"Guess what tonight is?" Melissa sang, on their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts on Thursday.
Beth racked her brain. "You and Galen are going out?"
"No, don't be silly!" Melissa hit her gently on the arm. "It's the first meeting of the you-know-what. At eleven, remember?"
"Oh, right." Beth glanced around nervously; the S.S.A. was not to be discussed in public. If anyone knew what they had been up to -- and what they had gotten away with -- in the fifty-two years of the club's existence, they would all be expelled. "It's newbie night."
"Who are they again?"
Beth shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough. Right now I'm more interested in what the new D.A.D.A. prof's going to be like."
"We'll find that out even sooner." They went into the classroom and paused in the doorway. The room was a shambles; desks and chairs were overturned, chandeliers swung in wide arcs, and there was broken glass all over the floor. At the front of the room was a cage full of what appeared to be electric blue bolts of lightening.
"Pixies," said Melissa, looking at the cage.
"What have they done?" said Beth, looking at the chaos.
Eventually the rest of the Slytherins filtered in and went to work setting the furniture upright before taking their seats. They had been in class together almost every day for the past three years; by now they had a seating arrangement that hardly ever changed.
"This place is trashed," said Bruce gleefully, from Beth's right. "Bet you money the Gryffindors were in here just before us."
"All right, you're on. A Sickle."
"Just a Sickle?"
"I'm poor, deal with it."
The door swung open and the professor strode in. He was tall and handsome, with wavy blonde hair which was perfectly complemented by his brilliant turquoise robes. There again was the extraordinary smile that Beth had noticed at the start-of-term feast. He was absolutely beaming from ear to ear.
"Well! I'm sure I don't need to tell anyone, but just in case, I'm Gilderoy Lockhart, best-selling author and five-time winner of the Witch Weekly most-charming-smile award!" He flashed his grin to prove it and rubbed his hands together eagerly. "What do we have here, fourth years, Slytherins, eh? Don't mind telling you, that's my old house, you know! But I'd better not be giving away test answers!" He whipped out a stack of papers and started handing them around. "I hope you can all stand up to a little pretest. Find out where you stand now, so we can get things rolling, eh?"
"What happened in here?" demanded Aaron Pucey.
Lockhart finished passing out the papers. "Just some Cornish pixies I've brought for show. The second-years demanded I let them out -- but they didn't handle them quite as well as they expected, did they?" He laughed indulgently. "But then that's what you'd expect from Gryffindors, isn't it?"
Bruce nudged Beth, who dug in her pocket and handed him a Sickle.
"Well!" Lockhart said again, now at the front of the room. "No more chit-chat, let's get down to the test."
Beth looked at her paper. The first question read: "What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?" She let out a little snort and started flipping through the pages of the test. All of the questions were similar: it went from, "What is Gilderoy Lockhart's mother's maiden name?" to, "If Gilderoy Lockhart was a tree, what color would his leaves turn in the autumn?"
I'm going to have some fun with this, Beth thought. Tapping her quill against the table, she dipped it in her inkwell and wrote:
"An evergreen, because just as the pine tree never loses its color, he never loses his charm."
As the questions got stranger, so did her answers. She was having such a good time that she was surprised when Lockhart announced, "All right, pass 'em on in and let's see what you have!"
Reluctantly, Beth passed her test to the front. She had been on an especially good essay detailing Lockhart's hairdo.
Professor Lockhart collected the papers and stood at the front of the room flipping through them. "Tut-tut -- no one recalled my secret dream? Gadding with Ghouls, chapter ten."
"To win the Witch Weekly smile award another five times," whispered Melissa.
"He'll have to do better that that," Beth whispered back.
At the front of the room, Lockhart's smile was gradually fading. "Ahem -- I see that no one recalled my greatest triumph -- although there are some, eh, interesting guesses ... Good heavens!" He flipped to the front of a test paper. "Bocephus Warrington, you know perfectly well that's not my mother's maiden name! Five points from Slytherin!"
Warrington covered a smile. "Worth it," he muttered to Aaron.
By now Lockhart was positively scowling, flipping through the tests more and more quickly. He slammed them down on the desk; then, with a great effort, he collected himself and adopted a jovial, if slightly forced, smile. "Aha. Well, can't expect you all to have memorized all of my best-selling books yet. But we have all year to work on that!" He gave them a wink.
"Now -- I have here a creature that may strike terror in the weaker-made -- a mercenary of the Dark Arts --" He flung his hand toward the cage of electric blue pixies as if he were a ringmaster. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies!"
There was a smattering of ill-concealed snickers.
"They may look small and weak," Lockhart went on, in a threatening stage voice, "but I assure you, they are not to be trifled with! You can see what they've done, when improperly handled!" He gestured around at the torn-up room. "In the interest of safety, I won't be releasing them again -- they're vicious beasts!"
"What do they do?" asked Aaron, face contorting as he struggled to hold back a smirk.
Lockhart raised his eyebrows menacingly. "What they do," he whispered, "is wreak havoc -- they bite, pinch, swarm, and harm. They're a dark creature if I ever saw one -- and I've seen a few, as anyone who's read Walking with Werewolves can tell you!" He laughed heartily.
Antigone Von Dervish joined his laughter. She was an attractive and very snobby girl, with a sheet of blonde hair down her back and a special way of filling out her sweaters. Melissa looked over at her and rolled her eyes.
"Now!" said Lockhart, looking substantially more at ease, "On to class! Quills out, everyone, while I read about one harrowing encounter with Cornish pixies from my best-seller, Voyages with Vampires!"
He picked up a book from the desk and proceeded to give them a dramatic reading from his own book. Beth just watched him, shaking her head. He had no idea that the only one paying any attention was Antigone. Aaron started passing notes to Bruce and Warrington. Mervin, the boy with a lot of red hair, fell asleep on his arm. Beth started doodling caricatures of Lockhart in her margins; he was a smile on legs.
"Finally, the flock was collared -- a daunting task, but another days' work for a man who dedicates his life to stamping out the Dark Arts in all its many, horrible forms!" Lockhart closed the book with a snap. Mervin woke up with a start, biting back cries of pain as "pins and needles" set in. Warrington hid a note under his book.
Mervin raised his hand. His face was full of a deep suspicion.
"You with the hair!" called Lockhart cheerfully.
Mervin scowled. "Take off your hat."
"What?"
"Take off your hat," Bruce repeated, "and turn around slowly."
Lockhart laughed nervously. "Now, I don't know what you are all up to ..." he began.
"Just do it," said Melissa seriously.
Lockhart put down the book and slowly removed his pointed hat, spinning around once. "Satisfied?" He suddenly broke into a large grin. "Aha -- I think I see --"
"He heard about Quirrell," muttered Beth.
"You're all anxious to see if I really could begin my own line of hair-care products! Let me assure you, when it comes to follicles I know what I'm doing!" He laid a finger to his nose. "Not that I'll be revealing any secrets!"
The bell rang.
"For next time, give me an essay on the five most clever aspects of my fight against the Floogleton Flock of pixies, and no copying now!" Lockhart called, as they hurried to gather their things. They rushed from class, finally blurting the snide comments that had been stewing in every one of them for the past hour.
"His mother's maiden name! Warrington, you're genius!"
"The one where he asked what he wanted for Christmas, I put, a test that wasn't about himself!"
Antigone bustled past, her nose in the air. "Really, you're heathens, the lot of you."
"Someone's got a crush on someone ..." Melissa muttered gleefully.
"Who cares?" Beth laughed. "This is going to be the most bizarre class ever. What did you put for the tree question?"
Bruce grinned. "His leaves would turn blue, to match his gorgeous eyes."
Beth snorted back laughter. "That test was a bad idea. I'd kill to see some of the answers."
"Can't," said Bruce jovially. "I saw him setting fire to them as we left."
That night the S.S.A. members stayed up in anticipation of their first meeting. It had been a long day of classes, and Beth was still trying to get used to waking up so early. She curled in a high-backed chair by the fire and tried not to doze off until eleven o'clock. Still, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and she snuggled down farther into the chair. It was so comfortable, and so warm here ...
Someone nudged her shoulder, and she reluctantly opened her eyes. It was Melissa. "Come on, it's eleven," she muttered. "Some of them have already left. You were really out cold." Scraping the sleepy-dirt from her eyes, Beth slowly uncurled and stood. They left the common room silently and began the trek through the dark halls toward the S.S.A. headquarters: the Vase Room.
Before long they had crept to a dead-end hallway. "I can't believe we didn't see Filch," said Beth in an undertone. "He's always out prowling at this time of night."
"Just be grateful," Melissa whispered back. Then, she faced the wall and enunciated, "Ouch! My toe!" in a startlingly loud voice. A bead of light appeared on the wall and traced a rectangular shape. A doorknob appeared in the wall; Beth grabbed it, pulled, and went inside the secret chamber.
The Vase Room got its name from the dozens of vases, pots, and cauldrons that filled the floor. Some loomed high as the ceiling; others cluttered the shelves along the curved walls. They came in every shape and color. What space they didn't take up was given over to lots of low couches, a single armchair, and a wooden podium. Upon the podium rested the Ledger, an enormous dusty tome filled with information about the members, past and present, and the mysteries of the castle.
Almost as fascinating as the decorations were the members themselves, who now lounged around chatting about their summers. Vivian Sicklewise, a seventh-year with long brown hair, had laid claim to a low divan and sprawled across it, laughing with her classmate Daedalus Dellinger. Uther Montague was idly twirling a Quaffle on the end of his finger, then lazily tossing it into the air and catching it again. Beth and Melissa went and sat on a few cushions on the floor.
"... so I'd lock the door, transform, and sneak out through the mouse-hole," Daedalus was saying, his hands behind his head. "Loads of fun. Except I should have tried to be a little bigger -- you'd never guess how many things like to eat snakes, even ones my size."
"Three feet long isn't exactly an anaconda," Vivian said.
Daedalus had spent years learning to be an Animagus, a wizard who could turn into an animal at will. Only the previous year had he finally succeeded in becoming a long green snake with a brown stripe down its back.
"Did you ever register?" asked Melissa curiously.
Daedalus shook his head. "Too much paperwork. Besides, I figure it's more useful to have a trick up my sleeve."
"Dell, our resident illegal Animagus," Vivian laughed. "Every group's got one."
The door blasted open.
Bruce and Mervin darted inside, panting, and slammed the door. "Sorry," Mervin gasped, his hand over his heart. "Mrs. Norris came around. We had to make a break for it."
"That stupid cat!" Uther swore. "She gave me the dirtiest look the other night. You'd swear she had a brain, and hated us all."
Vivian was standing up now, and went to stand behind the Ledger. "That's all of us then. All right, the first meeting of the S.S.A. is called to order. All we have to go over is setting up some training, and talk about who's watching the second-years. We need somebody to make the rings, someone else to enchant them, and somebody to make the notes. Who's up for it?"
"I'll make the rings," Bruce said quickly. Beth could see why he wanted the job. He would be working with Uther, a fellow Quidditch team member, and Bruce always enjoyed building things.
Melissa cast a glance at Mervin. "Let me enchant them, then," she said, looking at Daedalus. "It sounds complicated."
Daedalus shrugged. "I've seen worse."
"All right, who's on the notes?" Vivian interjected. "Beth or Mervin, it's got to be one of you."
Visions of Alchemy bounced around Beth's head; there was no way she was going to volunteer. Mervin caught her close-jawed look and raised his hand a little grudgingly. "I'll do it."
"Great," Vivian smiled. "Thank you all. We don't need them until next year at this time, but it's a complicated process, so you'd better start learning as soon as possible. Bruce especially -- if history is any indication, you're bound to screw up a few rings before getting them right."
Uther looked injured. "I say, Viv, I didn't lose more than three or four of 'em."
"Seven or eight," she corrected primly, "and you burnt yourself to boot. Moving on," she continued, with a severe glance at Uther, "stalking assignments. As the older ones know, we spend the whole year watching the second-years, so that we can make an informed decision when we pick next year's new members. Rich and I tried to match you up with people that have similar interests, background, things like that." She dug in the pocket of her robes and came up with a handful of papers. "Here are your assignments. Girls for girls, boys for boys. Sorry, Dell, none for you."
"Shucks," grinned Daedalus, putting his hands behind his head.
One by one, Vivian handed out slips of parchment to each of the members. Beth looked at the parchment in her hand. "Blaise Zabini," she read aloud. Beth recognized the name: it belonged to a dark-haired girl in the second year, who spent a lot of time around Draco Malfoy.
"Look, we can work together!" Melissa said, pleased. Her paper read 'Pansy Parkinson', who at least appeared to be Blaise's best friend. "Who got Draco Malfoy?"
"Me," said Uther lazily. "He's the Seeker, you know. I'll be seeing a lot of him."
"Charming boy," Melissa beamed. "He's got my vote already."
"Who's Morag MacDougal?" Mervin demanded, waving his piece of parchment in the air. "Is he even in our house?"
"I swear he's a Slytherin," promised Vivian.
Just then the door to the Vase Room opened and a pair of boys came slowly inside, gazing around at the opulent vases littered around the room. Beth remembered seeing one of them before, but couldn't place his name; the other was a complete stranger. The one that she recognized was short and slender, a Seeker's build, with slick black hair that fell in his eyes. He looked as if he were trying not to be impressed. The other, with curly brown hair, made no attempt to conceal his astonishment, and gaped around open-mouthed at the lavish decor.
Richard and Riggs followed after them. Richard was beaming with both excitement and smug superiority. It was a look Beth knew well. Riggs, on the other hand, was holding a hand to his chest and looking like he had had the life scared out of him.
"Mrs. Norris was on the prowl," he told Vivian bitterly, as she relinquished her position behind the Ledger. "Mrs. Norris means Filch. Filch means Peeves. Peeves means the Bloody Baron -- I thought we'd have to hide in every classroom from here to the common room."
Richard was ignoring him. "Welcome to the Vase Room," he cheered, striding to the front. "This is Evan Wilkes and Herne Rudisille. And this," he went on, gesturing around, "is the Society for Slytherin Advancement."
He went on to describe the goals and methods of the club, but Beth couldn't make out what he was saying because at the moment, Melissa was hissing angrily in her ear.
"Both of them boys -- do you believe it? That makes eleven of us, and only three girls! Isn't that ridiculous? It ought to be five/six at least!"
"Why are you suddenly on about this?" Beth whispered back. "You never cared before."
"Well -- just realized --" Melissa blustered.
The new members were now having their names inserted into the Ledger, the massive record of the club's history. Just last year, Beth had used the Ledger to confirm that her brother Lycaeon, a former member, was now alive in Azkaban prison instead of dead as she had believed. It still felt strange to think of how long she had been unaware of the truth. She shook off the thought and instead watched the new members.
Herne Rudisille, with curly brown hair, was fresh-faced and genuinely excited to be there. He had a solid kind of build that indicated he'd been raised on hard work and rugby. Evan Wilkes was quite a different story. Slim and dark, with slick black hair falling into shadowed eyes, he seemed to be making a distinct effort to stay aloof from the scene. In it but not of it, Beth thought.
"Right." At the front of the room, Richard clapped his hands once for order. "On to the interesting stuff. Any old business?"
"No, we wrapped it all up at the end of last year, and we just took care of the rest," said Vivian lazily. "Go on, Rich."
"All right, new business then."
Mervin spoke up. "Remember what Vivian said about the Triwizard Tournament last year, how it's going to be reinstated?" he said smugly. "It's set for the '94-'95 school year. They're inviting Durmstrang and Beauxbaton, and they're going to have it right here."
"How did you find that out?" Beth laughed, nudging him in the arm.
"Heard it from my Great-Uncle Mundungus. He gets in trouble with the Ministry a lot, but he pays attention when he's brought in. Got raided this summer by the Muggle Artifacts people. He was spitting mad."
"Triwizard Tournament ..." Richard mused. "That'll be my seventh year, me and everybody younger has a chance at it. You'd all better study hard, because we're all entering the contest."
"Speaking of contests," said Bruce, with a glance at Uther, "the Quidditch team is smashing. We'll win the cup again for sure."
"Good, because we need those points to win back the House Cup," Richard said fervently. "We would have had it last year if it wasn't for those Gryffindor firsties. They wouldn't even be alive if it wasn't for us," he added, looking at Herne and Evan. "We got to Dumbledore in London in time to send him back to Hogwarts to save their lives. We got a trophy --" he gestured to a silver cup on a shelf "-- but no house points. Not this year, chaps. We're getting that Cup back if it kills us."
"Or if it kills Potter," said Uther innocently.
"We can only hope," said Bruce.
Richard frowned at them. "Remember what Dumbledore said last year. The Dark Lord's still out there in some form, and now he's got a double grudge against Potter. We may be called on to help protect him."
"Sure, I'll protect him," Uther said. "But if I see him getting close to a Golden Snitch -- bam!" He smacked his palm with his fist.
Snorting, Richard went on with the meeting. "Anything else?" There was silence. "Seeing none, the first meeting of the year is now adjourned. See you all next Thursday."
"We'll be here," said Vivian with a smile.
"Thursdays," sighed Melissa. "I'd forgotten. Wasn't it nice over the summer, being able to get to bed on Thursday nights at a normal time?"
"I like this better," said Beth, and she meant it.