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Chapter 3

Once inside the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry scanned the fifth-year timetable and was dismayed to learn that the Gryffindors were still being paired with Slytherin for Potions and Care of Magical Creatures in addition to Runes, Scripts and Lore (whatever that turned out to be) and Astronomy.

Herbology and Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, and this year they were being paired with Ravenclaw for Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms... Harry's reverie was cut short by Colin Creevey, chairperson, secretary, founding (and, Harry hoped, sole) member of the Official Harry Potter Fan Club: "Great speech, Harry! Did you have it written down? 'cos I'd really like a signed copy for my collection..."

Despite years of non-committal shrugs and sly palm-offs to try and diffuse Colin's enthusiasm, Harry still hadn't figured out a tactful way of telling him to get lost. Colin's rampant adulation had a habit of rearing its head at exactly the wrong moment, and had dealt many a blow to Harry's campaign to move out from the title of The Boy Who Lived.

But even the attentions of Colin (and Dennis, his younger brother) couldn't dislodge the warmth Harry felt as he sat back in one of the arm chairs: he was back at Hogwarts. He was home...

The first of September fell on a Friday, which meant that the school year began with Astronomy (the theory part, anyway - actual observation took place on Thursday nights). Professor Sinistra kicked off with what was to become a familiar speech in the opening week: "This is the year you take your O.W.L.s, and I must emphasise the importance of thorough revision of all the topics studied to date..."

As Professor Sinistra outlined the dire consequences of failing to gain an O.W.L. in Astronomy (the end of civilisation as it was known, as far as Harry could determine), Hermione nudged him to show where she'd scheduled Astronomy in her colour-coded revision timetable. There were times when Harry was really grateful for Hermione's studious nature, and he and Ron knew full well (although Ron might be more hard pressed to admit it) that Hermione had been instrumental in ensuring that they'd done as well as they had in the past years. All that said, however, she did have a tendency to overdo things from time to time.

Judging by Ron's reaction to Hermione's timetable, colour-coding went somewhat beyond 'overdone', and indeed, appeared to clear 'over the top' by some considerable margin to boot.

Although it was scheduled as a 'double', Professor Sinistra always restricted Astronomy lessons to half the allotted time, reasoning that they spent the remaining half in observation in the Astronomy Tower one night of the week. Harry and Ron weren't bothered by the rationale to this, the key fact to note was that they had a 'free' on Friday mornings.

"It's not a 'free'," corrected Hermione, crossly (she was somewhat miffed that her careful revision planning hadn't received an overly enthusiastic welcome from the boys), "it's a 'revise and study' period."

"To the library, then," commanded Harry, in mock-heroic tones. The trio made their way to the virtually deserted library (clearly, most of the fifth-years appeared to concur more with Ron and Harry's assessment of the imminence of exams than Hermione's), but as they made their way past the stacks to their favoured table, a figure talking to Madam Pince caught Harry's eye.

"Malfoy!" hissed Harry, diving behind a book stack to take cover, tugging at Ron and Hermione to follow suit.

"Draco? Where?" asked Hermione, puzzled by the need for seclusion.

"Not him," whispered Harry, "Lucius Malfoy."

"Oh," whispered Hermione, understanding Harry's desire to keep out of sight; they all knew that Lucius Malfoy had been one of the first Death Eaters to return to Voldemort's side once he'd been resurrected at the end of the Third Task.

But even as Hermione, sandwiched between Ron and Harry, expressed her comprehension of the situation, the two boys were exchanging puzzled glances. Something wasn't quite right. They both turned their gaze onto Hermione.

"Draco?" hissed Ron, somewhat suspiciously, "since when were we on first name terms with that slimy git?"

Harry silenced the pair. Madam Pince had obviously disappeared off to locate a reference for Malfoy (well, he was both a former governor and a former student, Harry supposed), who used this opportunity to swap a book on the desk for one in his hand. The librarian returned, shaking her head, and adding a shoulder shrug, indicating, presumably, some form of apology that she hadn't been able to find the reference Malfoy had been looking for.

The Death Eater himself didn't seem too fussed by her lack of success sweeping past the hidden trio as he left the library with the patented Malfoy stride. Harry's eyes narrowed in anger; 'You. Were. There,' punctuating each word even in his thoughts. It was probably nothing, but Harry thought it might be worth mentioning to Professor Dumbledore, next time he saw him.

After their free, correction, revise and study period, it was Care of Magical Creatures. As the students made their way towards Hagrid's hut, suspicion was clearly evident on the majority of faces as to what, exactly, Filch might have planned for them.

Harry was hardly the first person to have noticed that Care of Magical Creatures always seemed to involve dealing with creatures that were more than adequately equipped to deal with the travails of life unaided. Still, this undoubtedly could be attributed to Hagrid's less-than-level-headed predilection for dangerous creatures: the deadlier, it seemed, the better.

Universally reviled though Filch was, Harry reasoned that he would at least have some sense of self-preservation which would prevent him from selecting some monstrously psychotic beast for the class to study. And Flobberworms were, you know, quite interesting in their own right, he thought, optimistically.

Unfortunately for Harry and his compatriots, Hagrid had planned ahead.

"Right then," growled Filch, in his customarily cheerless manner, "as yer know, 'agrid's off on business, an' won't be back fer a few more weeks yet. So 'e left me instructions fer each o' the classes. As you lot are doin' yer O.W.L.s this year, he's got a special project fer yer.

"Now they've not 'atched yet," Harry, like every other fifth-year Slytherin and Gryffindor at that precise moment, immediately started ruling out potential beasts, "so 'agrid left it to me to cover the early lessons.

"So, the first thing yer got ter do 's choose 'n egg an' build a nesting pen fer it... 'agrid reckons the pens should be 'bout six feet wide, twen'y feet long, an' should go 'bout five feet in ter the wa'er. 'agrid says yer'll wanna make 'em quite strong."

Everyone was following the same path of logic. Egg born - could be bird or reptile. A holding pen that included water - it was probably amphibious. Given Hagrid's history, Harry felt that they could safely discount waterfowl (no matter how tempting it might seem to be charged with the care of a Mallard duck), which left some kind of reptile. Factoring in Hagrid's love of row upon row of sharp teeth, and the need for the holding pens to extend into the water, the spectre of a crocodile was looming uncomfortably prominently in Harry's mind.

Nonetheless, the class set about constructing the pens as advised, Accio'ing wood, wire and other pieces as necessary. It was, actually a refreshing change to apply magic to building something tangible and permanent. They were outside, it was a pleasant day, and Filch hadn't given anyone a detention. Yet.

Neville's was a disaster - in the end the rest of the Gryffindors all ended up building Neville's pen as a collaborative effort, whilst the Slytherins looked on with disdain. Suddenly remembering that this was indeed a joint lesson with them, Harry looked around to see how Malfoy was faring - it seemed odd that there hadn't been any barbed comments yet. Almost out of character, in fact. Maybe being a prefect was getting to him.

"Righ' then," said Filch, "now the pens're done, y'need t'dig a shallow 'ole in ter groun', an' place a warmin' charm there. Yer want to keep the egg nice 'n warm until it 'atches, see?" It was abundantly clear from people's faces that they had yet to be convinced of the merits of cossetting an as yet unidentified monster.

It fell to Blaise, then, to ask the killer question: "excuse me, Mr Filch," (and didn't that sound strange?), "but what, exactly, are the eggs from?"

A nasty, knowing smile flickered across Filch's face, "'agrid didn't say, tell the truth. 'e did say, though, tha' y'ought t' read up on crocodiles, eels, scorpions, dragons and snakes. Though' you'd find that 'elpful, 'e did." The class exchanged wary looks; this didn't sound promising.

"Righ' then, 'ere's the eggs," Filch was holding a basket, covered by what, apparently, a tartan travel run, from under which an ominous crackling could heard. Filch removed the cover, and everyone stood exactly where they were. "Well c'mon then, pick yer egg and put it in the pen."

The eggs themselves were about the size of ostrich eggs, but had patches of iridescent colour that seemed to shimmer against the black of the shell in the morning light. A vague purple aura surrounded the basket, and every now and again bright blue sparks would arc between shells. Frankly, they didn't look welcoming.

Gryffindor bravery coursing through his veins, Harry made the first move, and stretched out his had to pick up an egg.

"No! No! No!" exclaimed Filch, clearly horrified, and wheeling the basket out of Harry's reach, "y'don't want to touch 'em - they'll give yer a shock. Use yer wand," he explained, as though this should be obvious to all but the most boneheaded Muggle.

"Oh, right," said Harry, trying not to look as stupid as he felt, pulling out his wand, "Wingarium Leviosa!" he commanded, eyes widening with alarm; static electricity rippled across the egg as it lifted away from its brethren - a sharp crack was heard across the air as the filaments of energy finally snapped back into the basket. Harry's egg floated through the air, sparking occasionally until it landed in the nesting pen, the red, blue and violet patches shimmering across the surface as it lay in the soil.

Ron gave Harry a wary look: "This doesn't look promising..."

Dean seemed to be in complete agreement, "We're gonna need a bigger boat..."

Divination Studies followed lunch. The only reason why Harry had stuck with Divination was on the off-chance that Professor Trelawney might have another accurate prediction concerning Voldemort. Plus the homework actually wasn't that bad - Harry supposed he might almost say it was an entertaining challenge coming up with new ways to die ("Trampled by Hippogriffs is good!").

On the down side, Divination studies was scheduled on Friday afternoons, immediately after lunch, and there was a real danger that he might not manage to stay awake for the entire lesson. Still, you had to take the rough with the smooth...

As expected, Professor Trelawney's Inner Eye had foreseen that they would be taking their O.W.L.s in the summer, and she strongly suspected that casting stones would feature in the examination. Ron and Harry exchanged their trademark rolling-eyes-in-Divination look, Neville looked plain terrified, whilst Parvati and Lavender scribbled frantic notes with faces of rapt attention.

Casting stones actually turned out to be an enjoyable pastime - each table was given a velvet bag containing seven 'stones'. These actually seemed to be just like Muggle dice, except that instead of numbers they had different symbols on them. The stones were cast on to the table, and by reading the runes, and their relation to one another, dire portents of doom were soon being seen by one and all.

"Two!" said Dean on the next table, quietly, but firmly. Harry frowned, and tried to hear more clearly - there weren't any numbers on the stones.

Seamus clearly seemed to be doing some thinking, before he responded, "OK, I'll see you two, and raise you two..."

Meanwhile, Ron had realised that the seven stones could each represent Quidditch positions, and was trying to explain to Harry how the Fox-Twist pass was employed. The explanation of the Garrard Defence was cut short by the arrival of Professor Trelawney at their table. Harry swept up the stones, and placed them in the bag, before casting them with what he had to admit was a satisfying clatter.

Professor Trelawney peered at the resultant amalgamation, as Harry counted down in his head, 'Five... Four... Three... Two...'

"My dear!" shrieked the Professor of Divination Studies, throwing her hands up in horror. The class all turned their eyes on Harry's table, albeit without much haste; the cynical consensus was that Harry probably had the lowest life expectancy of the year, what with the resurrected Dark Lord having something of a personal vendetta with him, and if Professor Trelawney predicted Harry's demise often enough, there was a decent chance that she would eventually be proven right.

"Yes?" asked Harry, with all the inquisitiveness of a sedated Flobberworm.

"It is written in the stones," exclaimed the Professor, breathlessly, "you will lose a battle..." she bent her head even closer to the table, to inspect the stones' alignment. "Yes, a duel. A duel with a Dark Witch."

Although he could see that Ron was biting his lip to stop himself from shrieking with laughter, Harry was at least prepared to give the stones, if not the Professor, the benefit of the doubt. Nonetheless, it wouldn't be a Trelawney prediction unless, "And do I die?" he asked.

To the class's surprise, Professor Trelawney didn't reply immediately. She walked around the table, studying the stones from different angles, clucking her tongue. The class held its breath. "No... well..... the Inner Eye is clouded. The Life Stone," a long fingernail tapped the object in question, "shows you live, but the Power Stone shows you vanquished. This is most strange, most strange..."

So, thought Harry, he would lose a duel with a female Death Eater, but he wouldn't die. He then berated himself for even listening to the mad woman, and went back to tracking Seamus' growing fortune as he continued to clean Dean out; "OK, raise you five..."

Back in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry challenged Ron to a game of chess as they waited for Hermione, who was at a Prefects' meeting. Alicia (Quidditch Chaser and now Head Girl) came over as they were setting up their pieces, Harry working extra hard at cajoling his Knight to trust in him this time (Harry's pieces, being on the receiving end of his many losses, were sometimes less than enthusiastic about being set up for yet another defeat).

"Hey Harry," she said, "the Quidditch Cup is on again this year, and now that Oliver's gone we need a new Keeper, and a new Captain. We," she nodded her head in the direction of Angelina, Katie and the twins, "were thinking it would make sense to hold Quidditch trials as soon as we could - our first match is in six weeks' time, and I guess everyone's out of practice after last year."

Harry agreed - the Triwizard Tournament had meant that there had been no Quidditch matches at all last year. He'd been looking forward to flying all summer, and couldn't wait to get back out on his Firebolt.

"So," Alicia continued, "how about we hold trials on Sunday? We don't want to waste any time if we're going to be ready to beat Ravenclaw..."

"Sunday's fine," said Harry, looking at Ron, who nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, Sunday's good - I'd like to try out for Keeper."

"Well it's not just Keeper that's up for grabs, you know. We're all seventh-years now - Harry's the only person in the team who won't be leaving next year - so we ought to be thinking about who's going to replace us all next September if we're going to keep this winning streak going."

"Yeah that's true," said Harry, nodding, "ow!" he exclaimed as Alicia playfully hit him on the shoulder.

"You were supposed to say that we were irreplaceable, Potter," she rebuked, jokingly, before returning back to the seventh-year group.

Harry's chess pieces were muttering at his lack of strategy as Ron claimed checkmate when Hermione got in from her Prefects' Meeting. "You know," said Ron, cheerily, "I don't think I can think of a more splendid way to top off the week than spending an hour every Friday evening in the company of the Amazing Bouncing Ferret."

"Hey, I just realised," exclaimed Harry, as Hermione settled down into the third armchair, shooting a friendly scowl at Ron, "I never asked you about Bulgaria."

"Don't ask," said Hermione, affecting a weary sigh.

"That bad, huh?" Harry asked, sympathetically.

"Worse," said Ron, perhaps a tad too cheerily, "she told me about it on the train."

"Well," started Hermione, "by the time we actually got to Durmstrang..." despite her earlier protestation, it seemed she was more than happy to talk about her trip to Bulgaria, and the three of them spent the rest of the evening chatting.