Another Hogwarts Tale

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor.

It was more difficult, however, to avoid Colin Creevey. Colin had apparently memorized Harry's timetable.

Nothing seemed to please him more than ask "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day and hear "Hello, Colin," no matter how exasperated Harry sounded.

Colin left Lucy alone after two days. The thing was that she didn't want to tell her brother how she did it. 

(Lucy had only told the first-year boy to please leave her alone.) Exceptions were when she could help him as an older schoolmate.

Hedwig was still mad at Harry about the horrible journey, and Ron's wand was still acting up.

On Friday morning he surpassed himself:

It shot out of Ron's hand like an arrow, hitting right between Professor Flitwick's eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil.

So, one thing led to another, and Harry was quite glad that it was finally the weekend.

He wanted to visit Hagrid with his friends on Saturday morning.

However, early in the morning, a few hours early for Harry's liking, Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, shook him awake.

Lucy also woke up a little earlier than usual that day, so decided to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice.

But not without taking some food from the great hall, where she met Ophelia and 'asked' her to join.

When they arrived at the Quidditch pitch, there was no one to be seen. except for Colin, who was sitting alone in one of the stands.

The team had been in the dressing room so long that the sun was now fully up, although remnants of the morning mist still hung over the stadium lawn.

As Harry stepped onto the field, he saw Ron, Hermione, his sister and Ophelia sitting in the stands.

"Aren't you finished yet?" Ron yelled in disbelief.

"Haven't even started," Harry replied, squinting enviously at the toasts and jam that the others had brought from the Great Hall.

"Wood's been teaching us new moves."

He mounted his broomstick, pushed off the ground, and soared high into the air.

The cool morning air lashed his face and roused his spirits more thoroughly than Wood's lengthy speech.

A wonderful feeling to be back on the Quidditch pitch.

He sped around the stadium at full speed, chasing after Fred and George.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" Fred called as they banked around a corner.

Harry looked down at the stands.

Colin sat on one of the highest seats, held the camera to his eyes and took one photo after the other.

The clicking sounded strangely loud in the almost deserted stadium.

"Look this way, Harry! This way!" he yelled shrilly.

"Who's that?" said Fred.

"No idea," Harry lied and sprinted to get as far away from Colin as possible.

"What's going on?" Wood said, frowning, sliding over to them.

"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.

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because they're here in person," George said, pointing to the ground.

Several figures in green cloaks and with brooms in their hands strode towards the field.

"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed indignantly. "I booked the field for today! We'll see about this!"

Wood shot to the ground, hitting harder than intended in his anger.

With trembling knees, he got down from the broom. Harry, Fred and George followed him.

"Flint!" Wood barked at the Slytherin captain, "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even taller than Wood.

With a trollish, sly expression, he replied: "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina, Alicia and Katie also flew over.

There were no girls on the Slytherin team; All grinning, they now stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the Gryffindors.

"But I booked the field," said Wood. "I booked it!"

"Aah," said Flint. "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, confused. "Where?"

And from behind the six burly figures in front of them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" Fred asked, eyeing Malfoy disdainfully.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," Flint said, and the Slytherin team grinned even wider. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven held up their brooms.

Seven highly polished, brand-new broomsticks and seven times the inscription in solid gold letters, gleaming under the Gryffindor noses in the early morning sun: "Nimbus Two Thousand and One".

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint nonchalantly, blowing a speck of dust off the end of his broomstick. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps sweeps the board with them."

The Gryffindors were completely speechless for the moment. Malfoy smirked broadly.

"Oh look," said Flint, "A field invasion."

Harry's sister and friends came across the lawn to see what was happening.

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry, "why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?"

Ron was looking at Malfoy in his Slytherin's Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," Malfoy said smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron gaped at the seven super brooms in front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy. "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 Slytherins burst into roars of laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," Hermione said in a scathing voice. "They got in on pure talent."

Malfoy's smug face began to flicker.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he snapped at her.

Harry sensed immediately that Malfoy must have said something very bad, because he hadn't closed his mouth when a yelp was heard.

With a dive, Flint got in front of Malfoy so Fred and George couldn't throw themselves at him, and Alicia shrieked "How dare you!".

Lucy also wanted to attack Malfoy, Ophelia stopped her, but not without struggling.

"I need help," the brown-haired witch gasped when she couldn't hold her best friend back.

Lucy took a few steps towards the other Slytherins. Didn't manage to do any harm though as someone wrapped her arms around her, stooping the girl from attacking the Slytherins.

"You are dead, Malfoy" hissed the black-haired witch.

But she couldn't get her hands on him. The person holding her picked Lucy up and carried her a few steps away from the Slytherins.

The young witch flailed her arms, wanting to hit Malfoy.

In her anger, she took out her wand and this time she was stopped as her brother snatched the wand from her hand.

Ron pulled his wand out of his cloak too and yelled, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!"

Furious, he pointed his wand at Malfoy's face, which was sticking out from under Flint's arms.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium, and a bolt of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him flying backwards onto the grass in a high arc.

"Ron, Ron! Are you all right?" Hermione shrieked.

Ron opened his mouth to speak but couldn't get a word out. Instead, he let out a booming belch and a dozen slugs rolled out of his mouth and onto his lap.

The Slytherins giggled with laughter. Flint had to lean on his new broom to keep from falling. Malfoy was on all fours and banging his fists on the floor.

Now that Lucy was distracted Fred put her back on the ground.

She looked at Ron and couldn't help but smile a little, too – after all it was a bit funny. The witch squatted down next to Ron to see if he was ok.

Then Lucy stood up again and approached Malfoy calmly, who had straightened up but was still laughing.

The young witch now faced the Slytherin boy with an amused look on his face.

Then, without warning, she swung back and gave Malfoy a huge slap in the face.

The boy stumbled back. Lucy grabbed the collar of his robe and pulled Malfoy towards her and said in a menacingly calm but friendly voice, "Say that again and I'll make your life a living hell, you little insect."

The black-haired girl released him and went back to her friends.

The Gryffindors, Lucy and Ophelia closed in a circle around Ron, who kept choking up large, shiny slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," Harry said to Hermione. She nodded boldly and the two pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you??" Colin had rushed down from his seat in the stands and danced alongside them as they left the field.

A violent retching and more snails rolled down Ron's stomach.

"Oooh," Colin said intrigued, raising the camera.

Lucy, who was walking next to her brother and Hermione, put her hand on his camera and pushed it down.

"Get out of the way, Colin!" Harry said harshly.

He and Hermione supported Ron as they made their way out of the stadium and across the fields to the edge of the woods.

"Nearly there, Ron," Hermione said as the game warden's cabin came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute – almost there–"

They were twenty feet from Hagrid's hut when the door flew open. But it wasn't Hagrid who came out.

Gilderoy Lockhart strode out today in a gauzy mauve robe.

"Quick, behind here," Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush.

Hermione followed somewhat reluctantly, while Lucy and Ophelia were grateful not to have to talk to Lockhart.

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart said in a loud voice 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 marched off towards the castle.

Harry waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out from behind the bush and helped him on to Hagrid's door, where they knocked loudly.

Hagrid opened it on the spot but looking rather grumpy. But his face brightened when he saw who he was looking at.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me – come in, come in – thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again–"

Harry and Hermione helped Ron over the threshold into the one-room cottage, which had a huge bed in one corner and a lively fire roaring in the other.

They lowered Ron into a chair and Harry quickly explained what had happened.

Hagrid didn't seem too bothered by Ron's snail problem.

"Better out than in," he said cheerfully, placing a large copper tub in front of Ron.

"Get 'em all up, Ron."

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," Hermione said glumly as Ron leaned over the tub. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand–"

Hagrid was busy making them tea.

Fang, his boardog, was drooling all over Harry's robes.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching Fang's ears.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," grunted Hagrid, clearing a half-plucked rooster off the scrubbed table and setting the kettle on. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."

It was unlikely for Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts teacher, and Harry looked at him in surprise.

Hermione, however, said in a slightly higher pitched voice than usual, "I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job"

"Hermione, the man can't even manage to deal with a few pixies," Ophelia reminded him and Lucy nodded in confirmation.

"He was the on'y man for the job," Hagrid said, offering them a plate of treacle sweets while Ron choked into his tub, panting.

"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 it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now."

Then Hagrid nodded his head at Ron.

"So tell me – Who was he tryin" ter curse?"

"Malfoy called Hermione something – it must've been really bad, because everyone went wild."

"It was bad," said Ron hoarsely, appearing over the tabletop, pale and sweating, "Malfoy called her 'Mudblood', Hagrid."

He choked up another wave of slugs and dove again. Anger was on Hagrid's face.

"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," Ron gasped, reappearing. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born - you know, nonmagic parents."

"There are some wizards, like – like Malfoy's family or the Blacks, who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood," Ophelia continued.

Lucy looked at her best Friend and realized that she was uncomfortable with the subject.

After all, part of her family was just like the Malfoys. And if what they read was true, then Ophelia and Malfoy were even distantly related.

"The Blacks? Who are the Blacks?" Harry wanted to know, and Hermione also looked questioningly at her friend.

Ophelia sighed before replying, "A pure-blood family, like the Malfoys. My– my father comes from that family."

"Father? Wait, I thought you said–"

"I think it's not a good time to talk about this", Lucy interrupted.

Ron belched softly and a lone snail flew into his outstretched hand.

Tossing them in the tub, he 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, and Hermione's face turned a bright magenta.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty forehead with a trembling 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 started gagging again and ducked.

"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," Hagrid said loudly, as more slugs clattered noisily into the tub. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."

Harry was about to point out that having snails rolling out of your mouth was in trouble, but he couldn't. Hagrid's treacle had stuck his teeth together.

"Harry," Hagrid said, as if suddenly remembering, "Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

"I have not been giving out signed photos," Harry said angrily. "If Lockhart's still spreading that around -"

But then he saw Hagrid smile.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry gently on the back so that his chin hit the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."

"Bet he didn't like that," said Harry, sitting up again and rubbing his chin.

"Don' think he did," said Hagrid with a wink. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle fudge, Ron?" he added when Ron reappeared.

"No thanks," said Ron dully, "Better not risk it."

"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid when Harry, Lucy, Hermione and Ophelia had finished their tea.

A dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen grew in the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house.

Each was the size of a mighty 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?" Harry asked. Hagrid looked around to make sure they were alone.

"Well, I've bin givin' them – you know – a bit o' help–"

The twins saw Hagrid's flowered pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the hut.

Harry had suspected before that this umbrella wasn't as harmless as it looked.

In fact, he was almost certain Hagrid's old school wand was hidden inside. Hagrid wasn't allowed to do magic.

He had been expelled from Hogwarts in third year, but Harry had never found out why – not yet... not a word was said about it; then Hagrid cleared his throat loudly and mysteriously went deaf until the subject changed.

"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" said Hermione, torn between disapproval and pleasure. "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."

His beard twitching, he looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

"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' say no ter a signed -"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry. Ron roared with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs.

"Watch it!" Hagrid boomed, pulling Ron away from his pumpkins.

It was soon time for lunch and since Harry had only eaten one treacle drop since getting up, he was drawn to school.

They said goodbye to Hagrid and headed up to the castle, while Ron gulped a few more times, but only two tiny slugs landed in the gras.

~~~~

They had hardly entered the entrance hall when a loud voice rang out.

"There you are, Potter – Weasley."

Professor McGonagall strode towards them with a serious expression.

"You will both do your detentions this evening."

"What're we doing, Professor?" Ron asked, frantically trying to suppress a belch.

"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch," said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley – elbow grease."

Ron swallowed. All the students in the castle hated Argus Filch, the caretaker.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," said Professor McGonagall.

"Oh n– Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?" Harry said desperately.

"Certainly not," Professor McGonagall said, raising an eyebrow. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."

Harry and Ron shuffled into the Great Hall. Behind them, Hermione had her well-you-did-break-school-rules face on.

~~

Saturday afternoon seemed to be melting away quickly, and as soon as they knew it, it was already five to eight.

Harry trudged down the second-floor hallway to Lockhart's office.

He gritted his teeth and knocked. The door promptly flew open Lockhart beamed down at him.

"Ah, there's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in–"

Along the walls, countless framed photos of Lockhart reflected the light from the many candles.

He even gave some of the pictures his signature. And more photos piled up on the desk.

"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart instructed Harry, as if this were a special favor. "This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her – huge fan of mine–"

The minutes slipped by. Harry let Lockhart's words drip onto him, occasionally saying "Mmm" and "Right" and "Yeah".

Every now and then he would catch a phrase like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry" or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that."

The candles were low, casting their flickering light across the many faces of Lockhart that looked at Harry.

With a sore hand, Harry wrote the address of a Veronica Smethley on what must have been the thousandth envelope.

Must be time to go soon, Harry thought sadly, please let it be time soon

And then he heard something – something very different from the hiss of the candles going out and Lockhart babble about his fans.

It was a voice, a voice that froze his bone marrow, a voice filled with icy hatred.

"Come... come to me... Let me rip you... Let me tear you... Let me kill you..."

Harry nearly fell off his chair and a large purple stain spread across Veronica Smethley's street.

"What?" he said loudly.

"I know," said Lockhart, "Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"

"No," said Harry feverishly, "That voice!"

"Sorry?" said Lockhart, puzzled, "What voice?"

"That – that voice that said – didn't you hear it?"

Lockhart looked at Harry in astonishment.

"What are you talking about, Harry? 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?"

Harry said nothing.

He strained to hear the voice again, but no one spoke except Lockhart, who told him not to expect every detention to do as well as he did this time.

Stunned, Harry walked out the door.

~~

It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty and Harry and Ron entered the common room at the same time.

"My muscles have all seized up," he groaned and dropped onto one of the armchairs. "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 ages to get the slime off... How was it with Lockhart?"

In a low voice, Harry repeated every word he heard.

"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" asked Ron, frowning.

"D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it – even someone invisible would've had to open the door."

"I know," said Harry. He leaned back on the sofa and started the fire. "I don't get it either."