------------------------------------------------------
"We are glad that ... [he] is so pleasant with
us..."
-- Henry V, Act I, Scene II – Shakespeare
------------------------------------------------------
With a yawn, Guin stretched, turned over on her side, and sat up. The Slytherin second-year girls' room was a pleasant sight to wake to. Though there were no openings to the world outside, there was usually, in the winter, a cheerful fire, and year-round enchanted windows. It was a modified version of the spell that showed the sky in the Great Hall. It offered a view of the grounds outside of the school, though there would never be any air to stream through. It was, she supposed, a way of making up for the fact that the Slytherin dorm rooms were in the dungeons, which were generally cold and uncomfortably dank. This morning, though, the sun glistened from behind cotton-bale clouds that drifted serenely by, above an equally blue lake.
None of her year-mates had risen yet. Guin watched them with a somewhat cruel sneer on her face; Millicent was snoring loudly, a line of drool working its way down the side of her face. Pansy, a blonde, pug-faced girl in the bed next to Millicent's, had a wheezing sort of breath pattern, snorting out and then sucking in her cheeks until her face resembled a skeleton. They were both sincerely unpleasant, and Guin supposed that they had been placed in Slytherin only because they fit in none of the other Houses. They might have been ambitious, but they were anything but intelligent – theirs was the dull sort of cunning managed only by the truly moronic.
Guin felt somewhat kinder towards the other girls in the room. Blaise Zabini might at first seem an empty-headed flirt, but Guin knew that there were hidden depths in anyone, even Blaise. Apparently Blaise had learned early on that a silly smile and a giggle hid true feelings and often helped a person to escape from trouble. Teachers loved her, that was one fact for sure. Guin was never sure whether or not she liked the Zabini girl: sometimes, she found herself laughing along, and others, she felt a strange antagonism towards her. Blaise had one odd habit as well, she seemed to find L'Argent ... cute ... in some way. Oh, well, people were to be forgiven eccentric habits.
Jessica Myron and Sally-Ann Perks were close friends, and Guin unconsciously grouped them together. The second-year Slytherin girls were a curious group. In most of the other Houses, all of the children of a certain age tended to band together in confederation. Not so in their year, there were splinter groups of different loyalties. While, with the exception of Millicent and Pansy, each of them genuinely liked the others, there was nothing closer than casual conversation. Blaise, Guin noticed, did not really have /any/ close friends, while Guin herself hung out with Rilla, L'Argent, Ethan, and now, Winston.
In retrospect, there were five Slytherins that were a complete and utter waste of time. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and Millicent. It was really a shame, Guin thought, but perhaps this year's batch would be a bit more promising. Snapping herself out of her reverie, the girl slid from beneath the warm blankets and onto the floor, dressing silently and slipping from the dorm before anyone else could wake or even hear her leave. They usually slept late, and then had to rush before breakfast. It gave Guin a slight feeling of superiority; she was better disciplined than they. It was a silly feeling, she knew, but one that persisted.
L'Argent was sprawled on one of the silver-green couches strewn around the room, reading. Guin tiptoed quietly up behind him, peering over his shoulder to see the title of the book. "Graduated from The Hardy Boys, mm?" she said.
"Don't sneak up on me," L'Argent said, without looking up, "One of these days you'll scare me to death."
"You don't sound unduly worried," Guin pointed out, "But I'll let you know, I approve of Sherlock Holmes." He was reading The Annotated Holmes: Volume I.
"Thank you," he said dryly, "Because, of course, I couldn't possibly read a book you didn't like."
"No need to state the obvious," Guin retorted, "Though if I remember correctly, you did seem to spend an awful lot of time reading The Ha—"
"Mercy," he said, throwing a pillow at her head.
"Ouch," Guin said cheerfully as it smacked her in the face, replacing it on the couch. "Shouldn't throw furniture, L'Argent. It isn't civilized."
"Hm," he agreed, "As soon as Ethan gets out of there, I'm going for breakfast."
"Good, good," Guin said, "Then I can avoid any other projectiles. Unidentified Flying Cushions."
"I'm here," Ethan said from the doorway, paraphrasing one of L'Argent's common comments, "You can be happy now."
"Were we happy before?" Guin asked L'Argent.
"I was throwing something at your head. I was ecstatic."
"You are an odd little boy."
"Little? I'm taller than you."
"No great feat there," Ethan said, then glanced over his shoulder, amused. "We have company."
Behind him were two of the first-year boys, Loren Crawford and Conal Bannon. Loren, as always, was placid-faced and introspective. Conal was an Irish wizard with light brown hair and a small pair of glasses that perched on the tip of a snub nose. Even at a glance, one could see the vitality in him, and he was a strong contrast to Loren's somber face, but the two were fast becoming a crew. Joining the group, also, was Alisa Bertram, giant glasses taking up the upper half of her head. She was a London native with a strong Cockney accent, and a temper to rival any put forth.
The older children let the firsties tag along after them, answering questions as they went. "I've heard some of the other kids complaining about Peeves," Alisa said.
"Oh," Ethan said with an airy wave of his hand. "He doesn't usually bother us. We're Slytherins."
"I don't see the connection," Loren's precise tones broke in.
"You see," Guin said, "Our House ghost is the Bloody Baron—"
"Who just happens," L'Argent continued, "To be the only ghost – the only /thing/ that Peeves will listen to."
"So by default he leaves the Slytherins alone, unless he wants the Baron to hurt him," Guin finished.
"Ah," Loren said.
"Seems t' me," Conal put in, "We make out best in this school."
"Being a Slytherin has perks and drawbacks," Guin said. "We are the best House in the school, but the other Houses generally hate us."
"Why?" Alisa wanted to know, starting to scowl.
"Well, one of the reasons is stupid," Ethan said, "And completely unfounded. Slytherin's got a reputation for turning out Dark Wizards and Witches."
"Of course," L'Argent said dryly, "They forget that all the Houses, even Gryffindor, turn out their share of turn-coats. The only difference is, Slytherin Dark Wizards are cunning, and Gryffindor Dark Wizards are 'courageous.'"
"I don't think it's fair," Alisa said.
"It isn't," Guin replied, "But it's something we live with and something we get used to."
"The other reason, I think," L'Argent said, as they entered the Great Hall, "Is because being a Slytherin is about ambition. It's not about being noble. And at heart, most people think that way, too, but they don't want to admit it. So they hate Slytherin, because we recognize and relish what they're afraid to be." Guin glanced sideways at him, surprised that anything so poetic could come from his mouth. She had no opportunity to comment on it, however, for they had arrived in the busy breakfasting area of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Guin avoided the warm cereal and snagged several pieces of bread and some strawberries. On a sudden whim, she pulled the stems from the fruit and placed it between the slices and ate that, a berry sandwich. A commotion at the Gryffindor table – Guin nudged Ethan in the side and pointed her chin towards the place where Ron Weasley sat, looking terrified. "Wonder what's going o—" she began, but got her answer soon enough.
A woman's voice, screaming at an ear-shattering decibel: "RON WEASLEY, OUT OF ALL THE HORRIBLE THINGS YOU'VE DONE IN YOUR LIFE, THIS IS THE WORST, YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF, STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK—" With a wince of sympathy and pain, Guin clapped her hands over her ears. Finally the voice died away and there was silence.
Alisa laughed, joined mostly by other Slytherins. Guin blinked and waited for the ringing in her ears to fade before finishing her breakfast calmly enough. The new kids wiggled excitedly in their seats as Snape handed out the schedules. Guin peered at hers, and sighed: Transfiguration, first thing in the morning. "Looks like we've got McGonagall next," Guin groaned.
"Our luck," L'Argent said cheerfully. "I hear its beetles, first."
"Joy," Guin said morosely.
-----
It turned out that Pansy Parkinson was afraid of bugs. As soon as McGonagall put the beetle on her desk, she shrank away from it in horror, squealing. "/Professor/! I /can't/ do this! I don't /like/ beetles!"
"Sometimes, Miss Parkinson," McGonagall replied, "You must do things you don't like. Consider it practice for the real world, if you will."
Guin poked her beetle experimentally with her wand. "It's harder to transfigure living things, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes," L'Argent said, holding the bug in his hand somberly. "Poor thing. It will be no more – transformed into a cheap tortoiseshell copy – o woe!"
"A regular Shakespearean tragedy," Ethan said. "Stop the dramatics, L'Argent, and get to work."
In Herbology, with the Ravenclaws, they re-potted the remaining mandrakes. Professor Sprout yelled at Winston: his earmuffs had not been put on correctly, and he had almost heard the cries of the roots. Luckily, a sharp-eyed Professor caught the mistake, and the fatal scream of the mandrake was not heard by any of the children. After class, Winston, quite miffed, blinked at them. "Herbology's not a practical class, anyway, unless you're trying to be a gardener..." the boy complained.
Guin caught up with Rilla on the stairs of the Castle. "How was class with the Hunk?" Guin asked her friend sarcastically.
"It was... educational," Rilla said after a moment's hesitation.
"Really? What did he do?"
"Pixies."
"/What/?"
"He let Cornish Pixies free."
"They must've wrecked the room."
"They did."
"He didn't stop them?"
"He... He wanted us to learn how to do it!"
"Rilla, that sounds like an excuse to me."
"You're going to be late," Rilla sniffed, and ran to Potions.
Rejoining the Slytherins, Guin shook her head. "This does not look good."
"Any class with Lockhart will not look good," L'Argent sighed.
"Ril says that he let pixies loose in class."
"Can you explain to me how pixies are related to Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Ethan wanted to know.
"You are preaching," Guin told him, "To the dedicated."
"What a moron," Ethan complained. "Oh, you know what?"
"Hm?" L'Argent asked.
"Potter's giving out signed pictures."
"/No/," Guin said, raising her eyebrows. "That's sickening!"
"Saw it with my own eyes. That Creevey kid was asking for it."
"He's a sheep," Guin said, waving her hand. "Did Potter actually give any out?"
"No," Ethan said gleefully, "He got dragged off by The Git himself."
"Anyone else I would feel sorry for," L'Argent said.
As they entered Lockhart's classroom, there were several Slytherins and a palpable air of tension already present. The teacher sat at his desk, looking slightly frazzled, his turquoise robes ripped in the sleeve. "Hello, class," he said, flashing a smile at them. Guin rolled her eyes at L'Argent, but unfortunately, that just caught his attention. "A question, Miss Marlowe?" he said, beaming.
"Uh – no, /sir/," Guin said, with all the sarcasm she could muster.
"Good, good," he said, not noticing. "I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Forces Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award."
"As if we didn't know who he was already," Ethan whispered.
"We wish we didn't," L'Argent corrected.
"Problems, boys?" Lockhart asked, grinning still, but now it seemed a bit forced.
"No, sir," they chorused, as smart and prompt as one could wish.
Collecting himself, Lockhart blinked at the assembly. "As the pixies which I had caught for first period's lesson are ... temporarily unavailable, we shall be reading through one of my books, Gadding With Ghouls. Lovely title, don't you think?" he said, winking.
They stared blankly.
"Joke....funny...." he said.
They continued to stare.
"Right," Lockhart said. "My defeat of the Cyprean Chimera—"
"Excuse me, sir," L'Argent said, raising his hand.
"Yes?" Lockhart said, teeth grinding a bit.
"That's either a mistake, or a lie," L'Argent said with a sweet smile.
"Five points from Slytherin! Are you calling me a liar?!"
"No," L'Argent said calmly, "But there is only one verified case in which a wizard killed a chimera, sir, and that was Bellephron. With Pegasus."
"I – uh – turn to page four, please, and you will find out how to beat a chimera, Mr. L'Argent."
They read from the book for the rest of the period, and it was deathly dull until Lockhart seemed to have an idea. Guin could tell, because he suddenly brightened up, his previously frazzled appearance neatening a bit. "I know! Let's do dramatic readings. I'll read my part, and Mr. L'Argent can be the chimera, and you, Miss Marlowe, you can be the Cyprean girl that I saved. All you do is scream, but I'm sure that's not a problem?"
Guin smiled at him in an expression that was really more of a snarl. "No, sir. No problem at all."
She had never been so glad to hear a bell ring, and darted from the room and into the hallway. "I thought that would /never/ end!" Guin moaned.
"He's worse than I thought," Ethan said.
"Much worse," L'Argent finished, shaking his head.
"'You don't do much except scream. That's not a problem, is it?'" Guin mocked, taking a mincing step along the hallway. "He's not a teacher at all."
L'Argent said, "Wish we could've gotten pixies."
Ethan said, "Guess he won't be bringing live specimens again."
While walking, they must have taken a wrong turn. This was a hallway which Guin had never seen before, a gloomy looking place with stone busts of wizards that invariably had sour expressions upon their faces. In the distance, the wind whispered through the hall—no, wait, that was impossible. Wind, inside? It was ... it sounded like...
"Who needs pixies when you have dramatic reading?" Guin said sarcastically, then frowned. "Wait a minute – shut up for a minute."
Puzzled, though obliging, the boys fell silent. "What—?" L'Argent began.
"Hush!" Guin said, then shook her head. "It's gone, never mind."
"/What/ is?" Ethan asked.
"I... I thought I heard someone crying."
They all stopped, listening, but whoever had made the noises was gone.
"We are glad that ... [he] is so pleasant with
us..."
-- Henry V, Act I, Scene II – Shakespeare
------------------------------------------------------
With a yawn, Guin stretched, turned over on her side, and sat up. The Slytherin second-year girls' room was a pleasant sight to wake to. Though there were no openings to the world outside, there was usually, in the winter, a cheerful fire, and year-round enchanted windows. It was a modified version of the spell that showed the sky in the Great Hall. It offered a view of the grounds outside of the school, though there would never be any air to stream through. It was, she supposed, a way of making up for the fact that the Slytherin dorm rooms were in the dungeons, which were generally cold and uncomfortably dank. This morning, though, the sun glistened from behind cotton-bale clouds that drifted serenely by, above an equally blue lake.
None of her year-mates had risen yet. Guin watched them with a somewhat cruel sneer on her face; Millicent was snoring loudly, a line of drool working its way down the side of her face. Pansy, a blonde, pug-faced girl in the bed next to Millicent's, had a wheezing sort of breath pattern, snorting out and then sucking in her cheeks until her face resembled a skeleton. They were both sincerely unpleasant, and Guin supposed that they had been placed in Slytherin only because they fit in none of the other Houses. They might have been ambitious, but they were anything but intelligent – theirs was the dull sort of cunning managed only by the truly moronic.
Guin felt somewhat kinder towards the other girls in the room. Blaise Zabini might at first seem an empty-headed flirt, but Guin knew that there were hidden depths in anyone, even Blaise. Apparently Blaise had learned early on that a silly smile and a giggle hid true feelings and often helped a person to escape from trouble. Teachers loved her, that was one fact for sure. Guin was never sure whether or not she liked the Zabini girl: sometimes, she found herself laughing along, and others, she felt a strange antagonism towards her. Blaise had one odd habit as well, she seemed to find L'Argent ... cute ... in some way. Oh, well, people were to be forgiven eccentric habits.
Jessica Myron and Sally-Ann Perks were close friends, and Guin unconsciously grouped them together. The second-year Slytherin girls were a curious group. In most of the other Houses, all of the children of a certain age tended to band together in confederation. Not so in their year, there were splinter groups of different loyalties. While, with the exception of Millicent and Pansy, each of them genuinely liked the others, there was nothing closer than casual conversation. Blaise, Guin noticed, did not really have /any/ close friends, while Guin herself hung out with Rilla, L'Argent, Ethan, and now, Winston.
In retrospect, there were five Slytherins that were a complete and utter waste of time. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and Millicent. It was really a shame, Guin thought, but perhaps this year's batch would be a bit more promising. Snapping herself out of her reverie, the girl slid from beneath the warm blankets and onto the floor, dressing silently and slipping from the dorm before anyone else could wake or even hear her leave. They usually slept late, and then had to rush before breakfast. It gave Guin a slight feeling of superiority; she was better disciplined than they. It was a silly feeling, she knew, but one that persisted.
L'Argent was sprawled on one of the silver-green couches strewn around the room, reading. Guin tiptoed quietly up behind him, peering over his shoulder to see the title of the book. "Graduated from The Hardy Boys, mm?" she said.
"Don't sneak up on me," L'Argent said, without looking up, "One of these days you'll scare me to death."
"You don't sound unduly worried," Guin pointed out, "But I'll let you know, I approve of Sherlock Holmes." He was reading The Annotated Holmes: Volume I.
"Thank you," he said dryly, "Because, of course, I couldn't possibly read a book you didn't like."
"No need to state the obvious," Guin retorted, "Though if I remember correctly, you did seem to spend an awful lot of time reading The Ha—"
"Mercy," he said, throwing a pillow at her head.
"Ouch," Guin said cheerfully as it smacked her in the face, replacing it on the couch. "Shouldn't throw furniture, L'Argent. It isn't civilized."
"Hm," he agreed, "As soon as Ethan gets out of there, I'm going for breakfast."
"Good, good," Guin said, "Then I can avoid any other projectiles. Unidentified Flying Cushions."
"I'm here," Ethan said from the doorway, paraphrasing one of L'Argent's common comments, "You can be happy now."
"Were we happy before?" Guin asked L'Argent.
"I was throwing something at your head. I was ecstatic."
"You are an odd little boy."
"Little? I'm taller than you."
"No great feat there," Ethan said, then glanced over his shoulder, amused. "We have company."
Behind him were two of the first-year boys, Loren Crawford and Conal Bannon. Loren, as always, was placid-faced and introspective. Conal was an Irish wizard with light brown hair and a small pair of glasses that perched on the tip of a snub nose. Even at a glance, one could see the vitality in him, and he was a strong contrast to Loren's somber face, but the two were fast becoming a crew. Joining the group, also, was Alisa Bertram, giant glasses taking up the upper half of her head. She was a London native with a strong Cockney accent, and a temper to rival any put forth.
The older children let the firsties tag along after them, answering questions as they went. "I've heard some of the other kids complaining about Peeves," Alisa said.
"Oh," Ethan said with an airy wave of his hand. "He doesn't usually bother us. We're Slytherins."
"I don't see the connection," Loren's precise tones broke in.
"You see," Guin said, "Our House ghost is the Bloody Baron—"
"Who just happens," L'Argent continued, "To be the only ghost – the only /thing/ that Peeves will listen to."
"So by default he leaves the Slytherins alone, unless he wants the Baron to hurt him," Guin finished.
"Ah," Loren said.
"Seems t' me," Conal put in, "We make out best in this school."
"Being a Slytherin has perks and drawbacks," Guin said. "We are the best House in the school, but the other Houses generally hate us."
"Why?" Alisa wanted to know, starting to scowl.
"Well, one of the reasons is stupid," Ethan said, "And completely unfounded. Slytherin's got a reputation for turning out Dark Wizards and Witches."
"Of course," L'Argent said dryly, "They forget that all the Houses, even Gryffindor, turn out their share of turn-coats. The only difference is, Slytherin Dark Wizards are cunning, and Gryffindor Dark Wizards are 'courageous.'"
"I don't think it's fair," Alisa said.
"It isn't," Guin replied, "But it's something we live with and something we get used to."
"The other reason, I think," L'Argent said, as they entered the Great Hall, "Is because being a Slytherin is about ambition. It's not about being noble. And at heart, most people think that way, too, but they don't want to admit it. So they hate Slytherin, because we recognize and relish what they're afraid to be." Guin glanced sideways at him, surprised that anything so poetic could come from his mouth. She had no opportunity to comment on it, however, for they had arrived in the busy breakfasting area of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Guin avoided the warm cereal and snagged several pieces of bread and some strawberries. On a sudden whim, she pulled the stems from the fruit and placed it between the slices and ate that, a berry sandwich. A commotion at the Gryffindor table – Guin nudged Ethan in the side and pointed her chin towards the place where Ron Weasley sat, looking terrified. "Wonder what's going o—" she began, but got her answer soon enough.
A woman's voice, screaming at an ear-shattering decibel: "RON WEASLEY, OUT OF ALL THE HORRIBLE THINGS YOU'VE DONE IN YOUR LIFE, THIS IS THE WORST, YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF, STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK—" With a wince of sympathy and pain, Guin clapped her hands over her ears. Finally the voice died away and there was silence.
Alisa laughed, joined mostly by other Slytherins. Guin blinked and waited for the ringing in her ears to fade before finishing her breakfast calmly enough. The new kids wiggled excitedly in their seats as Snape handed out the schedules. Guin peered at hers, and sighed: Transfiguration, first thing in the morning. "Looks like we've got McGonagall next," Guin groaned.
"Our luck," L'Argent said cheerfully. "I hear its beetles, first."
"Joy," Guin said morosely.
-----
It turned out that Pansy Parkinson was afraid of bugs. As soon as McGonagall put the beetle on her desk, she shrank away from it in horror, squealing. "/Professor/! I /can't/ do this! I don't /like/ beetles!"
"Sometimes, Miss Parkinson," McGonagall replied, "You must do things you don't like. Consider it practice for the real world, if you will."
Guin poked her beetle experimentally with her wand. "It's harder to transfigure living things, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes," L'Argent said, holding the bug in his hand somberly. "Poor thing. It will be no more – transformed into a cheap tortoiseshell copy – o woe!"
"A regular Shakespearean tragedy," Ethan said. "Stop the dramatics, L'Argent, and get to work."
In Herbology, with the Ravenclaws, they re-potted the remaining mandrakes. Professor Sprout yelled at Winston: his earmuffs had not been put on correctly, and he had almost heard the cries of the roots. Luckily, a sharp-eyed Professor caught the mistake, and the fatal scream of the mandrake was not heard by any of the children. After class, Winston, quite miffed, blinked at them. "Herbology's not a practical class, anyway, unless you're trying to be a gardener..." the boy complained.
Guin caught up with Rilla on the stairs of the Castle. "How was class with the Hunk?" Guin asked her friend sarcastically.
"It was... educational," Rilla said after a moment's hesitation.
"Really? What did he do?"
"Pixies."
"/What/?"
"He let Cornish Pixies free."
"They must've wrecked the room."
"They did."
"He didn't stop them?"
"He... He wanted us to learn how to do it!"
"Rilla, that sounds like an excuse to me."
"You're going to be late," Rilla sniffed, and ran to Potions.
Rejoining the Slytherins, Guin shook her head. "This does not look good."
"Any class with Lockhart will not look good," L'Argent sighed.
"Ril says that he let pixies loose in class."
"Can you explain to me how pixies are related to Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Ethan wanted to know.
"You are preaching," Guin told him, "To the dedicated."
"What a moron," Ethan complained. "Oh, you know what?"
"Hm?" L'Argent asked.
"Potter's giving out signed pictures."
"/No/," Guin said, raising her eyebrows. "That's sickening!"
"Saw it with my own eyes. That Creevey kid was asking for it."
"He's a sheep," Guin said, waving her hand. "Did Potter actually give any out?"
"No," Ethan said gleefully, "He got dragged off by The Git himself."
"Anyone else I would feel sorry for," L'Argent said.
As they entered Lockhart's classroom, there were several Slytherins and a palpable air of tension already present. The teacher sat at his desk, looking slightly frazzled, his turquoise robes ripped in the sleeve. "Hello, class," he said, flashing a smile at them. Guin rolled her eyes at L'Argent, but unfortunately, that just caught his attention. "A question, Miss Marlowe?" he said, beaming.
"Uh – no, /sir/," Guin said, with all the sarcasm she could muster.
"Good, good," he said, not noticing. "I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Forces Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award."
"As if we didn't know who he was already," Ethan whispered.
"We wish we didn't," L'Argent corrected.
"Problems, boys?" Lockhart asked, grinning still, but now it seemed a bit forced.
"No, sir," they chorused, as smart and prompt as one could wish.
Collecting himself, Lockhart blinked at the assembly. "As the pixies which I had caught for first period's lesson are ... temporarily unavailable, we shall be reading through one of my books, Gadding With Ghouls. Lovely title, don't you think?" he said, winking.
They stared blankly.
"Joke....funny...." he said.
They continued to stare.
"Right," Lockhart said. "My defeat of the Cyprean Chimera—"
"Excuse me, sir," L'Argent said, raising his hand.
"Yes?" Lockhart said, teeth grinding a bit.
"That's either a mistake, or a lie," L'Argent said with a sweet smile.
"Five points from Slytherin! Are you calling me a liar?!"
"No," L'Argent said calmly, "But there is only one verified case in which a wizard killed a chimera, sir, and that was Bellephron. With Pegasus."
"I – uh – turn to page four, please, and you will find out how to beat a chimera, Mr. L'Argent."
They read from the book for the rest of the period, and it was deathly dull until Lockhart seemed to have an idea. Guin could tell, because he suddenly brightened up, his previously frazzled appearance neatening a bit. "I know! Let's do dramatic readings. I'll read my part, and Mr. L'Argent can be the chimera, and you, Miss Marlowe, you can be the Cyprean girl that I saved. All you do is scream, but I'm sure that's not a problem?"
Guin smiled at him in an expression that was really more of a snarl. "No, sir. No problem at all."
She had never been so glad to hear a bell ring, and darted from the room and into the hallway. "I thought that would /never/ end!" Guin moaned.
"He's worse than I thought," Ethan said.
"Much worse," L'Argent finished, shaking his head.
"'You don't do much except scream. That's not a problem, is it?'" Guin mocked, taking a mincing step along the hallway. "He's not a teacher at all."
L'Argent said, "Wish we could've gotten pixies."
Ethan said, "Guess he won't be bringing live specimens again."
While walking, they must have taken a wrong turn. This was a hallway which Guin had never seen before, a gloomy looking place with stone busts of wizards that invariably had sour expressions upon their faces. In the distance, the wind whispered through the hall—no, wait, that was impossible. Wind, inside? It was ... it sounded like...
"Who needs pixies when you have dramatic reading?" Guin said sarcastically, then frowned. "Wait a minute – shut up for a minute."
Puzzled, though obliging, the boys fell silent. "What—?" L'Argent began.
"Hush!" Guin said, then shook her head. "It's gone, never mind."
"/What/ is?" Ethan asked.
"I... I thought I heard someone crying."
They all stopped, listening, but whoever had made the noises was gone.