This chapter was my way of explaining really unfair teachers!! Thanks for all the positive comments! Sorry the last chapter was short, but it was just something I felt I needed to get down for reasons to be revealed… :D

The sun was glaring into Miss Petal's eyes, reflected by the jet black windows of the large coach sitting in the car park. She squinted down at the register. She was ticking of names as children bought forward their permission slips. Then a trembling little boy made his way forward.

"Form, Harry," she said, perhaps a little too harshly.

"I don't have it,"

"Then you can't go on the trip," She had no idea why she was behaving like this. She felt a burning desire to hate the boy, so strong, yet so unexplained. As the first tear squeezed out of the stunningly green eyes, the bus tire exploded with an ear-splitting bang.

"RIGHT, POTTER, COME WITH ME!" she yelled, louder than she had in a long time, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him back into the school. She dragged him to the classroom, where a confused teaching assistant was pinning paintings to the display board. She didn't know where the anger was coming from, but it was so very strong. The anger balloon had been billowing inside her for years, and the hint of magic that had crept up on her in recent weeks had burst it, just like it had burst the tyre. It felt good, to shout. It was, after all, his fault. Her life had been so good before he had come, dragging with him Dumbledore, and the fear of living with magic. He had dragged back the straggled remains of a life she had tried so hard to forget.

"Harry, you can sit here and think about what you've done," she spat, glaring at the horrified little boy. His arm was shaking beneath her tight grip. It was only as she sat down on the repaired coach that she realised he didn't have much thinking to do at all…

***

Miss Petal had spent to long avoiding magic. So long. Now she had been reawaken, she saw magic everywhere. As the coach journey wore on, she saw an owl on a post office roof. She saw a purple double Decker bus. A little old man in a cloak, drawing very odd looks. A telephone box that reminded her so much of the ministry. And - -she had shut her eyes tight as though it was a disgusting sight – the leaky cauldron. An odd feeling rose. Miss Petal knew not if it was hatred for the magical pub, or an insane urge to run through the doors; out onto the sun-dazzled cobbles, lined with rickety shops, with wizards and witches running to and fro, with robes that would ripple in the summer breeze, cats chasing owls, little boys with their noses pressed up against a window admiring the broom within….

She woke up, unaware that she had ever fallen asleep. The coach had shuddered to a stop, just outside the museum of natural history. They walked past this to the Science museum. Science would stamp out the need for magic; nothing was more muggle than science. Yet, as she walked in, she could not help but picture Arthur Weasley here, the look on his face at the sight of all the plugs and eklicity… she could not help it. She grinned.

Just as she was pondering the freckled face, always adorned with a wide smile at the sight of muggles, a cry of pain pierced the dreamy reminiscence. A museum worker was hoping around on one leg, grunting in agony. From what she could detangle from the mass of grunts and curses, Dudley had kicked him. Why Dudley had kicked him seemed unexplained, until Dudley moaned loudly that he was bored and punched a tin replica of a spaceship. They spent the next thirty minuets trying to find the museum curator to pay for the damage, then the next forty trying to find the bursars office. They returned to the bus, with Miss Petal feeling that they would have had a lot more time if she had just used her wand.

The bus journey back provided too much distraction for Miss Petal. She stepped off the bus, sick and tuna sandwich spilled down her front. When she returned home, the house was once more deserted. She laughed out loud at her luck. She took the stairs three at a time, and fished out the little box. She opened it, took out a faded key lying at the bottom, and closed the box. She put the key in the keyhole at the side of the little leather box. When she pulled of the lid once more, it showed not a mass of old parchment and quills, but stacks of wizard photographs, a bunch of hand written letters on old, faded parchment, an old wand with a dragon heartstring dangling out of the end, and a large framed photograph. The words 'the order of the phoenix' were etched into the gold, ornate frame. She closed her eyes, and remembered the scene; imagining that the heavy old camera was in her hand once more. The occupants of the picture laughed and waved, and she smiled back through heavy tears. People shifted aside as she reached out to touch the tall man at the back. She stroked his shoulder-length hair, and he reached out a faded hand to try and touch her. Miss Petal's eyes soon clouded over with tears.