Disclaimer: I own the dancing flowers. Everything else belongs to the Goddess Rowling. Don't ask.
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What is the correct spelling of McGonagall's last name? Inquiring minds need to know.
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The Knight Bus took almost seven hours to get to Hogwarts, even though there were hardly any passengers. However, Stan seemed to enjoy the privilege of being able to tell others that the Boy-Who-Lived was on board. 'So much for inconspicuous.'
It took three and a half hours for someone to mention the articles Rita Skeeter wrote about him during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. They didn't even bother to keep their voices down.
"Oh, look dear. It's the Boy-Who-Went-Insane."
"Isn't he the one that tried to convince the Ministry that You-Know-Who's back?"
"Definitely got something wrong in the head."
"You can't expect too much from him. He'd just broken up with that muggle born."
"Such a pity . . ."
"Who's that?" This last was asked by what appeared to be a four-year-old boy. The witch he was with was busy discussing the many faults of the Boy-Who-Lived, so he wandered over to Harry. "Who're you?"
Harry, who had been purposefully ignoring the other passengers, was surprised when the young voice shook him out of his thoughts. "What?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm Harry. What's your name?"
"Mum doesn't like you." Apparently, the child did not see any reason to answer the question.
Harry looked up at the others, all of who were swapping rumors about him. "No, she doesn't."
"Why?"
"Because she thinks I'm a liar."
"Why?"
"Because I told people that Voldemort's returned."
"Did he?"
"Yes."
"From where?"
"The dead."
The boy's mouth made a small "o." Then he asked something that caught the attention of his mother. "Who's Voldie-more?"
"Jeffrey!" The short woman dragged the boy to the other side of the Knight Bus. For such a dainty looking lady, she could sure give a mean glare. Jeffrey complained a bit about the rough treatment, but was distracted by a bauble his mother took out of her magically expanded pocket for him to play with.
Harry got the hint and kept quiet.
People spoke about him for the rest of the trip, but Jeffrey was the only one to actually speak to him.
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It was well into the afternoon when the Knight Bus landed in Hogsmead, missing the Hogshead's trashcans by centimeters. Harry didn't bother to say goodbye to Stan, he just gathered his things and walked straight into the pub to find his escort.
The Hogshead was dimly lit, and Harry was hard pressed to locate Madam Rosmerta. Once he had her attention, she brought him to an unobtrusive table a few feet to the left of the door. There he was given yet another shock to top off his day.
Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, waving his arm excitedly at Harry and flashing his thousand-watt smile at anyone who looked his way.
Harry felt the extreme need to just turn around and run away. Lockhart noticed his hesitation and exclaimed, "Harry, Harry, Harry! Come join me in a butterbeer!"
Recovering slightly from his surprise, Harry felt obligated to sit opposite of Lockhart, figuring that Dumbledore must have had a good reason for sending the fraud. Lockhart looked a little older than he had during Harry's second year at Hogwarts. That was to be expected since the last time Harry checked, Lockhart was a permanent resident of St. Mungo's, the hospital of the wizarding world. That place was almost as feared as Azkaban. Even an hour there could dampen the spirits of the world's most cheerful person. But Lockhart didn't seem to have improved any over the last two and a half years. He was still smarmy, boisterous, and far too narcissistic for Harry's taste.
After a couple of minutes, Madame Rosmerta came over with two bottles of butterbeer. "If you need anything, just call." With an adoring smile at the man, she left. Harry felt the need to gag.
"So, Harry, I hear you've left home."
'No shit. I'm here, aren't I.' Harry wisely refrained from saying anything.
"Now, I'm not upset with what you and Mr. Weasley did to me. You were only trying to save the life of Miss Weasley." Lockhart smiled indulgently, "You couldn't have known that you'd only cause trouble. You were just trying to make a name for yourself. Why even the best of us make mistakes. When you become as famous as me, you'll understand."
Harry sat stiffly in his seat, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. Lockhart became famous for things he hadn't even done. He uncovered larger-than-life stories of how certain people faced unbeatable odds and succeeded, then used obliviate to erase those people's memories of the situations. Lockhart was only good at memory charms and looking pretty for the press.
"You're probably wondering why I, six time winner of Witch Weekly's most charming smile award, came to take you to school. It so happens that . . ."
At this point, Harry stopped paying attention. 'So this is why McGonagall didn't say who'd meet me.' She had written that someone he'd know would take him to Hogwarts. 'If she'd named him, I would've run for the hills.' If McGonagall wanted to keep Harry hidden, this was probably one of the worst ways to do it. Lockhart was extremely flamboyant.
" . . . So aren't you glad, Harry that I came to pick you up instead of Professor Snape?" Lockhart looked as though he honestly wanted an answer.
Professor Snape . . .
A man cowered before a monster.
"Such traitorous behavior must be rewarded, Severus. Don't you agree?"
The man nodded jerkily. Bloodstains ruined his clothing, and bruises and lesions covered his skin. He looked extremely weak, and shouldn't have had the strength for even that minor motion.
"You are still fighting me." Then in an almost whisper, "Crucio."
The man writhed on the floor before Voldemort. His lack of screams just made it more pitiful. After a few moments, Voldemort stopped the spell. "Invigorus!"
Now the man appeared stronger, to have recovered, though it didn't seem possible. His injuries were still perfectly evident, and his eyes, now open, looked haunted. He looked up at his tormentor, and stretched out his arm as if seeking mercy. It was now obvious that the man had been both starved and beaten, his cheeks were sunken. His arms bore burn marks.
"Crucio." The monster looked only mildly interested in the harm he was causing. The man screamed.
"Harry. Harry!"
Harry came to, curled up in his seat, his hand clutching his burning scar. Shaking, he forced himself to relax. Quite proud of his control, he asked, "What is it?"
"You tensed up. Is something wrong, my boy?"
Feeling somewhat offended by the endearment, Harry politely replied, "Just a headache."
"Are you sure, Harry my boy? You were shaking . . ."
"It's a really bad headache."
Lockhart stayed quiet for all of forty seconds. "Harry, Harry, Harry. You need to become a better actor. Make sure you live up to the standards of your audience. If you take care of your fans, your fans will take care of you."
Harry sighed. His 'headache' just got worse.
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Lockhart had three more butterbeers before he staggered into a standing position. "Harry," he slurred, "now is no' the time t'de-lay. We need ta ge' ta Hoggie-warts, uh." Weaving a bit, Lockhart made it to the fireplace. He turned to face Harry, almost falling over in the process.
Harry groaned, knowing that this trip would involve floo powder, which was most definitely not his favorite way to travel. Especially not with one of the most annoying men of all time. Watching Lockhart, he came to a conclusion about his sobriety. The former professor was drunk. 'Just how many butterbeers did this guy have? I only saw four.'
Fortunately, the both managed to safely arrive in the Great Hall in Hogwarts. Harry was still dragging his trunk, and Lockhart was still far from sober.
There was Professor Snape, wearing his usual black robes and the customary sneer.
"So glad our celebrities could finally bring it upon themselves to arrive. You are late."
Harry didn't bother arguing, as it would be a lost cause. Lockhart was not so intelligent. "Now see here *hic* Se'erus, we was jus' catchin' up on the pas' cu'pla years." he slurred.
Snape glared in disgust, then turned and stalked away, his robes sweeping out behind him impressively. Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey soon replaced him. Ignoring the fact that they had only just arrived, Lockhart complained, "Di' ya hear him!" He leaned dangerously to the left. "He says . . . we're late."
Pomfrey snorted, then forced a potion down Lockhart's throat. This was an amusing sight. It was not everyday that Harry got to see a diminutive medi-witch forcing a concoction into the mouth of the biggest fraud in Britain. 'I wish I had a camera.' He smirked.
Dumbledore stared with his twinkling blue eyes at Harry. "You received your letter nine hours ago. Would you care to inform us of why you took so long to comply?"
"I was . . .detained, Professor."
"How so, Mr. Potter?"
Harry gave a concise description of his day, leaving out the rumor mill and Jeffrey from the Knight Bus, and emphasizing Lockhart's behavior.
"That's a lie! Harry wanted to talk to me about public relations and how to improve his image." The potion Pomfrey used had worked. Lockhart was now sober.
"Really?" McGonagall stepped into the Great Hall, fuming. "Weren't you supposed to return here immediately upon collecting Mr. Potter?" She was almost snarling at the man, who was now hiding behind Pomfrey. Turning to Harry, McGonagall inquired, "And how are you? Are you all right?"
Harry had just enough time to reply, "Yes, I'm fine." Right then Pomfrey took over the questioning, also examining him for injuries. Shaking her head, she tried to drag him up the stairs to the medical wing. Harry was grateful when Dumbledore interrupted.
"Perhaps now is a good time for young Mr. Potter to hear about what has been happening recently. If you would please follow me?" Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling merrily at Pomfrey's antics. She didn't seem happy with the idea of her patient going another instant without medical checkups and treatments for whatever maladies he might have.
Harry accepted the headmaster's offer, and Pomfrey turned on Lockhart as he tried to make an escape.
Harry was glad to be back at school, the place he truly considered to be home. He had missed the familiar moving characters in the paintings, along with all of the other odd things that reassured him that he was really back. As they walked through the corridors, Dumbledore and Harry passed Nearly Headless Nick and the Fat Friar, the ghosts for Griffindor and Hufflepuff Houses, respectively. They were again discussing the fate of Peeves the Poltergeist. Nick managed to say, "Great to see you so soon, Harry!" before the Friar dragged him back into the conversation.
Before Harry knew it, they had arrived. Dumbledore proudly told the gargoyle "Pixie sticks!" and it jumped aside, revealing the rotating stairs. Both Dumbledore and Harry rode the stairs to the door to the Office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. One of the distinguishing features of this office was all of the moving portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses. When both had settled into the appropriate chairs, they heard a fluttering sound.
Fawkes the phoenix settled itself on Harry's knee, chirping away about something or other that was important to phoenixes. Now, Harry was quite fond of this particular phoenix. This phoenix had provided the feather that was the core of Harry's wand.
"So how have you been?" he asked while scratching Fawkes' head. The bird just tilted its head and cooed. After two or three minutes, it finally grew bored with the attention and returned to its perch, rustling contentedly.
"Lemon Drop?" Dumbledore had been watching this exchange with great amusement.
"No, thank you." Harry declined.
"How do you like my new painting?" Dumbledore gestured at the wall behind Harry, who turned to look.
"Er . . .wow. That's just . . . wow. Nice." Harry didn't want to insult the man, but Dumbledore had the strangest taste in art. 'I always knew he was off his rocker.'
The painting portrayed bright, gaudy dancing flowers frolicking across the canvas. Harry could identify violets, daisies, wild roses, and snapdragons. He even saw dandelions, of all things. He couldn't decide what the rest were. He watched as a dandelion roared at a hissing snapdragon while five roses line-danced. The painting sort of reminded him of one of those American Disney movies. Harry thought it was called Fantasia, but he could have been mistaken. He didn't get to see many movies while growing up.
A daisy decided it was tired, and rested in the bottom left corner of the large painting. That was when the roaring dandelion decided to attack. The snapdragon it had been fighting took this as a personal affront and tried to steal the daisy. The poor flower didn't have a chance. A violet was dancing ballet with a strange orange blossom.
Harry turned back around to face Dumbledore.
"The Deatheaters attacked earlier than expected." The twinkle had greatly diminished in the headmaster's eyes.
"When."
"Just after noon. They managed to capture your relatives."
"What happened?" 'Damn it! I told them to leave!'
"The Dursleys were tortured. Ministry aurors arrived in time to save their lives, though they were sent to St. Mungo's. Your cousin is in critical condition."
"I see."
"The house has been demolished. Obliviators had quite a job erasing the memories of the neighbors. I believe that they are still searching for a few families." Dumbledore paused. "This will be the front page story tomorrow in the Daily Prophet."
"I see." That seemed to be all Harry could say. 'Shit.'
"I will send a letter to the Weasley family to assure them that you are in good health. I'm sure that they will be very worried."
"Thank you, sir. About . . ." 'Snape . . .'
"Yes, Harry?"
"Never mind." Then, "Sir, what's Lockhart doing here?"
"I'm glad you asked. The excellent staff at St. Mungo's has determined that he is perfectly healthy, and that he has completely recovered from that unfortunate incident with Mr. Weasley's wand." Dumbledore smiled as he gave this supposedly good news.
"Oh." 'That explains that.'
"Your belongings have already been sent to your dorm. Perhaps now is a good time for you to go down to the kitchens. I know of one house elf that has been quite interested in your well being." Dumbledore smiled in this obvious dismissal.
"Yes, sir." Harry nodded and turned to leave. He admired the prancing flowers on his way out.
The one watching him followed in the shadows.