Lizzie's Redemption

Chapter Two

Lavender dressed at top speed next morning and left the dormitory before Lizzie had even finished fastening the Velcro on her leg braces.

"Does she think I'll kill her next if she stays in a room with me too long!" asked Lizzie loudly as the hem of Lavender's robes whipped out of sight.

"Don't worry about it, Liz," said Hermione soothingly, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder.

"She's just…." But apparently she was unable to say exactly what Lavender was, and after a slightly awkward pause, muttered "nothing," and walked with Lizzie out of the dormitory.

"What's up, Liz?" asked Harry, five minutes later, catching up with Lizzie and Hermione, with Ron trailing behind, halfway across the common room as they all headed toward breakfast. "You look absolutely – oh, you're kidding me…."

He was staring at the common room notice board where a large new sign had been put up:

GALLONS OF GALLEONS!

Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings?

Like to earn a little extra gold?

Contact Fred and George Weasley

Gryffindor common room, for simple part-time, virtually painless jobs.

"They are the limit," said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign which Fred and George had pinned up over a poster giving the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend in October. "We'll have to talk to them, Ron!"

Ron looked positively alarmed.

"Why?"

"Because we're prefects!" said Hermione as they climbed out through the portrait hole. "It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!"

Ron said nothing; Lizzie could tell from his glum expression that the prospect of stopping Fred and George doing exactly what they liked was not one that he found inviting.

"Anyway, what's up, Liz?" Harry continued as they walked down a flight of stairs lined with portraits of old witches and wizards all of whom ignored them, being engrossed in their own conversations. "You look really angry about something."

"Lavender thinks that Raven's death wasn't an accident. She thinks Lizzie killed him," said Hermione succinctly when Lizzie didn't respond. Harry, whom Lizzie had expected to react in outrage on her behalf, sighed. "Seamus does too," he said gloomily. "Being having a little chat with him about how I'm a murderer and a mental case, have you?" said Lizzie loudly.

"No," said Harry calmly. "I told him to shut up about you and Raven. And it would be really nice if you didn't bite my head off, because in case you haven't noticed, Liz, we're on your side."

"We believe you, Liz!" said Ron.

There was a short pause as Lizzie sighed.

"Sorry," she said in a low voice. "It's okay," said Harry. "It's too bad you're the only ones that do believe me," said Lizzie sadly. "McGonagall and Dumbledore believe you," said Hermione. Lizzie thought that this was a small comfort. Before Raven's death, she had been very popular, and had a large group of friends beyond Gryffindor, now almost all of them had completely rejected her, and life at Hogwarts had become very lonely.

"I miss him so much," Lizzie sighed.

They had reached the foot of the marble staircase. A line of fourth year Ravenclaws were crossing the entrance hall; they caught sight of Lizzie and hurried to form a tighter group, as though fearful she might attack stragglers.

They followed the Ravenclaws into the Great Hall, looking instinctively at the staff table as they entered. Professor Grubbly-Plank was chatting with Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, and Hagrid was once again conspicuous only by his absence. The enchanted ceiling above them echoed Lizzie's mood; it was a miserable rain-cloud grey.

With a whoosh and a clatter, hundreds of owls came soaring through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners, and showing the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside.

Hayden was sitting a few feet away from Lizzie, talking to a group of his friends as a large barn owl dropped a damp letter into his lap, and Hermione had to move her orange juice aside quickly for a large damp screech owl bearing a sodden Daily Prophet in its beak.

"What are you still getting that for?" asked Lizzie, knowing full well that since the return of Lord Voldemort last year, the Prophet had been all up in arms, calling Harry a liar, and Dumbledore a fool. They were in straight-up denial about the whole thing.

Hermione placed a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl's leg and it took off again. "I don't bother," said Lizzie. "Load of rubbish….."

"It's best to know what the enemy is saying," said Hermione darkly and she unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it, not emerging until Lizzie, Harry, and Ron had finished eating.

"Nothing," she said simply, rolling up the paper and laying it down by her plate. "Nothing about Harry or Dumbledore or anything."

Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table, handing out schedules. Today was horrible. Lizzie had History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, physical therapy after lunch, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day!" Ron groaned. "I wish Fred and George would hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted….."

Skiving Snackboxes were a range of sweets designed to induce minor illnesses such as fevers, vomiting, nosebleeds, and fainting – sure fire ways for students to get out of class whenever they so desired.

"Do mine ears deceive me?" said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing onto a bench beside Lizzie. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"

"Look what we've got today," said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen!"

"Fair point, little bro," said Fred, scanning the column. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."

"Why is it cheap?" asked Lizzie curiously, looking up from her schedule. "Because you keep bleeding until you shrivel up – we haven't got an antidote yet," said George. Lizzie cringed at this mental visualization. "Tempting, but no," she said. "I'm with Lizzie," said Ron. "I'll take the lessons."

"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes," said Hermione, eyeing Fred, and George beadily, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board."

"Says who?" asked George, looking astonished.

"Says me," said Hermione. "And Ron."

"Leave me out of it," said Ron hastily.

Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered. "You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione," said Fred thickly, buttering a crumpet. "You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Skiving Snackbox before long."

"And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, why?" asked Lizzie. "Fifth year is O.W.L. year," said George. "Oh, I forgot!" said Lizzie, suddenly feeling anxious.

"Yeah, they'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," said Fred with satisfaction. "Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s," said George happily. "Tears and tantrums…..Patricia Stimpson kept coming up faint….."

"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" said Fred reminiscently.

"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pajamas," said George. "Oh, yeah," said Fred, grinning. "I'd forgotten….Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"

Lizzie sniggered. "Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," said George. "If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow."

"Yeah…..you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?" said Ron. "Yep," said Fred unconcernedly. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement." "Then I guess it's a good thing I don't ride anymore," said Lizzie. "The fewer distractions, the better, I suppose…."

Fred choked on a kipper. "What? You're not riding anymore? Since when?" "Since I murdered my own horse," said Lizzie, sounding depressed. "Who says you killed Raven?" asked George. "Lavender," said Lizzie. "And Seamus," said Harry.

Both Fred and George gave Lizzie sympathetic looks.

"Well, now that we've got our O.W.L.s," said George abruptly changing topics. "I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s?" "But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the worlds biggest prat."

Lizzie stared down at Hayden from across the Gryffindor table. He was poring over his own course schedule, his blue eyes scanning the parchment.

He is cute, Lizzie thought. But a guy like that wouldn't be interested in me.

Lizzie was not unattractive, but the problem was her disability. In addition to having Cerebral Palsy, and being autistic, she also had mental health problems. Because of all these 'flaws,' most of the boys at Hogwarts didn't give her a second glance. As far as the Wizarding community was concerned, neurodivergent and neurotypical people did not mix.

And it wasn't like she would have the time to date seriously anyway, not with O.W.L.s coming that year, even if by some miracle someone was interested in her.

"D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough?" asked Lizzie. "Because of the exams?"
"Oh, yeah, " said Ron. "Bound to be, isn't it? O.W.L.s are really important; affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. "We get career advice too, later this year. Bill told me. So you can choose your N.E.W.T.s you want to do next year."

"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?" Harry asked as the three of them as they set off toward their History of Magic lesson. "Not really," said Ron slowly. "Except…well…" he looked slightly sheepish.

"What?" Harry urged him. "Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror," said Ron in an offhand voice. "Yeah, it would," said Harry fervently.

"But they're like, the elite," said Ron. "You've got to be really good! What about you, Liz?"

Lizzie shrugged. "I was thinking of going to Muggle university after graduation," she said. "Really?" asked Harry. "Yeah, I want to try and get into veterinary school," said Lizzie. "You want to be a veterinarian?" asked Hermione, smiling in appreciation. She knew that although Lizzie did enjoy making and having friends, she much preferred the company of animals.

"What about you, Hermione?" asked Lizzie. "I don't know," said Hermione. "I think I'd like to do something worthwhile."

"An Auror's worthwhile!" said Harry. "Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I mean, if I could take S.P.E.W further….."

S.P.E.W stood for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare – an organization dedicated to improving the rights of house-elves that Hermione had founded the previous year.

Lizzie took a detour to the hospital wing so she could take her morning medication, and took her seat inside the History of Magic classroom fifteen minutes later.

History of Magic was by common consent, the most boring subject ever devised by Wizard-kind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather.

He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather gazed sleepily into space. Harry and Ron had so far managed to scrape passes in this subject by copying Hermione's notes before exams. Only she and Lizzie seemed to be able to resist the porific power of Binns' voice.

Today, they suffered through three-quarters of an hour's droning on the subject of giant wars. Harry heard just enough within the first ten minutes to appreciate dimly that in another teacher's hands, this subject might have been mildly interesting, but then his brain disengaged, and he spent the remaining thirty-five minutes playing hangman on a corner of his parchment with Ron, while Hermione shot them filthy looks out of the corner of her eye.

"How would it be," she asked them coldly as they left the classroom for break (Binns drifting away through the blackboard), "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?" "Me too," Lizzie chimed in. "We'd fail our O.W.L.s," said Ron. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione….."

"Well, you'd deserve it," Hermione snapped. "You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"

"We do try," said Ron. "We just haven't got you or Lizzie's brains or your memory, or concentration – you two are just cleverer than we are – is it nice to rub it in?"

"Oh, don't give me that rubbish," said Hermione, but she looked slightly mollified as she led the way into the damp courtyard.

A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the yard looked blurred at the edges. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Lizzie chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year.

They had got as far as agreeing it was likely to be something extremely difficult, just to catch them off-guard after a two-month holiday, when Lizzie looked up and saw Hayden walk under the stone balcony with a group of friends. His long curly hair was damp and slightly plastered to his face. He was talking to a tall blonde boy that Lizzie could have easily mistaken for Malfoy if it not for his navy blue robes, and Canadian accent.

"What are you staring at, Lizzie?" asked Hermione, looking in the direction that Lizzie was staring and saw Hayden. She stared at Lizzie and snapped her fingers under her nose. "Hey, Earth to Lizzie!" she said. "Sorry, I didn't catch that, Hermione, what were you saying?" asked Lizzie, tearing her eyes away from Hayden.

"That has got to be the fourth time….." "Fifth," Ron corrected her. "Okay – fifth time I have caught you staring at him! Just go and introduce yourself!"

Lizzie bit her lip. As friendly as she was when people got to know her, she was also painfully shy. When it came to meeting new people, Lizzie almost never made introductions. It was always the other way around.

Lizzie opened her mouth to speak when the bell rang and they made their way down to the dungeons for Potions.

She filed into the classroom behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione and followed them to their usual table at the back.

"Settle down," said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him. There was no real need for the call to order, the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape's mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class's silence.

"Before we begin today's lesson," said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, "I think it's appropriate to remind you all that next June, you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are….." He shot an icy glance at Lizzie. "I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your O.W.L., or suffer my….displeasure."

His gaze lingered on Lizzie who swallowed hard.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on. "I take only the very best in my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means some of us will most certainly be saying goodbye."

His eyes rested this time on Harry, and his lip curled. "But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," said Snape softly, "so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students.

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: The Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation…"

"I'll take that," Lizzie whispered to Harry who smiled appreciatively. "Be warned," said Snape. "If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients, you will put the drinker into a heavy, and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing."

On Lizzie's right, Hermione sat up a bit straighter, her expression one of the utmost attentiveness.

"The ingredients and method" – Snape flicked his wand – "are on the blackboard" – (They appeared there) – "you will find everything you need – he flicked his wand again – "in the store cupboard" – (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) – "you have an hour and a half…..Start."

Just as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Lizzie had predicted, Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise then counterclockwise directions – which Lizzie would always get mixed up – the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.

"A light silver vapor should be now rising from your potion," called Snape with ten minutes left to go.

Lizzie who was sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. Her own cauldron was issuing copious amounts of dark grey steam; Ron's was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand as they had gone out.

The surface of Hermione's potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapor, and as Snape swept by, he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant that he could not find anything to criticize.

At Lizzie's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, looked down at Lizzie with a horrible smirk on his face. "Miss Brooks, what is this supposed to be?"

Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins at the front of the class looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Lizzie, who was far too timid to stand up for herself.

"Th-the D-draught of Peace…..sir," Lizzie stammered, staring at her shoes, and refusing to make eye contact. "You will look me in the eyes when you speak to me," said Snape coldly. Lizzie tried to look at him, but it was very intimidating and even physically painful.

"Tell me, Miss Brooks," said Snape softly, "can you read?"

Draco Malfoy laughed loudly.

"Yes, I can, sir," said Lizzie, her eyes had begun to water from staring at him.

"Read the third line of instructions for me, Miss Brooks,"

Lizzie squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multicolored steam now filling the dungeon, and Lizzie was legally blind in her left eye so that didn't help much either.

"Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes then add two drops of syrup of hellebore…"

Her heart sank. She had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of instructions after allowing her potion to simmer for seven minutes.

"Did you do everything on the third line, Miss Brooks?"

"No," said Lizzie quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No, sir," said Lizzie, louder so he could hear. "I forgot the hellebore…."

"I know you did, Miss Brooks, which means this…mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco."

The contents of Lizzie's potion vanished; she was left standing beside an empty cauldron.

"Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing," said Snape.

"Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone, and its uses in potion-making – I want an additional six inches for your essay, Miss Brooks," said Snape, eyeing Lizzie maliciously. "To be handed in on Thursday."

"He's kidding, right?" Lizzie whispered to Harry, as everyone filled their flagons. Harry hadn't done much better with his potion either, but the way Snape had looked at her was just downright cruel. He knew that Lizzie struggled with eye contact and forcing her to look him in the eye like that was horrible.

Lizzie's potion hadn't been worse than Ron's however, which was now giving off a foul odor of bad eggs, or in fact, Neville's which had achieved the consistency of just-mixed cement in which Neville was now having to gauge out of his cauldron, yet it was her who would be receiving zero marks for the days' work, and an additional six inches of parchment to her moonstone essay. It just didn't seem fair. She slumped down onto her seat, watching everyone else march up to Snape's desk with filled and corked flagons

When at long last, the bell rang and amazingly, Lizzie was the first out of the dungeon, and had already sat down to lunch by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined her. The ceiling had turned an even murkier grey during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows.

"That was really unfair what Snape did," said Hermione consolingly, sitting down next to Lizzie and helping herself to shepherd's pie. "Forcing you to make eye contact with him…..and your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon, the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire."

This mental image caused Lizzie to crack a smile, and a snigger escaped her mouth. Then she sighed. "Still," she said. "Since when has Snape ever been fair to me? No one else in this school is crippled or retarded or mentally unstable…"

"Don't call yourself those things, Lizzie!" said Hermione. "I mean, I thought he'd be a bit better this year – you know, now that he's in the Order and everything."

"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," said Ron sagely. "Anyone can change, Ron," said Lizzie who always strived to see the good in people. "I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where's the evidence he has ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?"

"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," snapped Hermione.

"Stop!" Lizzie shouted. Hermione and Ron froze, looking angry and offended. "Please…..just stop," Lizzie begged, already overstimulated from the disastrous Potions lesson. It was like a very dense fog had enveloped her brain, and it felt like her head was buzzing with electricity. She could feel herself on the verge of a meltdown.

And abandoning her half-eaten shepherd's pie, she swung her bag back over her shoulder and left all three of them sitting there. She didn't even notice Hayden look up from his plate to gaze at her as she left the Great Hall.

She walked up the marble staircase, past many students hurrying toward lunch. She figured that after all the time she had been at Hogwarts, she would be used to Ron and Hermione arguing, but it never seemed to get old, nor did it seem to end either.

She passed a large picture of Sir Cadogan, the knight on the landing; and when he tried too follow Lizzie by running into a neighboring picture, he was rebuffed by its inhabitant, a large and angry-looking wolfhound.

Lizzie arrived at the hospital wing early by half an hour for her physical therapy, and Madame Pomfrey was surprised that she turned up so early. "You do know that it's still the lunch hour," she said. "Not hungry," said Lizzie. "Are you feeling all right?" asked Madame Pomfrey. "I'm fine," said Lizzie "I've just had a rough day."

Madame Pomfrey smiled sympathetically and nodded. "Have you been practicing walking by yourself over the summer?" "Yeah, every day," said Lizzie. "And stretching?" asked Madame Pomfrey. "That too," said Lizzie.

"Good," said Madame Pomfrey. "Well, shall we?" she asked. "Yeah," said Lizzie as she lied down on one of the many beds that lined either side of the hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey pulled up a chair next to Lizzie and covered her with a blanket before taking her right leg in her hands as she lifted it to a ninety degree angle, bending it at the knee, and gently pushing it toward Lizzie's chest. "Say 'when'," said Madame Pomfrey as she continued to slowly push Lizzie's knee toward her chest until she felt a pull in her thigh and hip flexor. "When," said Lizzie.

Madame Pomfrey counted to thirty before releasing the tension in her leg. She let Lizzie rest for thirty more seconds before they did this twice more and repeated the process on the other leg.

Lizzie sat up and sat on the edge of the bed as Madame Pomfrey waved her wand and a two kilogram weight was conjured to Lizzie's right ankle. "All right, you're going to swing your leg out ten times, okay?" asked Madame Pomfrey. Lizzie nodded as she swung her leg outward, and was momentarily amazed at how heavy two kilos felt. Even after five reps, her leg began to feel fatigued, and after seven, it became painful as she cringed. "Just three more, Lizzie," said Madame Pomfrey encouragingly. It took a tremendous amount of effort for her to complete those last three reps, but she did it.

Afterward, Madame Pomfrey waved her wand, transferring the weight on Lizzie's ankle from the right to the left as she performed ten reps on the other leg, which was a lot more difficult, considering her right leg was her stronger leg.

Finally, with ten minutes to go before the bell rang for afternoon lessons, Madame Pomfrey gave her two crutch-like walking canes as she started walking from one end of the hospital wing to the other.

Then when she got to the door, Madame Pomfrey took one cane away and had her walk with just one. It was a lot more difficult. She definitely felt more balanced with two, and was terrified of falling, but she kept thinking of what her ultimate goal was: to walk without any support or assistive devices. She had this goal ever since she was a first year, and was only now beginning to make real progress.

Slowly, she moved her right foot forward, then her left, then her right, one after the other as she kept her eyes looking straight ahead of her, remembering to breathe. There were a few times when she felt like she would lose her balance, but she always recovered, and never actually fell.

"Well done," said Madame Pomfrey, smiling, taking the cane back from Lizzie, looking pleased with her progress. "Your balance is improving and you look steadier on your feet. I can tell you've been working hard," she said. "Thanks," said Lizzie, smiling. "How have you been?" asked Madame Pomfrey. "I know that losing Raven was really hard for you…"

"I don't want to talk about it," said Lizzie. "All right," said Madame Pomfrey slowly. "But if you need to talk – for any reason at all….."

"I'm late for Divination, I've got to go," said Lizzie as she turned and left quickly without saying another word.

She made it up to North Tower, and it was another ten minutes before Harry and Ron showed up. "How was physical therapy?" asked Harry. "Brutal as always," said Lizzie as they ascended the silver ladder that led to Sibyll Trelawney's classroom.

Lizzie had never liked Divination. Not only was the subject very boring, and made her question as to why Hogwarts offered it as an elective at all, but it was also hard for her to take Professor Trelawney seriously. She was a very thin woman, heavily draped in shawls and glittering with strings of beads, and always had reminded Lizzie of some type of insect, with her glasses hugely magnifying her eyes.

She was busy putting copies of battered leather-bound books on each of the spindly little tables with which her room was littered. Lizzie set her walker near the trapdoor, and Harry helped her to sit down on one of the many overstuffed poufs that surrounded the tables.

"Hermione and I have stopped arguing," said Ron to Lizzie, sitting down next to her and Harry. "Good," said Lizzie. "Thank you." "We didn't mean to upset you, Liz," said Ron sheepishly.

"Forget it," said Lizzie.

"Good day," said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice, and Lizzie, Harry, Ron, and the rest of the class directed their attention to her.

"And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely – as of course, I knew you would.

"You will find on the tables before you, copies of The Dream Oracle by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your O.W.L. Not of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates, and grades matter very little. However, the headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so…

Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above sordid matters as examinations. No wonder Hermione left, Lizzie thought.

"Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then, divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on."

The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. At the table next to Harry, Ron, and Lizzie, Dean Thomas had paired up with Neville who immediately embarked on a long-winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother's best hat; Harry, Ron, and Lizzie exchanged glum looks.

"I never remember my dreams," said Ron. "You say one."

"You must remember one of them," said Harry impatiently. "Lizzie?" asked Ron.

Lizzie didn't want to share her dreams with anyone. She knew perfectly well what her reoccurring nightmares about Raven and the day he had to be put down meant. She didn't need Harry, Ron, Trelawney, or the stupid Dream Oracle to tell her that…..

"Well, I had one that I was playing Quidditch the other night," said Ron, screwing up his face in an effort to remember. "What d'you think that means?"

"Maybe you want to try out for the team?" Lizzie volunteered.

It was very dull work, looking up bits of dreams in the Oracle and Lizzie was not cheered up when Professor Trelawney set them the task of keeping a dream diary for a month as homework.

This might have been to her benefit if she was seeing a therapist, but she wasn't. In fact, she wasn't talking to anyone about her grief over losing Raven. When the bell rang, Lizzie was just about to descend through the trapdoor, when Professor Trelawney suddenly called her back.

"My dear, I sense that you will meet somebody this year…a handsome stranger…I think – I think his name begins with 'H',"

Lizzie frowned, not sure what to make of this information. "Professor," she said uncertainly. "Apart from Harry, I don't know anyone who's name begins with 'H'," "You will," said Trelawney, "and he will be extremely important to you. At some future date, he will save your life."

Feeling very confused, Lizzie left the classroom with Harry and Ron, who were looking equally bemused.

"D'you realize how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot and a half long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones…"

"A foot and a half for me," said Lizzie gloomily. "And now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! By the way, Liz, what did she mean when she said you would meet a handsome stranger that would save your life this year?"

"No idea," said Lizzie, shrugging. It didn't make any sense to her either. "Fred and George weren't wrong about O.W.L. year were they? That Umbridge woman better not give us any….."

As they walked down the corridor, Lizzie thought about what Professor Trelawney had said. She would meet someone new this year….his name would begin with 'H', and he would save her life…What could it all possibly mean?

She wasn't conscious of what her feet were doing as she dragged her left foot across the stone floor and tripped as she stumbled and fell to her knees, gripping the handles of her walker tightly for dear life, but her hands were sweaty as she lost her grip and instead threw them out in front of her to break her fall. Losing her balance and falling was not an uncommon occurrence for Lizzie; it happened at least three to four times a week.

Her bag slid off her shoulder and spilled onto the floor; her books, quill, parchment, and her bottle of ink rolled across the floor as Lizzie hastily scrambled to get it all back into her bag as the final bell rang. "I'll be right there," said Lizzie as she stuffed her books back into her bag.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shrugged as they walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. She didn't want them to be late too.

Hayden had been walking along the corridor on his way to Charms with a group of his friends when he saw Lizzie kneeling on the ground, desperately trying to cram the remainder of her things back into her bag. She was already late.

"Hey, you guys go ahead without me, okay? I'll catch up with you!" said Hayden, as he started to break away from the group. "Hayden…" said a girl with curly brown hair. "Tell Professor Flitwick I'm coming!" said Hayden as he ran over to Lizzie and knelt down beside her, helping her pick up her things. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, random gravity check," said Lizzie. Hayden laughed as he helped her to put the remainder of her things back in her bag before reaching out a hand as Lizzie took it and Hayden helped her to her feet. Lizzie was momentarily surprised at his firm grip on her hand, how strong he was, and that she didn't drag him down with her. "Easy, I've got you," said Hayden as Lizzie allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"Thanks so much for that, that was very kind," said Lizzie. "No problem," said Hayden as he held out his hand to her. "I'm Hayden Chamberlain," he said. Lizzie reached out and took it. "Elizabeth Brooks – but everyone calls me 'Lizzie'," "It's nice to meet you, Lizzie," said Hayden smiling at her, making him, if at all possible, even more good-looking.

"I'd….better get going," said Lizzie, jerking her head toward the classroom door, and releasing her grip on Hayden's hand. "I guess I'll see you around," said Hayden, continuing to smile at her. "Sure," said Lizzie. "It was nice to meet you, Hayden." "You too," said Hayden as he watched Lizzie walk into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom before walking down the corridor towards the Charms classroom.

When she entered the classroom, Professor Umbridge was already seated at the teacher's desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head.

Lizzie was reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad.

The remainder of the class was quiet as she entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity, and nobody knew yet how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down.

A few people, including Lizzie mumbled, "good afternoon" in reply.

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.

"There now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away, and quills out, please."

Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order "wands away" had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting.

Lizzie shoved her wand back inside her bag and pulled out quill, ink, and parchment.

Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

Defense Against the Dark Arts

A Return to Basic Principles

"Well, now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

"The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, h as unfortunately resulted in you being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the blackboard again, the first message vanished, and was replaced by:

Course aims:

Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

For a couple of minutes, the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she said, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room. "Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad's eyes. Lizzie turned to page five of her copy of Defensive Magical Theory and began to read.

It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns.

She felt her concentration sliding away from her; she had soon read the same line half a dozen times, without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to her, Harry appeared to be as zoned out as she was, and Ron was absentmindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Lizzie looked to her right and received a surprise to shake her out of her torpor.

Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air.

Lizzie could never remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. She gazed at her questioningly, but Hermione merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.

After several more minutes had passed, however, Lizzie was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye than to struggle on with 'Basics for Beginners.'

When more than half of the class were staring at Hermione, rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. "If you have any other queries, we can deal with them at the end of the lesson."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows. "And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class, Lizzie included, turned their heads to frown at the three course aims written on the blackboard. Lizzie silently admitted to herself that Hermione had a point. There was absolutely nothing written about using defensive spells. Nothing at all.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine a situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron blurted out. "Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.…"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand in the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely turned her back on him. Lizzie, Harry, and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Lizzie for a moment before she addressed Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to learn and practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Umbridge in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but…"

"Well, then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. "She has a right to express her opinion!" said Lizzie. Professor Umbridge's eyes wandered to Lizzie. "The opinions of students have no bearing in my classroom, Miss…" "Brooks," said Lizzie. "You did not raise your hand, Miss Brooks," said Professor Umbridge. "As I was saying, you will be learning about defensive spells in a secure risk-free way….."

"What use is that?" said Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free….."

"Hand, Mr. Potter," sang Professor Umbridge. Harry thrust his fist into the air. Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him again, but now several other people had their hands up too.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said to Dean.

"Dean Thomas,"

"Well, Mr. Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" asked Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be…"

"I repeat," said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my class?"

"No, but…."

Professor Umbridge talked over him.

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school, she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed – not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."

"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean Thomas angrily. "he was the best we ever…"

"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day…."

"No, we haven't!" said Lizzie, shocked at these blatantly false claims, "we just….."

"Your hand is not up, Miss Brooks!"

Lizzie shot up her hand; Professor Umbridge turned away from her. "It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you…"

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean Thomas hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads…."

"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" trilled Professor Umbridge. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry, that a theoretical knowledge will be more tha sufficient to get you through your examinations, which after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter curses and things?"

Even though she no longer considered Parvati a friend at this time, Lizzie had to admit that she, like Hermione had a point. How on earth were they expected to pass their O.W.L.s if they were not permitted to use defensive magic in a practical application?

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Professor Umbridge dismissively.

"Without ever practicing them before?" asked Parvati incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exams?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough….."

"And what good is theory going to be in the real world?" asked Lizzie loudly, her fist in the air once more. Professor Umbridge looked up. "This is school, Miss Brooks, not the real world," she said softly. "So let me see I understand this," said Lizzie. "You're telling us not to be prepared for what's out there? At all?"

"There is nothing out there, dear," said Professor Umbridge. "Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"

Lizzie opened her mouth to speak, but Harry interjected. "Hmm, let's think," he said in a mock thoughtful voice. "Maybe, Lord Voldemort?"

Ron gasped; Lavender brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his desk, Lizzie stared openmouthed at him. Professor Umbridge however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor Mr. Potter,"

Lizzie made a move to stand up, but Hermione grabbed her and forced her back into her seat. "Don't! You'll make things worse!" Hermione hissed in he ear. The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.

"Now let me make a few things quite plain,"

Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned toward them, her stubby fingered hand splayed on her desk. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead…."

"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned."

"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.

"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening, five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard"

"So you give him detention for telling the truth?" said Lizzie getting to her feet suddenly as everyone simultaneously turned in their desks to look at her. "If anyone is lying, it's your Ministry for saying You-Know-Who hasn't returned! Are you seriously that delusional or are you just too afraid to face the truth?"

It seemed as though no one could decide what was more remarkable in this situation; Lizzie standing up to a teacher, or that she had the balance to stand from her desk unsupported when she otherwise wouldn't have.

"You will join Mr. Potter in detention Miss Brooks," said Umbridge. "Now as I was saying, you are not in any danger, and if you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I'm here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'

"You didn't have to do that," said Harry after class had ended as they stopped by Gryffindor tower to deposit their bags in their dormitories before heading down to the Great Hall for dinner. "I couldn't listen to what she was saying," said Lizzie. "You told the truth about You-Know-Who, and she gives you detention? That's not right!"

"But did you have to call her 'delusional'?" asked Harry. "Did you hear her?" asked Lizzie furiously. "The things she was saying were absurd! And she expects us to pass our O.W.L.s without learning anything!" "Still, there's a time and a place for speaking your mind, Liz," said Harry. "You should have kept it to yourself."

Deep down, Lizzie knew Harry was right, but on the other hand, he was her best friend, and she hated seeing her friends being treated unfairly by anyone. Even Professor Umbridge.

As they sat down in the Great hall, the news about what happened in Umbridge's class seemed to have traveled exceptionally fast, even by Hogwarts standards. People were staring at Lizzie even more than normal now. Apparently word had also gone around that she had suddenly grown a spine in Umbridge's class.

Lizzie was just beginning to help herself to food, when she felt a tap on her shoulder, causing her to recoil at the sensation, and jump slightly, then immediately turned around. Hayden was standing there, smiling at her. "Hi, again," he said. "Hey," said Lizzie, smiling. "Mind if I sit with you?" he asked, nodding at the empty seat next to Lizzie. "Sure," said Lizzie as Hayden took a seat next to her. "Guys, this is Hayden Chamberlain. Hayden, meet Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger – they're my best friends."

"Nice to meet you three," said Hayden. "So you're staying for the year?" asked Hermione. "Yeah, just this year," said Hayden. "How do you like Hogwarts so far?" asked Lizzie. "It's really nice. A lot bigger than my school. The moving staircases caught me off guard," said Hayden.

Rain pounded the high windows and Lizzie saw lightning flash outside. "How was your first day?" asked Lizzie. "Good," said Hayden. "Find your lessons okay?" asked Hermione. "I almost got lost a few times, then got my foot caught in a trick step….." "Oh, I hate those!" said Lizzie.

"So are you in fifth year too?" asked Harry, noticing the prefect badge pinned to Hayden's robes. "Uh, no actually, sixth," said Hayden.

"One more year to go then, eh?" asked Ron. "Actually no," said Hayden. "In Toronto, students start at ten and finish at eighteen, so we have eight years of study." "Interesting," said Lizzie. "So you guys are in fifth year – that means O.W.L.s right?" asked Hayden. "Yep," said Lizzie. "Yeah, I remember those," said Hayden. "Half my year had panic attacks in the weeks leading up to O.W.L.s,"

"And that Umbridge woman won't even let us use magic!" said Lizzie.

"Really?" asked Hayden, who hadn't had a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson yet. Lizzie shook her head. "All we do is read from the stupid textbook," she said.

A burly seventh year Gryffindor walked up to Hayden. "Hayden Chamberlain?" he asked "Yeah?" asked Hayden. "Professor McGonagall told me to tell you that Jedi will be arriving tomorrow afternoon," said the boy as Hayden smiled. "Thanks," he said as the boy walked away.

"Who's Jedi?" asked Lizzie. "He's my horse," said Hayden. "You have a horse?" asked Lizzie looking interested. "Mm-hmm," said Hayden.

"What discipline do you ride in?" asked Lizzie. "Eventing," said Hayden. "That's dressage….."

Lizzie smiled. "Yeah, I know, I used to ride in the same discipline," she said. "Used to?" asked Hayden. "Yeah, used to," said Lizzie. "You don't anymore?" asked Hayden. "No," said Lizzie. "Why not?" asked Hayden.

"My horse died," said Lizzie, staring at her plate. "I'm sorry," said Hayden. "Why are you feeling sorry for her?" asked a voice as they both looked up to see Lavender and Seamus glaring at Lizzie. "You know she killed her horse right?" asked Lavender. "Now, wait a minute!" said Hayden, standing up from his seat. "That a little uncalled for!"

Lavender shrugged unfazed. "Well, she did," she said, her eyes fixed on Lizzie. "Raven would have done anything for you, and this is what you do to him? How do you live with yourself? Dumbledore should have expelled you, you'd deserve it!"

Hayden continued to glare at Lavender, but Lizzie stayed still in her seat as she felt her chest constrict, and the buzzing that she felt inside her brain had returned…she couldn't feel anything anymore. Not physically, not mentally, She was completely and totally numb.

She got up and pushed her way past Lavender and Seamus as she walked toward the doors of the Great Hall. "Lizzie, wait!" Hayden called after her. Lizzie ignored him as she walked out into the entrance hall.

It felt like everything was moving in slow motion around her, she barely noticed what direction she was going, and bumped into several people. She ran up the marble staircase and down the corridor, her heart pounding in her throat with Lavender's scathing words echoing in her head….Raven would have done anything for you, and this is what you do to him…Was it worth it?...Was killing him worth it?...How do you live with yourself…..Dumbledore should have expelled you…you'd deserve it…..

Lizzie rounded a corner and pushed her way into a girls restroom as she ran into a stall, locked the door, and sat down on the toilet. It was all just too much, the hurt she was feeling over Raven's death was too much…..She had no one to talk to, because no one had been patient enough to give her the time of day…No one listened….No one cared…..she hated herself for what happened, she felt like a horrible person and a horrible rider for what she did….the pain, the guilt, the anger, the self-hatred…it was all too much. She needed to let it out somehow…..Make it go away…..

Lizzie reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a silver tampon case, opened it and reached carefully underneath the four or so tampons inside the case before withdrawing a single razor blade and staring at it.

Then she rolled up the sleeve of her robes, her sweater, unbuttoned the cuff of her shirt and rolled that up too, exposing her forearm. There were several faint scars all along her arm…

Tears streaming down her face and her hand shaking slightly, Lizzie held the razor blade in her hand as she slowly drug it across her inner forearm, breaking the skin as blood came to the surface.

Lizzie inhaled through her teeth, wincing as she stared down at the fresh cut she had just made, the pain offering her a momentary distraction from the emotional pain that she had internalized for the past three months, and was slowly eating her alive.

She sighed as she made another cut in her inner forearm, going deeper this time, then grabbing a wad of toilet paper from the roll on the wall, then pressing it to her arm to staunch the bleeding.

She held it there for a good two minutes before the bleeding finally stopped, and lizzie got up and unlatched the lock on the stall before stepping out and walking over to the sink, turning on the cold tap and rinsing the blood off her razor before carefully placing it back in her tampon case, and slipping it back into the pocket of her robes.

She winced as she ran her forearm under the cold stream of water flowing from the faucet to wash off the excess blood before carefully patting it dry with a towel and rolling down her sleeve of her white shirt, buttoning the cuff, and rolling down the sleeve of her sweater and robes before exiting the bathroom.

She felt like her first day back had lasted a week, and she still had a mountain of homework to do, and then detention with Umbridge tomorrow.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," said Lizzie before the Fat Lady could ask. The portrait swung open to revel the hole behind as she scrambled through it, taking her walker with her.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione appeared to be in some deep conversation when Lizzie walked into the room as the three of them looked up and saw her standing there. "Where'd you go?" asked Hermione. "I….." said Lizzie, thinking quickly. "I….fancied a walk." "Hayden was worried about you," said Harry. Lizzie smiled. "Tell him I'm fine," said Lizzie. "Don't listen to what Lavender or Seamus say about Raven! You knew him better than anyone…" "I don't care anymore," said Lizzie. This was a lie. She did care. Perhaps a bit too much.

There was a soft mewing sound as Lizzie looked down and saw Hermione's large ginger cat Crookshanks rubbing against her legs and the bars of her walker, purring loudly. Lizzie smiled as she picked him up and settled into an armchair, snuggling him close and kissing him fondly.

Hermione smiled. She liked to see Lizzie getting along with her cat, knowing how much Lizzie loved animals.

Lizzie set Crookshanks down on her lap as he curled up there like a furry ginger cushion as she gazed into the fire, feeling emotionally drained.

"How can Dumbledore have let this happen?" Hermione cried suddenly, making Lizzie jump as she gasped and doubled over, as if in pain, clutching her heart. Lizzie had an exaggerated startle reflex and hated being started or scared. Crookshanks jumped from her lap, looking affronted. Hermione pounded the arms of her chair in fury so that bits of stuffing leaked out of the holes.

"How can he let that terrible woman teach us? And in our O.W.L. year too!"

"Well, we've never had great Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?" asked Harry. "You know what it's like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job, they say it's jinxed."

This was true. Ever since Lizzie first arrived at Hogwarts, none of their Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers had lasted more than a year.

"Lupin was pretty great," said Lizzie. Remus Lupin had been their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in their third year. But for Lizzie, he was more than just a teacher. He was like the father she never had, and had been the one who had taught her how to ride a horse.

"yeah, bit to employ someone who's actually refusing to let us do magic? What's Dumbledore playing at?" asked Harry.

"And she's trying to get people to spy for her," said Ron darkly. "Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who is back?"

"Of course she's here to spy on us all, that's obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?" Hermione snapped.

"Don't start arguing again," said Harry, nodding in Lizzie's direction, as Ron opened his mouth to retaliate. "Can we just…..Let's just do that homework, get it out of the way….."

They collected their schoolbags and returned to their chairs by the fire. People were coming back from dinner now. Lizzie kept her face averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stare she was attracting.

"Shall we do Snape's stuff first?" asked Ron, dipping his quill into his ink. "'The properties….of moonstone…..and its uses…in potion making'," he muttered, writing the words across the top of the parchment as he spoke them. "There," He underlined the title, then looked up at Lizzie expectantly. "So, what are the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion making?"

"Don't answer him, Lizzie," said Hermione firmly. "Why are you asking me anyway?" asked Lizzie. "You're the second brightest student in our year!" said Ron. Lizzie smiled and blushed, obviously flattered. "What's up, Hermione?" asked Lizzie, who had noticed Hermione squinting over into the far corner of the room, where Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were sitting at the center of a knot of innocent-looking first years, all of whom were chewing something that seemed to have come out of a large paper bag that Fred was holding.

"Oh, no!" said Lizzie, realizing what was going on. "They're not seriously….."

"They've gone too far!" said Hermione, sanding up and looking positively furious. "Come on, Ron."

"I – what?" asked Ron, plainly playing for time. "No – come on, Hermione – we can't tell them off for giving out sweets….."

"I don't think those are sweets, Ron," said Lizzie anxiously. Hermione nodded vigorously. "You know perfectly well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat or – or Puking Pastilles, or….."

"Fainting Fancies?" Lizzie whispered to Harry as they both smirked. One by one, as though hit over the head with invisible mallets, the first years, were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right onto the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out. Most of the people watching were laughing; Hermione however, squared her shoulders and marched directly over to where Fred and George now stood with clipboards closely observing the unconscious first years.

Ron rose halfway out of his chair, hovering uncertainly for a moment or two, then muttered to Harry and Lizzie, "She's got it under control," before sinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted.

"That's enough!" said Hermione forcefully to Fred and George, both of whom looked up in mild surprise. "Yeah, you're right," said George, nodding, "this dosage looks strong enough doesn't it?"

"I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish on students!"

"We're paying them!" said Fred indignantly.

"I don't care! It could be dangerous!"

"Rubbish!" said Fred.

"Calm down, Hermione, they're fine!" said Lee reassuringly, as he walked from first year to first year, inserting purple sweets into their open mouths.

"Yeah, look, they're coming around now," said George. A few of the first years were indeed stirring. Several looked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, or dangling off their chairs, that Lizzie was sure that Fred and George had not warned them what the sweets were going to do.

"Feel all right?" asked George kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet.

"I-I think so," she said shakily.

"Excellent," said Fred happily, but the next second, Hermione had snatched both his clipboard and the paper bag of Fainting Fancies from his hands.

"It is NOT excellent!"

" 'Course it is, they're alive aren't they?" said Fred angrily.

"You can't do this, what if you make one of them really ill?"

"We're not going to make them ill, we've already tested them all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reacts the same…."

"If you don't stop doing this, I'm going to….."

"Put us in detention?" said Fred in an 'I'd-like-to-see-you-try-it' voice.

"Make us write lines?" said George smirking.

Onlookers all over the room were laughing. Hermione drew herself up to her fullest height, her eyes were narrowed and her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity. "No," she said, her voice quivering wit anger, "but I will write to your mother!"

"Oh!" said Lizzie, clapping a hand to her mouth and laughing. "You wouldn't," said George, horrified, taking a step back from her. "Oh, yes, I would!" said Hermione grimly. "I can't stop you from eating the stupid things yourselves, but you're not giving them to first years."

Fred and George looked thunderstruck. With a last threatening look at them, she thrust Fred's clipboard and the bag of Fancies back into his arms and stalked back to her chair by the fire.

"Threatening to write to their mum – priceless!" said Lizzie admirably, still laughing. Hermione scowled at Ron. "Thank you for your support, Ron," she said acidly. "You handled it fine by yourself," Ron mumbled. Hermione stared down at her blank piece of parchment for a few seconds, then said edgily, "Oh, it's no good, I can't concentrate now, I'm going to bed."

"I second that," said Lizzie, opening her bag and putting her stuff back inside. Hermione opened her, and pulled out two misshapen woolly objects, placed them carefully on a table by the fireplace, covered them up with a few screwed up bits of parchment, and a broken quill and stood back to admire the effect. "What on earth…" said Lizzie watching her as though she had lost her mind.

"They're hats for the house-elves," she said briskly, now stuffing her books back into her bag. "I did them over the summer. I'm a really slow knitter without magic, but now I'm back at school, I should be able to make lots more."

"I could teach you how to knit faster," Lizzie offered. "Oh, no, thanks, Lizzie. Doing it by magic is much more efficient," said Hermione. "But knitting by hand is more fun!" said Lizzie. "Thanks, Lizzie," said Hermione. "But this'll be quicker."

"And you're leaving out hats for the house-elves?" asked Lizzie slowly. "And you're covering them up with rubbish first?" "Yes," said Hermione defiantly, swinging her bag onto her back. "You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats! You're setting them free when they may not want to be!"

"Of course they want to be free!" said Hermione at once. "Did they say that to you personally? Or are you a mind reader?" asked Lizzie. She had touched a raw nerve as Hermione's face turned pink. "Don't you dare touch those hats, Lizzie!" she said as she stormed up the stairs to the girls dormitories and Lizzie followed shortly after.

The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. Hagrid was still absent from the staff table at breakfast.

"But on the plus side, no Snape today," said Ron bracingly.

"That's true," said Lizzie, spreading marmalade on her toast as Hayden joined her. "Where'd you go last night?" he asked. "I just…..I went for a walk," said Lizzie.

She looked over at Hermione who looked mildly pleased about something, and when Ron asked her what she had to be so happy about, she simply said, "The hats have gone. Seems the house-elves do want freedom after all."

"Hermione wants to free the school house-elves," said Lizzie, noticing Hayden's bewildered expression.

"Hermione," said Hayden patiently. "You know it's not up to you to…." But he stopped talking immediately when he saw Lizzie miming slitting her own throat, warning him to stop talking.

Hayden walked with Lizzie to Charms, all the while, talking animatedly with each other. "So you had a horse?" asked Hayden. "Raven," said Lizzie, nodding. "And he passed away?" asked Hayden. "Yeah, three months ago," said Lizzie. "I'm sorry," said Hayden. "Yeah, me too," said Lizzie.

"If you ever need someone to talk to…" said Hayden, in his best attempt to be helpful and comforting. "I appreciate that, Hayden, but I'm okay," said Lizzie, forcing a smile. Inside, she felt like she was dying.

Hayden nodded. "See you later, he said as he walked toward the dungeons for Potions.

Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of O.W.L.s.

"What you must remember," said little Professor Flitwick squeakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, "is that these examinations may influence your future for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice."

They then spent more than an hour reviewing Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick were bound to come up in their O.W.L. and he rounded off the lesson by setting them their largest amount of Charms homework ever.

It was the same, if not worse in Transfiguration.

"You cannot pass an O.W.L.," said Professor McGonagall grimly, "without serious application, practice, and study. I see no reason why everyone in this class should not achieve an O.W.L. in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work."

Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise. "Yes, you too, Longbottom," said McGonagall. "There is nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So…..today we are starting Vanishing Spells, these are easier than Conjuring Spells which you will not usually attempt until N.E.W.T. level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on your O.W.L."

She was quite right; everyone found the Vanishing Spell to be horribly difficult. By the end of the double period though, both Lizzie and Hermione managed to vanish their snails on the third try, earning them ten points apiece for Gryffindor, and Lizzie would have sworn that McGonagall smiled at her.

She and Hermione were the only two that were not given homework; everybody else was told to practice the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon.

Now, beginning to panic about the amount of homework she had to do, Lizzie spent her lunch hour in the library, looking up the uses of moonstone in potion making. Hayden joined her after fifteen minutes, offering some much needed insight on the subject, making the process of writing the essay go much quicker.

She trudged down to the grounds for Care of Magical Creatures after lunch with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The day had become cool and breezy and as they walked down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces.

Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards away from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her, laden with many twigs.

As Lizzie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione reached her, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding toward them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. He had clearly said something highly amusing because Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table.

Judging by the fact that all of them kept looking over at Lizzie, she was able to guess what the subject of the joke was about without much difficulty.

"Everyone here ?" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. "Let's crack on then – who can tell me what these things are called?"

She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her. Hermione's hand had shot into the air, but to everyone's surprise, so did Lizzie's. Behind her back, Malfoy did an impression of her raising her hand, with a mentally slow expression on his face.

Pansy Parkinson gave a shriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixieish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand, and a funny, flat barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.

"Ooooooooh!" said Parvati and Lavender, thoroughly irritating Lizzie; Anyone would have thought that Hagrid never showed them impressive creatures; admittedly the flobberworms had been a bit dull, but the salamanders and hippogriffs had been interesting enough, and the Blast-Ended Skrewts, perhaps too much so.

"Kindly keep your voices down, girls!" said Professor Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering handfuls of what looked like brown rice among the stick creatures who immediately fell upon the food. "So – anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Brooks?"

"Bowtruckles," said Lizzie clearly. "They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand trees,"

"Five points to Gryffindor!" said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Yes, these are bowtruckles,, and as Miss Brooks rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?"

"Wood lice," said Lizzie promptly, which explained why what Harry had taken for grains of brown rice were moving. "But fairy eggs if they can get them."

"Good girl, take another five points. So whenever you need some leaves or wood from a tree in which a bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of wood lice ready to distract or placate it.

They may not look dangerous, but if angered, they will gouge out human eyes with their fingers, which as you can see are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So, if you'd like to gather closer, take a few wood lice and a bowtruckle – I have enough here for one between three – you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body parts labeled by the end of the lesson."

The class surged forward around the trestle table. Lizzie deliberately circled around the back so that she ended up right next to Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Excuse me, Professor, but where is Hagrid?" she asked her, while everyone else was choosing a bowtruckle.

"Never you mind," said Professor Grubbly-Plank repressively, which had been her attitude last time Hagrid had failed to turn up for a class too. Smirking all over his pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Lizzie, pushing her so hard she nearly lost her balance and fell.

"Maybe," said Malfoy in an undertone, so that only Lizzie could hear him, "the stupid oaf's gotten himself badly injured."

"You're the one who's gonna be injured in about two seconds if you don't shut up," said Lizzie out of the corner of her mouth.

"Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you get my drift."

Malfoy walked away, smirking over his shoulder at Lizzie, who suddenly felt sick. Did Malfoy know something? His father was a Death Eater, after all. What if he had information about Hagrid that had not yet reached the Order's ears? She hurried as quick as her legs would allow her to move, back around the table to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were squatting on the grass some distance away and attempting to persuade a bowtruckle to remain still long enough to draw it.

Lizzie pulled out parchment and quill and turned her walker around so she could lean against the back of it while she sketched the bowtruckle.

As she drew, she related in a whisper what Malfoy had just said.

"Dumbledore would know if something had happened to Hagrid, Liz," said Hermione at once. "It's just playing into Malfoy's hands to look worried. It tells him we don't know exactly what's going on. We've got to ignore him. Here, hold the bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can draw its face…"

"Yes," came Malfoy's clear drawl from the group nearest to them. "Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago,, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on the substandard teaching in this place, So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straightaway….."

"OW!"

Lizzie had gripped the bowtruckle so hard that it nearly snapped; it had just taken a great retaliatory swipe at her hand with its sharp fingers, leaving two long deep cuts there. Lizzie dropped it, sucking on the cuts that had begun to bleed heavily. She had a first aid kit in her dorm. She wished that she had it with her.

Crabbe and Goyle who had already been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked, laughed still harder as the bowtruckle set off at full tilt toward the forest, a little moving stickman soon swallowed by the tree roots. When the bell echoed distantly over the grounds, Lizzie rolled up her portrait of the bowtruckle that was dotted with blood and marched off to Herbology. With her hand wrapped in a handkerchief of Hermione's and Malfoy's derisive laughter ringing in her ears.

"If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time, I swear to God…." Lizzie growled. "Lizzie, don't go picking a row with Malfoy, don't forget he's a prefect now, he could make life really hard for you….." "Harder than he already has, you mean?" asked Lizzie. Ron laughed, but Hermione frowned. Together they traipsed across the vegetable patch. The sky still appeared unable to make up its mind whether it wanted to rain or not.

"I just wish Hagrid would hurry up and get back, that's all," said Lizzie in a low voice, as they reached the greenhouses. "And don't say that Grubbly-Plank woman's a better teacher!" said Harry threateningly, seemingly to all three of them. "We weren't going to," said Lizzie, sounding confused.

"Because she'll never be as good as Hagrid," said Harry firmly, fully aware that he had just experienced an exemplary Care of Magical Creatures lesson and was thoroughly annoyed about it.

The door to the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth years spilled out of it, including Ron's younger sister, Ginny. "Hi," she said brightly as she passed. A few seconds later, Luna Lovegood emerged, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose, and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head.

When she saw Lizzie, her prominent eyes seemed to brighten excitedly as she made a beeline straight for her. Many of her classmates turned curiously to watch. "Luna you already offered your condolences to me day before last," said Lizzie. "And that was very kind of you, but I really don't….." Luna took a great breath, and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello: "I don't like how people are treating you about how Raven died," she said. "I know it was an accident,"

"Er – right," said Lizzie awkwardly. Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes.

"You can laugh," said Luna, her voice rising apparently under the impression that Parvati and Lavender were laughing at what she had said (and maybe they were) rather than what she was wearing. "But people used to believe that there were not such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"Well, they were right, weren't they?" said Hermione impatiently. "There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

Luna gave her a withering look and flounced away, radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were not the only ones hooting with laughter now. "D'you mind not offending the only people who believe that I didn't murder my own horse?" asked Lizzie as they made their way into class.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Lizzie, you can do better than her!" said Hermione. "I think I understand her," said Lizzie in a low voice. "Ginny told me all about her, apparently she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler!"

Lizzie thought of the sinister winged horses she had seen on the night she had arrived and how Luna had said she could see them too.

Her spirits sank slightly. Had she been lying? But before she could devote much more thought to the matter, Ernie Macmillan had stopped her. "I want you to know," he said in a loud, carrying voice. "That isn't not only the weirdos who believe you, I personally believe you one hundred percent. Cedric taught you well, and I know you loved Raven, and you would never hurt him."

"Thanks," said Lizzie, taken aback, yet pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions like these, but Lizzie was in a mood to deeply appreciate a voice of confidence from someone who was not wearing radishes on their ears. Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Brown's face as she turned to talk to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Lizzie caught Seamus's expression which looked both confused and defiant.

To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them on the importance of O.W.L.s. Lizzie wished all the teachers would stop doing this; she was starting to get an anxious twisted feeling in her stomach every time she remembered how much homework she had to complete, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class.

Tired, and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprout's preferred brand of fertilizer, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much, it had been another long day.

As both Harry and Lizzie were starving, and they had their first detention with Umbridge at five o'clock (Both of them had been given a week's worth of detentions), the both of them headed straight for dinner without dropping off their bags in Gryffindor Tower so that they could bolt something down before facing whatever she had in store for them.

But not before Harry had to endure a thorough chew-out from Angelina Johnson over why he couldn't come to Quidditch tryouts.

"What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?" asked Lizzie as she and Harry joined Ron, Hermione, and Hayden at the Gryffindor table.

"Less than zero," said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chops onto his plate and starting to eat.

"Better try though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno…" "You got detention?" asked Hayden, his fork suspended in midair. "When?"

"Yesterday in Umbridge's class," said Harry. "he tried to tell the truth about You-Know-Who being back," said Lizzie. "So it's true then?" asked Hayden. "Voldemort's really back?" Lizzie choked on a mouthful of potato and began coughing violently as Hermione thumped her on the back. She took a drink of pumpkin juice and stared at Hayden. Harry not being afraid to say the name was one thing, but Hayden?

"What?" asked Hayden. "You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Lizzie. Hayden shrugged. "So?" he asked. "Doesn't bother me." "I just…wouldn't have expected…..Everyone's afraid of saying the name apart from Harry, or Dumbledore…." said Lizzie. "The way I see it, fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," said Hayden. "That's what Dumbledore says," said Harry. "I wonder how many people were afraid of saying Darth Vader's name when he took over the Empire," said Lizzie.

Hayden smiled at Lizzie. "You're a Star Wars fan?" he asked. "Yeah, you?" asked Lizzie. "Mm-hmm," said Hayden.

"I hope Umbridge doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realize we've got to write three essays, practice Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work on countercharms for Flitwick, finish the bowtruckle drawing and start on that stupid dream diary for Trelawney…."

Hayden cringed. "I'm having flashbacks of my O.W.L. year," he said. Lizzie gazed up at the ceiling. "And it looks like it's going to rain," she said. "What's that got to do with homework?" asked Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

"Nothing, it's just a statement," said Lizzie, shrugging. At five to five, Harry and Lizzie bade the three of them goodbye – with Lizzie making up a story that she was so buried in homework, she thought it best to get a head start. "I can help you," Hayden offered. "Thanks, Hayden, but I can handle it," said Lizzie. "But if I do need help, I'll let you know.

And with that, the two of them set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When they knocked on the door, she said, "Come in," in a sugary voice. They entered cautiously, looking around. The pair of them had known this office under three of its previous occupants. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here, it had been plastered in beaming portraits of its owner. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank, or in one instance, a wardrobe if you came to call. In the imposter Moody's days, it had been packed with various instruments and artifacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.

Now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and clothes. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each residing on their own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolor kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. Although Lizzie had a soft spot for kittens (or any baby animal for that matter) these were so foul that she stared at them transfixed until Professor Umbridge spoke again.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter, Miss Brooks,"

Lizzie stared and looked around. She had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk beside her. "Evening," said Harry stiffly. Lizzie merely nodded without looking at her.

"Well, sit down," she said, pointing toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up two straight-backed chairs. Two pieces of parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for them.

"Er," said Harry without moving. "Professor Umbridge? Er – before we start, I-I wanted to ask you a…a favor."

Her bulging eyes narrowed. "Oh, yes?"

"Well, I'm…..I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday, and I was – was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it – do it another night….instead…."

Lizzie cringed. Both she and Harry knew long before Harry had finished his sentence that it was no good.

"Oh, no," said Umbridge smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. "Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, both you and Miss Brooks will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you enjoy. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."

Harry felt the blood surge in his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So, he told evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, did he?

"And you, Miss Brooks," said Umbridge to Lizzie. "I assume you do not wish to ask me any favors?" "No, ma'am, said Lizzie. "Good," said Umbridge sweetly. "I heard you were once a great equestrian," she made an annoying tut-tutting noise with her tongue. "Such a pity about your horse…He did not have to die…"

Lizzie felt her heart constrict, and she literally had to bite her tongue to keep herself from retaliating or reacting in any way.

Umbridge was watching with her head tilted slightly to one side, still smiling widely as though she knew exactly what she was thinking and was waiting to see whether she would snap at her again.

With such an enormous effort, Lizzie looked away from her, dropped her schoolbag beside one of the straight-backed chairs, and sat down. Harry did the same.

"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our tempers already, aren't we? Now, the two of you are going to be doing some lines for me. No, not with your quills," she added as both Harry and Lizzie bent down to open their bags. "You two are going to be using rather special ones of mine. Here you are."

She handed each of them a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. "I would like the two of you to write 'I must not tell lies'," she told them softly. "How many times?" asked Harry with a credible imitation of politeness. "Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly. "Off you go."

She moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Lizzie raised the sharp black quill and then realized that something was missing.

"Professor Umbridge, ma'am?" asked Lizzie, looking up, Professor Umbridge met her gaze and smiled. "Yes, dear?" she said sweetly. "Um, you – you haven't given Harry or I any ink," said Lizzie. "Oh, you won't need ink," said Umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.

Lizzie and Harry glanced bewildered at each other as Lizzie put the tip of the quill to the paper and wrote: 'I must not tell lies.' Harry did the same.

Lizzie was the first to react as she let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of her right hand, cut into her skin as though traced by a scalpel – yet even as she stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before, but quite smooth.

Harry experienced the same thing. As the words faded from the back of his hand, they exchanged horrified glances.

Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watching the pair of them, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched into a smile.

"Yes?"

"Nothing," said Harry quietly.

Umbridge looked at Lizzie, who shook her head as she bent her head down and placed the quill upon the parchment once more, wrote, I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of her hand for a second time, once again, the words had been cut into her skin, and once again, they healed over seconds later.

And on it went. Again, and again Lizzie and Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what Lizzie soon came to realize was not ink, but her own blood. And again and again, the words were cut into the back of her hand, healed, and then reappeared the next time she set quill to parchment

Darkness fell outside Umbridge's office window. Neither Harry nor Lizzie asked when they would be permitted to stop. And neither of them bothered to check the time. Lizzie knew that Umbridge was watching both of them – but especially her – for signs of weakness and she was not going to show any, even if she had to sit here all night cutting open her own hand with this quill…..

"Come here," she said after what seemed like hours.

Both of them stood up. Their hands were stinging painfully. When Lizzie looked down, she saw that the cut had healed, but the skin was red raw.

"Hands," she said. Harry extended his hand first as she took it in her own on which she wore a number of ugly old rings. "Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," she said.

"Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go. Harry didn't move as Umbridge raised her eyebrows. "I'm not leaving without her," said Harry simply, nodding at Lizzie. "Very well," said Umbridge as she examined Lizzie's hand. "No, I think we can do better than that, now can't we?" she said smiling with sickly sweetness at Lizzie, which made her stomach turn.

"Very well, Miss Brooks, you may leave for tonight," said Umbridge. Lizzie couldn't get out of the office fast enough as she followed Harry out the door.

The school was quite deserted. It was surely past midnight.

"How did she know about Raven?" Lizzie demanded. "She can't've heard from anyone here! She's only been teaching for two days! D'you reckon someone told her?"

Harry shrugged. "Who, though?" he asked. "I'll bet it was Malfoy," said Lizzie "Who else could it have been?" Again, Harry shrugged as they continued to walk down the corridor.

The two of them hadn't had the time to practice Vanishing Spells, hadn't written a single dream in their dream diaries, and had not finished their drawings of the bowtruckles, nor had either of them written any of their essays.

Both Lizzie and Harry skipped breakfast the following morning so Harry could scribble down a couple of made-up dreams for Divination; Lizzie writing the same dream she had for the past three months: Raven having to be euthanized, for the first lesson of the day, and was surprised to find a disheveled Ron keeping both of them company.

"Why didn't you do it last night?" asked Lizzie curiously as Ron stared wildly around the common room for inspiration.

Ron, who had been fast asleep when Harry got back to the dormitory, muttered something about "doing other stuff," bent low over his parchment, and scrawled a few words.

"That'll have to do," he said, slamming the diary shut. "I've said I was buying a new pair of shoes, she can't make anything weird out of that, can she?"

Lizzie shrugged as they hurried off to North Tower.

"How was detention with Umbridge, anyway? What did she make you guys do?"

Harry and Lizzie glanced at each other for a moment, then Harry said, "Lines,"

"That's not too bad then, eh?" asked Ron.

"Nope," said Harry.

"Hey – I forgot – did she let you off for Friday?"

"No," said Harry.

"And she rubbed Raven's death in my face," said Lizzie. "How in the name of Merlin did she know about that?" asked Ron. "Dunno," said Lizzie. "I was wondering that too."

It was another bad day for Lizzie; normally proficient in Transfiguration, and yet not having practiced the Vanishing Spell at all, was one of the worst in the class, earning her a talking-to from McGonagall at the end of the lesson.

"Is everything all right? Anything troubling you?" she asked her, peering down through her square-framed spectacles. "I know that losing Raven…." "Don't say you know it's been hard!" said Lizzie testily. "You don't know how I feel! You haven't got the slightest clue!"

"Then tell me!" said McGonagall, looking slightly taken aback by Lizzie's hostility. "There's nothing to tell!" said Lizzie. "I just want to be left alone, okay? So, just back off! I don't need to talk to anyone!"

And with that, she strode out of the classroom without saying another word.

She had to give up her lunch hour to complete the picture of the bowtruckle, and meanwhile, McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank, and Sinistra gave them yet more homework, which she had no prospect of finishing that evening due to her second detention with Umbridge.

She was so buried in unfinished work that the stress alone was making her depression worse, and she would find herself excusing herself in the middle of the class to find a secluded spot in the castle to cut herself.

It was slowly becoming addictive. She had to do it to relieve the stress, the anxiety, and the depression that she felt. Because people in the school rarely took her seriously when she opened up about her problems, talking about it wasn't an option. All she had was the private hell inside her own mind, and her razor blade to dull the pain and make it go away, even for just a little while.

Meanwhile, Angelina Johnson tracked Harry down at dinner again, and, on learning that he would not be able to attend Friday's Keeper tryouts, told him that she was not at all impressed by his attitude, and that she expected players who wished to remain on the team, to put training before their other commitments.

"I'm in detention!" Harry yelled after her as she stalked away. "D'you think I'd rather be stuck in a room with that old toad, or playing Quidditch?"

"I hear that," said Lizzie glumly, picking at her food with her fork, even though she had never actually tried out for the team. Lizzie was afraid of heights.

Still, she thought of the homework she could be completing. She would chose homework over detention any day.

"At least it's only lines," said Hermione consolingly. I wish that was all it was, thought Lizzie as she continued to pick at her steak-and-kidney pie that she for some reason, wasn't fancying much.

"Hey, Lizzie," said Hayden, striding over to the Gryffindor table and taking a seat next to her. "Wanna hang out in the Gryffindor common room after dinner?" he asked. "I could help you with your homework…."

"I can't, Hayden," said Lizzie. "Not tonight. I've got detention." Hayden looked stunned. "With whom?" he asked. "Umbridge," said Lizzie. "I tried sticking up for Harry when he spoke out about You-Know-Who during her class, and it backfired on me, so now I've got detention too. I have to go back again tonight."

Hayden gazed sympathetically at her. "What doe she make you do?" he asked. "Lines," said Lizzie. "That doesn't sound too bad," said Hayden. "Rain check?" asked Lizzie. "Sure," said Hayden.

Lizzie didn't know why she wasn't being honest with him. Perhaps it was the fact that they hardly knew one another, and therefore Lizzie felt like she couldn't tell him? Or that she didn't want to see the look of horror on his face if she did tell him, which would make the whole thing seem worse, and more difficult to face.

And then there was also the strong-willed, stubborn part of Lizzie that didn't want to give Umbridge the satisfaction of hearing that she had complained about it. She was already so emotionally vulnerable…

The second detention was just as bad as the previous one. The skin on the back of Lizzie's hand became irritated more quickly now, red and inflamed; Lizzie thought it unlikely to keep healing as effectively for long. Soon, the cut would remain etched into her hand and Umbridge would, perhaps be satisfied.

She let no moan of pain escape her, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of her and Harry's dismissal, again, past midnight, she and Harry said nothing except "Good evening," and "Good night."

Lizzie was no stranger to pain. She had at least twelve corrective surgeries done on her legs, the last one in her second year. So this paled in comparison to that, by far.

Her homework situation, however, had now become desperate, and when she returned to the Gryffindor common room, she was surprised to see Hayden, sitting in front of the fire, his own homework spread out on the table in front of him.

Immediately, she wondered how he could have gotten into the common room, as far as she was aware, he didn't know the password. "I told him the password at dinner," said Hermione noticing Lizzie staring.

Although she was exhausted, she didn't immediately go up to bed. Rather, she walked over to where Hayden was sitting as he looked up and smiled at her. "May I sit with you?" she asked. Hayden nodded as Lizzie sat down and got out her homework, and started working.

There was a very long and somewhat awkward silence between then. Lizzie didn't look at him, though he kept glancing up at her from his Potions essay that he had been doing for Snape.

As nice and friendly as she was, Hayden couldn't help but wonder if that smile she put on her face every day was genuine. He had seen that the day he first met her. He noticed that behind her smile, she had a very sad, far away look in her eyes, like she was in pain, but covering it up, and not telling anyone for whatever the reason. He strongly suspected that there was a whole lot more to her that what was on the surface.

"How was detention with Umbridge?" asked Hayden. Lizzie pulled the sleeve of her robes over her right hand so that Hayden' couldn't see the words 'I must not tell lies' cut into her skin.

Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice this.

"Uneventful," said Lizzie, not looking up from the sketch of the bowtruckle that she was finishing.

It was incredibly detailed with shading and shadows at the base. "I didn't know you could draw," said Hayden. Lizzie smiled and handed it to him to look at. "Do you like it?" she asked. "It's really good," said Hayden. Lizzie smiled wider still as they both continued their work without much conversation.

It was nearly two in the morning when they decided to call it a night, packing up their things and mumbling an awkward 'good night' to each other before Hayden climbed out of the portrait hole.

Lizzie could have easily just fallen asleep without changing her clothes, but instead, changed into her pajamas, turned down the covers and got into bed, pulling the covers over her shoulders, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. Even Ron seemed tired. Lizzie and Harry's third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours, the words 'I must not tell lies' did not fade from the back of neither Harry nor Lizzie's hand, remaining scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. The pause in the scratching of their pointed quills made Professor Umbridge look up.

"Ah," she said softly, moving around her desk to examine both of their hands. "Good, that ought to serve as a reminder to you both, shouldn't it? You two may leave for tonight."

"Do we have to come back tomorrow?" asked Lizzie, picking up her bag with her left hand. "Oh, yes," said Professor Umbridge, smiling widely as before. "Yes, I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evening's work."

Lizzie never imagined in all the time she had been at Hogwarts that there may be another teacher that she hated more than Snape, but as she walked back to Gryffindor Tower, only stopping by the hospital wing to take her evening medication (discreetly making sure not to show Madame Pomfrey her bleeding, cut hand and taking her medication with her left hand), she had to admit that she had found a contender.

Harry seemed to read her mind as they talked about it on their way back up to Gryffindor Tower.

"She's evil!" said Lizzie, as they climbed through the portrait hole. "Twisted!" She looked up and saw Hayden sitting by the fireplace again. This time she didn't ask to sit with him, and merely sat down. "Hi," said Hayden. "Hey," said Lizzie. "Whatcha working on?" "That essay for Snape – I didn't get to finish it last night. I forgot how long six inches of parchment is…" said Hayden, his quill suspended over the parchment.

"He gave me an additional six inches for mine," said Lizzie. A drop of ink fell from the tip of Hayden's quill and he stared at her. "A full foot long essay?" he asked dumbstruck. "Did he give anyone else that much?"

"Nope, just me," said Lizzie. "Why?" asked Hayden. "He's had it in for me since the day I arrived here. I'm the only student at Hogwarts with a disability, you see, and since Snape think that autism is an intellectual disability…" "You're autistic?" asked Hayden. Lizzie nodded. "Are you okay with that? I mean, that doesn't bother you, does it?" Hayden shook his head. "I've got a friend back at school, and she's autistic too. When were you diagnosed?" he asked.

"Second year," said Lizzie. "Although McGonagall had to jump through hoops to get me assessed." "Why?" asked Hayden. "Madame Pomfrey didn't think I had it. She kept throwing out all these stereotypes and using them as reasons not to evaluate me, because they proved I wasn't autistic – so she said,"

"What were the stereotypes?" asked Hayden curiously. Lizzie sighed heavily. "I can feel empathy, I'm a girl, and girls aren't autistic…" Hayden nodded grimly. "The reason that stereotype even exists is because all of the studies done on autism were done with male test subjects – they never studied it with females, so the idea was that only boys and young men could be autistic," said Hayden, nodding. Lizzie smiled. "You've done your homework! I'm impressed," she said. Hayden smiled back. "What else?" he asked. "I can talk and hold a conversation with people, I don't live in my own world, and have friends – you get the idea," said Lizzie. "Mm-hmm," said Hayden.

"So what are your special interests?" he asked. Lizzie laughed. "Don't make fun of me, okay?" "I would never," said Hayden. "Okay," said Lizzie, sighing. "I'm – really interested in the Titanic," said Lizzie sheepishly. "Lizzie's just being modest," said Ron, walking up to them. "She's the resident expert on the subject!" "Until the day comes when I know more than James Cameron or any of the historians that made the film, I'm not an expert, Ron," said Lizzie. "You know the entire layout of the ship like the back of your hand, you can give a detail by detail recreation of the sinking, you know how cold the water was that night, you know how many lifeboats were on board, and to what capacity they were filled, and you can quote every single line from the film verbatim!" said Ron. Hayden whistled, obviously impressed.

Lizzie's face had turned pink as she suddenly felt uncomfortable, so she decided to change the subject. "I haven't practiced my violin since I got back," she said. "Oh, you play the violin?" asked Hayden. "Yeah, since I was six," said Lizzie. "What about you?" "Piano," said Hayden. "Since I was four." "Cool," said Lizzie.

They continued to talk back and forth about their hobbies and their interests. Lizzie soon discovered that Hayden was just as big of a fan of the Star Wars series as she was. "Which episode is your favorite?" asked Hayden. "Episode III," said Lizzie. "Where Anakin turns into Darth Vader?" asked Hayden smiling. "Mm-hmm," said Lizzie. "You look a lot like him. Anakin, I mean." "You're not the first person to tell me that," said Hayden, smiling.

No wonder Lavender and Parvati were drooling over him, thought Lizzie.

"So, can you walk without your walker or those braces?" asked Hayden nodding at Lizzie's legs. Lizzie glanced at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you….." said Hayden quickly. "You didn't," said Lizzie. "I'm working on it," said Lizzie. "I've had twelve leg surgeries so I can walk easier."

"And you're what, fifteen?" asked Hayden. "Yep," said Lizzie. "Wow, you're tough!" said Hayden admirably. "At least I have a high pain tolerance, if that's anything to show for it," said Lizzie. "When's your birthday?" asked Hayden. "December tenth," said Lizzie. "You?" "April nineteenth," said Hayden. "And you'll be seventeen?" asked. Lizzie. "Yeah," said Hayden, nodding. "Ooh! So, you can use magic outside school then!" said Lizzie excitedly. "Actually, no," said Hayden. "No?" said Lizzie. "Nope," said Hayden. "Back in Toronto, you can't use magic outside school until you're eighteen."

"Huh," said Lizzie, realizing just how different things were in Canada.

Hayden smiled and gazed down and caught sight of Lizzie's exposed right hand.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked. Lizzie frowned and held up her left hand for him to see. "Nothing," she said. "No, the other one….." he said, taking Lizzie's hand as she felt a jolt of electricity shoot up her spine.

"It's just a cut – it's nothing – it's…"

Hayden stared at the words etched into Lizzie's skin. A look of realization crossed his handsome face, and Lizzie knew that she couldn't lie her way out of this one. "You said that she was giving you lines!" he said.

Now Lizzie felt ashamed for not being honest with him when he had gone out of his way to be so nice to her these past few days. She sighed and told him everything that had happened in Umbridge's office with Harry.

Hayden looked astonished as he listened to Lizzie recount how she spent hours repeatedly slicing open her own hand.

"Lizzie, you need to tell someone about this!" he said finally. "No," said Lizzie. "I can't. I don't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me."

"Got to you?" Hayden repeated. "You can't just let her get away with this! Tell Professor McGonagall!" "I don't know how much power McGonagall has over her," said Lizzie. "Dumbledore, then! Tell Dumbledore!" said Hayden. "No," said Lizzie. "Why not?" demanded Hayden. "He's got enough on his mind right now," said Lizzie. But that wasn't the real reason. She knew that if she went to Dumbledore, all he would want to talk about was what happened to Raven, and she was getting really tired of people bringing it up, pressuring her to talk about it, when she didn't want to talk or even think about it.

"I'm gonna go to bed," said Lizzie finally, packing up her stuff and getting to her feet. "Thanks for the chat," she said as she strode across the common room to the girls dormitory. "Lizzie," said Hayden, getting to his feet as Lizzie turned back. "If….you ever – ever want to talk again…..For any reason…." said Hayden. Lizzie smiled. "See you tomorrow," she said. "Sure," said Hayden. "Night," said Lizzie as she turned and walked up the stairs to the girls dormitory. "Night," said Hayden, staring after her until she disappeared.

Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week, though Lizzie glanced toward the staff table automatically when she entered the Great Hall, it was without real hope of seeing Hagrid and she turned her mind immediately to more pressing problems, such as the mounting pile of homework she had to do and the prospect that she and Harry had yet another detention with Umbridge.

Two things sustained Lizzie that day, one was the thought that it was almost the weekend; the second being that Hayden approached her in the corridor on her way to her morning lessons offering for the second time to help her with her homework until she was all caught up. Lizzie was so buried and overwhelmed that she was unable to refuse this generous offer and nearly burst into tears.

Feeble rays of light they may be, but Lizzie was grateful for anything that might lighten her present darkness; She had never had a worst first week of term at Hogwarts.

The only positive thing that could possibly be taken from this was that she was slowly gaining a new friend in Hayden, which she desperately needed since most of her friends had all but abandoned her after Raven's death.

At five o'clock that evening, she, and Harry knocked on Professor Umbridge's door, for what Lizzie sincerely hoped would be the final time, was told to enter, and did so.

"You two know what to do," said Umbridge sweetly over at them.

Lizzie picked up the quill, taking a deep breath, bracing herself for what was to follow when she placed quill to parchment.

I must not tell lies, Lizzie wrote. The cut on the back of her right hand opened and began to bleed afresh.

I must not tell lies. The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting.

I must not tell lies. Blood trickled down her wrist, staining the cuff of her white shirt.

She glanced over at Harry who was staring out the window. Quidditch tryouts were in full swing as he made several attempts to watch the action going on outside.

Lizzie's parchment was now dotted with blood as she continued to write.

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

The parchment was now shining with drops of blood from the back of her hand, which was searing with pain. When Lizzie looked up, night had fallen, and Harry had stopped trying to look out the window towards the Quidditch pitch.

"Let's see if the two of you have gotten the message yet, shall we?" said Umbridge's soft voice half an hour later.

She moved toward the pair of them, stretching out her short be-ringed fingers for Harry's arm first, then Lizzie's. And then as she took hold of her, to examine the words now cut into her skin, her fingers closed around Lizzie's forearm where she had cut herself earlier that day, she winced, wrenching her arm out of her grasp, and stepped back, staring at her.

"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" she said softly. Lizzie didn't answer. Was she talking about her hand? Or did she know that Lizzie was cutting herself?

"Well, I believe I have made my point, you two may go."

Both Lizzie and Harry grabbed their schoolbags and left the room as quickly as they could.

Lizzie met Hayden in the common room as they immediately started on homework. Lizzie felt so grateful that he was willing to take the time to help her when he no doubt, had his own copious workload to complete.

"I don't mind," said Hayden as he helped Lizzie with her moonstone essay. "You don't know how much I appreciate this," said Lizzie. "Really, Hayden, this is…" "It's okay," said Hayden, smiling at her. "Hey, I heard that Ron became Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team." "Really?" asked Lizzie. "Yeah," said Hayden. "Is he any good?" asked Lizzie. Hayden bit his lip. "He's not?" asked Lizzie. "Angelina says he's not amazing," said Hayden. "But she thinks with a bit of training…
Lizzie nodded. Through the entire hour that they worked on homework, Hayden didn't ask Lizzie once about how it went with Umbridge, and although they had chatted quite animatedly with each other the previous night, Lizzie was unusually quiet now.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed," she said finally after nearly two hours. "Thanks for all your help, Hayden. It really means a lot."

Hayden nodded, smiling at her. "Goodnight," he said. "Night," said Lizzie as she turned and walked up the stairs to the girls dormitory.