Chapter 7: Return of Linguini

Evan Rosier is a git. I caught him picking on some poor Ravenclaw first year – Pandora something. What bothered me about the whole ordeal was how she reacted to the situation – she didn't. At least, not really anyway. She simply smiled, picked up her books, and tried to walk away until Rosier grabbed her by the arm. That's when I stepped in. Rosier told me to walk away, but I refused. He tried to take out his wand, but I was faster. I pointed it right at his throat and he backed down and walked away. Pandora thanked me and left. She's an odd one – but not in a bad way.

Sleep continued to elude Leo over the next few nights. The nightmares got progressively worse to the point where he was lucky if he got more than two hours of sleep. He took to wandering the school at night as a result, Map clutched in his hand as he wandered down various passages that the Map showed him, trying to memorize alternate routes that would get him where he needed to go faster. Twice he found himself in front of the door that used to lead to Fluffy's room and felt conflicted as to whether or not he should go in there.

On the one hand, he was terrified. He didn't want to wade through the horrible memories that lay within the room and below the trap door (if it was even still there). On the other, part of him felt that the key to overcoming his nightmares was to confront them head-on and go to where it all started. He was saved from deciding the second time when McGonagall appeared, her lips pressed into a thin line as Leo silently wiped the Map and waited for whatever punishment she was going to dish out.

She told him to follow her and he did so, eventually being led to her office where she did something unexpected: she offered him a biscuit. Leo was taken aback at first but took one at her stern look. She then turned to the papers on her desk and set about grading them, which only confused Leo more. The two didn't talk at all except for McGonagall occasionally telling him he could have another biscuit.

When the time came for students to wake up and head down to breakfast, she dismissed him. She then instructed him to come back to her office the next time he found himself wandering around at night. All in all, it was the most bizarre experience of Leo's life – which was saying something since just a few months ago he talked to a man with two faces. It wasn't uncomfortable, just odd.

On Saturday morning, Leo found himself again in her office, munching on biscuits and practicing Colovaria on various objects that McGonagall had set out for him or reversing different transfigurations she had placed on other items. Leo wasn't sure if she was testing him or just finding ways to keep him busy. It was as he was trying to change a Slytherin scarf into a Gryffindor one that Wood came in, saying he was needed for Quidditch practice. McGonagall dismissed him quickly after that.

Wood led him to the changing rooms, where he found Harry holding his broom and Quidditch robes. Leo changed quickly and sat on the bench next to his cousin, surprised to find that he was the only one on the team apart from Wood who was wide awake.

Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, next to fourth-year Alicia Spinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Her fellow Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side opposite them. Harry looked as though he was half on the way to passing out.

"Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference..." Wood began.

Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in different colored inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley's head drooped right onto Alicia Spinnet's shoulder and he began to snore.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. Leo stopped paying attention about halfway through the first board. What he had said to Zabini had been true; he didn't have the patience or attention span to sit through a villainous monologue or any other kind of long-winded explanation. It was a big reason why he usually skived off History of Magic.

"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking Leo from his stupor. "Is that clear? Any questions?"

"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"

Wood wasn't pleased.

"Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at them all. "Just because we won the Cup last year does not guarantee us a win this year. We barely won, and if Black hadn't -"

Wood seemed to get choked up just imagining what could've happened.

"So this year, we train harder than ever before...Okay, let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stiff-legged and still yawning, his team followed.

They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As Harry and Leo walked onto the field, they saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.

"Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

"He has?" Leo asked in surprise. "I thought he was showing us a new art project or something. I didn't think I was actually supposed to pay attention!"

Harry snorted with laughter as they both mounted their broomsticks and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. Leo did a few loops in the air followed by a couple of corkscrews, trying to loosen himself up and shake away the lingering drowsiness that had crept over him during Wood's talk. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Harry, Fred, and George.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they hurtled around the corner.

Leo looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

"Harry! Leo! Look this way! This way!" he cried shrilly.

"Who's that?" said Fred.

"No idea," Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward them. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program."

"Slytherins think we're a bunch of stupid muscle-heads," Leo told him. "They're not going to spy on our training sessions."

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.

"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.

"Because they're here in person," said George, pointing.

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.

"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the field for today! We'll see about this!"

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Leo, Harry, Fred, and George followed.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team - which Leo thought was mildly sexist on their part. Though he did have to admit that they looked rather intimidating as they towered over the Gryffindor team.

"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seekers'. "

"You've got new Seekers?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, a frown on his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy. Standing next to him, looking quite pleased with himself, was -

"Oh, you're bloody joking," Leo groaned. "Your obsession has grown to a rather unhealthy level, Linguini."

"It's Zabini," the boy snarled. "And you bloody well know it."

"Do I?" Leo frowned, tapping his chin.

"Zabini's our reserve Seeker," Flint sneered at them. "Malfoy's the real Seeker – his father has even seen fit to donate a generous gift to the Slytherin team."

All of the Slytherins – with the exception of Draco, who looked like he wanted to sink into the ground at this moment – showed off their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps" — he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives — "sweeps the board with them."

"Guess when you lack talent money talks," Leo stated, raising an eyebrow when Flint loomed over him angrily. Leo looked behind him to see Hermione and Ron running over. "Oh, look, the cavalry's here."

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?"

He was looking at Draco, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," Draco stated with a small shrug.

"Everyone's just been admiring the brooms Malfoy's father's bought our team," Zabini informed him gleefully.

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Zabini smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply, and Draco looked down. "They got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Zabini's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Immediately, Leo's wand was out and pointed at Flint, who had jumped in front of Zabini defensively. Alicia shrieked, "How dare you!" and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Zabini!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Zabini's face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap. The Slytherin team was paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Zabini was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. Draco didn't seem to know whether he should laugh or not. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.

"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily.

Before the four left the pitch, Leo turned around, pointed his wand at the unprotected Zabini, and shouted, "Tarantellegra!"

With a profane exclamation, Zabini's legs began wiggling and dancing all over the place, earning laughs from the Gryffindor Quidditch team this time. With a triumphant smirk on his face, Leo ran after his three friends and caught up with them just as Hagrid's cabin came into view.

"Nearly there, Ron," Hermione was saying. "You'll be alright in a minute — almost there —"

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the front door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out. Leo was dying to shoot him with the Dancing Feet Spell as well.

"Quick, behind here," Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. Hermione and Leo followed, the latter somewhat reluctantly.

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got one — I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!" And he strode away toward the castle.

They waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. They knocked urgently.

Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me — come in, come in — thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again —"

"I take offense to that," Leo placed a hand over his heart and put on an expression of mock hurt.

Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.

"Better out than in," he said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in front of him. "Get 'em all up, Ron."

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand —"

"We could try Finite," Leo suggested. "But there's no telling what kind of adverse effects the broken wand may have caused. We could just end up making it worse."

Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boar-hound, Fang, was slobbering over Harry.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching Fang's ears.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."

"Seems to be a habit of Lockhart's - giving useless advice to people who don't need it," Leo snorted.

Hermione, however, seemed to be in disagreement as she said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job —"

"He also thought Quirrell was too - and look how he turned out," Leo cut across her darkly.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room at this. None of them knew what had happened while Quirrell had been with Leo – or what had happened to him once Harry had passed out. They were all curious to know – and this seemed like a good opportunity to ask, given Leo had been the one to bring him up. Unfortunately, the blonde's tone made it quite clear that he still didn't want to talk about it.

"He was the on'y man for the job," Hagrid finally said, offering them a plate of treacle toffee, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. "An' I mean the on'y one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?"

"Zabini called Hermione something — it must've been really bad because everyone went wild," Harry frowned.

"It was bad," said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. "Zabini called her 'Mudblood,' Hagrid —"

Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

"He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course —"

"It's essentially a very rude term for a Muggleborn," Leo informed her, having learned all this from Draco. "There's a lot of pure-blood families – families with a long history of only magical blood – who think that they're superior to everyone who doesn't have a pedigree. Muggleborns are basically lower than scum to them. They're a bunch of elitist pricks with a superiority complex the size of Russia."

"The rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom — he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up," Ron stated.

"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out."

"Most pure-blood families are worse off for believing in that nonsense," Leo stated, recalling what he had read in his father's many journals. "A lot of them took up the practice of inter-marrying – not brothers and sisters though, at the very least you have to be second cousins. It caused a lot of problems – birth defects, miscarriages, Squibs – most end up being half-crazy."

"What's a Squib?" Harry asked curiously.

"Basically, they're the opposite of Muggleborns – a non-magic person born to magical parents as opposed to a magical person born to two Muggles," Leo informed him, sipping the cup of tea Hagrid gave him.

"How do you know all this, Leo?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Some of it I learned from looking into my family. The rest I learned from Draco."

He received startled looks from three different people.

"You're friends with Malfoy?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes," Leo replied in a tone that one would use to talk about the weather. "Apparently he's like my... second/fourth cousin? I dunno. Pure-blood families are so confusing." He sipped his tea. "He's not as bad as he used to be when we first met him. You saw him stand up to his housemate after that incident with Creevey and Lockhart. He got on pretty well with Fred and George on the train ride over as well."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron – in-between vomiting slugs – still seemed skeptical at this. Fortunately, Hagrid came to his rescue.

"Harry," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

"I have not been giving out signed photos," he said hotly. "If Lockhart's still spreading that around —"

He stopped when he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face-first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."

"Bet he didn't like that," said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.

"Good," commented Leo, sipping his tea with a self-satisfied smile.

"Don' think he did," said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle fudge, Ron?" he added as Ron reappeared.

"No thanks," said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."

"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid as Harry and Hermione finished the last of their tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

"Gettin' on well, aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween feast...should be big enough by then."

"Think they'll be big enough to fit a person into?" Leo inquired, walking around the pumpkins.

"Don' even think abou' it, Leo," Hagrid warned. "Don' think yeh'd be able ter get away with puttin' Lockhart in there."

"His ego would never have fit anyway," Leo shrugged dismissively, though inwardly he sighed in disappointment.

"What've you been feeding them?" said Harry.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone.

"Well, I've bin givin' them — you know — a bit o' help —"

"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on them."

"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding at Ron. "Met her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. "Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house." He winked at Harry. "If yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed —"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry. Ron snorted with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs.

"Watch it!" Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins as Leo roared with laughter.

Near lunchtime, they said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs.

They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, "There you are, Potter — Weasley." McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. "You will both do your detentions this evening."

"What're we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.

"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch," said McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley — elbow grease."

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," said McGonagall.

Leo tensed and a feeling of dread settled over him. He'll be alone in a room with a Defense professor... He bit his lower lip and stared at his cousin with mild concern. While Lockhart was only a professor by the loosest definition of the term, he was still a professor. The idea that his cousin would be spending hours with him did not sit well with Leo at all.

"Oh n — Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?" said Harry desperately.

"Certainly not," said McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."

"Don't suppose there's any way I can go with Harry is there, Professor?" Leo asked hopefully, loathe to leave his cousin alone with the man.

"Not unless you get detention before this evening, Black. Don't," she added sharply, noting the mischievous twinkle in his eye, "even think about it."

Leo folded his arms in front of his chest and pouted as she walked away. Then a thought occurred to him: McGonagall had forbidden him from getting in trouble just to get detention. She had not, however, completely prohibited him from attending Harry's detention.

And so, at five minutes to eight, Leo and Harry walked along the second-floor corridor to Lockhart's office. Harry gritted his teeth and knocked.

The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him.

"Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in —"

He cut off abruptly upon catching sight of Leo.

"Mr. Black, I don't believe you have detention with me this evening," Lockhart stated, losing his usual smile while he talked to the blonde.

"I don't, I'm just here to look after Harry," Leo shrugged.

"Well, as his teacher, you can rest assured that Harry is perfectly safe with me -"

"The last time a student was left alone with a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, they got kidnapped and tortured," Leo bit back at him, not noticing his slip-up. "So, excuse me if I'm not one hundred percent okay with the idea of leaving my cousin alone with you."

Leo then abruptly pushed past him into his office. Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles were countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He had even signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his desk. Leo suddenly wished he had another cage full of pixies at that moment while he sat in a chair off in the corner of the room.

"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though this was a huge treat. "This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her — huge fan of mine —"

"She needs all the blessings she can get if she's your fan," Leo commented snarkily.

Lockhart elected to ignore him. Leo wasn't sure if it was because he was attempting to stop himself from saying/doing something he'd regret or if he just couldn't come up with an intelligent response. He was inclined to believe the latter.

The minutes snailed by. Leo let Lockhart's voice wash over him, occasionally making some rude or derogatory comment in response to whatever nonsense the man was spewing. Such phrases included: "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," and "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that." When Leo mentioned that he'd read that in a fortune cookie once, Lockhart's ears burned red and he instead switched to talking about his books.

He was stopped when Harry jumped and loudly asked, "What?"

"I know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"

"No," said Harry frantically. "That voice!"

"Sorry?" said Lockhart, looking puzzled. "What voice?"

"That — that voice that said — didn't you hear it?"

"Don't think the man can hear anyone's voice but his own, Harry," Leo yawned.

"Alright, I think we're done here," Lockhart said in an oddly flat tone. "Your detention is over, Harry. You can both leave."

Leo and Harry took off at once. It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty. Harry and Leo went straight up to the dormitory. Ron wasn't back yet. The two pulled on their pajamas, got into bed, and waited. Half an hour later, Ron arrived, nursing his right arm and bringing a strong smell of polish into the darkened room.

"My muscles have all seized up," he groaned, sinking on his bed. "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to get the slime off...How was it with Lockhart?"

"I had a wonderful time insulting him," Leo shrugged.

Keeping his voice low so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Harry told Ron and Leo exactly what he had heard. Apparently, he was hearing voices in the walls now.

"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" said Ron. Leo could see him frowning in the moonlight. "D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it — even someone invisible would've had to open the door."

"I know," said Harry, lying back in his four-poster and staring at the canopy above him. "I don't get it either."

Leo frowned at this, wondering if, perhaps it was Pettigrew he had heard. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to talk to Sirius about it until Apollo returned - which most likely wouldn't be for another week.