HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY

Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.

CHAPTER 35: Petrifications, Patronuses & Picnics

14 February 1993

The petrification of Cormac McLaggen sent shockwaves through the school, and not just for the petrification itself. Everyone seemed to know that McLaggen had openly accused Jim Potter of being the Heir of Slytherin, and then, just hours later, the Heir of Slytherin (whoever that was) had petrified the young Gryffindor just like Mrs. Norris before him. Needless to say, nearly everyone assumed that Jim was responsible, particularly after it came out that he had no alibi for the time of the attack on McLaggen. Increasingly reluctant to spend time in Gryffindor Tower where most of his house-mates were suspicious and occasionally hostile, Jim had been up in the Astronomy Tower brooding by himself when the petrification took place.

It took Professor Snape about a week to convert the small vial of Mandrake extract provided by Gilderoy Lockhart into enough Restorative Draught to cure young Cormac. Upon awakening, Cormac could remember nothing about how he came to be petrified except a memory of "big yellow eyes." At dinner the first night after Cormac was released from the Infirmary (and during which, young McLaggen continually gave Jim a glare that somehow combined both fear and hatred), Dumbledore publicly thanked Lockhart for his extraordinarily generous contribution. As Neville explained to the other Gryffindors, Mandrakes are incredibly difficult to grow, as most of the Herbology students could attest. But even worse, while every part of the mature Mandrake was useful for potions, the Restorative Draught required fairly large quantities of distilled Essence of Mandrake, which required pulping the entire plant to produce. Some of the more expensive Mandrake-based curatives might require a few drops of the precious fluid, but most Mandrake-based potions just needed a pinch of powdered Mandrake leaf or a slice of Mandrake bulb. The specific formula used to revive McLaggen, however, required an astonishing five drams of purified Essence (a little less than four teaspoons) which would have required the complete distillation of a half-dozen adult Mandrakes at a cost of tens of thousands of galleons on the open market.

Indeed, the reason Professor Sprout devoted so much class time to the cultivation of the dangerous and ill-tempered plants was that the Herbology class's annual Mandrake harvest provided almost five percent of the school's annual budget, as Hogwarts was the only site in Britain that could cultivate Mandrakes in any significant quantities. Raising Mandrakes to maturity was an exacting process that required regular repotting and careful soil adjustment all performed without the use of magic (which would spoil the cultivation). Furthermore, the adjustments had to be made at regular intervals determined by complex astrological conjunctions. Professor Sprout consulted with Professor Sinestra, the Astronomy professor, almost weekly to ensure that every modification to the plants would be performed at the most auspicious time. It didn't help that the plants were so inherently dangerous due to their potentially lethal screams that by February only NEWTs level Herbology students were still allowed to handle the increasingly truculent humanoid plants.

After Cormac's revivification, McGonagal ordered that a prefect accompany Jim to and from all his classes, in part to ensure that he had an alibi if there were any further petrifications, but also for the boy's safety, as the number of hexes and jinxes directed towards the suspected Heir of Slytherin increased significantly. She also docked scores of points from her own house for the Lions' mistreatment of the boy, but Jim eventually stopped reporting harassment against himself because he felt guilty over costing the House so many points.

After Cormac, however, there were no further petrifications, or at least so far. The rest of January passed without incident, and by Valentines Day, the students were just beginning to relax. On the day in question, Lockhart, with the aid of some of his more adoring female students, had decorated the Great Hall with pink streamers and heart-shaped balloons as a way of cheering up the school. At breakfast, Professor Sprout had jokingly asked if he'd considered hiring dwarves to dress up as cherubs and deliver Valentine's messages. Lockhart replied mischievously that he'd looked into it but the dwarves charged too much and anyway the surly hirsute little creatures wouldn't be nearly as endearing in diapers with little wings on their backs as the depictions of Cupid might suggest.

"There are worse ways to celebrate the holiday, I suppose, Gilderoy" said Flitwick with twinkling eyes. "I still recall the chaos you unleashed on the school on Valentine's Day in 1980."

"Chaos, Filius?" he said in confusion. "I'm sure you exaggerate."

"Exaggerate, my boy?" the diminutive professor said with a laugh. "You sent 800 Valentine's messages to yourself! We had to cancel lunch because of all the owl droppings befouling the Great Hall!"

Lockhart stared at his fellow Ravenclaw as if trying to figure out if he was joking. Then, he laughed. "Ha-ha! You know I'd quite forgotten about that bit of foolishness! I don't remember if I apologized at the time for however many points I cost Ravenclaw, but if not, I eagerly do so now."

"Oh, water under the bridge, my boy. Water under the bridge." Flitwick laughed. On the other side of him, however, Snape observed the conversation silently and with an odd expression.

"How are your projects proceeding, Gilderoy?" he finally said. "I have yet to see anything that topped the spectacle of your dueling club, though frankly, I'm not sure I wish to."

"Well, since you asked, this afternoon, Team Protector will finally begin their efforts to produce a Patronus. I'll be sure to let you know how successful they are."

"Honestly, Gilderoy," said Flitwick, "do you really think students that young can produce a Patronus? It's auror level magic!"

Lockhart shrugged. "We learn through experimentation, Filius. The point of Team Protector is to determine if students with a certain psychological makeup might have greater facility with the Charm than the typical wizard. Even if the answer is 'no,' we've still learned more than we knew yesterday." He turned and looked towards Snape. "Did you ever master the Patronus Charm, Severus?"

The Potions Master nodded. "I did so not long after graduation, though I have not had cause to cast the Charm in many years." Almost imperceptibly, he glanced down to the far end of the teacher's table. "I suppose I should at some point. I'm somewhat curious as to whether it's the same manifestation as it was back then."

If Lockhart noticed that it had been Lily Potter who had drawn Snape's gaze, he gave no sign.

Twenty minutes later, Snape was in his quarters with his wand in his hand and an oddly nervous expression on his face. He took a deep breath and extended his wand.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

There was a blast of luminescent fog which erupted from the tip of his wand and resolved itself into the shape of a delicate silvery doe. Snape frowned and waved his wand, dispelling the Patronus.

"Dammit," he muttered to himself.

Later that afternoon...

The members of Team Protector were all quite excited. After months of experimenting with various esoteric charms and spells designed to prepare them for this day, they were finally ready for their first attempt at the Patronus Charm. After several weeks spent practicing the movements and the incantation (and meditating on how to imagine one's happiest memory and greatest fear simultaneously), it was time. Lockhart demonstrated the Charm one last time and summoned his own strange-looking Patronus. After considerable research, Emily Rosen had finally identified it as a thylacine, also known as the Tasmanian Wolf or the Tasmanian Tiger, an animal that had been driven to extinction some sixty years before. When she mentioned this to Lockhart, he laughed and responded cryptically: "As far as the Muggles know, anyway."

After that, Lockhart went around the room, with the students making their attempts one at a time. After each attempt, Lockhart critiqued the student's performance and gave advice, and each student had three attempts before he moved on to the next. Of the first six students, three produced nothing at all, two could produce a small wisp of silvery fog, and the last, Marcus Flint, was able to produce a silvery ball about almost two feet in diameter at the tip of his wand, the best performance so far. Indeed, Lockhart congratulated the prefect as he was, so far, the only student to produce a Patronus that might actually ward off a Dementor. With the bar set high by his friend and fellow Slytherin, Harry took a deep breath and attempted to cast the spell. Nothing happened. Even after coaching from Lockhart, Harry remained unable to produce any sign of his Patronus after his second or third attempts. Understandably, he was disappointed.

Finally, Lockhart moved on to the last team member: Neville Longbottom, who swallowed nervously at Harry's lack of success. The thought that he might succeed at something where Harry had failed seemed unthinkable to the young Gryffindor. Then, he looked over towards Harry who despite his own failure was still smiling and offering words of encouragement. Neville pointed his wand towards the center of the room. Then ... he stopped and shook his head. Pulling his wand back in to his chest, Neville closed his eyes. Everyone else looked to one another in surprise and amusement, but Neville ignored them. Instead, he focused inwardly on his own memories. The smell of salt air. The taste of seawater forcing its way down his throat. The bitter cold of the Irish Sea. The crushing terror that came with the knowledge that he was about to die. And then ... he remembered the feeling of being lifted up, up towards the heavens, and the absolute certainty that he had magic and that magic would always be there to protect him. His uncle might have stolen that memory from him, but Neville had it back now, and he would never again let it go.

Neville smiled and opened his eyes. Then, he pointed his wand with confidence. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Out of his wand came a blast of silvery light that created a fog covering a ten-foot radius in the center of the room. It only lasted a few seconds, and Neville's knees nearly buckled when the spell dissipated, but he had done it. Neville Longbottom, at the age of twelve, had just created an incorporeal Patronus. The amazed team members gathered around to congratulate the boy and pat him on the back.

"Congratulations, Longbottom, on making history," said Lockhart. "You are, as far as I've been able to research, the youngest person to have ever successfully cast the Patronus Charm. But I don't want you to rest on your laurels, young man. We have four months left before the end of term, and I won't rest until the rest of you can match Longbottom's feat, nor until you, Longbottom, can cast a corporeal Patronus!"

Encouraged by Neville's achievement, the rest of the team went back to work with renewed vigor.

Hours later, Harry accompanied Neville to the Owlery, as he wanted to send a letter to his grandmother about his success. As Neville finished tying the letter to the school owl before sending it on its way, Harry stood by quietly. He had, in fact, been unusually quiet since the duo had left the DADA classroom, a fact that Neville had noticed. Finally, after a brief hesitation, the Gryffindor took a deep breath and addressed the elephant in the room.

"Harry, don't take this the wrong way, but ... are you ... jealous that I'm so much farther ahead with the Patronus that you are?"

Harry scoffed. "Nonsense, Neville, don't be ridiculous. It's great that you've taken to the spell so quickly. I only wish I was doing as well... or that I was doing anything at all, that is. But anyway, I'm sure I'll get it eventually. But that doesn't ... I mean ... it's ..." Harry's voice trailed away somewhat awkwardly. Then, he sighed loudly and closed his eyes. After several seconds, a confused Neville spoke up.

"Um, Harry?" Harry gave out a soft "shh!" and held up a hand to stop Neville from speaking again. After another fifteen seconds or so, Harry's eyes popped open in obvious surprise.

"Huh. Well I'll be damned. I am jealous." Harry looked at Neville contritely. "Sorry about that, mate. I'll try to be more self-aware about that in the future."

"Um, sure," Neville replied before adding "What?!"

"Occlumency exercises. Level two was all about suppressing emotions. Level three is about being self-aware of how emotions influence actions and choosing to feel emotions that are valid and helpful instead of self-defeating. I've been working on these exercises for a few weeks, but this is the first time I've actually caught myself feeling something that I didn't want to feel. Weird experience, let me tell you!"

"Uh-huh. So then ... you are jealous?"

"Well ... I was. But now that I consciously realize it, I can choose to stop feeling that way. It's silly to be angry with you because you can do something I can't. I should be focusing instead on why I can't do it as well as you. Because how well you can cast the spell has no bearing on why I can or can't."

Neville nodded, once again glad that the Heir's ring on his finger made it unnecessary to jump his minds through the hoops that Harry seemed to think were necessary. "So, any thoughts on what might be holding you back?"

"No. I mean, I've got a happy memory, I think. It makes me happy anyway."

Neville thought about that for a second and then crooked his head. "Um, Harry. Your happy memory? Just between us – does it involve something bad happening to Jim or your parents?"

Harry blushed slightly. "No... Maybe... Okay, yeah. Anyway, so what if it did?" In point of fact, the memory he'd been using during that afternoon's exercises was the look on Jim's face at the dueling club meeting where he'd been outed as a Parselmouth in front of all his friends.

Neville sighed. "Harry, the Patronus is fueled by genuine happiness, and preferably by outright joy. For me, it was realizing that I wasn't a squib and that my magic was actually powerful enough to save me from dying. However satisfying you think it might be to see Jim and your parents pay for how your were treated, I don't think that's actually the right kind of happiness to fuel a Patronus."

"Well, what would you suggest, Neville? I don't want to sound like a whiner, but the fact is ... I don't have a lot of happy memories."

Neville thought for a moment. "Jim said after the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match that you were actually laughing while that crazy spiked Bludger was after you. 'Giggling insanely' was the phrase he used. Was that true?"

Harry cleared his throat in embarrassment. "I suppose. Why?"

Neville shrugged and smiled. "Maybe the rush you got from flying on a broom while fighting for your life is closer to a 'happy memory' than just taking pleasure in Jim having a bad day."

Harry gave his friend a sour expression before considering his words more seriously. Then, he closed his eyes and used his Occlumency to pull up the memory of the Quidditch match, specifically that wonderful moment just before he got knocked out of the sky when he passed through the ring of the Quidditch goal. The feeling of weightlessness when he released his broom for those few precious seconds. The satisfying crunch of the spiked Bludger as it hit the ring and became trapped. The elation of victory, not just in the Quidditch match, but in his fight for his life. Harry pulled out his wand once more. "EXPECTO PATRONUM."

Around him, there was a flurry of excited hooting from the owls as the light from Harry's wand lit up the Owlery. The silver ball of mist wasn't nearly as big as Neville's Patronus, nor even quite as big as the sphere produced by Marcus, but it was there. Harry grinned at Neville who affectionately punched his brother-in-all-but-blood in the arm.

It had been a good day after all.

15 February 1993

It had been a terrible, terrible day, and Jim hadn't even started his breakfast yet. The day he'd been dreading ever since he'd revealed his Parseltongue ability had finally arrived – the Daily Prophet had the story. The byline wasn't by Rita Skeeter for once, but rather one of her chief rivals at the paper, a muckracking investigative journalist named Andrew Smudgley who had reported on the successful break-in at Gringotts in the summer of 1991. And now, he had the story about Jim Potter.

BOY-WHO-LIVED TALKS TO SNAKES!
CARRIER OF SLYTHERIN'S NOTORIOUS LEGACY!

By Andrew Smudgley for the Daily Prophet

Since October 31st of 1981, this nation has venerated a young boy for his role in saving us all from the Evil of Our Time. We have all cheerfully accepted a fairy tale resolution to the war that had torn this nation apart. After all, how could a fairy tale like that possibly end except with You-Know-Who being destroyed through the innocence and purity of a tiny babe? That babe was Jim Potter, and he has been the hero of this nation ever since. But what kind of hero is Jim Potter? How exactly did Jim Potter defeat You-Know-Who, if that is, in fact, what happened? And most importantly, what does it mean for us all that Jim Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived is a Parselmouth, the inheritor of a gift as synonymous with Salazar Slytherin as it is with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Yes, readers, it's true. Jim Potter is indeed a Parselmouth, a fact made known to most of his peers at Hogwarts after a magical anomaly unleashed by Young Jim himself at a dueling club meeting manifested as a giant fire-breathing snake. Was this deliberate on the part of Jim Potter? Who can say? While some witnesses claim that Jim may have used his unholy powers to restrain what some witnesses described as "a demon snake," others claim he appeared to be egging the beast on to attack his innocent classmates until the creature was dispelled by the quick thinking of Jim's older brother, Harry Potter, himself an up-and-coming member of Slytherin House. Witnesses say that after dispelling the demon snake, Harry Potter immediately rushed to make certain that none of the other mostly Gryffindor students were harmed in the fracas while Jim merely stood by and watched, seemingly without concern. One wonders if it is possible that the Potter Twins might have been mis-Sorted.

Story continues on page 5.

Next to the inflammatory article was a picture of Jim Potter looking off into the distance with what might have been cold expression or perhaps simply one of boredom. Beneath the photo was a byline: "Photo courtesy of Colin Creevey." When Jim read that, he turned to glare at the First Year Gryffindor, who paled and looked as if he might cry. Then, Jim shook his head and stormed out of the Great Hall angrily.

20 February 1993

Harry entered the mostly empty classroom right on time. The rest of the school was in the Great Hall for lunch, but Harry had been invited by Hermione Grange to "a picnic" of all things which was to be held in the seldom used first-floor CoMC classroom, the one with the picture of Esme the Ashwinder who continued to ignore Harry like all the other snake paintings in the school. Intrigued by the invitation, he only became more so when he entered the room and saw that Granger was joined by Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Penelope Clearwater. Immediately, he deduced what Hermione's cryptic invitation was really about.

The four girls had cleared a space in the middle of the floor and spread out a blanket. There was a plate of sandwiches and a large pitcher of pumpkin juice with plates and glasses for everyone. Harry smiled politely and took his place on the floor with the others. Inwardly, he was somewhat worried. He had told Hermione about his condition in confidence. If she'd shared the information with the rest of Team Mysterioso ...

"Well, Hermione, thank you for inviting me. I must say, the demographics of the group are a little daunting. If I'd known there would be four lovely young ladies, I'd have brought Neville, Theo and Blaise along with me. Or maybe Percy." With that last comment, he wriggled his eyes significantly in Penelope's direction.

"What's that supposed to mean, Potter?" she asked somewhat anxiously.

"It's alright, Penelope," said Ginny. "The fact that you and Percy have been seeing one another is probably the worst kept secret in school. The only reason the Twins haven't been harassing Percy since last summer is that I threatened to wash their underpants with deep heating ointment if they said anything."

"Oh, well ... thanks?" said Penelope uncertainly.

"So, let's cut to the chase, shall we?" said Harry. "What exactly does Team Mysterioso want with little old me?"

Hermione spoke up. "Well, as we discussed last Christmas, Luna here thinks that there's something ... anomalous about you that she can sense. Or more accurately, that she can't rightly sense but can detect by its absence. I haven't told Luna or anyone else about the other matters you and I discussed that night, but Luna would like to ask you some questions, and the rest of us would like to observe. If that's alright with you, of course."

"Certainly," said Harry easily. "Though I reserve the right to not answer or even to lie if it suits me. I'm a Slytherin, after all."

"Lying, the telling of beautiful untrue things, is the proper aim of Art." Luna recited in a serious voice.

Harry smiled. "Oscar Wilde! You're the second person in as many months to quote Oscar Wilde at me! Anyway, if we're all exchanging life stories, I'd like to hear each of yours first. Fair is fair, after all."

The girls all looked at one another somewhat nervously before Ginny shrugged casually.

"Fine. I'm Ginny Weasley, First Year Slytherin. I'm the youngest of seven and the first girl born to the Weasley family since the late 1700's. Apparently, that little fact may have something to do with my family's blood feud with the Malfoy's. My family has always treated me like a little princess to be protected and pampered, and it's always driven me crazy, so I generally rebelled by sneaking out on the sly and doing things my parents wouldn't approve of, like teaching myself to fly a broom or learning to pick locks. I also illegally learned the Bat-Bogey Hex at the age of 9 by stealing my brother Bill's wand at night when he came home to visit that Christmas. Despite generations of Gryffindor Weasleys, my family has been very supportive of me being a Slytherin ... with one notable exception. Any questions?"

"How bad has Ron been about that?" asked Harry.

She took a deep breath. "Surprisingly not that bad. We've ... pretty much avoided each other since the day after my Sorting. I'm kind of dreading next summer when we'll be stuck in a house together and our mother will notice and get upset if we never speak to one another."

No one had any additional questions for Ginny, so it was Hermione's turn. She hesitated for a moment. Then, she looked at Harry and decided to go with total honesty. "I'm a Muggle-born who grew up in London. Belgravia to be exact. My family on my mother's side was upper-middle class, while my father's side was relatively wealthy. My parents met in dentistry school. Today, they own a private practice specializing in cosmetic dentistry." She frowned slightly. "They don't take NHS patients. It's all private practice and very lucrative. I was the obligatory child who was only born because the grandparents were insistent. After I was born, my mother took the compulsory two weeks off before going right back to work. I was essentially raised by a succession of nannies and au pairs, a surprising number of whom were Swedish for some reason. The only significant time I ever spent with my parents was during family vacations, and even then, the nanny came along. Although last summer, they brought along a tutor instead. I guess I'm too old for a nanny now, and Mother insists that I pass my A Level with my age group in case 'this whole magic thing' doesn't work out."

Harry's eyes widened slightly at how forthright Hermione was. His Slytherin side was at once impressed by and annoyed with his friend – by being so honest about personal matters, she successfully put emotional pressure on him to do the same when it was his turn. He declined to ask Hermione any questions, though Luna had a few about what a "cosmetic dentist" was. Penelope Clearwater also asked if she could talk with Hermione later on the topic of "A Levels." Harry turned his attention to the Ravenclaw prefect, about whom he knew very little.

"Um, okay," she began tentatively. "My name's Penelope Clearwater. My father was Muggle-born and my mother was a Half-blood, so I'm considered a Half-Blood despite having two wizarding parents. I was raised in Appleby in Lincolnshire. Actually, if you want to be precise, I was raised in Upper Appleby, which is a magical community of about 150 wizards and witches that's hidden inside Appleby proper, a village of about 600 muggles that's three miles from Scunthorpe, a pretty large Muggle town of about 70,000. So I guess you could say I was both wizard-raised and Muggle-raised. My parents insisted that I get a Muggle education, so as soon as I was old enough to get my accidental magic under control, so I went to a Muggle primary school in Scunthorpe. My mother was a teacher there, and she pushed me to excel at my studies which is what got me into Ravenclaw." She paused somewhat nervously. "And yes, I am sort of dating Percy Weasley, though we're keeping it quiet for now. He's worried that his brothers will pick on him and, well, to be honest about it, I don't want to get serious with anyone until I know where I'm going after graduation. You see, my parents want me to move overseas once I've passed my NEWTs. They both wanted me to get a Hogwarts education, but after that, they say there's no point in trying to make a living here in Britain if you're not a Pureblood. Honestly, I've always suspected that I was ... unplanned and that Mum and Dad would have left for America back in 1976 if I hadn't come along."

"Still though?" Harry asked somewhat incredulously. "It's been almost twelve years since You-Know-Who was destroyed, and they're still considering emigrating?"

She shrugged lamely. "Not enough has changed since then. The British system of government is still based on the idea that a few dozen families that have been around since before William the Conqueror should run everything. The only elected office is Minister of Magic, and you can't even run for that unless the Wizengamot approves you as a candidate, which means that it's nearly impossible for Half-Bloods to get it, and there's only ever been one Muggle-born. Every other position of authority is appointed. I don't know for sure if things are better in America where it's actually illegal to marry another witch or wizard if neither of you have any Muggle great-grandparents, but I wouldn't feel like my ancestry put a black mark on my record that's been there since before I was born."

Harry nodded at that and then finally turned his attention to Luna, the girl whose story he really wanted to hear. The girl looked at him dreamily before beginning her story.

"I'm glad my mother and father didn't move to America, I suppose, because I might never have been born if they had. Both my parents were from old families that were Pureblooded for generations, though neither of them was from a Noble family. Xenophilius Lovegood and Pandora Lovegood née Croaker. Daddy runs The Quibbler, which is the only privately owned newspaper in the country. When I was a little girl, he ran it as a sort of joke, but after Mummy died, he started taking it more seriously, only ... without actually changing what he wrote. I guess you could say he's more serious about his jokes now. Mummy worked for the Ministry before I was born. I never knew what department, and Daddy didn't like to talk about it. After I was born, she worked from home while taking care of me."

Luna smiled wistfully. "As far back as I can remember, I've always been able to see ... things. I used to worry that there was something wrong with me when I realized other people couldn't see what I saw. But Mummy assured me that the things I saw were real but that other people couldn't see them and that I should keep what I saw to myself. I tried to do that until she died ... after that, I suppose I stopped worrying about what other people thought. She was the one who told me what nargles were. And wrackspurts and fury-flies and all the rest, though I've seen a few things since then that she never described that I had to make up my own names for."

"Like Blibbering Humdingers, perhaps?" asked Hermione with a smile.

"Oh no, Hermione. She told me about those the same time she told me about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Harry spoke up. "Do you have a name for whatever you see in me, Luna?"

She shook her head. "That's just it. I don't see anything in you. It's like ... like I can see the shadow of something that's hiding from me. It's very strange."

"Stranger than nargles and wrackspurts and all the rest?"

"Very much so. I've seen all those things for as long as I can remember. I've never seen anything like you, Harry."

He snorted. "Story of my life, I suppose. The Uncanny Harry Potter." Then, he hesitated. "Luna, I hate to ask this but ... how did you mother die?"

"Harry!" exclaimed Ginny at his apparent insensitivity.

"It's okay, Ginny. You've got a reason for asking, don't you, Harry?" Luna gave him an odd look, as though she weren't looking at him but around him.

"Possibly. Just an idea I'd had."

Luna nodded. "It was when I was eight. Mummy was working as some sort of freelance spell designer out of a laboratory she'd set up in the basement of our home. I was sitting off to one side playing with some toys while she worked on one of her spell projects. Suddenly, she ... she screamed very loudly. And then ... she was gone." Luna rubbed her arms as if suddenly cold. "My father rushed in right as it happened. I think must have thrown himself across me to shield me from whatever happened to my mother." She looked away. "He was never the same after that. I suppose I wasn't either."

"I'm sorry, Luna. Thank you for telling me." Harry took a deep breath and addressed the entire group. "Okay, my turn. I doubt I have much to say that you don't already know. I'm the Heir to House Potter and am older than the Boy-Who-Lived by about eight minutes. When You-Know-Who attacked and was destroyed by Jim, a piece of falling masonry gave me this scar which isn't nearly as famous or impressive as his. I was misidentified as a squib and sent to live with Muggle relatives. They were awful, utterly and completely awful. And that's all I care to say about that. I was eventually revealed as a wizard, came to Hogwarts, and sorted into Slytherin, which caused all kinds of unpleasantness in the Potter household which I am still sorting through. I like Quidditch and Potions and, for a twelve-year-old, I'm an excellent cook. Any questions?"

"What was your education like?" Luna asked before anyone else could respond. Harry was surprised by the question.

"Um, substandard, I suppose. I went to a primary school in Surrey and," he paused and cleared his throat, "my guardians didn't like it very much when I outperformed my cousin, and since he was quite proud of his willful ignorance, that pretty much meant that I never pushed myself academically before getting to Hogwarts."

"Did you enjoy reading as a child?"

He crooked an eyebrow. "Not particularly. Until I started Hogwarts, I never had the time. And even after, it's mainly been study work. I've never been the sort of person who read for pleasure. Why do you ask?"

Luna ignored the question, and a strange intensity overtook her normally dreamy expression. "How is your Occlumency coming along?"

"How did you ...?"

"The pattern of your nargles is very similar to what I've seen from other people who I know practice it. Almost identical to the pattern of Professor Snape's nargles, actually. And you rarely show signs of wrackspurts. Do you have an eidetic memory yet?"

Harry stiffened in response to how the young girl was interrogating him in a way very different from her normal patterns of speech. He sensed that she was deliberately trying to throw him off balance with her rapid-fire questions, but he didn't know why. "It's not automatic. I have to actively think about trying to remember something before I can recall it, but at that point I can remember it perfectly."

"Luna, what's going on?" asked Ginny with a slight concern. Luna ignored her and kept her gaze fixed on Harry. When she spoke, it sounded almost as if she were springing a trap.

"Harry, do you remember when your first heard that quote earlier that you identified as Oscar Wilde? The one about lying being the art of telling beautiful untrue things?"

Harry opened his mouth ... and then slammed it shut as his eyes widened in surprise. He looked away as he thought about the Wilde quote. He remembered it was from an essay Wilde had written called The Decay of Lying. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember ever actually reading it, or even hearing someone else quote from it. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he'd ever heard of Oscar Wilde before Lady Augusta had mentioned him at Christmas.

"Here's something easier, perhaps. How old were you when you learned what the word demographics meant? Or daunting or uncanny? Do you remember learning those words in school well enough to use them conversationally?"

Harry didn't answer, mainly because he couldn't. Noticing her friend's distress no matter how well he concealed it, Hermione interrupted.

"Luna, why is this important?"

"I don't know that it is," she replied. "But it's strange enough that it might be connected to Harry's other ... issue."

"What?" Harry said with an edge in his voice. "What's strange enough about me not remembering those things?"

"Harry," Luna said, "it's one thing for you to be smart, a genius even. But you're awfully well-spoken for someone who says he had a substandard education, who didn't really try in primary because he'd be punished if he'd gotten good grades, and who never took up the habit of reading for pleasure. Most of the students here at Hogwarts are wizarding children who had Educational Potions. Most of the Muggle-raised children who haven't had Educational Potions either had strong primary school educations, like Hermione or Penelope or Justin Finch-Fletchley. Or else they're more like Dean Thomas or Colin Creevey, neither of whom is known for his vocabulary. But you, Harry? For someone who was actively prevented from getting a good primary education, you know lots of things. Do you know how you know them?"

Harry sat stunned by Luna's questions. Somehow, since coming to Hogwarts, he'd just accepted the fact that he was extremely clever and never stopped to think about how he was also fairly erudite. "Come to think of it," he thought to himself in a daze, "how did I know what erudite meant?!" Then, he noticed that Luna was now leaning slightly back from him with a somewhat fearful expression on his face.

"Luna..."

"Harry," she interrupted, "be honest with me. This is important. Are you angry with me right now?"

Once again, the question caught him by surprise. Instinctively, he focused his Occlumency on self-analysis, which revealed that his dominant emotions were surprise, concern and fear without a trace of anger. "No, not at all. Why?"

She swallowed. "Well, I didn't think you were angry at me ... but I'm suddenly feeling a strong anger coming from you that's directed towards ..." She paused abruptly. "Okay, and just like that, the feeling's gone. Very strange."

"Uh-huh," he replied with mild sarcasm. "And you think that whatever it is that you ... can't see is for some reason improving my vocabulary without my knowledge and also gets angry with you whenever it forgets to hide itself?"

She shrugged. "Strange phenomena that surround a singular individual are likely to be connected, one would think." She leaned forward. "Harry, I promise. If you can help us to find out what's so strange about me and why, I'll do everything I can to do the same for you. Deal?"

Harry laughed and rubbed his hands across his face. Honestly, he had not set out to have such a weird day. He looked up a the odd girl. "Are you willing to do whatever it takes to solve our ... respective strangeness?" She nodded.

He took a deep breath and studied the other three confused girls. "Okay," he said. "I've got one idea off the bat, but we probably need to consult with Professor Lockhart first, since he's in charge of this team of yours."

Penelope scoffed. "Really? Just like that? You think you've got an idea we haven't thought of?"

"What I've got, Penelope, is an idea I know you haven't thought of because you're all basically nice kind people who are very fond of Luna and would never do anything that you feared might hurt her feelings."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "And that doesn't apply to you?"

"Well, I am fond of Luna and I don't want to hurt her feelings. But I am also ruthless enough to not recoil from an idea for something that might hurt her feelings in the short term until I've considered its long term benefits."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Hermione with a hint of suspicion.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, favoring Luna with a mildly sad expression. It was clear that he didn't want to hurt the girls, but he also thought that she should know what was on his mind.

"Okay. We know Luna can see all these ... things. And we know that she learned names for most of these things from her late mother. So the way I see it, there's only two possibilities. Option one: Whatever erased all knowledge of nargles and wrackspurts etcetera etcetera from almost the entire world is completely unrelated to Luna Lovegood and it's just a fluke she remembers it all, in which case you'll never figure out what caused it because you just don't have enough information. Option two: Whatever erased all that knowledge is connected to Luna, in which case it probably has something to do with the second most interesting thing about her."

Hermione blinked in confusion. "The second most interesting thing?"

He nodded. "The most interesting thing is that she can see invisible creatures that no one else can detect. The second most interesting thing is the circumstances surrounding her mother's death."

"How is that ... interesting?" Penelope said somewhat angrily. "Probably a third of the kids in this school are missing at least one parent. There was a civil war going on for over a decade."

"Yes, but Pandora Lovegood didn't die in the War. She died years after it was over in a freak spell design accident." He turned to his best friend.

"Hermione, after our little mishap last spring where we blew out a set of windows while trying to make enchanted paper telephones, I did some research to see if there were laws governing magical experimentation that we might be in danger of violating. As it turns out, we were fine, because there's almost no regulation that governs enchanting objects with preexisting spells so long as they aren't inherently dangerous and don't violate the Statute of Secrecy. Experimental spell design, on the other hand, is regulated to hell and back. Most wizards and witches who design new spells work directly for the Ministry in some capacity and do all their work at remote research installations. The ones who work in the private sector are required to work in custom labs that are subject to constant and rigorous Ministry oversight. In other words, it is decidedly odd that Pandora Lovegood chose to work on some kind of experimental spell in the basement of her house with her eight-year-old daughter in the room."

He turned to look at Luna. "I'm sorry, Luna. I know this may be difficult for you. But as a clever person once told me, 'strange phenomena that surround a singular individual are likely to be connected.' If you want to know the secret behind your mysterious powers, I think the first step is to figure out exactly how your mother died, and more importantly, exactly what sort of spell she was working on that killed her."

The meeting continued for another fifteen minutes. It was resolved that the girls would discuss the matter with Lockhart and see if he could obtain a pensieve. Harry had one, of course, but that was not a fact he wanted spread around, so he would wait and see if Lockhart could acquire one before donating his own to the cause. Assuming that Lockhart was amenable, they would meet again at some point in the future to review Luna's memory of her mother's death.

Shortly before one o'clock, Team Mysterio plus one finished both their discussions and their lunch and left the classroom. Once outside, the five were surprised to see pandemonium in the hallways with students running in every direction. Harry was even more surprised to notice that down the hallway near the front doors to the school were two aurors directing traffic. Before he could react though, everyone heard the voice of Minerva McGongall echo through the school.

"All students report to their dormitory Common Rooms immediately for a headcount. Prefects, once you have taken roll, report any missing students to me via Floo. Curfew is now in effect, and students found in violation of it will have two weeks detention with Mr. Filch. That is all."

Harry and the four girls looked at one another in confusion. Then, Ginny noticed Astoria Greengrass running past. The girl was crying.

"Tori! Hold up! What's going on?!"

Astoria turned towards the group with a stricken expression. "Oh Ginny! It's ... it's COLIN!"

Meanwhile in the Owlery...

Colin Creevey lay on the floor of the Owlery, petrified, his unblinking eyes staring up at the ceiling. There was a crumpled letter still clenched in one unmoving hand, and the boy's prized camera lay smashed to bits on the ground nearby. Perversely, there was a splatter of white owl droppings on his forehead that almost seemed to insult him. Standing in a circle around him were Albus Dumbledore, James Potter, and Rufus Scrimgeour. And written on the wall nearby was yet another threatening message.

THE HEIR OF SLYTHERIN
WILL NOT BE MOCKED
MUDBLOODS BE WARNED

"Well, Albus?" Scrimgeour asked sarcastically. "Now do you agree that this is a matter for the DMLE?"

The next chapter will be posted sometime between Monday, March 14 and Wednesday, March 16.

AN 1: Hermione's description of her home life is reworked slightly from a similar paragraph in Chapter 23 of "A Well-Groomed Mind" (sadly abandoned, it seems) by Lady Khali. This was always one of my favorite depictions of Hermione's home life, which is usually shown as incredibly dull Muggle domesticity, and Lady Khali's alternative vision of a pair of upper class snobs who treated Hermione with benign neglect was, IMO, much more interesting and casts an alternative light on things like Hermione's frequent decision not to go home at Christmas and eventually her decision to erase her parents memories of her.

AN 2: In a similar but lighter vein, Luna's fondness for Oscar Wilde is an oblique shout-out to "Oh God Not Again!" by Sarah1281.

AN 3: The bit about the high cost and relative scarcity of Mandrakes is my attempt to write around the oft-asked question "Why didn't they just go to Diagon Alley and BUY Mandrake Potions rather than just let those kids stay petrified for half a year!?" One of the jokes in the aforementioned "Oh God Not Again!" is that the time-tossed Harry who is reliving his Hogwarts years shows up for second year with gallons of the stuff that he passes out like Kool-Aid whenever anyone gets petrified.

AN 4: In a related not, why DIDN'T anyone ever call the aurors when students started getting petrified by persons unknown?

AN 5: New summary up at the top. Let me know if it's more inviting to new readers.