I spent the next few days settling into a new routine as I learned how to juggle seven classes three times per week, grade homework, and still manage to get my hair done properly every morning before class. After two days of teaching classes, I was beginning to think I was being seriously underpaid.
Some of this was my own fault, of course. I couldn't use Mrs. Witherhams' lesson plans — they were geared toward promoting Gilderoy Lockhart, not teaching students Defense Against the Dark Arts. By the end of the second day I had scrapped them; I spent most of that evening drawing up new lessons using the Standard Book of Spells series as a teaching source. Fortunately, Miranda Goshawk was very thorough in her research, including almost all of the basic spells for the major magical disciplines, including (fortunately for me) Defense Against the Dark Arts. By the end of the week, most of my classes, even the upper ones where I still felt a bit shaky about the advanced magic, were going along swimmingly.
Except for the second years. I'd returned to my classroom after the confrontation with Snape, prepared to help Harry and his friends recapture the pixies, but when I arrived they were gone and all of the little devils were back in their cage; most of them were still immobile from the effects of Freezing Charms. I spent the rest of that day cleaning up the classroom and preparing for the next day's classes.
I didn't see Harry or any of the other second years again until Friday, my busiest day of the week as I had classes every period. It was really Miss Granger I wanted to see; I had gathered, via careful listening to the conversations of other teachers during mealtimes, that Hermione Granger was the top witch in her year, even among the Ravenclaws, usually the brightest students at Hogwarts.
Heading to the Great Hall in the middle of the lunch period (I was late going down to eat as I'd been trying to get some first-year tests graded before the afternoon), I met Hermione as I was coming down the main staircase into the Entrance Hall. I was distracted, thinking about the essays I had just graded, and she was running up the steps in high energy, when we both nearly collided. It was a fortunate occurrence —I owed her an apology for ducking out on them with the pixies, and wanted the opportunity to tell her so. Now the opportunity had presented itself.
"Ah, Miss Granger! I'm glad we ran into each other," I said, beaming. "Almost!" I added jovially.
"Yes, Professor," she said, sounding a bit breathless. "Sorry! I was going to the Library." She reached up, unconsciously smoothing her hair.
"Actually, I should be the one apologizing," I said with a wry smile. "I wasn't thinking very clearly the other day, leaving you, Harry and Ron to fend for yourselves with those pixies."
"I thought you might've wanted to give us some hands-on experience," Hermione said earnestly. "That's what I told Harry and Ron, though they think you were just — well, that is —" she stopped, flustered.
"Well, I could've handled it better," I said seriously. "But no harm done, I hope!"
"No, it was actually rather fun, getting them back into the cage —"
"Indeed," an oily voice intruded on us from above; Hermione and I both turned to see Snape walking slowly down the staircase toward us. "One can only imagine how much fun you might have had if it had been a cage full of Red Caps, Miss Granger."
Hermione blushed but held her ground. "Perhaps Professor Lockhart can show us how to handle them as well. I remember reading in Break With a Banshee, he had a confrontation with —"
"Very interesting, I'm sure," Snape interrupted in a bored tone. "But we haven't time to listen to you prattle on with an oral book report. You are excused."
Hermione's eyes flashed, and she looked ready to argue further, but I raised a hand slightly in a placating manner and gave a very slight shake of my head. She took the hint and visibly relaxed. "Very well. Thank you, Professor," she said, looking directly at me and ignoring Snape, then retreated up the stairs.
Snape turned to me. He, too, had caught my nonverbal signal. Once she was out of earshot he said, somewhat ominously, "One should be careful of becoming too involved with the students, Professor Lockhart."
"You know, Snape, you've really been quite an arse lately."
The Potions Master raised an eyebrow, but if he was offended, he said only, "The truth may make arses of us all, Lockhart. Be careful what you say, and to whom."
"I'm glad to see you," I said cheerfully, deliberately ignoring what he'd said, in hopes of frustrating him even more. "I've had those ruddy pixies in my office for two days now and don't know what to do with them. I thought you might take them off my hands."
Snape sniffed. "Take it up with Professor Kettleburn," he said indifferently. "He's the Care of Magical Creatures professor, not I."
Professor Kettleburn, an elderly wizard, was literally on his last leg: his other one was made of wood, and he had only one arm as well. I hated to bother him, especially since he never spoke to any of the staff except Dumbledore or Hagrid, but it might be necessary to talk with him if Snape insisted on being this difficult.
"Now, if you'll excuse me," Snape said, turning away to sweep down the staircase to the Entrance Hall. As he turned, a small piece of parchment fluttered from the sleeve of his robe onto the steps behind him.
"Snape," I called, to point out he'd dropped something, but he didn't even bother to look back. I bent over to retrieve the scrap so I could return it to him, but as I picked it up I saw writing on it:
Hagrid —
The next meeting of the Death Eaters Detection Squad will be held Saturday night at 10 p.m. Do not be late.
Death Eater Detection Squad? Hagrid, I recalled, was the groundskeeper at Hogwarts. If Snape had meant to pass this to him —
But Snape had turned right at the bottom of the staircase, not left, going into the corridor opposite the doors of the Great Hall, where there were other, seldom-used classrooms as well as a door leading to the courtyard. Even so, I did not want to risk him asking me if I had found his note, in case he should come back looking for it. Deciding to forego lunch, I turned and went back up the stairs to my office, placing the note in a hidden pouch in my briefcase.
I would have to find a way to talk with Hagrid and find out what this "Death Eaters Detection Squad" was about — how it involved Snape. Especially so since I was even more convinced now than ever that Snape had something to do with Malfoy and his efforts to close the school.
I suddenly realized how I could approach Hagrid. Since he was one of the few people who Professor Kettleburn talked to, I could ask Hagrid about the pixies, to see if he could help me find out from Kettleburn what could be done with them. That would be my plan, I decided.
My afternoon classes went by quickly, now that I had something to look forward to. The second years, still spooked from the pixie incident of a few days before, watched me nervously as I went through my new lesson plan; Harry was practically invisible behind his stack of books, and his friend Ron kept giving me suspicious looks. Of the three, only Hermione seemed to remotely enjoy the class. I finished out the day with a double class of sixth-years, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, then made a beeline for the Great Hall as soon as the dinner bell rang. I was practically starving.
After dinner, now full and tired after the long day of classes, I decided to find Hagrid the first thing thing the next morning, when I was fresh and fully rested. In my quarters, I studied the note Snape had dropped, wondering what I might learn from Hagrid, and how he might have gotten mixed up in this Death Eater business with Snape, and whoever else was on this Death Eater Detection Squad. Soon enough, I hoped, I would know.
I awoke Saturday morning well before dawn, and spent a couple of hours getting ready to see Hagrid. He lived in a cottage on the school grounds, not far from the Forbidden Forest. Walking down the main staircase to the Entrance Hall, I contemplated breakfast, but decided I could risk waiting until lunch to eat if I didn't finish talking to Hagrid in time.
At the foot of the staircase I watched a small procession going by: a group of students in green robes, each one carrying an expensive-looking broom, had come out a door next to the staircase and were making their way out the front doors. Several of them gave me cool looks as they passed and I saw that the leader, the largest of the group, was a young man with troll-like features and a heavy, single eyebrow over both eyes. Also in the group was Draco Malfoy, who gave me a sneering smile and waggled his eyebrows at me as he passed. They were obviously off to the Quidditch pitch for some morning practice.
I was headed in the opposite direction, however. I made my way to the east side of the castle and out to the greenhouse area, the easiest way to exit the castle from that side. From there I headed north, giving a wide berth to the Whomping Willow tree I'd helped Pomona with a few days earlier; I saw that most of the bandages had been removed. A bit further beyond that was the cottage where Hagrid lived.
It was a decent-sized cabin, but I wondered how much room there was inside for a man of Hagrid's size. Curious to see how big the cabin was, I walked around one side to the back, where I saw a garden with several of the largest pumpkins I'd ever seen growing there. As this was only early September, I couldn't imagine how big they would be by the end of October, when Hallowe'en rolled around.
I could hear activity going on inside as I walked up the steps to the large wooden door. Hagrid had been friendly when I arrived at school, as I recalled, but I had no idea how he would react if I questioned him directly about his involvement in the Death Eater Detection Squad. I would have to be careful how I brought it up. Knocking on the door, I called out, "Hello! Is anyone awake in there?"
There was a mad barking and I heard a voice commanding, "Quiet, Fang! Go lie down!" The door opened and Hagrid's black beetle eyes swept over me as I stood, smiling nevously, in front of him. "Oh hello, Professor," he said, amicably enough. "What brings you out to my humble abode this fine mornin'?"
"Hello, Hagrid," I said genially. "I wonder if you have a few moments to discuss a matter with me?"
"O' course, o' course," Hagrid said, stepping back and waving an enormous hand to usher me into the cabin. "C'mon in. Oh, and don't mind Fang," he said, as a huge Great Dane put its paws on my chest and began licking my face. "He gits a bit rambunctious whenever he meets someone new. Go on then, Fang," he said, shooing the dog back to a corner where it settled onto a large pile of straw, then passed me a towel to wipe my face, which I accepted gratefully.
"Somethin' to drink?" Hagrid asked me and I nodded, hoping it would quell the growing rumbles in my stomach. He filled a large kettle with water and set it over the fire, then sat down at the table across from me. "I was a bit surprised t'see yeh this morning," Hagrid said conversationally. "I'd been meanin' to ask what you did wit' those Cornish pixies Snape gave to yeh."
"The very thing I came to talk to you about!" I said, glad that he'd broached the subject for me. "I've had them for three days now and I don't know what I should do with them."
"Really?" Hagrid glanced over to the kettle heating up in the fire. "I though' yeh might just want 'em for like an experiment, or somethin'," he mused. "Don' know what to do with 'em, really?" He seemed surprised. "Aren't yeh supposed to be used to dealin' with creatures like that all the time, like in your books 'n all?"
I was a bit stung that Hagrid had seen through my excuse so quickly. I supposed, since he was the groundskeeper, that he knew quite a bit about woodland creatures as well. "To tell you the truth, Hagrid, I've had some problems with my memory lately. It's an occupational hazard of being famous, I'm afraid," I smiled brilliantly, hoping to distract him.
"Yeah, famous," Hagrid replied coolly. "I seen that picture of you 'n Harry in the Prophet a couple of weeks ago. Kind of a sleazy thin' to do to the lad, doncher think?"
"I thought a little bit of exposure to the public wouldn't hurt," I said defensively.
"Fer him, or fer you?" Hagrid pointed out. The kettle was steaming and he went over and retrieve it, then searching through a large cupboard for some tea.
"I'm already famous, Hagrid," I replied. This was not going the way I'd wanted it to. "You've probably at least read my book about the Badon Banshee and how I vanquished her."
"Nah," Hagrid said absently, still rummaging through the cabinet; but he came up empty. "Got better things t' do than read. Now where's that ruddy tea?"
I had to gain his confidence if I was going to learn anything about his involvement in the Death Eater Detection Squad. "Hagrid," I spoke quickly. "Do you recall hearing anything in the staff meetings about kelpies being in the north well, the one Hogwarts maintains for the Hogsmeade villagers?"
Hagrid turned to stare at me. "Yeh, o' course. I'm the one told Professor McGonagall about it a week ago."
"I can help you get rid of them," I said confidently.
Hagrid's eyebrows went up. "Oh you can, can you? Well, you've got yer hands full enough with them pixies, doncha? I don't suppose I'll be needin' any o' yer help with them kelpies, Professor."
"It'll be no trouble at all," I added, trying to sound helpful.
"Not fer you, since you won't have anything t' do with it." Hagrid was now beginning to sound annoyed. "What's this all about, then? D'you think Professor Dumbledore hired you t' do my job, or yours?"
"Don't be silly, Hagrid," I snapped, then immediately regretted it; Hagrid spun around to face me: a man nearly twice my size, his black eyes now flashing with irritation.
"So what'd you come here for?" Hagrid asked, abandoning any pretense of looking for tea. "Wha'd'yeh want with me, if yer not here to tell me how to do my job, then?"
I had Snape's note in my pocket. It was a gamble, but I decided it was the only way I might get a straight answer from him. I reached into my robe and brought it out, handing it to him. "I came to deliver this message."
Hagrid looked at the note for some time before looking back at me. His frown had disappeared, replaced by confusion. "What's this 'Death Eater Detection Squad,' then?"
"I was hoping you could tell me."
"I don' know nuthin' about it. An' why didn't yeh just ask me about it rather than givin' me a note?"
"The note's from Snape," I said, now annoyed myself. "It's his handwriting, not mine. And why would he be passing you such a note if you didn't know what it was about?"
The answer to that question suddenly crystallized in my brain: Hagrid doesn't know anything about it because there was no Death Eater Detection Squad! I groaned inwardly. Snape's tricked me again!
Hagrid had been peering curiously at the note; he now passed it back to me with a shrug. "Hanged if I know why Professor Snape'd write me summat like thet. I suppose yeh can ask him yerself."
I took the note with a weary nod. It had become obvious to me now that Snape was simply playing with me, and easily outclassing me to boot! I must've looked totally defeated, because Hagrid was giving me a concerned look. "Are yeh alrigh', Professor?"
"I'm fine," I snapped, still upset at being outmaneuvered by Snape, but Hagrid took it wrong.
"Well, fine, then," he said, firing up. "Whyn't yeh take yer fine self back to the castle, if we're done here?"
I couldn't hold back any more. "It's not fine, Hagrid! This note is a sign of things to come at Hogwarts! Death Eaters are stalking this school, and they plan to close it down — or worse!"
"Death Eaters? At Hogwarts? You're barking!" Hagrid exclaimed, and on cue Fang barked loudly. "Pipe down, you! Professor, this school ain't been closed down once in all the time it's been aroun'. Closest it ever got was —" Hagrid faltered for a moment, looking stricken, but continued "— was fifty years ago, an' even then it didn' happen!"
"What was that about, then?" I asked, wondering if there was some connection between whatever had happened then, and now.
"Nobody knows," Hagrid said, waving an enormous hand as if to make the subject dissipate into thin air. "Someone got killed, a girl I think, but they — they accused the wrong creature of doin' it," he said hoarsely, now agitated by whatever he'd remembered. I watched in silent curiosity as Hagrid wrung his hands distractedly. He actually seemed to be near tears. "Oh, poor Aragog…" he moaned.
"Who?" I asked.
Hagrid started, realizing he'd spoken aloud. "Nevermind," he said gruffly, then put a massive hand on my back and pushed me toward the door. There was no way for me to resist his strength. "Time fer you to go, Professor," he said firmly.
Hagrid pushed me inexorably toward the door, with no intent on stopping until I was through it, and I grabbed the handle, managing to unlatch the door before I was smashed against it. It swung open and Hagrid pushed me outside.
I started to turn around, to argue over the Detection Squad, but the corner of my eye caught the edge of someone's robe leaping behind a bush. I'd seen a flash of red fringed in gold, a Gryffindor robe similar to the ones the Slytherin students had worn, walking out the front of the castle earlier; the top of a bushy brown hairdo was visible just over the bush. Realizing it was very likely Harry Potter and his friends Ron and Hermione, I immediately switched plans; I didn't want them thinking I was here arguing with the groundskeeper.
I looked back at Hagrid, "It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" I said loudly. "If you need help, you know where I am!" Hagrid was now giving me a dangerous look; he did not like my implying he needed my help. "I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't got one," I added — that comment had made Hagrid rear back like an affronted hippogriff. "I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!" I turned and strode away back toward the castle, carefully not looking back toward Hagrid's cabin or the bush Harry and his friends were hiding behind, even when I heard a strange retching noise.
That was a bust, I thought, discouraged, as I entered the castle. Snape was victorious again, and I was no closer to figuring out what was happening here than I'd been since I found out Malfoy's plans to close the school. But it seemed almost certain to me now that Snape was hiding something, and that it had to do with Death Eaters and You-Know-Who, although I could not say why I believed this. It must be intuition, or some type of divination power, I realized. Had I ever shown evidence of such abilities? I could not recall, but then my memory was in such tatters recently I wouldn't be a bit surprised if I had and was Obliviated because of it!
Whatever the source of my knowledge, I had to follow it to the final conclusion, no matter where it led me. There was only one person I could think of that could help me reach that destination, short of talking to Professor Dumbledore directly.
Professor Minerva McGonagall.
The deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, who was also its Transfiguration teacher, kept the day-to-day business of the castle flying along like a well-trimmed broomstick. She seemed to know the name of every student in the school, and handled almost all of its administrative duties, if the staff meetings were any indication of her knowledge. I could only hope she might know something about Death Eaters and whether Snape was involved, something she could share with me.
As I'd hoped, she was in her office when I arrived there from Hagrid's cabin and knocked on the door. "Come in," she said briskly, and I entered. Her desk was already covered in paperwork, and she was doing several things at once: grading test papers from a sixth-year Transfiguration class; there was an accountancy ledger opened nearby. On the other side of the desk lay another sheet of parchment with the words Weekly Detentions across the top; the names Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were written below them, side-by-side. Under Ron's name was written "Trophy room with Filch," but the space below Harry's name was blank. She spared me barely a glance as I approached the desk, her square glasses glinting as she looked up momentarily then returned to her test papers. "What can I do for you, Professor Lockhart?" she said, marking a "P" on the top of a paper by Flint, Marcus.
"I want to talk to you about — Death Eaters," I said without preamble, thrusting Snape's note forward for her to read. She took the note and studied it, adjusting her glasses back on her nose.
"Where did you get this?" she asked at last, looking up at me.
"Snape dropped it in a corridor while we were talking yesterday," I replied. "He left so quickly I wasn't able to return it to him. When I picked up the note I saw who it was for, and brought it to Hagrid this morning."
"And what did Hagrid say about it?" McGonagall wanted to know.
"He said he didn't know anything about it."
"What did Professor Snape say about it?"
"I haven't talked to him yet," I admitted. "But I'm sure it was meant to bait me."
McGonagall pressed her lips together tightly before saying, "I should think so — there's no such thing as a 'Death Eater Detection Squad.' "
"But I'm sure there's some kind of truth behind that note!" I said, pointing at it dramatically. I know there's something going on here, something to do with Malfoy —"
"Draco Malfoy?" McGonagall interrupted. "He's just a boy —"
"I mean Lucius Malfoy, Professor," I interrupted in turn. "I believe he has something to do with an effort to have this school closed down."
McGonagall looked at me sharply. "What evidence do you have of this?" she asked.
"Nothing tangible," I said. "But I —"
"Then there's nothing we can do," she cut over me again. "Without evidence there can be no investigation. Lucius Malfoy is on the board of governors of this school — surely, if there were sufficient reason to have it closed, it would be up him and the other governors to decide, based on the best interests and safety of the students."
"He's also a Death Eater," I said insistently.
"Professor Lockhart," McGonagall said, after a shocked silence. "That charge has never been substantiated. There have been rumors, but rumors are all they are. I will appreciate if, in the future, you do not make such allegations without sufficient evidence to back them up. Now, good day." She turned back to her test papers.
I sighed, defeated, and started to turn away when I recalled the detentions paper on McGonagall's desk, the one with Harry and Ron's names on them. "Professor, are you giving detention to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley this week?"
She glanced up at me, her eyes flicking momentarily to the paper off to one side of her desk. "You can read, I assume," she said, coldly.
"I'd like to have Harry for his detention," I said. "I can use his help autographing photographs." I also wanted a chance to talk to him about the possibility of Death Eaters infiltrating the school.
McGonagall picked up the detention sheet, writing "Lockhart's office" underneath Harry's name. "Harry will be in your office at eight o'clock tonight. Will that be all, Professor?" she said flatly.
"Yes, thank you, Professor," I said, and got out of there. From the idle chatter I'd heard this week, both at the staff table and in my classes, Harry Potter had been involved in quite a few unusual occurrences last year; he was well beyond being a celebrity in name only. I'd heard mention of his encounter with a mountain troll in a girls' bathroom, where he'd saved the life of Hermione Granger, who'd been locked in with the troll somehow. He had been the youngest student to play on a Quidditch team at the school in a hundred years, and the only first-year to be allowed to play in as long as anybody could remember. There were rumors about him raising dragons in the school, something that had cost Gryffindor hundreds of house points, and rumors about him helping the centaurs kill a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest — which admittedly didn't make any sense since unicorns were creatures of goodness and purity.
Finally, there were the rumors about Harry and Professor Quirrell. Some students said that Quirrell was possessed by You-Know-Who; others claimed that You-Know-Who was gone forever and that Quirrell was acting on his own to steal the Sorcerer's Stone, which was at the school for safekeeping since someone had tried to steal it from Gringotts the summer before. Some said that Quirrell was a Death Eater. It was these rumors that I was most interested in, since they went straight to the heart of whether Death Eaters were in fact infiltrating the school.
Snape's reputation was not in very good shape, either. Ever since Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts, Snape had been coming down harder and harder on Gryffindor students. Many students thought he was simply jealous of Harry's notoriety; others felt he was biased toward his school house, Slytherin, in order to make up the boost Gryffindor had been given when Harry was sorted into it and made the Quidditch team Seeker his first year of school, a remarkable honor in itself. There were rumors Snape tried to fix matches and grant favors to the Slytherin team. There were even some rumors this year that he had talked Lucius Malfoy into donating seven Nimbus Two Thousand and One brooms to the Slytherin Quidditch team.
Having Harry do his detention with me was a lucky break, since it would afford me an opportunity to gain the boy's confidence. So far, he had been subdued in my presence — overawed, I suspected, with fame I had accumulated in my twenty-odd years of writing about my exploits trying to eradicate the forces of Darkness. And now that I had realized just how self-serving my efforts of the past had been, I'm sure Harry would be more than happy to tell me all he knew about the Death Eater conspiracy going on at the school.
That evening I made preparations for Harry's visit in my office. The detention would be as light as I could make it — Harry would have almost nothing to do, so I could talk with him about Snape, to see if I could draw out anything Harry might've heard about Death Eaters. I had a pile of photographs laid out on my desk, with envelopes nearby to put them in, and quills and ink for addressing them. Mrs. Witherhams had sent me a long list of those who'd requested autographed pictures of me (mostly witches, of course), sent to her from the publishers of my books. I felt excited to see Harry again — I hadn't been seen much of him during the week, not since we'd talked the first day of classes, and this morning hadn't been a good opportunity, not in the middle of my row with Hagrid.
Just a few minutes before eight p.m. I head a soft noise outside my office door, as if someone was shuffling along the corridor toward it. I walked over to the door, opening it just as someone knocked, and beamed with delight seeing Harry there, looking up at me with eyes wide in wonderment. I had changed into a brilliant red and gold robe and hat, in honor of Gryffindor.
"Ah, here's the scalawag," I said jovially. "Come in, Harry, come in!"
I led him into the room, watching as he looked around, absorbing the details. My portraits on the walls smiled back at him, a few bowing ostentatiously.
I pointed to the chair where Harry was to sit. "You can address the envelopes!" I said, hoping he would appreciate the ease of this detention. Surely it would much less work than the poor Weasley boy would be having about now, polishing silver in the trophy room with Filch, whom I'd heard cackling about it at dinner. After Harry had taken an envelope and readied a quill, I checked the name at the top of the list.
"This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her," I said, and smiled broadly as I noted that it was her 10th request for a photograph. "Bless her — huge fan of mine —" Harry began dutifully writing out the address on the envelope. He hadn't spoken yet since entering my office, not even to say hello. I was beginning to suspect he wasn't happy to be here. Things weren't starting out well.
Trying to stay optimistic, I began talking about my effort to improve the Defense Against the Dark Arts training at Hogwarts. I was trying to work in some commentary about Snape and Death Eaters, but Harry continued to plug away at the envelopes, occasionally murmuring "Right" or "Yeah" as I pointed out the way he treated students or even Harry in particular. I wasn't sure how closely he was listening to all of this.
I discussed some of the problems I'd had as a celebrity at Hogwarts, trying to compare that with his own notoriety; even though Harry had come to school this year in a flying car, a very ostentatious method of arriving, rumor had it he wasn't trying to make a grand entrance, but had simply missed the train and was trying to get to school. He'd just picked a bad way to go about it; I'd heard McGonagall speak despairingly of his lack of logic — it would have been elementary for him to send an owl to the school explaining his predicament, or even waiting several minutes longer at the station for Ron's parents to return through the barrier from Platform 9¾. All this was well and good, though, I told him, because celebrity is as celebrity does, and fame was a fickle friend.
No matter what I said or did, however, it seemed Harry wasn't going to open up to me tonight. I had tried to be circumspect, to ease into subjects I didn't want to broach directly; Harry, being only twelve years old or so, wasn't likely to be very concerned with the political or educational maneuverings of Lucius Malfoy or Severus Snape. Thinking perhaps I could get him interested in me, I launched into a discussion of my newest book, Magical Me. It was, I was proud to say, doing quite well in the bookstores.
Harry started, throwing a blotch of ink onto the envelope he was addressing. "What?" he shouted.
I knew he'd come round if I started talking about me again! "I know!" I grinned, happy to see him paying attention at last. "Six solid months at the top of the best seller list! Broke all records!"
But Harry was shaking his head frantically. "No! That voice!"
I hadn't heard any voice but my own, I thought, puzzled. "Sorry," I asked. "What voice?"
"That — that voice that said — didn't you hear it?" Harry stammered, looking quite tense and excited.
Perhaps I'd expected too much of the boy, I thought with genuine concern. He'd been nearly nodding only moments ago; now he was agitated and certain he'd heard voices. "What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy?" I glanced at the clock on the wall; it was almost midnight! "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 wasn't listening to me. He was staring round at the walls, looking past my portraits as if they weren't there. It was obvious he was done for the evening. The upside was that we'd gone through a good many of the people on my list; I'd checked off about 170 names, not bad for four hours' work!
"Good work, Harry," I said soothingly, guiding him to the door of my office. He was still staring about the walls and floors of my office, perhaps trying to locate the nonexistent voice. "Just remember, I said, a trifle sternly, "you can't expect every detention to be like this one, you know. Next time you might not get off so easily. Now, off you go." Harry stepped out into the corridor, still looking around dazedly, and I closed the door, feeling chagrinned.
Tonight had been a bust, I felt. If Harry knew anything about Snape or Malfoy, he wasn't talking. Perhaps he was scared; I could see that, since Severus Snape was a formidable opponent (as I'd learned), as well as one of Harry's teachers, and he'd known Snape longer than he'd known me, even if I was more famous than the Hogwarts potion master.
All of which mattered not at all now, I reminded myself. Whatever was going on with Snape, or Malfoy, concerning the Death Eaters, I was going to have to figure it out on my own. I just hoped I could.
