The next day, however, Arabella barely grinned once. Things started to go downhill almost immediately after leaving the Gryffindor common room. The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy gray). Arabella sat with Ron and Hermione at their respective House table. Hermione had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug, nose practically touching the pages. There was a slight stiffness in the way she said " 'Morning," which told Arabella that she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully.
"Morning," he said with a big smile, "mail's due any minute— I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot."
Neville was a round-faced and accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone Arabella had ever met. As she began to dig into some porridge, a sound of rushing above could be heard, as a hundred or so owls swooped overhead. They streamed in and circled the hall, dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head and, a second later, something large and gray fell into Hermione's jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.
"Errol!" said Ron with surprise, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped over in defeat, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.
"Oh, no—" Ron gasped in horror.
"It's all right, he's still alive," said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.
"It's not that— it's that."
Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary, but Ron, Neville, and those who had witnessed the poor owl's arrival were looking at it as though they expected it to explode.
"What's the matter?" asked Dean Thomas, frowning. "It's just a letter."
"She's— she's sent me a Howler," said Ron faintly.
"A what?" asked Arabella.
"You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville in a timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and" — he gulped — "it was horrible."
Arabella looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope.
"What's a Howler?" asked Dean with a frown.
But Ron's whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.
"Open it," Neville urged, his face white with terror. "It'll all be over in a few minutes—"
Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol's beak, and slit it open carefully. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, Arabella understood why. She thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking the dust from the ceiling.
"— STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE —"
Mrs. Weasley's yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.
"— LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND THE GIRLS COULD HAVE DIED —"
Arabella had been wondering when she and her sister were going to crop up. She did her best to look as though she couldn't hear the voice that was making her eardrums throb.
"— ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED— YOUR FATHER'S NOW FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT, AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!"
A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Arabella and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.
Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of Ron's head.
"Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you—"
"Don't tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron hotly.
Arabella no longer felt hungry and pushed her porridge away. Her insides were burning with guilt. Mr. Weasley was facing an inquiry at work. After all, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had done so much for her over the summer…
—
Lyla craned her neck in order to get a better view of the Gryffindor table, just seeing the top of Ron's flaming hair. A pang of horrible roiling guilt had begun to make its way up her throat, and she felt that if she spoke, she had a high chance of vomiting what she'd only momentarily devoured for breakfast.
Professor Snape was moving along the Slytherin table, handing out course schedules. Lyla took hers without meeting the potions master's gaze and saw that they had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.
Together, Lyla and her friends left the castle walls, crossing the vegetable patches, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one good thing, as Blaise seemed to think that she had now been punished enough and was being perfectly friendly again.
As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. They waited for what only felt like minutes when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt, Lyla spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.
Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails would have made their mother faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.
"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at the assembled students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels…"
"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" said Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.
There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before— greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Everyone caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. Lyla was about to follow Draco when Lockhart's hand shot out, gripping at her shoulder tightly.
"My dear Lyla! I've been wanting a word— you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"
Judging by Professor Sprout's dark scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart, still smiling breezily, said, "That's the ticket," and closed the greenhouse door in her face.
"Lyla," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Lyla, Lyla, Lyla.."
Completely nonplussed, Lyla said nothing, staring somewhere past the mind heads.
"When I heard— well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself."
"I'm sorry?"
She had no idea what he was talking about. She was about to say so when Lockhart went on, "Don't know when I've been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile. Lyla. Lyla. Lyla."
It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking.
"Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?" continued Lockhart jovially. "Gave you and your sister the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper with me and you couldn't wait to do it again."
"Oh, no, Professor, you see—"
"Lyla, Lyla, Lyla," Lockhart continued, reaching out and grasping her shoulder firmly. "I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste— and I blame myself for giving you that because it was bound to go to your head— but see here, young man, you can't start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's all right for him, he's an internationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I'd say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" He glanced at the lightning scar on Lyla's forehead. "I know, I know— it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most- Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have— but it's a start, Lyla, it's a start."
He gave the bewildered girl a hearty wink and strode off without another word. Lyla stood there stunned for a few moments, then, remembering she was supposed to be in the greenhouse, she opened the door and slid hurriedly inside.
Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on the bench. When Lyla had taken her place between Daphne and Blaise, she said, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"
Draco steadily raised his hand.
"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," he said, sounding calm and all-knowing on the subject. "It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."
"Excellent. Ten points to Slytherin," said Sprout with a curt nod. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"
Blaise raised his hand.
"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," he said.
"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still quite young."
She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish-green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Lyla, who didn't have the slightest idea what Blaise meant by the "cry" of the Mandrake.
"Everyone, I want you to take a pair of earmuffs," demanded Professor Sprout.
There was a shuffle and scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy. Lyla didn't mind and thought that they looked rather adorable as Theodore scowled with his pink pair.
"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," instructed Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right — earmuffs on."
Lyla snapped the earmuffs over her ears. They shut out the sound of the greenhouse completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.
Lyla let out a silent gasp of surprise that no one could hear.
Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. It had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.
Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying it once more in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.
"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she explained calmly as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.
"Four to a tray— there is a large supply of pots here— compost in the sacks over there— and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething."
She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.
Draco and Lyla were joined at their tray by a curly-haired Ravenclaw boy she knew by sight but had never spoken to.
"Anthony Goldstein," he said brightly, shaking Lyla by the hand. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Lyla Potter— the famous witch and of course always top in everything"
Lyla flushed.
"That Lockhart sure is something, right?" continued the Ravenclaw happily as they began filling their plant pots with dragon dung compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read any of his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and— zap— just fantastic. My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I am that I came here instead. Of course, mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family…"
After that, they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, squirming and trying to shake off the people trying to report them. However, it also appeared that they didn't seem to want to go back either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth menacingly; Blaise spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot.
By the end of the class, Lyla, like the majority of the class, was extremely sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Slytherins hurried off to History of Magic.
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