Chapter 6

The Highs and Lows of Hogwarts

"She's not awake yet."

The sound of the shrill voice rang through my ears. For a single, terrifying second I thought I was back with the Dursleys in that horrible cupboard and Mrs. Dursley was about to barge through the door and drag me out to cook breakfast. But the voice was much too soft to be Harry's horrible aunt's.

"Lydia, it's half past seven. You need to wake up."

The voice accomplished their goal. I was awake. I groaned sleepily and mumbled, "What?"

"It's time to get up. You can't be late for the first day."

The first day! It was the first day of Hogwarts! My eyes finally opened to see Hermione standing over me in her new Gryffindor uniforms. Lavender and Parvati were wearing theirs as well. They didn't even spare me a glance as they left the room together.

"Alright, I'm up," I said weakly, and stumbled out of bed. I grabbed my new uniform and got ready for the first day of classes in the bathroom. When I was finished, I headed down to the common room alone. All three girls were already gone.

Stepping out of the common room, I almost ran into someone… or rather, something. It was a small, fluffy cat the color of dust. It looked up at me with big yellow eyes and meowed angrily.

"Watch where you're going!" I heard someone yell. I looked up at an older, filthy looking man charging at me with a furious expression. "You almost stepped on her!"

"S-Sorry. I didn't see your cat," I croaked. He glared more.

"Name?" he spat.

"Er, Lydia Black," I answered him. His eyes narrowed even more.

"Black. I'm watching you, you delinquent!" he snarled and stalked off. I watched him leave, stunned. What a miserable old man.

After a very long, confusing journey to get down to the Great Hall, I finally arrived and plopped down next to Harry. He and Ron seemed just as tired as I was.

"Anyone else gotten lost already? I swear there was a staircase that moved just to make sure I'd lose my way," I grumbled, spreading a heaping spoonful of jam on some toast.

"Ron fell down a trick step," Harry said, passing me a pitcher of ice cold pumpkin juice. I snorted as Ron's cheeks went red.

"You would too if a step suddenly disappeared on you," he mumbled miserably.

McGonagall came around and passed out schedules as we were eating our breakfasts. I was delighted to see that all of the first year Gryffindors had the same schedules, meaning I wouldn't have to leave Harry.

Our first class was Herbology taught by Professor Sprout, a short plump witch. It definitely wasn't the worst, but I wasn't really into it. Neville seemed to enjoy it though. The first year Hufflepuffs were also in our class, and they made it rather hard to focus. Half of them were whispering and trying to get a good look at Harry while the other half were glowering at me. I tried desperately to ignore them.

Herbology, like many of the classes that followed it, were much different than I was expecting. There was a lot more to magic than I'd initially thought, and several ways to perform and study it.

History of Magic class was next and it was by far the most boring hour I have ever experienced in my life. There were some people who attempted to take notes while Professor Binns, the only ghost professor that taught at Hogwarts, droned on and on about magical history. Harry and I, on the other hand, entertained ourselves by chatting through a piece of parchment we passed back and forth.

Charms was taught by a very tiny wizard named Professor Flitwick. During roll call, he stuttered nervously at my name and gave an excited squeak at Harry's. I smirked a little towards an uneasy Harry. Even the teachers were fawning over him.

The first day came and went in the blink of an eye. And then the second day. And sure enough Wednesday ended with our class studying the stars with telescopes at midnight.

It was Thursday when we had our first Transfiguration class. McGonagall was indeed a very strict professor. She was quite serious in her class, especially when she was lecturing us about paying attention and staying on task. I had a sinking feeling that she wasn't going to like me much. Paying attention and staying on task weren't really two of my greatest abilities.

Our lesson for that day was to take difficult notes and to change a matchstick into a needle. Most of the class struggled with this task. Except for Hermione Granger, of course. It seemed like she could do anything. I sighed and looked down at my own matchstick. Well, at the very least it looked a little silver.

I had been excited for Defense Against the Dark Arts, which followed Transfiguration. But my excitement was crushed once the class started. Professor Quirrell, who I had already decided I disliked, barely taught us anything interesting; he was way too jumpy and stuttered through the entire lesson. Plus, his room smelled nauseatingly of garlic.

I was somewhat dreading Potions come Friday. The Potions master didn't seem fond of me already, judging by the evil looks he'd been sending me throughout the week in the Great Hall. I hadn't even met him, but I was sure the class wasn't going to be pleasant. To make matters worse, we had the potions lesson with the Slytherins, whom he supposedly favored.

The classroom was down in the dark dungeons and was filled with long rows of tables instead of individual two-seater desks. Harry and I took a seat next to each other as usual.

"This room is very welcoming," Harry whispered to me, eyeing the jars of pickled animals lining the walls with displeasure.

"Oh yeah, I feel right at home," I grumbled back, meeting the cold eyes of the hook-nosed professor from across the room.

Snape started the lesson with roll call as the other professors had done.

"Black, Lydia," he spat out the name like a curse. The atmosphere in the classroom had turned very tense. The professor stared right at me with an icy look. I fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze, and resorted to what I normally did when I was uncomfortable: spoke without thinking.

"I'm here. Though, I'd prefer if you didn't say my name so violently."

A couple people in the class giggled but were silenced by Snape's glare.

"Miss Black, I would prefer if you refrain from cheek in my class," he scolded unpleasantly. I shrunk a little.

"Sorry. I'm here."

"I'm here, sir," he corrected, in a rather condescending manner. I clenched my fist under the table, becoming more than a little frustrated with him. Why was he talking to me like this? What'd I do to him?

"But I'm a girl," I replied snarkily.

"Silence!" he snapped. I jumped a bit, but managed to keep a level face. He stepped closer and leaned onto the table in front of me. Neville, who was on the other side of me, jumped back in fright. I didn't flinch. "Black, I do not tolerate disrespect in this classroom! 5 points from Gryffindor!"

"B-but I—" I stammered indignantly.

"Do you want to make that 10, Black?" Snape hissed. I fell silent and looked away, folding my arms across my chest.

"Professor, that's unfair. She didn't do anything," Harry spoke up, coming to my defense. Snape slowly turned his glare to Harry, his mouth twisting into an unpleasant sort of smile.

"Potter. Our new— celebrity," he said softly. Draco Malfoy and his bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, sniggered. "May I remind you Potter what I told Black. Disrespect will not be tolerated, nor will your incessant back-talk."

Harry, like me, clenched his fist under the table. When Snape finally turned away to continue taking the roll call, we turned to each other with matching outraged expressions

"What's his deal?" Harry hissed under his breath.

"I dunno, but I have a feeling we're going to be dreading Fridays from now on," I whispered miserably.

Snape finished roll call and gave a speech about Potions and what we could be expected to do during the year. I loathed him more and more with each second that passed.

"Do you think he ever washes his hair?" I breathed, leaning towards Harry once more.

"Doesn't look like it. But he should maybe start with his face first, I think I can see grease about to drip off his nose," Harry said. We couldn't hold in our laughter, and unfortunately it caught Snape's attention.

"Potter!" Snape exclaimed suddenly, making Harry and me both start. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hermione's hand shot up into the air, but Harry looked puzzled.

"I don't know, sir," Harry replied uneasily.

"Tut, tut– fame clearly isn't everything," Snape sneered as he stared at Harry. "Black, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"A what?" I replied weakly. Snape's lip curled even more.

"It appears that hubris isn't everything either," he said in a superior tone. I flushed and didn't look into his eyes, fuming because of the professor once more. "Hm, how about a question for the both of you? Potter, Black, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

I didn't answer and merely glared down at the table I was sitting at. Harry answered, "I don't know. I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

I barked out a laugh, but looked up at Snape's cold expression and automatically stopped. A couple of other people laughed as well. Snape stared down at the both of us, looking very dissatisfied. He turned sharply towards Hermione, who was now standing up with her hand almost touching the dungeon ceiling.

"Sit down," he snapped at her. "For your information, Potter and Black, asphodel and wormwood make a powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat that will save you from most poisons. Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."

I growled. "And just how were we supposed to know that? It's the first lesson."

Snape slammed his hand on the table in front of me. This time, I didn't flinch. I met his eyes with a glower of my own. "It's in your potions book. If you bothered to open it even once this summer instead of slacking off, maybe you'd know the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane."

The lesson didn't improve much. Snape divided us into pairs to mix a potion that was supposed to cure boils, placing me with a Slytherin named Blaise Zabini. The professor seemed to take great delight in separating me and Harry.

"What business does a Black have in Gryffindor?" the Slytherin Zabini mused after we had gathered our potion ingredients. Already thoroughly exasperated from my encounter with Snape earlier, I narrowed my eyes at the boy.

"Most people, regardless of what their last name is, happen to be very different from each other, you know," I retorted.

"My family has known the Blacks for a long time. It's unusual for a Black to be a Gryffindor," he said offhandedly. I looked away.

"So I've heard," I responded quietly. He stared at me for a minute longer.

"The name's Blaise. Blaise Zabini," he introduced and stuck out his hand. I bristled, expecting him to act like the other Slytherins I'd met.

"I'm not interested in making friends with the 'right sort' of wizard as Malfoy called it. I'm perfectly happy with my Gryffindor friends," I snapped. Zabini merely chuckled.

"Relax. I don't care about that. That Malfoy kid seems like a piece of work anyway."

With this, I calmed, surprised at this revelation. Looking at him, he seemed genuine. He stuck out his hand once more, and finally, I took it.

"In case you just know me as 'Black' like Snape seems to, my name's Lydia," I added carefully. He shook my hand.

"Well, I don't think you're too bad, Black," he commented. "For a Gryffindor."

"I guess you're not too bad either," I said, turning back to the potion instructions in my textbook. "For a Slytherin," I added haughtily.

"Touché," he answered. I smiled a little to myself. On good terms, Blaise and I worked on the potion together.

We followed the directions of the potion nearly flawlessly, but it didn't please the potions master. In fact, the only person he seemed to compliment was Malfoy. Neville managed to melt Seamus' cauldron and their potion was sweeping across the floor, burning holes in people's shoes. I desperately wanted to help him, seeing as he was drenched in the potion and boils were popping up all over his face. I felt sorry for him as Snape yelled at him and spat at Seamus to take him to the hospital wing.

"You, Potter, why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's a point from Gryffindor."

My mouth dropped open. That was so unfair! Snape's rounded on me next, fury blazing in his dark eyes. "I'm assuming you felt the same, Black? You just wanted to claim the glory of doing it right? A point from you as well!"

"Are you insane? I was working on my ow—"

"How extremely conceited can you get?"

"But I'm not—"

"Oh, you are so very much like your father. So proud and egotistical."

My jaw dropped even more, furious. "You've got to be joking! Is that what this is about? Look, I don't even know him, I—"

"Be quiet, Black!" he nearly yelled. "You have just taken away another 5 points from Gryffindor. How many points will it take for you to learn that your back-talk is not wanted?"

I stared up at him, hair searing red and my breathing heavy. I clenched my teeth together hard to keep tears that were threatening to form away. What did I do to deserve this?

I walked with Harry and Ron out of the dungeons after class, a lump still in my throat. Harry wasn't in a good mood either.

"I hate him! He's horrible!" I screeched.

"It felt like he was singling us out, didn't it?" Harry agreed. Ron looked between us both.

"Cheer up. Snape's always yelling at Fred and George too. He just hates people who aren't in his House," he insisted optimistically. I looked at Ron doubtfully. "Can I come with you to meet Hagrid?"

I had forgotten all about the letter Hagrid had sent Harry at breakfast. We were going to pay him a visit this afternoon now that we had completed our first week. At five to three we left the castle and made our way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden cabin on the edge of the forbidden forest.

Harry knocked on Hagrid's huge front door. Scrabbling and barking came from the other side, making me rather excited. I didn't know Hagrid had a dog!

Hagrid's smiling face appeared from behind the door. "Hang on," he said and turned back to the dog. "Back, Fang!"

He let us in, and what I thought would be a dog turned out to be more like a bear. We stepped inside as Hagrid attempted to keep a hold on a large black boarhound. Still, I grinned eagerly at the enthusiastic creature.

"Can I pet him?" I asked Hagrid avidly. Hagrid nodded.

"Go 'head. But be careful, he don' know his own strength," he said, gently releasing the dog. The dog bounded at me, knocking me over and covering my face in a thick layer of slobber.

"Oh, yuck!" I exclaimed and looked at the dog when he settled down. "Nice to meet you too." In response, the dog licked my face once again. Hagrid chuckled and I stood, only to sit down on a proper stool. The boarhound put his drooping face in my lap and naturally, drooled all over my robes.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was now making tea.

"Another Weasley, eh?" Hagrid assumed, glancing at Ron's hair and freckles. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

We pretended to like Hagrid's rock cakes as we told him about our first week. Hagrid wished me an official happy birthday since mine had passed since he last saw us in July, and asked how mine and Harry's owls were doing. Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson, to which Hagrid replied to not worry about Snape, because he liked very few of his students.

"Hagrid, it didn't seem like just normal dislike. He hated us!" I protested. "He didn't yell at the other Gryffindors the way he yelled at us, it was mental!"

"Rubbish!" opposed Hagrid. "Why should he hate yeh?"

I noticed that Hagrid wouldn't look me or Harry in the eyes when he said this. "Well, he said something about my dad but—" I started.

"What 'bout him?" Hagrid inquired, rather quickly and sharply.

"Nothing specifically. He just said I was 'proud and egotistical'. I didn't even do anything," I explained bitterly. Hagrid still wouldn't look me in the eye. I continued, "And with Harry, he took away points for no reason at all and tried to embarrass him. He clearly has a problem with us."

Hagrid sighed, resigned. "Don' yeh worry 'bout Snape, yeh hear me?"

I wanted to protest more but Hagrid quickly changed the subject.

Hagrid started talking to Ron about his other brothers and when Harry discovered there had been a Gringrotts break-in while the same day we were there. Meanwhile, I worried over Snape. It was only the first day and already his class was almost as horrible as living with the Dursleys. What was I going to do about him?

Later on, we headed back up the castle for dinner, just before the sun had set. I sat with my friends at dinner, pushing my potatoes around my plate aimlessly.

"Lydia," Harry said softly, pulling me back to reality, "we should just forget about it for now. Maybe he was just having a bad day, and the next lesson will be better."

I looked at my best friend dubiously. "Or instead of dropping it, I can look for ways to make his life miserable," I suggested. Harry grimaced.

"That doesn't seem like a good idea."

"What's not a good idea?"

The Weasley twins, fashionably late for dinner, plopped down next to us.

"We had our first lesson with Snape today and he decided to pick on Harry and Lydia," Ron explained to his brothers.

"Cheer up, guys," George said.

"Yeah, Snape gives us a detention just about every class," Fred added.

"This week we set some of his books on fire."

"Tried to tell him it was just an accident, but we also might have implied that the grease he put on them didn't help."

Harry and I both smirked.

"I want to get back at him somehow," I said. Their grins widened.

"We're way ahead of you," the twins said together.

"Want in?" George finished.

~o~

Like any other school, the students at Hogwarts had the weekends off. I met with Harry and Ron late in the morning, hungry for breakfast, and we walked down to the Great Hall together. The Great Hall on Saturday morning was surrounded with lively chatter and the sounds of silverware scraping plates.

"Did you see the notice in the common room?" Harry asked once we had loaded our plates with eggs and sausages. I shook my head. He grinned. "We have flying lessons on Thursday!"

My face lit up. "Like on a broom?! Finally—"

"But it's with the Slytherins."

My grin dropped. "Oh no."

I'd managed to avoid Malfoy for most of the week, being that the Gryffindors only had one class with the Slytherins. But at flying practice, Malfoy would be there, poking fun at all those who weren't 'perfect' at flying like he supposedly was. I doubted he was good at all.

But I'd never flown before. I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of Malfoy, or the Slytherins, or anybody in particular. I knew loads of other first years probably hadn't flown before either, but I was still worried.

"First year flying lessons, huh?" a voice mused sitting on my right side.

"That should be interesting," an identical voice continued. George took a seat next to his little brother, and Fred was next to me. Fred reached over me, grabbing a sausage from my plate. I slapped his hand away.

"Get your own food, you little twerp!" I cried. He smirked, taking a bite of the meat.

"So, flying lessons with the Slytherins? How fun," he commented.

"Tell me about it," Ron grumbled miserably. George ruffled up his hair, while Ron shot him a glare and tried to re-flatten it.

"It's not so bad. Just knock them off their broom if they give you trouble," George suggested nonchalantly.

"Seems reasonable to me," I commented. "Have you flown before?" I asked them curiously as an afterthought.

The question seemed to greatly amuse the twins.

"We're only on the Quidditch team," Fred said proudly. "I'm a Beater."

"Chaser," George finished. A beat later, two others had sat near us. One of the boys was Jason Ericson, while the other boy was someone I hadn't met before.

"They're actually pretty good players," Jason commented. The twins pretended to be offended.

"What do you mean by 'actually'?" George cried.

"I'll have you know that George and I are two of the greatest players Gryffindor's ever seen," Fred said indignantly.

Jason promptly ignored him. "Lee here and I are the announcers," Jason said to Harry, Ron and me, piling food onto his plate.

"Announcers?" Harry questioned.

"We keep track of what's going on in the game and let the school know it," the other boy, Lee, explained. "McGonagall's always getting on my case though. Not my fault the Slytherins are dirty cheaters."

"Almost as bad as the Magpies," Jason added. I assumed that must be another Quidditch team. Rom had tried to explain some of the Quidditch league to Harry and me. He made his love for his favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, very clear.

"Don't let McGonagall hear you say that. They're her favorite team," Lee scoffed, and then leaned closer to us as if to whisper a secret. "He's Irish, and the Irish team is always beaten by the Scottish team. Don't let him fool you, it's really because the Kestrels aren't actually that good."

Thursday, the day of our first flying lessons, was a beautiful, breezy day. It was 3:30 in the afternoon when I headed down with my friends to a flat grassy clearing. In the clearing were around twenty broomsticks, all rather old and frail. The instructor, a woman with short gray hair and owl-like golden eyes, stood sternly as we piled in.

The instructor's name was Madam Hooch and I learned very quickly that she was not one to be messed with. She began the lesson hastily, ordering us to find a broom. The broom I picked looked very frail, but it wasn't the most terrible of the bunch. Seeing the broom didn't do too much to calm my nerves about flying; I mean, who wouldn't be nervous when the only thing supporting you as you drifted off into the sky was a thin piece of wood.

"UP!" I commanded sharply to my broom on Madam Hooch's orders. My broom gave a little flop, but didn't budge any further. Oh great, I was already horrible at this. "UP!" I cried again.

This time, after a small wiggle of protest, the broom shot up into my outstretched hand. I gasped in surprise. "Not too bad," I added to myself.

Looking around, it was evident that almost everybody was struggling with this task. Not Harry, though. His broom was clutched firmly in his hand. Maybe he was a natural.

The subsequent task was to mount our brooms correctly. Thankfully, I got this right on the first try. "Good work, Miss Black. Your mount is perfect," she complimented when she came around to check. I smiled proudly. Malfoy scowled at this, and only got angrier when Madam Hooch told him that he'd been riding his broom wrong for years.

"When I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground hard," Madam Hooch instructed. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. Ready—one, two—"

She never got to three. For Neville, frightened, pushed off the ground at two. As Madam Hooch shouted at him to come back to the ground, he continued to rise. I watched in shock as he slipped from his broom about twenty feet up in the air and fell quickly to the surface. He hit the ground with a nasty crack, and the teacher rushed over to his aid. He broke his wrist.

"Can't he go a second without an injury?" I whispered to Harry and Ron.

"Apparently not," Harry responded.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing!" Madam Hooch exclaimed, holding up Neville. "Attempt to fly and you'll be expelled before you can say 'Quidditch'!"

The minute she was out of hearing range, Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

I snarled at him as the other Slytherins followed after him. "Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati snapped at him.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" snickered Pansy Parkinson, a pug-faced Slytherin girl that followed Malfoy around like a little puppy. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvati."

"Funny you'd say that Parkinson. Look who you like," I sneered, indicating Malfoy. She wrinkled her nose, searching for a remark she could make on me. "Well, it's not like you could do any better. I mean, you don't really have the greatest personality, or face, and your hair—"

"At least I won't get sent to Azkaban because I look like a murderer they've got. Wouldn't it be funny if he escaped and they locked you up instead," she interrupted, a cruel smirk playing on her ugly face. I lurched for her, but several Gryffindors held me back.

"Hey, it's that thing Longbottom's gran sent him!" Malfoy called, interrupting my spat with the horrible girl. My eyes narrowed at him as he held the Remembrall high up in the air as to gloat.

"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry ordered quietly. I got ready to back him up. Malfoy smirked, throwing the Remembrall up in the air and catching it with ease.

"Maybe I'll put it up in a tree—Longbottom won't find it there—"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, grabbing his broomstick. Malfoy was already off the ground, soaring higher and higher with the glass ball clutched in his hand.

"Come and get it, Potter!" Malfoy taunted loudly. Harry started to mount the broom, ignoring Hermione's protests. He took off, rising far above the ground. Even from the ground, I could see Malfoy's boastful, arrogant expression—and I couldn't help myself.

"Lydia, what are you thinking? Didn't you hear what Madam Hooch said?" Hermione cried stubbornly as I mounted my own broom, getting ready to kick off. I sighed in frustration.

"Hermione, for once in your life, shove off!" I snapped, and pushed hard off the ground. The fear briefly overcame me as I desperately tried to keep both hands on my broom. But as I drifted farther from the surface, I realized I had no need to be frightened. This was fun—no, it was better than fun. It was incredible! Remarkable! I was meant to be on a broom!

"Give it, Draco," I demanded harshly. Malfoy already looked nervous, and as he looked from both Harry to me, he made a decision. He threw it hard to the right, and I saw exactly where it went. I leaned forward heavily on my broom and sped towards the Remembrall.

I almost thought I wasn't going to make it as it was headed directly for a tree. I caught up to the Remembrall at the last moment. Stupidly using the back of my hand, I smacked it towards Harry with such great force that I thought I'd break it. I ignored the pain in my hand, watching the Remembrall race in Harry's direction. It started to fall before it reached him. Harry dove for it, and to my amazement, he snagged it just before it hit the ground.

I whooped for him but was cut off by an ear-shattering, "HARRY POTTER AND LYDIA BLACK!" My stomach went cold and my body rigid. McGonagall ran towards the group on the ground and faced upward. "BLACK! Get down here RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

I exhaled slowly and shut my eyes. I'd really done it now.

Quickly, I raced to the ground and hit it softer than I expected, landing with only a slight stumble. I glanced at Harry, who looked terrified, and gave a shy smile towards Professor McGonagall. "Hello, Professor," I attempted innocently. The sharp look of fury she threw at me was enough to make me look guiltily down at my feet.

"In all my time at Hogwarts, I never—" she sputtered furiously, "how dare you—might have broken your neck—"

My fellow students tried to defend us but with no result. McGonagall was furious, and that was it. My best friend and I were expelled. I bit my lip hard to stop myself from crying.

"Black, Potter, follow me now."

Feeling sick to my stomach, I glanced miserably at the faces of my friends, and followed after McGonally. This would probably be last time I'd get to see my fellow Gryffindors. Hopefully I'd be able to write them. But maybe the Dursleys would just lock Harry and me up for the rest of our lives instead.

As I followed McGonagall, I didn't look up to see where we were headed to because I didn't care. I only watched where McGonagall was stepping, my stomach twisting. I didn't even notice the tear stains wetting my cheeks nor the throbbing in my hand.

Only once did McGonagall glance back. "Why are you crying, Miss Black?" she asked, the harsh tone in her voice much lighter. I looked up in surprise, wiping my eyes with the sleeves of my robes. I shook my head.

"I'm not crying," I denied. McGonagall merely raised her eyebrows. "This is it, isn't it? We're expelled." McGonagall, despite her long pause, decided not to answer. I knew it.

McGonagall stopped outside the Charms classroom for some reason unbeknownst to neither Harry nor I. Poking her head in the room, she said, "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, may I borrow Wood for a moment?" I glanced towards Harry in confusion. He shrugged.

Out stepped Wood, who appeared to be a fifth year boy with some muscle on him. The older boy looked just as bewildered as Harry and I did. What did Wood have to do with us? He examined us interestedly. McGonagall led the three of us into an empty classroom, slamming the door behind her.

"Potter, Black, this is Oliver Wood. Wood—Potter is your new Seeker," she announced, allowing a small smile to cross her stern face. I blinked a few times at McGonagall, unsure of what had just happened, while Wood's face changed to one of glee. "He's a natural. Black too. Potter, Black, was that your first time on a broom?" I hesitantly nodded, and Harry followed.

She turned back to Wood. "I know the Beater position won't be open until Spinnet leaves, though I urge you to make sure Black's the new Beater for next year. Black here, raced for the thing. Hit it away from a tree at the last minute with her bare hand. She must have knocked it well over 100 yards. And Potter caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive. Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

"Wait, wait, wait—I thought we were getting expelled," I commented. All of the fear in my body had disappeared and was replaced with utter bewilderment. Woof beamed, delighted.

"Oh, not today," he beamed. "Either of you two ever seen a game of Quidditch? I'm captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team." He walked around, examining the both of us. "Both are light and speedy, that's perfect for the Seeker position. The Beater here, Black, you got to be pretty strong to hit something that far. Here, punch my hand."

I raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"

"Wood, I think she needs to see Madam Pomphrey in the Hospital Wing first," McGonagall pointed out.

"What? Why would I need to go to the Hospital Wing?" I asked. Harry gasped.

"Lydia, your hand."

"What about it?"

I finally took the time to examine the hand I'd used to hit the glass ball away. It was an angry purple color, and had a lump that had swollen to the size of a golf ball. I hissed in pain.

"Right. Forgot about that," I said, strained. "I was a bit too busy worrying about my expulsion."

"That definitely takes some great Beater strength," Wood praised. He ignored the fact that I was clearly in pain and turned to McGonagall. "They'll need decent brooms. Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first year rule for Potter," McGonagall said. She looked at us both sternly. "Potter, I want to hear that you're training hard or I might change my mind about punishing you. Black, starting next year, you'll be on the team. I want you to study hard until then."

"Your father would have been proud, Potter. He was an excellent Quidditch player," she recalled as an afterthought. "Black, head off to the Hospital Wing now, Madam Pomphrey should be able to mend those bones in just about 10 minutes."

"Can I go with her?" Harry asked before she could leave.

"You can. But just be warned, Madam Pomphrey doesn't take too kindly to visitors getting in her way."

With that, she left, taking Wood with her. I turned my attention to Harry. "What just happened?"

"No idea," he replied. "But it's better than being expelled."

"I just had the best thought. Imagine the look on Malfoy's face when he finds out!"

~o~