Chapter 10: Mudbloods and Murmurs

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Gryffindor Colin Creevey, who somehow seemed to have memorized Harry's schedule. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day despite Harry constantly telling the first year to leave him alone. Colin cornered him again right before Transfiguration, almost making him late. Harry slid in just before the bell rang.

Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. Everything Harry had learned last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer. He was supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding his wand. He supposed it didn't help any that he kept wondering how Luna was doing in her classes, and Draco was going on about the Quidditch tryouts this weekend. At least Weasley was having far worse problems. Apparently he had broken his wand at some point while he had been driving that car, and he had attempted to patch it with some borrowed Spellotape. Everyone but Weasley knew it was damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Weasley tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, he accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.

Harry and Draco had a good laugh at that. Even so, Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like a wrung sponge, and he was eager to see Luna. As everyone filed out of the classroom, Harry and Draco noticed Neville with Weasley, who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.

"Stupid — useless — thing —"

"Write home for another one," Neville suggested as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.

"Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back," said Weasley, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag. Harry and Draco continued down to lunch, laughing over Weasley's predicament. Draco praised Hermione's genius when she showed them the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration.

Hedwig visited Harry on Friday morning with a parcel of candy from his mother. He immediately offered some to his closest friends, who helped themselves delightedly. Harry's day got even better in charms. Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself by shooting out of Ron's hand and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck.

With everything that had been going on, Harry was in a great mood, right up until Draco shook him awake several hours earlier than he would have liked.

"Whassamatter?" said Harry groggily.

"Quidditch practice!" said Draco. "Come on!" Harry felt around and grabbed his glasses, putting them on as he squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn't understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

"Draco," Harry croaked. "It's the crack of dawn. Besides, there's no practice yet, tryouts haven't happened."

"Exactly," said Draco. His eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. "I want to practice before tryouts. Unlike you, I don't have a guaranteed place on the team. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go." Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.

"Good man," said Draco. "Meet you in the common room." When he'd found his emerald team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry scribbled a note to Vince and Greg explaining where they'd gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He met Draco and they continued out of the common room, through the dungeons, and out the front doors. Unfortunately, it was far too early for breakfast. They were just mounting their brooms when Harry heard hurried footsteps behind him and saw Colin Creevey dashing across the field, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.

"I saw you from my window, Harry! Look what I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show you —" Harry looked at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose, completely sick of the attention this Gryffindor was bestowing on him. A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognized as his own. He was pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

"Will you sign it?" said Colin eagerly.

"No," said Harry flatly. "Go away, Colin, I'm in a hurry — Quidditch practice —" He kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air.

"Harry! Oh, wow! I guess I'll be in the stands," yelled Colin. The cool morning air whipped Harry's face, waking him far more effectively than anything else would have. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Draco. "What's that funny clicking noise?" called Draco as they hurtled around the corner. Harry looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

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

"Hey, that's that little Gryffindor first year, isn't it?" asked Draco.

"Unfortunately," said Harry, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin. As Draco practiced weaving around Harry and the goalposts, more people slowly arrived for the 9:00 am tryouts. Finally, at 9:00 am, Marcus appeared, also wearing his Quidditch robes. Marcus called them all to order, announcing, for those who did not already know, that they were only holding tryouts for a beater and a chaser. Several angry Slytherins left the field immediately.

Looking around Harry realized that there were far fewer students at the tryouts this year. Thinking about it, he should have realized that was the case. There were far less positions open. Only eight people were trying out for chaser, and there were only five beater hopefuls. Marcus ran the tryouts just as he had the year before, starting with the beaters. When the chasers flew in formation, Harry could easily see that Draco was the best flier.

As with last year, Miles was able to block almost everything, but he missed a spectacular shot made by Draco. As everyone was congratulating the new team, Harry pulled Draco aside.

"That last goal was amazing! What was that?"

Draco laughed. "Well, my father made sure I learned Muggle baseball, as he said it would improve my Quidditch skills. That throw was a modified version of what is called a sinker pitch."

"That's how you made it change directions?"

"Yep."

"Cool."

"Ok, team!" called Marcus. "I'd like to try a few quick plays with our new members." They all mounted their brooms and rose into the air, only to hear boos and jeers coming from a quickly approaching group in red. "What's going on? I booked the pitch until noon, it's not even eleven." At Marcus' signal, they all landed. "We'll see about this! Wood!" Marcus bellowed at the Gryffindor Captain. "This is our practice time! You can clear off now!"

Wood was a burly sixth year. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Flint."

"But I booked the field!" said Flint, now speaking with a cold, collected menace to his voice. "I booked it!"

"Ah," said Wood. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor McGonagall. 'I, Professor M. McGonagall, give the Gryffindor team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker'."

"So you've got a new Seeker?" said Marcus, distracted. "Where?" And from behind the six figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, freckled face. It was Ron Weasley.

"Oh, look," said Weasley. "A field invasion." Vince, Greg, Luna, and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

"What's happening?" Luna asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?" She was looking at Weasley, taking in his Gryffindor Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Gryffindor Seeker, Loony," said Weasley, smugly. Harry growled at the insult to his friend, as the Gryffindor team laughed.

"Apparently the Gryffindors only let people for whom they feel sorry play. You Weasleys have no money, Wood obviously has no manners, and I suppose you girls have no virtue," said Hermione sharply. "At least our team was formed on pure talent." The smug look on Weasley's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat. Harry knew at once that Weasley had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Wood had to dive in front of Weasley to stop Bole and Derrick jumping on him. Bletchley shrieked, "How dare you!" Even most of the Gryffindors looked offended. Draco raised his wand in defense of Hermione.

"You had best wash out that mouth, Weasley. Scourgify!" With a flick of his wand, Ron was suddenly sputtering on soap bubbles. One of the girls shot Draco an evil look as she ended the spell. Ron, however, plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously at Draco's face. A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed another of his female teammates. 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. Harry and his team were paralyzed with laughter. Marcus was doubled up, hanging onto his broomstick for support. Draco 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. "We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," Harry heard someone say. After the Gryffindor team was out of earshot, Harry turned to Draco.

"So, what exactly did Weasley call Hermione? It must've been really bad, because everyone went wild."

"It was bad," said Draco. "Weasley called her 'Mudblood,' Harry"

"But I don't know what it means."

Me neither," said Hermione "I could tell it was really rude, of course —"

"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," said Draco. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born — you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards —I never thought Weasley was one of them— who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood."

"Pure-blood?" asked Harry.

"It means both of your parents and all four of your grandparents were magical. The farther back you can trace your heritage and still have only magical relatives, the purer your blood is."

"Why didn't you think he was one of them?"

"Well, his father is part of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts division of the Ministry of Magic. I think everyone just assumes he's a blood traitor. That means that although they are pure-bloods, they hang around with, and champion, muggles and muggle-borns."

"So, would you be a blood-traitor for hanging around me?" asked Hermione.

"No, offense, Hermione, but I don't think anyone really thinks of you as muggleborn. You're challenging all of our preconceived notions. I mean, we're finding out that blood status doesn't matter so much. Look at Neville Longbottom — he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up. And they haven't invented a spell you can't do," said Draco proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," chimed in Luna. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd have died out." Just then, Harry noticed the Gryffindor team leaving Hagrid's hut.

"D'you fancy a visit to Hagrid? You know he can never keep his mouth shut." His group of friends all nodded, and they quickly made their way over to Hagrid's hut. Harry knocked quickly, and was surprised when Lockhart emerged first.

"Hello, Professor," said Hermione brightly. Harry and Draco both groaned.

"Hello Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter. I'm in a bit of a hurry, must be going now," and he made off toward the castle, completely ignoring the other three standing there.

"Well that was rather rude," said Harry.

"He didn't look so well though, did he," observed Luna. "I wonder what's wrong with him."

"He saw that Weasley boy belch slugs." They all looked up at Hagrid, who was now standing in the doorway. "Come in, I heard wha' happened." They all filed in and arranged themselves on various pieces of furniture. "Are ye alrigh' Hermione?"

"Yes, Hagrid, I'm fine. I don't pay much attention to idiots like Ronald."

"Good, good. Oh, and Harry, I've got a bone ter pick wit ya," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "I've heard yev been giving out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

"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. O' course, that was just as the team brought Weasley in. He was beltchin' slugs all o'er me floor, and Lockhart didn' wan' to get his shoes dirty so he just stood in the kitchen. I felt bad for Weasley until they started saying what he had done. I sent him straight off to Madam Pomfrey, and cleaned up the floor so Lockhart would leave me alone. I don't blame yeh for cursin' him Malfoy."

"Well, someone has to teach him a lesson," said Draco.

"I can' believe he turned out as he did. Never had a lick o' trouble from any other member of the family. Now, come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid. In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen. Each was the size of a 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 —" Harry noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Harry had had reason to believe before now that this umbrella was not all it looked; in fact, he had the strong impression that Hagrid's old school wand was concealed inside it. Hagrid wasn't supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but Harry had never found out why — any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on them."

"That's what Ginny Weasley said," said Hagrid. "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. "She should have been in Gryffindor with the rest of her family. I don't know why she'd be looking for me, we are in the same house. It was nearly lunchtime and as Harry and Draco had not had breakfast, they were keen to go back to school to eat. They said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle. They saw that Weasley was just ahead of them, apparently having been speaking to Professor McGonagall.

"Filch'll have me there all night," they heard him say heavily. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning." Harry and Draco shared a laugh as they entered the Great Hall. Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to curfew, and they made their way back to the common room. They had all finished their homework, so they decided to play exploding snap. It was as their fourth attempt at a house of cards exploded in their faces that he heard something — something quite apart from the spitting of the dying candles and Draco's whining about his singed eyebrows. It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

"Come… come to me… Let me rip you.. .Let me tear you.. .Let me kill you…" Harry gave a huge jump and another card exploded in his hand.

"What?" he said loudly.

"I know!" said Draco. "Hurts doesn't it?"

"No," said Harry in a frantic whisper. "That voice!"

"Sorry?" said Hermione, looking puzzled. "What voice?"

"That — that voice that said — didn't you hear it?" They were looking at Harry in high astonishment.

"What are you talking about, Harry?" asked Luna. "Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy?"

"Well, it is nearly eleven, and you were up early," said Hermione. Harry didn't answer. He was straining his ears to hear the voice again, but there was no sound now except for the murmur of students talking.

"No, I definitely heard a voice, a chilling voice."

"But I don't get it — why couldn't we hear it?" asked Vince.

"I don't know," said Harry. "I don't get it either."