Chapter XXI
"Daphne! You don't always have to bring me flowers, you know!"
The elder sister placed the vase on the bedstand, and leaned over to give Astoria a kiss on the forehead. "Hush. How do you feel?"
Astoria gave a toothy smile, but didn't sit up. "Still a little weak, but better than before." Daphne remembered her younger sister's sweaty, trembling form in her bedroom at their manor, and nodded firmly.
"That's a start. Hopefully you'll be up and moving around in no time."
"Yea. Never thought I'd miss that chair, but being stuck in bed like this is so much worse!" She looked towards the door, trying to get a glimpse around Daphne. "Are Mum and Dad coming?"
"Not today, Tori." Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took one of her sister's hands in her own. "Father has been working in his study all day," code for nursing a hangover, "and Mother wasn't sure if you would be up to visitors yet." In reality, Cecily was entertaining Lydia Carrow and had not inquired into Astoria's condition.
"Oh, okay."
"I thought you might like to write to Harry. You know, he wrote to you when he got back from his holiday trip."
Tori perked up. "He did?"
"He did. You were, um, you probably don't remember, but I read it to you."
Her sister gasped. "You read my mail!"
Daphne couldn't help but laugh at Astoria's outraged expression. "Yes, well, in any case I brought a quill and parchment. Would you like to dictate a note to him?"
"Sure!" And with that, Astoria rattled off an exuberant note full of questions about Harry's trip, what he liked about America, the puppy he'd conjured for her, and that she'd like him to come visit her. It wasn't long after she'd finished, 'Love, your best friend, Astoria', that a healer arrived in the room with Tori's next round of potions.
Daphne stayed and held her sister's hand until the young girl drifted to sleep, before pulling up a chair next to the bed. She placed Astoria's letter in envelope but did not seal it, instead setting it next to the flowers on the nightstand. Removing a fresh sheet of parchment from her robes, Daphne began to write her own letter to Harry.
Anxiety bubbled deep within her. How could she admit that she hadn't, actually, needed his money? Why should he believe her ignorance about her father's dealings? 'He'll think I was manipulating him the whole time.' It's what she would think if she were in his shoes.
She looked down at the parchment, where a sizable ink blot was expanding from where her quill pressed, motionless against the parchment. Setting her parchment aside, she sealed the envelope containing Astoria's letter. She couldn't face him, even through a letter. Not yet.
August 17, 1992
Norm set the table for five, pondering the need for a larger dining room table, while watching the ongoing stalemate in the kitchen with one eye. Harry stood sullenly, arms crossed and leaning against the refrigerator while Diane cooked at the stove.
"You can't ignore me forever. Your professor is supposed to arrive in a few minutes, you might as well get used to talking again now." Harry didn't respond. "Sweetheart, you know I am proud of how independent you are, and your determination to take care of things on your own, but we're a family now. You have to get used to us having a say in your life."
Marveling at his fiancée's understanding of their adoptive son, Norm came back into the kitchen for glassware just in time to see Harry sigh and uncross his arms. "I get that, Mum, but I don't like the idea of wizards knowing where we live. I could have just as easily met him at his home."
"Harry, we don't want you to go to a stranger's home without us having a chance to meet them first. If this professor of yours wants to meet with you before school starts, he can do so here, in our home."
"I went to Neville's, and Hannah's too!"
"Well those were parties. There were other people there. It's different."
The boy huffed and pulled at his collar. "What time is Sam coming?"
"Should be here any minute now!" Norm called from the dining room. Just then, there was a loud CRACK and the sound of shattering glass.
Harry dashed in from the kitchen, joining Norm in gaping at the sight before them. Gilderoy Lockhart stood perched on their table, having smashed half the settings Norm had just put out, dressed in vivid gold colored robes. Not giving a single thought to the destroyed dishes, he hopped off the table and immediately began pumping Norm's hand in an energetic handshake.
"Gilderoy Lockhart, Professor Emeritus at Hogwarts, Order of Merlin Third Class, Dark Force Defense League member, at your service."
"Er, Norm Peters, pleasure to meet you, Professor. Won't you take a seat?" He turned to Harry, seeing the boy had already returned with the broom and dustpan. "Thanks, Harry."
"What's this? Oh, my apologies. Apparition to a new location can be rather tricky, after all. Put away your tools, young Harry, and let me explain to you the wonder and glory of the reparo charm!" The doorbell rang, sparing Norm from listening to Lockhart's explanation of the magical theory behind the spell, most of which sounded half-baked even to Norm.
"Hi Sam. Come on in."
"That's the guy?" Sam asked, speaking in a quiet voice.
"Yea. Seems like a real character."
The two men, joined by Diane from the kitchen door, watched while Lockhart wildly gestured with his wand, crying out 'REPARO!' at such a volume that Norm wondered if the neighbors would comment. Still, the dishes that Lockhart had smashed began to piece back together, taking their original shape minus several cracks and chips, and, in the case of one wine glass, missing the stem entirely.
"Well, it's a rather intricate spell." Lockhart said, taking in the... sort of repaired dishes and glassware. "Hello there, my dear, didn't notice you when I arrived, although now I'm wondering how that's even possible." Giving Diane an extended kiss on the back of her hand, Lockhart showed off the smile that was a five-time Witch Weekly winner. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Profess-"
"Yes, Professor Lockhart, I heard. I'm Diane Malone, Norman's fiancée."
Lockhart's smile didn't lessen even fractionally. "And who's this chap? Another relative?"
"Sam Chambers, a friend of the family. That was a very interesting display, Professor."
"Oh, the charm?" Sam 'hmm'-ed in response. "Nothing too complicated, I assure you. I imagine you must be quite curious about magic, given that Harry is only one year into his education."
Sam's polite smile widened for only a moment. "Yes, that was quite remarkable. I hear that you'll be teaching Defense this year?"
"Yes, old Albus practically begged me to take the position. Rather embarrassing, I don't mind telling you, to have him go on and on about my qualifications. I think I was ready to accept just out of modesty, really!" He took a seat at the table at Norm's invitation, continuing, "Despite what happened to that unfortunate Quirrell character, being such a humble man I could not rightly refuse the Headmaster's request."
"Quirrell? That was one of your professors from last year, wasn't it?" Harry had gone very still at Diane's question, the pitcher of water in his hand perched an inch off the table. Getting no response, she turned back to their guest. "What was so unfortunate about him, Professor?"
"I'd have thought Harry would have mentioned it. The poor man was killed last year, just before Yule Break." The water pitcher was safely on the table, though ripples began appearing in the liquid's placid surface. Harry studiously avoided his parents' suddenly penetrating gazes. "I heard from a particularly chatty Auror trainee that he'd somehow been decapitated. Still, there are worse ways to go." Lockhart gave an exaggerated sniff, turning once more to Diane. "What is that delightfully appetizing smell? I can tell I'm in for a meal to remember this evening!"
Neither Norm and Diane reacted to Lockhart's final comment, the two putting together the pieces of Lockhart's admission and Harry's behavior over winter break. Sam rubbed his forehead, already feeling a stress headache coming on. "I don't doubt that you're right, Professor."
Dinner went smoothly, thanks in large part to Gilderoy filling every available moment of silence with his many experiences as an adventurer. By the time Norm poured a glass of after-dinner sherry for their guest, everyone was ready to get down to the business of the visit.
"So Harry tells us that he's accepted the position as your apprentice. Can you elaborate on what exactly that means?"
Lockhart took a deep gulp of the fortified wine. "Certainly. Much of what Harry will be doing is assisting me at various society events. Being in rather high demand following my latest exploits and book release, there are several engagements that I will require his assistance at this year."
"What sort of assistance can Harry provide?"
"Fill me up, if you will, you do make for a delightful barkeep, Norman." Lockhart sipped at his refill this time. "Harry will offer the people of Magical Britain a glimpse at the future shining light of our society, appearing as he will alongside the current one, of course. It is a morale building exercise, you see; following the awful times that led to Harry's exile to your world, the people needed a champion to give them feelings of safety, of security. I, naturally, fit that role perfectly. Harry, as my apprentice, will gain the necessary skills to take my place once he reaches his majority."
Sam asked the next question. "Will you be instructing him on magic, as well? Harry benefited a great deal from one-on-one instruction last year."
"Absolutely! Why, I guarantee that by the solstice Harry will be at a Third, no a Fourth Year level! With my instruction, and his aptitude, the sky is the limit." He held out his glass for a third sherry. "If I may ask, how did Harry come to reside with you lovely people?"
"My relatives were unable to properly care for me. Norm and Diane take good care of me." The tone of Harry's voice left no room for reply.
"Professor, what of the gold that you gave to Harry? Will he have to pay that back? Are apprentices paid in the magical world?"
His face slightly flushed from the alcohol, Lockhart shook his head emphatically. "It is my duty to provide for my apprentice's education and training. Harry's efforts at my side will more than compensate for that trifle bit of coin I provided him. In fact, he stands to profit quite a deal from his work with me."
"Yes, Professor. You were rather clear about that when we talked in the bookshop. How will my duties translate to profit?" Harry asked.
"Just one more, if you don't mind, my good man, and then hide the bottle! No matter how much I pester you!" While Norm refilled his glass once more, Lockhart blearily smiled at Harry. "It is just as I said. You're a symbol, Harry, of an end to darker times. There are many people that would benefit from meeting you. I will, as your guide through Britain's upper echelon, fas- facilitate those introductions." Lockhart was feeling the sherry.
"Well that sounds rather harmless." Sam, like everyone at the table, sensed the night winding down.
"Wonderful!" Lockhart stood from the table, profusely thanking everyone for the meal and hospitality. "Harry, I'll see you on September the first!" He spun in a quick circle. Nothing happened. "Right. I suppose I should take the Knight Bus. Perhaps just a touch more of that very excellent sherry before I go...?" While Norm sorted out Lockhart, Harry stood to begin gathering the dishes.
"Harry. Please stay at the table. I'd like to talk to you." Diane's voice brooked no argument. He reluctantly sat back down. "This professor from last year. You saw him die, didn't you?"
"Diane, really, do you think this is the ti-"
Her eyes never leaving Harry's form, Diane interrupted. "Sam, thanks for coming tonight, but I'd like to speak with my son. Norm, Sam's leaving." Coming back from the door to a suddenly tense atmosphere at the table, Norm took in Harry's defensive posture, Diane's single-minded focus, and Sam's obvious discomfort.
"Right. Harry, I'd love to have a chance to catch up with Hedwig tomorrow. G'night, Diane, thanks for the meal." Harry acknowledged his rather unsubtle request with a nod, and Sam left the apartment.
"Harry," her voice was softer this time. "We need you to tell us. Something obviously happened; Norm and I both saw it over Christmas, even if we didn't know the reason why." She waited, while Harry battled with himself over what say.
"I... I try not to think about it."
"Well, you know what they say about carrying a heavy load, don't you? It's easier to do with a team effort." Norm thought he'd try his hand at a softer approach. Harry met his eyes for a second, then sighed.
"It started after my personal lessons one night, when this girl, Hermione, came running up the corridor towards me..." Harry slowly told the story of the night beneath the Third Floor Corridor, while Diane's face grew more and more horrified and Norm's fists clenched so hard he was sure he'd draw blood soon. By the time he got to the part about finishing Quirrell, Diane could take no more and rushed around the table to embrace him.
"Why didn't you tell us, Harry? My god, this is not the sort of thing you keep to yourself!"
"I just... I-I thought it would be best if I stuffed it in a box and packed it away. I don't want to be sad when I'm around you."
Neither of them noticed Norm stiffen at Harry's response. Diane, arms around her son, understood the hidden message tucked away in Harry's words. "You thought we wouldn't want you if we knew? Oh Harry, how could you possibly think that? Norm and I are never going to leave you, do you understand?"
Harry nodded, somewhat drained from reliving that event. "Is it all right if I go to bed?"
"Sure. If you need anything, we'll be up for awhile."
"Okay. Goodnight Mum, 'night Dad."
After Harry left the room, Diane regarded Norm, who had barely moved a muscle since Harry had finished his story. "Can you believe that? Eleven years old and having to save the lives of his classmates. Eleven years old and having to fend off a psychotic killer."
Norm barely acknowledged her words, instead grinding out in a soft voice, "He knew."
"What? Knew what?"
"Sam." Norm said. "Harry said he wanted to 'stuff it in a box and pack it away.' Sam's mother used to say that all the time when we were kids and Sam was upset about something. He knew what happened to Harry and he didn't tell us!"
September 1, 1992
"All right, kiddo. We expect all the usual letters and so forth. Plus, keep us updated what you get up to with Lockhart."
"Okay, will do." Harry gave Norm a hug. "Mum? You all right?"
Diane embraced him, muttering half to herself, "I wish you didn't have to go back there."
"It's okay, really. I'm all right, that was a one-time thing." This had been a frequent topic of discussion for the last few weeks.
"Okay." Diane sniffed, holding him at arm's length to look at him with watery eyes. "Just be safe, no matter what, okay? We love you."
"I will. I'll see you in a few months!" Harry took off through the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, leaving Norm and Diane to turn away and head back towards their train. None of the them noticed, while they were making their farewells, an invisible outline of a disillusioned wizard standing next to the barrier. After Harry left, the outline shifted, and with a murmur of 'persequo' cast a tracking charm at Norm's back.
Harry hurried on board the Express, eager to escape the crowd that, after several weeks of Lockhart's public relations efforts, looked at him as the second coming of Merlin. 'It's worse than the start of First Year,' he grumbled to himself. Thankfully, the students didn't seem as impressed as their parents were, and his reception on the Express was not dissimilar from his other trips on the train.
Stowing his trunk in an empty compartment, Harry spent the rest of the ride visiting with Anthony Goldstein, his Ravenclaw dorm-mate, and stopping in to spend time with Susan, Hannah, Neville, and Hermione. Boarding the carriages to pull them to the castle, the students entered the Great Hall en masse to await the Sorting Ceremony.
Clapping politely as the final student joined their new House, Harry piled food onto his plate as the meal appeared on the table. Sorting Feasts were always a bit subdued, what with the need for students and faculty alike to reacclimate to the school year.
Harry waved to Morag and Mandy further down the table, where the two girls were sitting with the freshly Sorted First Years. He'd barely begun to dig in to the mouthwatering array of food when someone cleared their throat directly behind him.
"Harry, come along. We've got training to do!" Lockhart said, taking a moment to bask in the adoration coming from the students.
"But... what about dinner?"
"Not to worry, I'll ensure you're fed and watered. Now come along." He turned and walked towards the doors. Harry stood and hurried to catch up, accompanying Lockhart as they left the Great Hall and walked towards the grounds at a quick pace.
"Where are we going, Professor?"
"Just a little get-together that I was asked to attend. Nothing too formal, just a small gathering of influential people. Step lively now, Harry, our portkey goes off in less than five minutes and we must be outside the school's wards."
The two hustled off the grounds, waiting just outside the gates for Lockhart's portkey to activate. "Professor? What am I supposed to do when we get there?"
"I'll introduce you to the host, and I imagine he'll have many people he'll want you to meet. While you're doing that, I'll be working the room and finding us other opportunities." Any further questions Harry might have had were cut off with a jerk behind his navel, as the portkey transported him and Lockhart to an opulently furnished parlor.
"Gilderoy! And this must be Harry Potter." A large and rotund man with a bushy mustache was waiting for them. "So glad you could make it."
"As though I could turn down an invite from my favorite teacher. Harry, this is Horace Slughorn, formerly the Potions Professor at Hogwarts. He's been owling me practically daily since word broke that I'd taken you on as my apprentice."
A jovial smile adorning his round face, Slughorn nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed. Though I was as surprised as anyone to read about you working with Gilderoy, he and I have a long history that I was happy to exploit in order to meet you." Seeing the discomfort on the Ravenclaw's face, he quickly continued, "It's not what you think, at least not entirely. I was something of a mentor to your mother, you see. She was my favorite student, and I think she'd be happy to know that I was looking out for her son."
"You knew my my mother?" While James Potter was held in high regard in Magical Britain for fathering the Boy-Who-Lived, Lily Potter was more of a footnote. That is, when she was mentioned at all.
"I did. She was as dear to my heart as any student I met in nearly four decades of teaching. Let me tell you a few stories while I show you around. Should we find the time, there are so many people I'd like you to meet. Have you eaten yet?"
Lockhart loudly cleared his throat, drawing Slughorn's attention. "Oh, Gilderoy, of course. Nelly will see to the fee for your appearance. I believe that Marjorie Bletchley was eager to speak with you, if you find the time." A house elf appeared and passed a Gringotts draft slip to Lockhart, who tucked it into his robes with a gracious smile.
"Thank you, sir. Harry, enjoy yourself!"
Later that week, Harry sat with the members of Neville's study group, trying to catch up on several essays he was behind on. It wasn't easy to focus, though, with Hannah asking a steady stream of questions about their new DADA Professor.
"There's really nothing to tell, Hannah."
"Come on, Harry, don't hold out on us! You've missed dinner the whole week while you've been working with him. What is he teaching you? Did you learn that curse that he used to subdue a whole pack of werewolves in Wanderings with Werewolves?"
"No." Harry didn't know how to tell her that, besides Slughorn's party, Lockhart had simply had him answering his fan mail for the last week. "Does anyone have their notes from History of Magic?"
"Here, Harry." Hermione passed him a sheaf of parchment, full of her neat and orderly script. "I have to admit, I was expecting a bit more from our first lesson with Professor Lockhart."
Neville grimaced, rubbing at the scratches left by the pixies. "I'll say."
While Hannah hotly defended their new Defense professor, Susan looked Harry over. She hadn't seen much of him since the term started, what with him missing most meals. She felt like she heard more about him from the Prophet than from Harry himself. "You're doing all right, though? He's not working you too hard?"
Harry looked up from Hermione's notes to meet Susan's light blue eyes. "It's not that big a deal, really."
October 3, 1992
"Flint's really whipped the team into shape this season, don't you think?"
"I don't know. I think even with the new brooms, Diggory's got the edge over Malfoy." Blaise's gaze never left the pitch as the broom riders darted back and forth. "Speaking of, is it just me or has he actually been tolerable this year?"
"Actually, you're right. I don't think I've heard him reference his father since the term started. What do you think, Daphne?" Tracey got no response. "Daphne? By Morgana, she's at it again."
The girl in question jerked to attention. "What? Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."
"I'll say. I thought it was bad last year, but at least you talked to him back then."
"She trying to stare holes in Potter again?" Blaise asked, his eyes still on the Quidditch match.
"As usual. Really, Daphne, have some self-respect."
"Shut up, both of you. If all you're going to do is tease, then don't say anything at all." It had been a common point in their conversations over the last month.
"You didn't have any trouble talking to him last year. Are you intimidated now that he's Lockhart's apprentice or something?"
"Ha! Like that imbecile could teach anyone how to tie their own shoes, much less magic." Blaise had joined most of the male Hogwarts population in immediately tiring of their Defense Professor's antics, and the female students' defense of him.
In truth, Daphne kept hesitating in approaching Harry, to the point that she even actively avoided him when he sought her out. She knew it was unlikely that anyone had told him of her family's deception, but she couldn't stomach the thought of coming clean, nor of continuing the lie. 'It must have worked out, he's here at school, after all?'
At that moment, Harry was not, in fact, at school. As it was a Saturday, Lockhart had dragged him off on another excursion. As they walked through Diagon, Harry was given his first real lecture by his mentor.
"I know you've been frustrated over the last month that we've done little more than answer letters and attend private parties."
Harry thought it best to be silent, rather than honest.
"I remember being your age, wanting to be the greatest wizard since Merlin. But there's more to life than magical power." They paused as the owner of a bakery came running out, pressing a bag of pastries into Lockhart's hands with effusive thanks for his 'service to the Wizarding World.' "Do you see? Power doesn't equal respect. Here, have a pastry, Max makes the most enjoyable chocolate croissants."
The two ate in silence for a few moments, before Lockhart continued. "Just look at the three greatest wizards of this century – Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. All were exceptional in strength and magical ability; all of them capable of legendary acts of wizardry. Yet what became of them?
"Dumbledore is a glorified schoolmarm who ineffectually plays at politics part time. Grindelwald is locked up in a prison, waiting to die. And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was reduced to a pile of ashes by a mere infant – no offense intended, of course. Do you see my point, Harry?"
He didn't. "Dumbledore is the strongest wizard in Britain, though. And Grindelwald, didn't he start a world war?"
"That is all true, yes. But I ask you to look beyond that, Harry. What influence do they have, after all of that? Grindelwald succeeded in killing unimaginable numbers of people, only for society to pick up right where it left off after he was defeated, his ideals relegated to the dustbin of history. Dumbledore, upon defeating him, wandered away to teach children how to turn matchsticks into needles. He might as well be standing on the sidelines given how his political opponents continue to dominate society. As for You-Know-Who, well," Lockhart looked around to ensure no one was listening closely. "The man was nothing but a murdering psychopath. There's no greatness in that."
They came to a stop in front of a small office. "So what's your point, sir?"
Lockhart led Harry up the steps to the building, pausing at the door. "I'm telling you that there's more to power than flashy spells. Look at me – a lowly half-blood, but I get invitations to every calendar event from the pureblood elite, no matter their politics. They can laugh at me behind my back, but none of them would dare say anything in public. Even in Britain, the will of the people carries weight, and the people love me, Harry. They love us."
Lesson complete, he opened the door and ushered Harry in to a small, cramped office. "Thaddeus, you old coot, how are you?" Despite Lockhart's greeting, the man inside was in his late 40s, barely older than Gilderoy himself. "Did you take care of what I asked?"
Thaddeus Perrault was a small-time publisher that had struck gold when, nearly a decade ago, he decided to take a risk and publish a book by a first time author, relatively unknown at that time. He had since built his business off the back of Lockhart's success. "Indeed, why else would I have asked you to meet? Hello, Mr. Potter. I'm Thaddeus Perrault, head of Perrault Publishing. Take a seat, would you?"
The two men cleared off the various papers and books off the chairs that faced Perrault's desk, and sat down. "Now, per your request, Gilderoy, I was able to sit down with the publishers of the Harry Potter Adventure series. It took a bit of wrangling, plus the implied threat of legal action from Mr. Potter here, but they've agreed to provide you with a portion of the royalties, and our firm with the rights to publish future stories about Harry."
"Wonderful! Do you hear that, Harry? Now it's just a matter of finding some new adventures to put in my next book. Any news on that front, Thad?"
"Well, there was that matter of the undiscovered archaeological site in the mid-east..."
"The one that killed the Zabini woman? Hard pass."
"Okay, well, there's a wizard that's been trying to get in touch with you for several weeks. Says he needs to meet with you for an urgent opportunity. I have his address here."
"Nice work, Thad. Send him an owl and tell him I'll arrive next Saturday at..." he withdrew a small planner from his robes and briefly consulted it. "Four o'clock. That's something else, to remember, Harry: part of being important is acting important. They work us into their schedule, not the other way around." He stood, and motioned Harry to do the same. "Let's head out, we've got to stop off at the children's wing at St. Mungo's before we return to the castle."
Perrault gave a polite cough. "There was that other issue on the agenda, Gilderoy." He slid an open folder across the desk in Harry's direction. "I'll need Harry's signature and a drop of blood to verify his permission to publish his book."
Harry's head whipped towards his professor. "What book?"
The easy smile Lockhart had on his face hardened slightly. "Of course, thanks for the timely reminder, Thad. Harry, we're simply planning to publish a brief summary of your apprenticeship from the last year."
"What are you talking about? I've been working for you for two months, and we've hardly done anything."
"Well, yes, but it is really just covering what we will be doing. All very much in order, trust me."
Harry had a cross look on his face. "Shouldn't I get to read it before it gets published? Who is even writing it?"
Thaddeus replied, "We have a ghostwriter that handles this sort of thing. He'll meet with you and Gilderoy to understand what he'll be writing about, and then he expands off of that."
"All strictly on the up and up, I assure you. Remember, Harry, why you agreed to this in the first place. Book sales are a big part of that."
Harry's struggle visibly played out on his face. He felt like a phony, having what was ostensibly a book 'by' him that he hadn't even written. 'But it's not like there haven't been a bunch of people writing stories about me already,' he reasoned. "If it's going to have my name on it, I want to have a bigger part than just one meeting."
Lockhart's smile reverted to its typical sunny disposition. "Absolutely, we'll make certain that happens. Now, off we go."
Anthony's breathing finally evened out. Harry counted to one hundred in his head just to be sure, then gathered his invisibility cloak and some folded paper from his bag before sneaking quietly out of the room. Making his way down the stairs towards the entrance portal, he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of an empty common room. It was always easier getting out when there were no older students up late studying.
He made his way towards the grounds at a leisurely pace, pondering which spells he would work on tonight. This was his third excursion into the Forbidden Forest. With Dumbledore keeping his distance after Neville's birthday, Harry was limited to what he managed to learn in his courses. Without personalized instruction for his abilities, he was stuck. It was after he got back from his trip to London with Lockhart that he decided he'd have to take matters into his own hands; Lockhart's lessons so far had been limited to politics and public relations. So, with Sam's printed list of spells and transfiguration ideas, he'd made his way out onto the grounds after curfew Sunday night and began to practice new spells.
After walking what he felt was a suitable distance into the forest, he removed his cloak and sat down in the dry, autumn grass. It was cool out, but not quiet. The forest seemed even more alive at night than it did in the day. He looked at the clear and moonless sky, letting the starlight wash over him while he touched his magic, rousing the power within him in an unfocused manner. Professor Batisseur, at Ilvermorny, had suggested this as a means of gaining greater control over his abilities. He breathed slowly and steadily, feeling the magic throughout his body, from his fingertips to his toes.
"Are you not going to do any magic this time?"
Harry's eyes flew open and he jerked into motion, rolling to his right and coming up on one knee with his hand extended and his eyes shimmering with ethereal light. A small, waifish girl with hair so blonde it seemed white in the darkness stood a handful of paces away.
"Who are you? How did you sneak up on me like that?"
"I'm Luna Lovegood, and I was following you."
"Why?"
"I saw you out here two nights ago, doing some interesting magic. I followed you tonight, but you were just sitting here and I got bored."
"Are you a First Year? What were you doing in the Forbidden Forest to begin with?"
She sat down in the grass near where he had been moments ago. "Well, Moon Frogs can't be seen in the daytime, silly. Daddy told me stories about them from when he was at Hogwarts."
"Oh." Harry didn't know what Moon Frogs were, but given that he'd never heard of hippogriffs, jackalopes, and nundus until fairly recently, he took this in stride. "How do you like Hogwarts so far?"
"It's fascinating, really. So much to see and do. I don't think I've made a very good impression on my classmates though."
"No? Why do you say that?" What with his extracurricular duties, Harry didn't spend much time in Ravenclaw Tower.
"They think I'm a bit odd. I've heard a few of the older students say that you had a rough start last year, too, and that everyone should be patient with me. I suppose I should thank you for that."
Harry remembered the catastrophic start to his own First Year and chuckled. "You're welcome. And you seem normal enough to me."
Luna hummed in response, returning to her original question. "Are you not going to do any magic tonight?"
Harry glanced over at his cloak and notes. "I was going to. I suppose you'd like to stay and watch?"
"I would." She responded airily.
"Okay. Do me a favor and don't tell anyone about this."
He stepped several feet away from Luna and extended one hand towards the spell list on the ground, managing to snag it out of the air from the cloud of grass, dirt, twigs and leaves that were pulled along by his summoning spell. Harry was grateful for the darkness to hide his cheeks burning in embarrassment. Taking a deep breath, he began to run through his conjurations and transfigurations, to the delight of the blonde First Year.
A/N: Been a bit since I updated. I'll keep writing when I have time. Don't expect Second Year to be a big arc; I'd originally planned on it only being 2 chapters, but 3 or 4 is more likely. Stay safe everybody!