The next few days, Elizabeth had been feeling better. Lockhart was still sweeping around the grounds in brightly coloured robes, beaming that white smile as if class never happened. She knew it was impossible, as not even Thomas forgot about things that fast. Harry had taken to avoiding Lockhart completely. He was also desperate to avoid Colin Creevey, whom Elizabeth found to be a rather pleasant person, but Harry cared not for this information. He just wanted to be left alone for a while, but Colin seemed to have memorised his timetable. Elizabeth could see how this was annoying, as Richard had memorised Penelope's typical routine, although he didn't pop up six or seven times a day just to say hello to her.
Ron's wand was still acting funny. That Friday morning in Charms, it flew right out of his hand, hitting poor Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, forming a large, throbbing green boil. Ron turned scarlet with embarrassment. That Spellotape was doing nothing for his wand. If anything, it made it worse.
Elizabeth was glad to have reached the weekend. Besides not having to attend class and being able to spend the day with her friends, she could also bother Richard, who spent his weekends roaming the castle, taking his prefect duties a bit too seriously. She usually followed him to taunt him, but today she had a legitimate reason to talk to Richard. A very special holiday was coming up that required their attention and since he seemed to be preoccupied this year, she felt it her responsibility to remind him every spare moment she had.
"What're we gonna get him?" she asked, following Richard as he swept around the castle.
"Stop asking me that," he said. "Hey! No magic in the corridors!" he yelled to a fourth year, wand pointed and ready to hex a particularly sour looking boy.
Richard never really cared that much about being a prefect. Sure, he loved to boast of it, but he wasn't as strict as Percy. He wasn't deducting house points and tattling to professors left and right. He gave people fair warning and let the little things slide, but lately this had changed. He was trying to be a shoo in for Head Boy next year, just to spite Percy. Last summer, when Margaret suggested it, he said he didn't want to be, but now he was dead set. He still didn't really want to be, but he just wanted to out do Percy. He had talked about the look on Percy's smug little face if he were to find out Richard was chosen over him and how he wished to see that. Elizabeth thought this was awfully vengeful of him and she knew that when Thomas found out, he'd put an immediate stop to it. Thomas never did stand for the idea of revenge.
"He's sixty-six this year, you know."
Thomas Wellington was turning sixty-six at the end of September. They always tried to send a birthday present on time, but it was always late. Thomas never seemed to mind, as it was the thought that counted he said. He seemed to like whatever they got him too, never having once complained and he always used everything, including a bizarre inkwell shaped like a tortoise from Margaret. She did like animals, as long as they weren't real and she didn't have to clean up after them.
Margaret's birthday was a mystery. She never allowed anyone to know when it was, although they knew it was mid-May sometime, as Catherine always sent a cake. Unlike Thomas, who spent the week of his birthday very giddy, Margaret remained stoic. She never mentioned her age either, although everyone knew she was going to be sixty-three this coming year and none too chuffed about it they imagined.
Another member of the household hated birthdays just as much as Margaret. William's birthday was the end of February and this was always marked by Margaret hiding the valuables somewhere he couldn't break them. William liked aging about as much as he liked Madam Malkin, which was none honestly. He was turning thirty-three this year, which was a miracle really. He was the biggest walking disaster ever, but he somehow managed to outlive his brother, his sister-in-law, two of his cousins, a few of his friends, and several of his co-workers. Elizabeth believed he was indestructible, but Richard just said he was lucky. This didn't change her mind though. She had come to the conclusion that William had to be a god like in the Muggle mythology books she read. He performed great feats of magic, he emerged from every battle victorious, he couldn't be killed, and he could control fire. She had suggested this theory to Thomas once, who simply laughed at her and said "Wouldn't that be something."
"I can count, Elizabeth Ann." He pointed at a group of third years all huddled around one boy with a toad in his hand. "I'll take house points if you five are enlarging that toad and leaving it in the girls' toilet again."
"We're not!" one yelled defiantly.
"Well, keep it that way."
"Richard, what are we getting Gramps?" Elizabeth asked again.
"I don't know yet, Elizabeth Ann."
"I wrote Uncle William and he hasn't responded yet so I thought to write Claudius and ask what they're getting him. I don't want it to be like that year all four of us got him new quills."
One birthday, about four years ago, when asked what he wanted, Thomas simply told Elizabeth not to worry, but he could sure use some more quills, as all of his had disappeared mysteriously. They hadn't disappeared as much as William had collected them. He never had his own quills, he was just swiping them from about the house and never giving them back.
On the morning of Thomas' birthday, it became apparent that he had also mentioned his missing quills to Richard, William, and Claudius. Elizabeth was so upset, since it was the first year that Margaret let her choose her own present for Thomas and she picked out the same gift as everybody else. She did like to be different with her presents.
"He asked for those."
"I know, but —"
"And he used them all so really, Elizabeth, go away."
"I know, but I don't want to get him quills again. That's so impersonal."
"You get quills every year."
"From Aunt Catherine. She still thinks I'm eight."
Aunt Catherine, while Margaret's sister and part of the only family they had left, wasn't particularly good with remembering details. It wasn't odd for her to send the same presents each year, as she didn't realise she had sent them the previous year, since she only visited on Christmas and never wrote the children, only Margaret. Names and ages weren't Catherine's strong point either. More than once throughout Christmas dinner did Uncle Oscar have to lean over and correct her when she called Richard Rodney, or when she told William to wait until he hit thirty to start complaining about age.
Catherine was, unfortunately, fantastic at remember downfalls and failures and she told several stories of babysitting William when he was a child every Christmas. Elizabeth thought that after twelve years, she would have repeated a story or two by now, but every year she had new ones. However, she was particularly fond of referencing the time she had given William an action figure of Ukrainian Ironbelly dragon, which he lost in the snow. When spring came around and the snow melted, he found it, but it no longer moved. She found this hilarious. William seemed sadden by the memory, even occasionally mumbling he spent all winter looking for that toy and Margaret threw it out when he finally found it.
"Derrick," Richard warned a fifth year Slytherin boy holding a first year by the arm. The boy released the first year, who quickly scurried away as fast as possible. He and Richard exchanged scowls.
Elizabeth hit Richard in the arm to get his attention. "Richard, I'm serious. I don't want to get Gramps quills again."
"Quit bothering me. Shouldn't you be with the Potter kid?"
"He's got Quidditch practice. Me, Ron, Hermione, and him were supposed to go see Hagrid —"
"Elizabeth Ann, don't go bothering Hagrid now."
"What do you mean bother? Hagrid likes us. We're his friends."
"Elizabeth Ann, you don't befriend your elders. You respect them."
"But Claudius is our friend, Richard and he's older."
"Claudius is not our friend. He's Uncle William's —" Richard stopped dead in his tracks, staring at a group clad in green robes carrying brooms. "Oh no," he mumbled. "What is he doing now?" He took off at lightning speed after the Slytherin Quidditch team.
"Richard! Wait! What about Gramps? Richard!"
She ran after Richard, who was bolting out across the grounds toward the Quidditch field in hot pursuit of the Slytherin house team. Elizabeth always had trouble keeping up with Richard, who was faster than she was and far more agile. She hated going with him through Diagon Alley when Margaret sent them on errands because he was speed walker and Elizabeth quite liked a steady pace. If she didn't hold his hand, she would have lost him each and every time. She was wishing she had managed to grab onto him before he took off, but sometimes he was just too quick. He'd dart away before she could even process what was happening.
"Flint! Come back here, you rat!" he yelled.
Richard never did like Marcus Flint. They had been fighting with each other ever since Richard went off to school. She didn't quite know why, other than Marcus Flint was a Slytherin and Richard wasn't. He also liked to be a bit of a bully, picking on anyone who wasn't in his house. Of course, Richard wasn't the type of boy to take things lying down, so he often retaliated to Flint's constant taunting, much to Margaret's horror and extreme disapproval.
"I don't believe it!" Elizabeth could hear Oliver Wood hissing in outrage as she finally caught up on the Quidditch field, out of breath and having to rest hunched over, hands on her knees. He was still flying over the pitch on his broom. "I booked the field for today! We'll see about this!"
Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. He was Richard's age, but he was far more burly and crazy about Quidditch. Richard never seemed to mind him, knowing that unless he wanted to talk about Quidditch, he wouldn't talk to Wood.
Harry, Fred, and George landed.
"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"
"Wood, calm down." Richard tried to keep the peace.
Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood, who was larger than Richard. 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 had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.
"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"
"Wood, knock it off," Richard said. "Flint, what d'you think you're doing here if Gryffindor booked the field today?"
"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professer S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'"
"Let me see that." Richard snatched the note out of Flint's hands.
"Richard," Elizabeth whinged as she clutched to his side like a child hiding behind their mother's legs.
"Shh," he hushed her as he read it over. He glanced up at Flint when he was done.
Flint snatched the letter back. "What now, Wellington?"
"You've got a new seeker?" said Wood. "Where?"
And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.
"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with the same dislike on Elizabeth's face.
"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "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 spelled 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," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "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 broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits. Elizabeth stepped from Richard's side, but was quickly pulled back.
"But —"
"No," Richard snapped at her. "Let them think what they want. The best broom on the market doesn't make someone a better Quidditch player. Even Flint knows that."
Flint sniggered. "Whatever prepares the Gryffindors to lose this year, Wellington," he said.
"Shut it, Flint."
"I booked the field!" Wood cried at Richard, who somehow became the referee between Slytherin and Gryffindor. "They have no right to be here!"
"We have a note from a professor, Wood," spat Flint.
"Knock it off!" Richard yelled. "Flint, give me that." He snatched the note back. "Madam Hooch will fix this mess." He tore from the field, Elizabeth trying to follow. "You stay here, Elizabeth Ann!"
She fell back behind him, stopped dead on the grass and pouting to herself.
With Richard storming out of sight to find Madam Hooch, the Slytherins and Gryffindors were left in a standoff on the field, Oliver Wood looking ready to jump Marcus flint.
"Oh look," Flint said. "A field invasion."
Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.
"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, Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."
Ron gaped, opened-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.
"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "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 howled with laughter. If there was one thing Elizabeth couldn't stand the most about Draco, it was the way he spoke to her friends and family.
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."
The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered and a small smile formed on Elizabeth's lips, but it fell quickly with Malfoy's next words.
"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.
There was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Elizabeth's wand was the first one out, pointed firmly at Flint's face, Alicia shrieked, "How dare you!", and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulling out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.
A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.
"Ron!" Elizabeth screamed.
"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.
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 lap.
The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, 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.
Elizabeth turned her wand on Malfoy's broom. "Flagrante delicto!" she said, then turned her attention to Flint's broom and repeated the spell.
Flint dropped his broom instantly, falling over with nothing to support his balance. He yelped in pain and blew on his hands as if he had just touched a burning cooker. She was determined to curse every new Nimbus Two Thousand and One in sight.
"Liz!" Harry said, stopping her. "Come on. We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," he said to Hermione and her.
Hermione nodded bravely, and Harry and her helped 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.
"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"
"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. "Move it, Liz!" He and Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest. Elizabeth ran out in front of them to lead the way.
"Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione as the gamekeeper's cabin came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute — almost there —"
Elizabeth darted toward Hagrid's house, almost at the door when it swung open, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.
Elizabeth dove behind the rain barrel next to the door to keep out of sight. Harry and Hermione dragged Ron behind a nearby bush.
"It's a simple matter if you know 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 send it over. Well good-bye!" And he strode away toward the castle.
Elizabeth peeked over the barrel, waiting for Lockhart to be out of sight before emerging and knocking on Hagrid's door. She waved Harry and Hermione over, who pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's door as he opened it.
Hagrid looked 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 —"
Harry and Hermione 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. Elizabeth peered across the grounds for any signs of people before shutting the door behind them.
Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.
"Better out than in," he 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," 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. Elizabeth thought it almost as disgusting as Ron vomiting up slugs.
"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching Fang's ears.
"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out a well," growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. "Like I don't know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."
Elizabeth smiled to herself. She was quite pleased with the growing amount of disbelief in Gilderoy Lockhart. More and more students and professors were beginning to become annoyed with Lockhart's ramblings of his accomplishments and his bogus lessons. She was glad to hear less people scolding her when she would brush off his writings as tosh. Of course, it was awfully peculiar for Hagrid to criticise Hogwarts' teachers though.
Hermione 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," said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle toffee, 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."
"What about Mister M—"
"Lizzie!" Hagrid interrupted her.
"But Uncle William said he retired and Dumbledore talked to him not too lo—"
"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. So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' to curse?"
Elizabeth crossed her arms and let out a low huff of air. She very much hated when the adults in her life cut her off because they didn't want her to say something aloud. Margaret had done to this to her often, but one time, when they were out in Diagon Alley, Elizabeth became so frustrated she told Margaret that if she didn't want Elizabeth to say it then she should have never said it in front of Elizabeth at all. Margaret quickly snatched her up and took her home, but she wasn't punished like she thought she'd be. She was simply told to go to her room for disrespecting her elders. It seemed to be a common reason for her to be in trouble.
"Malfoy called Hermione something," said Harry. "It must've been really bad, because everyone went wild."
Ron emerged over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. Elizabeth and he exchanged glances before he said, "It was bad. Malfoy called her 'Mudblood,' Hagrid —"
Ron dived 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."
"It's like when he calls Ron and me blood traitors and Muggle lovers," Elizabeth said. "It's the most vicious insult there is."
"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 into the basin.
"We're pure-bloods, Ron. Don't group us with the likes of elitists like the Malfoys."
Elizabeth never cared much for heritage, but she was fairly proud to be a pure-blood witch, as less and less were left in the world and her family had been around since before Hogwarts even existed. She did not, however, enjoy being associated with people like the Malfoys and thought that the prejudice between the types of wizards and witches went both ways. Plenty of Muggle-borns held hatred for pure-bloods, which was just as obvious as some pure-bloods' hatred for Muggle-borns. It infuriated her.
"I didn't," Ron said. "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."
"Don't pick on Neville!" Elizabeth said angrily. "You're just as bad as Malfoy now."
"Stop being sore!"
Hagrid placed his large hand on Elizabeth's tiny shoulder, weighing her down as she tried to leap at Ron.
"They haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.
"Bond of blood. How 'bout that one?" Elizabeth muttered under her breath.
Hagrid gave Elizabeth's shoulder a painful little squeeze to quiet her down. A scowl appeared on her face which she wouldn't let disappear so easily.
"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blooded anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out."
"No, pure-bloods marry other pure-bloods. The majority of us are interrelated somehow. You're related to the Malfoys, Ron."
It was true, even if Ron never spoke of it. His mother Molly was related to the Blacks by marriage and Malfoy's mother was a member of the Black family before she married Lucius.
Ron retched and ducked out of sight again.
"Lizzie," Hagrid warned her. "Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron." He spoke 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 yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but the treacle toffee snapped his jaw back shut. Unfortunately, Hermione hadn't eaten any.
"Elizabeth retaliated against the Slytherins," Hermione said. "She cast the Flagrante Curse on their brooms."
"Yeh didn'!" Hagrid said. "Lizzie!"
"Malfoy started it," Elizabeth defended herself. "He's been starting with Harry ever since he met him. This year in the bookshop and then last week with Colin and the photo and now trying to steal the field when Gryffindor was practising. He's a berk! I should've done worse."
"Harry," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' 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 he saw that Hagrid was laughing.
"I'm on'y jokin'," he 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 teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."
"Bet he didn't like that," said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.
"Don' think he did," said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle toffe, Ron?" he added as Ron reappeared.
"No thanks," said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."
"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid as they finished the last of their tea.
In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Elizabeth had ever seen Hagrid grow. Every Halloween, he brought her grandparents three pumpkins, two of which Margaret used for cooking and one they used for a decoration. They had never been larger than Odysseus' cage, but this year each was the size of 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?" said Harry.
Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone. "Well, I've bin givin' them — you know — a bit o' help —"
Elizabeth sighed, the scowl having disappeared completely with no hopes of resurfacing. She never could be angry at her friends that long and she couldn't muster any anger toward Hagrid right now, even though she wanted to. She knew he kept his old wand from his schooldays hidden somewhere in his hut. He wasn't supposed to do magic, as he was expelled from Hogwarts during his third year and Elizabeth didn't know why. Hagrid never spoke of it and when she asked her grandparents, Margaret fell deathly silent and Thomas shifted the conversation. Richard never knew why Hagrid had been expelled either and when the two of them decided to confront William about it, since neither of their grandparents would say a word, all William did was tell them some secrets are better left in the dark and some dark things were better left secrets.
"An Engorgement Charm I suppose?" said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well. you've done a good job on them."
"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, 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' say no ter a signed —"
"Oh, shut up," said Harry. Elizabeth stifled her giggle, hiding her smile behind her hand. Ron snorted with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs.
"Watch it!" Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.
It was nearly lunchtime and they were keen on getting back to school to eat. They said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs.
They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, "There you are, Potter — Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. Elizabeth stepped slightly behind Hermione for safety, in case McGonagall had heard about the Slytherin's cursed broomsticks.
"You will both do your detentions this evening."
"What're we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.
She assigned Ron to help Filch polish every bit of silver in the trophy room, with no magic whatsoever. Elizabeth thought this an unjust punishment, until she gave Harry his detention: helping Lockhart answer his fanmail. He definitely got the worse deal of the two, but Elizabeth was happy to have gotten away with the confrontation from that morning. At least for now she had.
A/N: Plot and quotes from Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling, chapter Seven, Mudbloods and Murmurs pages 110 to 117.
Flagrante had no incantation given in the books so I created one for the purposes of this chapter.
