"I could write another sad song
Cause I've lived out every line;
I'll be damned if I was ever wrong
But I get by."
- If I'm going Nowhere (Cody Bryan Band)
"Right, time to de-gnome the garden!" Mrs Weasley informed them the next day. "Fred, George, off you trot!"
"Why does Ronnie get to sit this one out?" Fred moaned.
"Because she needs to help me in the kitchen," said Mrs Weasley firmly. "Come along Ronnie!"
"Blimey mum," Ronnie groaned. "Can't I just de-gnome too?"
"Absolutely not. Ginny's well ahead of you in the recipes department and—"
"Why do we always have to do the de-gnoming—"
"Can we help?" Harry asked, eyes eager to participate in this new activity. "I've never seen a de-gnoming before."
Mrs Weasley gave him a soft look. "That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject —"
She pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece and George groaned. "Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden—"
The title of the book was scrawled across it in fancy gold letters—Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes, who looked like he was having a seizure with the amount of winking he was doing.
"Oh, he is marvellous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book..."
"Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.
"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."
Ronnie was still grumbling, and Herman, in a bout of madness, said, "Mrs Weasley, may I help in the kitchen?"
Mrs Weasley looked so started she completely forgot about Gilderoy Lockhart. "Oh I couldn't—"
"Yeah!" Ronnie exclaimed. "Herman can help you in the kitchen and I can go de-gnome, show Harry the ropes and that—Herman's never seen a magical kitchen before either, innit?"
Suddenly, Herman seemed a lot less reluctant. "Please Mrs Weasley?"
It was very hard to turn down the offer, especially since Ronnie had an unfortunate habit of making everything she touched inedible.
It was a gift.
"These are gnomes?" Harry asked, Tarquin perched on his shoulders.
"Yup," said Ronnie, hefting up a potato with a foul mouth. "You spin 'em around and chuck 'em over the fence."
Harry stuck a finger out to one of them, and it bit him hard. Harry continued staring at it.
"Bloody hell Harry! Get the thing off your finger!" Ronnie yelled, flinging a gnome over the fence.
"Shh, I'm winning."
Fred looked over to the two twelve year olds and said, "We've tried it—the gnomes are notorious for winning staring contests."
The gnome blinked.
Harry smirked in triumph.
Tarquin mewled.
Then, the entire horde of gnomes looked over at Harry and grudgingly bowed to him. Harry then said, "I like gnomes."
All the little potato-people cheered in excitement, rushing towards him to touch their new master.
Ronnie gaped.
"Technically speaking, we de-gnomed the garden," Ronnie informed her mother.
"Yeah," added Fred. "They're technically not in the garden anymore."
Mrs Weasley wondered what she'd gotten herself into as she stared in abject horror at her sitting room, where Harry was at the epicentre of around six dozen gnomes, reading them one of Ronnie's Martin Miggs comics.
Herman facepalmed.
"And remember Nanelle," said a stern man with a fierce scowl, too tall and bony to be pleasant. "Under no circumstances are you to embarrass the Longbottom name."
"Yes granddad," Nanelle, her blonde hair in a low ponytail and her eyes downcast, said.
Her granddad nodded, his vulture-feather festooned cloak looking entirely out of place with The Burrow in the backdrop.
"Come along then, let's take your things to—Merlin, that looks like a healthy and safety nightmare!" Augustus Longbottom exclaimed.
Nanelle agreed, if silently.
"And this is where you'll be staying," Ronnie said through a mouth full of apple. "Ginny's room."
Nanelle stared at the pleasant, welcoming, distinctly feminine room and felt all of a sudden relaxed. "Thank you Ronnie."
Ronnie shrugged. "Lunch'll be ready in a bit. Reckon you can unpack a smidge before you're called down. Ginny should be up soon—she's on kitchen duty today, thank Merlin. Do you need any help?"
Nanelle didn't usually talk a lot with Ronnie. Of their group of five, Nanelle was fairly certain that, though they were the only two girls, they spent the least amount of time with each other.
She knew Harry remarkably well considering they were in different houses, Herman and she spent a lot of time in their common room going over unintelligible homework, and many a times, she and Draco had worked on the practical aspects of their lessons in unused classrooms. But Ronnie and Nanelle didn't really have all that much in common.
"If you could tell me where not to put my things, and where to put my toothbrush, and—" Nanelle began, gaining speed the faster she remembered things she didn't know—she had a fairly good memory for self-esteem-lowering things.
"Right, slow down," Ronnie said, an uncomfortable look on her face. "Here, I'll show you where the bathroom is, and you can take your toiletries up there now. And if you steer clear of the cupboard, I think you should be fine—Ginny's not too fussed about—"
And as Ronnie rattled off the answers to questions Nanelle didn't even think to ask, she thought that maybe it didn't actually matter that they had nothing in common.
It was early the next day when a parliament of owls landed on the Weasley kitchen windowsill, almost in perfect aerial formation, and Harry noticed Mrs Weasley swallow a grimace out of the corner of his eye.
He wondered what that was about as Herman handed him his letter, but by the time he'd taken out his book list, he didn't have a mind to pay attention to absolutely anything else.
"The fuck's gadding?" Ronnie mumbled, reading the third book on the list with barely concealed distaste.
"It's an informal word that is synonymous with gallivanting," Herman explained immediately, without looking up from his list.
Ronnie looked at him in distaste. "The fuck's synonymous?"
Harry, on the other hand, had issues with the author. "Gilderoy Lockhart…seems to have written quite a few books."
He'd read Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests and he had to say that he was thoroughly unimpressed. When he'd asked his gnome slaves about the details, they'd informed him that whoever wrote it clearly had no idea what he was on about, with all sorts of other demeaning adjectives to highlight their point.
And now, to find that he had to buy not one, not two, but seven of his shoddy works?
There was a grim silence on the Weasley table. "That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive…"
"Well, we'll manage," said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things secondhand."
"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked Ginny.
She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. She looked so mortified by this that Harry felt it was his civic duty to console her. "Don't worry, I have that effect on people. Why, just last week, I got a House Elf to pledge his eternal loyalty to me by punching him in the nose."
At the sheer ludicrousness of his statement, Ginny giggled.
"Maybe I should become a nurse," Harry mused. "I'm surprisingly good at this comforting thing."
Mrs Weasley was still quietly fussing about the book expenses, and Herman and Nanelle were looking more and more awkward as time went on.
Harry, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice.
"Are you going to get a pet?" he asked Ginny conversationally.
Ronnie went horribly puce and kept mum, while Ginny looked at her parents awkwardly, and not just because it was Harry talking to her.
Mrs Weasley looked unaccountably ashamed, and said gently, "Maybe next year dear, if you want one. This year will be a bit tight."
Ginny nodded hurriedly. "I don't really want a pet, honestly mum!"
"Tight on what?" Harry asked in confusion.
Herman, appalled that he could ask such a question, hissed, "On money, obviously. Stop being so insensitive!"
Ronnie cleared her throat. "Anyone fancy a game of Quidditch?"
But Harry frowned, for once not all that eager. "Well, then just don't buy the Lockhart books. Or buy a single set and share. I hardly think whoever's teaching is going to teach all the years the same book at the same time. Besides, I'm not even going to bother—I managed fine last year without even paying attention in class. You can have my set—I don't want to help this halfwit's sales, so I wasn't going to buy them in protest."
Ronnie purpled further. "You can't just not buy the books on the list Harry—you could get detentions!"
Harry shrugged. "Whoever teaches out of those books is hardly going to be better than the stuttering mess we had last year. I'll live."
Everyone in the room, now getting used to Harry's ways, shared looks of mutual suffering.
That didn't, of course, stop them from buying a single set of the books and saving a whole sack of galleons.
Harry was crazy, not stupid.
Dear Professor Lupin,
Who on earth is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? I have words that need to be yelled.
Harry
Dear Harry,
To my understanding, it's world-renowned author Gilderoy Lockhart. I have it on good authority that he'll be at Flourish and Blotts next Wednesday for his autobiography's book signing. The Daily Prophet should be there as well. Make it as public as possible, and you might want to mention something that tugs at people's heartstrings. Just a thought.
Remula Lupin
PS I hear the Malfoys may be making their trip then as well.
Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday.
After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.
"We're running low, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll have to buy some more today…Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!"
She offered him the flowerpot and Harry stared at it uncomprehendingly. "Lovely dirt?"
"He's never travelled by Floo powder," said Ronnie suddenly. "Sorry, Harry, I forgot."
"Never?" said Mr. Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?"
"Side-Along Apparition," said Harry, quite pleased that he remembered what it was called.
"Floo powder's a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before—" fussed Mrs Weasley.
"He'll be all right, Mum," said Fred. "Harry, watch us first." He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.
And that's what Harry did.
He fucking succeeded. Even staked a ten on ten landing.
Gilderoy Lockhart looked even stupider in real life, Harry confirmed mentally. A glittering-toothed ponce of epic proportions, with a side helping of self-entitled bullshit.
"He even has his own personal photographer, or something equally as twatty," Ronnie grumbled.
"Out of the way, there," the photographer snarled at Ronnie, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet—"
"Big fucking deal," said Ronnie, rubbing her foot where the photographer had stepped on it.
Gilderoy Lockhart heard him and looked up, spotting Harry.
He leapt up dramatically and pointed, rather rudely in Harry's opinion, at his face and shouted, "It can't be Harry Evans?"
The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause.
Harry wrenched his arm out of Lockhart's grasp and glared at him. "Excuse me, I don't want to be infected by stupidity, and you seem to be patient zero."
He seemed not to have understood. "Together you and I are worth the front page!"
Harry scowled. He said in a clear, carrying voice, "I don't like you Mr Lockhart, and I don't like how you're manhandling a twelve year old against his will. That's like rape Mr Lockhart!"
The entire bookshop went deathly silent, and even Gilderoy Lockhart's smile lost its brightness. "I—"
"Now that I have your attention," Harry said equitably, "I would like to talk about the disgusting lies you write in your books and sell it as fact. In fact, let's talk about lies in general Mr Lockhart—I hate liars. I skim read one and I think it'd be better in the fiction section! I especially hate that you've forced more than twelve hundred students of varying financial backgrounds to purchase seven of your books. And you didn't even lower the prices! People will go hungry because of you and your cheap self-promotion! Do you not care about people!?"
Harry didn't get riled up very often.
But he was the reason Ginny wouldn't get a pet.
Besides, Gilderoy Lockhart's smug face rubbed him all the wrong ways.
Plus, he'd made someone step on Ronnie's foot.
And he wouldn't let him forget it.
"You did what to Gilderoy Lockhart?" Draco asked in horror.
"He dissed him in front of the Daily Prophet and nearly fifty people." Ronnie was still repeating that phrase.
"He'll be on the front page alright," Draco muttered, still disbelieving of Harry's gall. "How are you a Hufflepuff?"
"Redefining the house Draco," Harry said, licking his magical mystery mulch ice cream. "Redefining."
Reviews make me write. Please review? Also, lots of vitriol against Lockhart. Can you taste the consequences? Harry's a lot more with the Prophet isn't he? Anyone find that distasteful? Or do you enjoy that he isn't a potato-head who lets people walk all over him? Because he takes more after the Potter line, and he's insane, so he's less likely to care about societal niceties. Yay?
