvelled at how it was smothered almost as instantly. The burden on the other boys had certainly increased far more than he had seen it weigh on any other Hogwarts student since he began his studies.

— Suspension from the Quidditch team for the next three games and thirty points from each one – Snape decreed coldly in a very definitive tone.

— Professor! – Flint ventured to confront.

— Another thirty points from you, Mr. Flint.

***

If Harry thought he had already felt Slytherin's irritation after Gryffindor beat the house in the first game last year, he was apparently mistaken.

In fact, the anger directed at Flint and Malfoy (who actually lost points for the house) was slightly worse, but the amount they sent him was much greater than previously. There were more than just sarcastic comments and moving inconveniences: things of his were tending to disappear whenever they seemed out of sight. This proved to be a very pointless action, as all things had to come back to Harry at some point.

The dungeons became colder than they already were once October arrived; the lands above were filled with a damp cold that left a trail of dew, while the moisture from the subsoil was all sucked away and only the cold remained on the stones. The Black Lake, visible through the greenish glass windows, became darker than before, the light becoming dimmer in the water each day.

Harry loved the dungeons. It was not uncommon to see him walking barefoot across the stone floor, his very pale feet standing out against the dark floor. Carpets gave him allergies, being the only things that could retain moisture and becoming breeding grounds for mould and everything. Morag seemed to suffer every time he saw him, being very wrapped up even near the fireplace.

It seemed that the people on the surface were behaving the same way: Hagrid was wearing a huge, fuzzy moleskin coat, standing out like a brown thumb amidst numerous scarves and coats of many colours. Prof. Flitwick wore a scarf that was at least twice his size, having to fold it three times around his neck. Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff wore red gloves and headphones, which cutely highlighted her rosy cheeks. Hermione had covered herself with an extra cloak, and Ronald and Adrien just fastened all the buttons on their uniform. In Ravenclaw, only one little blonde girl seemed to find the weather even mildly pleasant, without shoes or a cape.

Filch must have suffered most from the weather; his face, almost always twisted into a constipated expression, was now looking swollen, like a large pimple. His nose frequently released snot, making his sniffles noticeable from afar. Mrs. Norris seemed resigned to staying close to her owner, even if she lowered her ears with each deeper sniff.

It turned out that his bad mood also got worse, as Harry noticed in practice.

— Dirt!

The caretaker's jaws were shaking in a way that left Harry worried and unsure whether it was anger or cold, given the way the snot ran down Filch's nose, which pointed towards the dirt footsteps Harry left behind after returning from the wild garden. whose soil was still washed from the constant rains that gave a brief respite in the afternoon.

— Mess and dirt everywhere! That's enough for me, that's what I tell you. Come with me, Potter!

Then Harry followed him downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor.

He had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The place was dingy and dark, windowless, lit by a single oil lamp hanging from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish permeated the room. Wooden filing cabinets were arranged along the walls; From the labels, Harry could see that they contained details about every student Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had a separate drawer. A highly polished collection of chains and handcuffs hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always asking Dumbledore to let him hang students from the ceiling by their ankles.

Filch took a quill from the inkwell on the table and began looking for parchment.

— Shit – he muttered angrily –, fried dragon shit... frog brains... rat guts... That's enough for me... I'll make an example of this... where is the form... here. ..

He took a large roll of parchment from the desk drawer and opened it in front of him, dipping the long black quill into the inkwell.

— Name... Harry Potter. Crime...

— It was just a bit of damp earth – Harry complained. The wind would soon blow away.

— It was just a little bit of damp earth for you, brat, but for me it's another hour of cleaning! – shouted Filch, a disgusting droplet quivering on the tip of his acorn nose. – Crime... dirtying the castle... suggested sentence...

Filch, wiping his dripping nose, gave Harry a nasty look, who resigned himself to waiting for his sentence to fall on his head.

But as Filch lowered the pen, there was a loud bang on the ceiling of the room, which made the oil lamp rattle.

— PEEVES! – roared Filch, throwing the feather on the floor in a huff of rage. – This time I'll catch you, I'll catch you!

And without even looking at Harry, Filch ran out of the room.

Peeves was the school's poltergeist, an aerial, smiling menace who was always causing disorder and distress. Harry didn't care much for Peeves, but he couldn't help but feel grateful for his sense of timing. It was to be expected that whatever Peeves had done (and it seemed that this time he had messed up something very important) he would divert Filch's attention away from Harry.

Figuring he should probably wait for Filch to return, Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. A meow caught his attention.

Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat and his main assistant in maintaining order in the castle, was staring at him from a cabinet among the file shelves. Her eyes glowed different colours, and she jumped from her place in the closet onto Harry's lap, who held her close to his chest.

There wasn't anything very interesting about the room; the archives did not seem enchanted to move at Filch's orders, and there was no paint or armour to be able to talk. The only thing that was more interesting was a purple envelope on the table, which Harry tried to avoid out of politeness.

Mrs. Norris seemed to question his resilience, seeing as how she jumped onto the table and placed her paw on the paper. It was after a long sequence of meows that he finally let his eyes fall on the cat.

— What?

Another meow, a pat on the paper with her paws. Deliberating his manners, Harry bent over the table.

SPELLEXPRESS

A correspondence course in magic for beginners

Intrigued, Harry shook the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside, with silver inscriptions saying:

Do you feel old-fashioned in the world of modern magic? Do you find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Do you hear people making fun of you for handling a magic wand so badly? We have the solution!

SpellExpress is an entirely new course, which guarantees quick results and easy assimilation. Hundreds of wizards and witches have already benefited from the SpellExpress method!

Madame Z. Nettles from Topsham writes to us:

“I had no memory to store enchantments and my potions were a source of laughter in the family! Now, after the SpellExpress course, I am the center of attention at parties, and my friends ask me for the recipe for My Sparkling Solution!”

Wizard D. J. Prod from Didsbury tells us:

“My wife used to make fun of my ineffective spells, but after a month of using her fabulous SpellExpress I managed to turn her into a yak! Thank you very much, SpellExpress!

Filch burst into the room, looking triumphant, slamming the door with a little more force than necessary.

— That disappearing cabinet was extremely valuable! – he said happily to Mrs. Norris, who came to welcome him. – Let's finish off Peeves this time, my sweet...

His voice died as his eyes fell on Harry and the papers in his hands. His face lost all colour, looking terrified at the empty purple envelope on the table, and looking back at Harry.

— You... what are you...!

The anger he was trying to create drained away very quickly in the torrent of shame and dread he emanated. Harry, without realising it, gave him a gentle smile, placing the papers on the table.

— I won't tell anyone, Mr. Filch – he promised, getting up from his seat.

— Get out — Was the only thing the caretaker could answer, his lip trembling.