Join a club or something, Grandad's last letter had said, but while that wasn't necessarily something easier said than done. After all, the noticeboard in Gryffindor Tower had been wallpapered with a plethora of signup sheets and club flyers over the course of the first week of term. It was something that would take a fair bit of consideration.
There were several academic clubs, such as the ones for Astronomy and Charms, but they were really more like formal study groups than anything fun. Still the Ancient Runes Club had sounded interesting until Harry had discovered that it was only open to third-years and above.
Then there was the Future Potioneers Club, which met in a disused dungeon classroom that could only be reached through a door on the sixth floor of the West Tower. This had also turned out to be a no go for the simple fact that Malfoy had already joined.
No thanks, Harry thought, backing out of the room before the blond could see him. Twice a week was more than enough time spent in close proximity to Malfoy. He had no desire to spend his leisure time with the Slytherin as well.
There were also a few clubs where students got together to play games. Such as, the Gobstones Club, which met up in the Viaduct Courtyard to play a game that was quite similar to the Muggle game of marbles except for the fact that whenever a player lost a point the winning stone would proceed to squirt the loser in the face with a foul-smelling liquid. Harry gave this too a pass. He didn't much care for being blasted in the face with something that smelled like the unholy union of rancid manure and petrol even if Luna did say that Gobstone fluid was good for the complexion.
The other gaming club was for Wizard's Chess, which was exactly like Muggle Chess save for the fact that the chessmen had been enchanted to move. The youngest Weasley brother had joined this club and if rumors were to believed he was quite the prodigious player. Harry himself was no great shakes at chess for the simple fact that he found it extremely difficult to sacrifice his pieces in order to win and that was with non-animated Muggle chessmen. Wizarding chessmen who could talk and developed a bit of personality over the years were even more difficult to send to their deaths.
And the final group that had caught Harry's eye was the Wizard Card Collectors' Club, but he seriously doubted he'd be welcome with his grand total of six cards.
"Are you going to join the knitting club?" Harry asked Luna as the settled in to eat lunch at the Gryffindor table that Saturday.
Luna merely shook her head.
"I went to the meeting this morning and Knitting Club is a bit of a misnomer – it's really a Witch's Stitch and Bitch," she explained causing Harry to choke on his tea.
"What?" he hacked.
"Well it is. Everyone just sat around complaining about something or other. Like Andrea Kegworth, the Head Girl – she spent the whole meeting grumbling how her boyfriend left her after she knitted him a jumper over the summer."
"Was there something wrong with it?" Harry asked.
"Aside from the boyfriend jumper curse – no it was a lovely shade of chartreuse," Luna replied breezily. "Nevertheless, it was a lot of negative energy in one room. I'd be worried to give anyone anything I'd created in such an environment without doing a cleansing first."
Yikes, Harry thought ruefully shaking his head.
"Oh, and speaking of cleansing rituals," she went on. "Daddy included the instructions for making a really good gris-gris bag that he got from an American witch in the last issue of The Quibbler. Apparently, it can even temporarily disperse the chaotic energies of a poltergeist."
"Reckon it would work on Peeves?" Harry asked with interest.
The poltergeist had managed to sneak up behind Harry on his way down to breakfast just that morning and had latched a hold of his nose with a screech of, "GOT YOUR CONK!"
The shout Harry had let out when confronted with this invisible assailant – through instinct alone – had resonated with Kibeth the Walker. Given the mischievous nature of that tricksome bell even when properly rung, Harry had been lucky that all that had happened was his legs (and those of every other living soul) giving a little twitch as he half-skipped a step away from the poltergeist. Every ghost that had been within hearing distance had been less fortunate and had been banished off to the far corners of the castle. Even Peeves hadn't been completely immune.
Luna cocked her head in a considering manner.
"We could always try it out," she said finally, then out of the blue she added, "You should try out for the Inter-House Choir. Professor Flitwick mentioned that they are looking for new blood this year when he put the sign-up sheet on the noticeboard yesterday morning."
"I don't know," Harry hedged. The only people he'd ever really sung in front of were his grandad and Fea.
"I'm sure you'll do well," Luna coaxed. "It is in your blood after all."
Now that just isn't fair, Harry thought mulishly, but aloud he agreed.
Tryouts for the Inter-House Choir were being held that afternoon in the Music Room on the fifth floor of the castle. It was a bright and airy room with a low stage along the back wall, a blackboard across the wall opposite it, and an upright piano just off to one side.
Professor Flitwick was already there as were eleven other students when Harry and Luna arrived. Three of which were fellow first years. While the remaining eight were a mixed bunch of upper classmen from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin if the colors of their stripped neckties were any indication. This left Harry as the only Gryffindor in the room until second year Carl Hopkins walked in with his friend Scott Ancrum of Ravenclaw.
"Ah, wonderful, wonderful, it's so good to see new faces joining us this evening," proclaimed Professor Flitwick when it became apparent that there would be no one else joining them; their final number having grown to fifteen.
"Now," he went on. "I believe I shall have our returning members introduce themselves to our newcomers – Name, House and year, if you please. Meanwhile, our five new first years can do a bit a bit of last minute rumination on what they're going to be singing us. We'll be starting on the left side of the room and making our way to the right."
The diminutive wizard then pointed first to the oldest looking boy in the room.
"I'm Gabriel Truman," he said with a cheerful smile. "I'm a fifth year and one of the new Hufflepuff prefects."
Next to him, dark-haired Carl Hopkins mumbled, "Um, I'm Carl – Carl Hopkins and I'm a second year Gryffindor –" he cast a furtive look in Harry's direction. "And it's nice to see another Gryffindor joining us."
The sandy-haired boy beside him, then chimed in, "Scott Ancrum. I'm in Ravenclaw and am also a second year."
The professor point to an olive skinned brunette next.
"I'm Patricia Stimpson, third year Ravenclaw," she said in snotty sort of voice. "I intend to be the next Celestina Warbeck."
Apparently, this was a common declaration because several of the returning members of the choir all groaned and rolled their eyes; earning themselves a frosty glare from the girl.
Next up was a pair of identical solemn faced twins from Slytherin with cinnamon colored hair.
"Flora," said the first.
"Hestia," intoned the second.
"We're second year Slytherins," they proclaimed in stereo.
After that a pudgy boy beside Hestia introduced himself as: "Marcus Belby, second year Ravenclaw."
A burly looking boy to his right then introduced himself as "Lucian Bole – fourth year Slytherin –"
"– and new Slytherin Beater," cut in the curly haired boy beside him, earning himself a rather putout look from Lucian Bole.
"We don't know that yet," he hissed, "Flint ain't announced the new team members yet."
The curly haired boy just shrugged as if to say, so? Which earned him a light swat from the mousy haired girl beside him.
"Quidditch later," she hissed at him. "Introduction now."
"Alright, alright keep your hair on Entwhistle," he grumbled. "I'm Peregrine Derrick and also Slytherin Fourth year – as well as a prospective Beater for the House team."
The girl – Entwhistle – just rolled her eyes.
"I'm Annabel," she said after a moment. "Fourth year Hufflepuff and minder of these two knuckleheads."
"Good, good," said Professor Flitwick. "Now, I'll call our newcomers up. Please introduce both yourself and tell us the name of the song you'll be singing for us."
First up was Sally-Anne Perks of Hufflepuff.
"Um, I'll be singing 'Five Little Pumpkins'," she mumbled, tugging at the end of one of her plaited pigtails. Then after clearing her throat with a little cough, she began to sing, her voice bubbly and bright:
"Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate,
First one said "Oh my, it's getting late!"
Second one said "There are witches in the air,"
Third one said "but we don't care!"
Fourth one said "Let's run and run and run."
Fifth one said "I'm ready for some fun!"
Ooo ooo went the wind, and out went the lights,
And five little pumpkins rolled out of sight."
As she finished there was a round of applause with Professor Flitwick clapping the most enthusiastically.
"Bravo, Miss Perks," he squeaked, then directed her to take a seat by Gabriel Truman. "Now, Mr. Terry Boot, you're up next."
Terry Boot strode forward with a nervous grin.
"I'll be singing the Puddlemere United anthem if that's alright," he said. "Or at least the first bit cause you kind of need a crowd for the last of it, you know?"
The was a smattering of laughter all around, then Terry, after tapping his foot a few times to get his rhythm right he began:
"From the marshy bogs of Queerditch
Grew a sport so fine and fair
In which each witch and wizard
Would take flight through the air.
We sit and watch in wonder
At each game the players play
And dream our team will reign supreme
Thus we cannot help but say…
Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here
No team can ever best the best of Puddlemere!
You'll catch that Golden Snitch with the easiest of ease
Grab your Beater's bat and in no time flat
Prove the game is yours to seize!
Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here
Those noble navy robes know not one once of fear
Won't see them blaggin, blatching or blurting on their brooms
Playing by the rules, they're nobody's fools
Other teams will meet their dooms!"
He, too, finished to a round of applause, but also some good-natured heckling from the two Slytherins, Bole and Derrick.
"No, not Puddlemere – Ballycastle Bats is where it's at," Bole groaned, only to be swatted by Derrick.
"Yeah, only if you've never heard of Falmouth Falcons."
Once the hubbub had died down it was Daphne Greengrass of Slytherins turn. She was a proud, haughty looking girl, who stared them all down imperiously before declaring that she would be singing the Fair Maid of Loch Lomond.
And so, while Daphne Greengrass sung a ballad about a witch who'd fallen in love with a merman only for it to end in tragedy after he accidentally ate her after she'd transfigured herself into a haddock so that they could be together, Harry was left wondering just what song he should be doing when it was his turn. The only songs he knew by heart were some Christmas carols (which felt weird to sing out of season) and way more murder ballads than anyone should probably admit to knowing … he blamed Fea for that … and living in Midsomer, too…
It was only Harry and Luna now. As the applause for Daphne tapered off the professor motioned for Luna to go and stand in the space the Slytherin had vacated. She surveyed the assembled students in her usual vacant and unblinking manner, causing a few to shift uncomfortably if her gaze landed on them for too long.
"I've never really sung in front of anyone but my shampoo bottles before," she informed them dreamily. "They've never complained, but they don't have ears either."
Patricia Stimpson scoffed.
"The song I'll be singing is an older one called 'Blind Pig'," Luna went on, then she opened her mouth and surprised them all with the low, throaty quality of her voice as she sung her jazzy tune:
"The phoenix cried fat tears of pearl
When the dragon snapped up his best girl,
And the Billywig forgot to twirl
When his sweetheart left him cold,
And the unicorn done lost his horn,
And the Hippogriff feels all forlorn,
'Cause their lady loves have upped and gawn,
Or that's what I've been told…
Yes, love has set the beasts astir,
The dang'rous and the meek concur,
It's ruffled feathers, fleece, and fur,
'Cause love drives all of us wild."
As she wound to a close applause flooded the room; the loudest and most enthusiastic yet.
"Bravo, Miss Lovegood," Professor Flitwick praised her. "Well done. Very well done."
Luna gave a small curtsy and rejoined Harry at his place by the wall. There was a decidedly pleased flush staining her cheeks and her grey eyes were almost luminous.
"That was my mum's favorite," she whispered, low enough so as to not be overheard.
"Mr. Potter, your turn," called Professor Flitwick and with leaden feet Harry walked to the center of the room.
There was a fair bit of staring and a faint mutter of whispering as Harry stood before them, but he had grown used to this over his first week at the castle. He did, however, feel less nervous standing in front of this lot than he had at his sorting in front of the entire school.
"Erm … this song is called 'Blackbird' and it's by the Muggle group The Beatles," he explained, then began to sing:
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise."
The applause he received was generous and there was a speculative murmur amongst the choir members as Harry returned to Luna's side.
"I wouldn't have thought Harry Potter could sing," said Scott Ancrum in a loud whisper to Carl Hopkins.
"I heard him at the Welcoming Feast and thought he sounded pretty good then," Carl replied. "You reckon he'll make it in?"
"Oh, please," scoffed Hestia Carrow. "Flitwick lets anybody in as long as they don't sound like a cat being murdered in a sack."
"And none of those firsties sound Mister Fluffykins after Aunt Alecto got a hold of him," Flora added.
The Carrow twins were correct as all five of the first years were allow to become members and in no time at all Professor Flitwick was passing out sheet music for the song they would be preforming at the Hallowe'en Feast.
"Since we've got just under two months to prepare we're just going to do the one song," he explained. "And no solos Miss Stimpson –" he added when Patricia opened her mouth. She looked most putout at this announcement. "Rehearsals will take place three times a week and I can add an extra on Saturdays if necessary as the thirty-first approaches. Furthermore, if any scheduling conflicts arise as the Quidditch season approaches, please be sure to let me know."
This last was said to Bole and Derrick specifically and the pair nodded.
As everyone began to trickle out of the Music Room so that they could make their way down to the Great Hall for dinner, Professor Flitwick held Harry back for a moment.
"I was surprised to see you here, Mr. Potter," he squeaked. "Pleased, but surprised. Your mother Lily had a wonderful singing voice, too."
News got around quite quickly about Harry joining the Inter-House Choir and the reaction was generally positive if a bit confused as to why The Boy Who Lived would join such a group.
"I figured he would have joined a Dueling Club or something," Harry overheard more than a few students muttering amongst themselves – never mind that there hadn't been a Dueling Club at the school in years. Or at least, "Not since Ralph Weasley turned Emily Tylers ears into a pair of kumquats," according to Luna.
Draco Malfoy seemed to find the whole thing very funny and spend most of their next Astronomy lesson asking Harry if he was going to serenade them while his two cronies sniggered into their hands.
Still Harry couldn't complain too much. Gryffindors only saw the Slytherins twice a week in Astronomy and Potions lessons. Luna had it even worse as the Ravenclaws shared Herbology with the Slytherins three times a week.
Or at least that was the status quo until a new noticed was pinned up in the Common Rooms and Entrance Hall – Flying lessons would be beginning the third week of term. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff on Wednesdays and Gryffindor and Slytherin on Thursdays.
"Do we have to attend if we already know how to fly," Harry muttered grumpily. He'd been looking forward getting back on a broomstick even if it was one of the dodgy old school ones.
"You have to pass flying lessons if you want permission to bring your broomstick with you next year." Luna informed him, then added consolingly. "And who knows maybe you'll test out after the first lesson while Malfoy tries to mount his broomstick backwards."
"Did you See this," he asked curiously as blonde had been known to see portents in her soup before, but instead of answering she just smiled enigmatically.
Somehow Harry doubted that Malfoy didn't know which end of a broom to mount not with the way the other boy talked about flying all the time. The blond could often be heard complaining loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and he often told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters.
Not that he was the only one. A lot of people talked about flying. If Seamus Finnigan was to be believed he'd spend most of his childhood zooming around the Irish countryside on his broomstick. And Ron Weasley would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on his brother Charlie's old broom.
All the talk of flying, however, was nothing when compared to the amount people talked about Quidditch. In fact, the very first row in the boys' dorm had been between Ron and Dean about which sport – football or Quidditch – was better. They'd been decorating their portion of the circular dorm room when the argument had broken out. Ron Weasley vehemently pointing out as he pinned up a brilliantly orange Chudley Cannon poster that no game with only one ball and where no one was allowed to fly could possibly be interesting.
"Even the football posters are boring," he'd added, prodding Dean's unmoving West Ham poster.
Things had devolved even further when Seamus had pointed out that at least his team – the Kenmare Kestrels – wasn't last in the league.
Even the upper years seemed to have nothing more than the wizarding world's favorite sport on the brain as the start of the season began to creep ever closer. And the Quidditch trials the week before had only spurred the talk on.
Cormac McLaggen could often be heard loudly complaining to his friend, Everett Higgs, about how the Gryffindor team's Captain still hadn't gotten back to him about being the new Gryffindor Seeker.
"– Wood obviously can't recognize pure talent when he sees it," he'd blustered, his face a shade of puce that would have made Uncle Vernon proud.
Not everyone was looking forward to the first year flying lessons, however. Neville, despite being as much of a Quidditch fan as anyone else, had never been on a broomstick before in his life. Not even a toy one that only hovered high enough for the rider's toes to skim the ground, because his grandmother had thought it too dangerous. Privately, Harry felt she wasn't completely out of line with this assessment, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.
As for the first-year girls of Gryffindor only Hermione Granger was as nervous about flying as Neville. Fay Dunbar and Lavender Brown had both grown up with toy broomsticks and Parvati Patil's family were well known manufactures of Flying Carpets back in India.
"Not that they're allowed in Britain anymore with the Registry of Charmable Objects now listing them as 'Muggle Artefacts'," she huffed.
The Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff flying lesson had apparently gone well on Wednesday evening. Although Luna had apparently driven the instructor, Madam Hooch, spar with her insistence of riding her broomstick sidesaddle.
"It's more comfortable if the Cushioning Charm fails," she told Harry during their midnight Astronomy lesson. "Plus, you don't have to worry about any of the boys looking up your skirt."
It was also during their late-night Astronomy lesson that Parvati's twin sister, Padma, managed to make both Hermione and Neville into a pair of even worse nervous wrecks about flying as she told them all about how Muggle-born, Kevin Entwhistle, had had to be rescued by Madam Hooch when his broomstick got away from him during their lesson.
And so, Hermione spent the entirety of breakfast the morning of their first flying lesson boring them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten from a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick, had been hanging on to her every word, but everyone else was rather pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the post.
Harry had sent off another letter to his grandad letting him know that he and Luna had both joined the choir, but hadn't received a reply yet. Malfoy the noisy parker that he was seemed particularly interested in just who Harry was writing to, but that morning he was thankfully preoccupied with gloatingly opening yet another package of sweets his eagle owl had brought him from home.
Neville had also received post that morning, too. A grumpy looking barn owl had brought him a small package from his grandmother, which he'd opened excitedly to show them a glass ball the size of a gobstone taw that appeared to be full of white smoke.
"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh, dear…" His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "… you've forgotten something."
Harry wondered if the Remembrall actually helped you to remember what it was you'd forgotten, but decided that it apparently didn't as Neville heaved a sigh of defeat as he failed to recall whatever it was he'd forgotten.
Neville had just loosened his grip on the Remembrall when Draco Malfoy, who was passing by the Gryffindor table, abruptly snatched it out of his hand.
Harry and the other Gryffindor boys jumped to their feet. All of them had one reason or another to want to pick a fight with Malfoy. Seamus, because he was convinced it was Malfoy who'd chucked the porcupine quills into his cauldron their first Potions lesson, and Ron, because Malfoy just couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut about the redhaired boy's family and their financial state.
But nothing actually happened, because Professor Snape seemed to have a sixth sense for when one of his Slytherins was about to receive a pounding.
"What's this?" he murmured silkily, looking them each over with his dark eyes.
Neville sunk low in his seat as the Potions Master's eyes landed on him, and so it was Dean who actually spoke up.
"Malfoy took Neville's Remembrall, Professor," he said.
"Mr. Malfoy please return Mr. Longbottom's property to him," the professor instructed. "I dare say he'll be needing it."
Looking most putout, Malfoy dropped the Remembrall back on the table, then he slouched off with Crabbe and Goyle following along behind him.
At half past three that afternoon, Harry and the other Gryffindors bustled down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was the perfect day for flying. The sky was clear and the faint breeze that was blowing was only enough to cause the grass to ripple under their feet, so there was little chance of anyone being blown off course.
Flying Lessons were being held on a flat stretch of lawn not too far from the Herbology greenhouses and just opposite the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.
The Slytherins were already there, and so were a couple dozen broomsticks laying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard just about everyone complained about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high; or they always few slightly to the left; or their Cushioning Charm was beginning to wear thin.
It wasn't long before their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, spiky hair, and the yellow eyes of a hawk.
"Good afternoon, class," she barked brusquely striding up to them.
"Good afternoon, Madam Hooch," the class intoned as she passed.
She came to a stop at the head of the line of broomsticks and turned to face them, her yellow eyes shining with boundless enthusiasm.
"Welcome to your first flying lesson," she greeted. "Well what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Harry glanced down at his broom. It was an old Tinderblast whose tail twigs were sticking out at odd angles.
"Stick out your wand hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch," and say 'Up!'"
"UP!" everyone shouted.
Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. As with all magic, intent and confidence could often be key whilst casting and there was a definite quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet firmly on the ground.
Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and then she walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. There were only a few hiccups. Like Luna, a couple of the Slytherin girls – Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis – insisted on seating themselves sidesaddle across the handle of their brooms. And then, to Harry's delight, Madam Hooch informed Malfoy that he'd been doing it wrong for years.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, I want you to kick off from the ground hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, hover for a moment, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"
But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had a chance to even touch Madam Hooch's lips.
"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and –
"Aresto Momentum!" Madam Hooch bellowed whipping out her wand as quick as a flash and jabbing it in the direction of Neville's rapidly falling form. The spell seemed to slow Neville's decent, but not nearly enough, because –
WHAM – with a thud and a nasty crack Neville was lying face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and starting to drift lazily toward the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.
Madam Hooch immediately jogged over to where Neville had landed, her face was just white as his.
"Oh dear," Harry heard her tutting, but was relieved to hear her pronouncement that Neville had only broken his wrist.
"Come on now, up you get," said Madam Hooch helping Neville to his feet. "It's all right."
She turned to the rest of the class.
"Everyone is to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom up to the hospital wing! Understand? If I see a single broom in the air the one riding it will be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."
Neville's face was tear-streaked as he hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him. Harry winced in sympathy as he noticed the unnatural angle of Neville's wrist.
No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
Several of the other Slytherins joined in.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."
"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's grandmother sent him."
The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.
"Maybe if he'd given this a squeeze he'd have remember to fall on his fat arse," Malfoy snickered cruelly.
And that was it. Harry had had enough.
"Give it here, Malfoy," he told the blond coolly as the other students suddenly became quite quiet.
Malfoy smiled nastily.
"No, I don't think so, Potter," he said, then after a moment of mock pondering, added, "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find… Maybe up a tree?"
"Give it here!" Harry shouted, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off.
Incorrect grip or not – he hadn't been lying, he could fly well. He soared back towards the castle and began hovering so that he was level with the topmost branches of an enormous oak tree.
"If you want it so bad come and get it, Potter!" he shouted.
Harry grabbed the old Tinderblast and swung a leg over the knobbly handle.
"No!" hissed Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble."
Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He kicked off hard from the ground and up he soared; air rushing through his hair as his robes whipped out behind him. For once there was no bubbling joy at being in the air. Instead he was filled with a fierce desire to pay Malfoy back for being such a bullying git.
He gave the handle of the Tinderblast a sharp jerk to take it even higher and heard screams and gasp from the Gryffindors and Slytherins on the ground as he shot upwards. Then, he turned the broomstick sharply so that he was fact to face with Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.
"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"
"Oh yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.
Maybe giving him a bit of a fright is the way to go, Harry thought as he leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands. Instantly he shot towards Malfoy like an arrow. The blond scrambled as he tried to get out of the way, but was left spinning like a top midair as Harry shot past him. He then swung his broom to do a sharp about-face so that he was hovering level a couple of meters away from Malfoy.
On the ground Ron and Seamus each gave an admiring whoop and several people were clapping.
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry taunted.
The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.
"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.
Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down – next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball – wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching – he stretched out his hand – a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.
"HARRY POTTER!"
Harry winced; his heart sinking faster than he'd just dove. Professor McGonagall was running towards them; her emerald green robes flapping behind her as hurried across the castle lawn.
"Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –" she managed to splutter. "– how dare you – might have broken your neck –"
The first year Gryffindors were quick to jump to Harry's defense, however.
"It wasn't his fault, Professor," protested Parvati.
But Professor McGonagall was having none of it. Her glasses were flashing furiously as she told Parvati to be quiet.
"But it was Malfoy's fault," Ron began and he too was silence.
"That's enough you lot," she said before rounding on Harry. "Mr. Potter, follow me, now."
Harry caught sight of Malfoy and his cronies' triumphant faces as he was led away. Following along numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle.
This wasn't just going to be a loss of House points, he just knew it. This was going to be detention or a suspension – or what if she decided to expel him instead? He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice.
Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, but still the professor didn't say a word to him.
They didn't stop where Harry had expected them to at Professor McGonagall's office on the first floor. Instead she wrenched open doors and marched along corridors as they headed farther up into the castle. All the while with Harry trotting along miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore.
But apparently that wasn't their destination either as they finally came to a stop in front the door to the Charms classroom on the third floor. As Harry pondered just what on earth she would want with Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall opened the door and poked her head inside.
"Excuse me," she called. "I need to borrow Mr. Wood for a moment."
Wood? Harry wondered, bewildered; did she mean the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. What did him getting in trouble have to do with the other boy?
Wood looked just as confused as Harry felt when he immerged from the Charms Classroom.
"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, as the three of them set off up the corridor. The burly fifth year staring curiously at Harry as they went.
"In here," she ordered, directing them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.
"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out swearing foully. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.
"Potter, this is Oliver Wood," she introduced, then to the fifth year she added, "Wood – I've found you a Seeker."
Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.
"Are you serious, Professor?" he gasped.
"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"
Harry shook his head mutely. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled; slowly he could feel his innards begin to unknot themselves.
"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."
Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.
"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.
Harry shook his head again.
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.
"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," Wood proclaimed, he was now walking around Harry and examining him. "We've got to make sure he has a decent broom, Professor – a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say … though, the Avis Company's produced a fair few gems the past few years too … so maybe one of their Scarlet Falcons…."
"Don't worry, Wood," she informed the older boy. "I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule like we did for Miss Bell. Goodness knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks…."
Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.
"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter," she said firmly, "or I may change my mind about punishing you."
Then she smiled suddenly and added, "Your father would have been proud. He was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, too."
"Harry, why am I hearing rumors about you having been expelled," Luna asked, as he slid into a seat beside her in the Great Hall.
However, before he could answer the duo was set upon by Ron, Seamus and Dean – all of who were demanding to know what had happened after he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall.
"You weren't expelled where you?" asked Dean anxiously.
"They can't have," burst Ron. "You're … well you – and they can't go expelling you from Hogwarts, can they?"
"Oy, you lot belt up and let him tell us what happened," Seamus demanded shushing the others, then asking Harry, "but you weren't expelled, right?"
"No, no, I wasn't expelled," he assured them all and the whole story came tumbling out: the march up the castle, meeting Wood, the bending of the first-year broom rule, his being made Seeker, and most importantly – his not being expelled.
"You're joking," gaped Ron in admiration. "Seeker? But first years never – you must be the youngest house player in about –"
" – a century," said Harry. "Wood told me."
"Unbelievable!" beamed Seamus.
"Cool," said Dean.
Harry smiled a bit sheepishly at their obvious amazement.
"I start training next week," he told them. "Only please don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."
"How does Wood plan on keeping a lid on something like this?" Dean remarked dryly and Harry had to admit the West Ham fan had a point. Rumors had a tendency of moving through Hogwarts faster than diarrhea through a toucan.
"Will Wood be cross that you've told me," Luna queried after Harry's dormmates drifted off.
Harry could only shrug. "Even if he is I was still going to tell you," he said.
The duo was halfway through their dinner when Fred and George Weasley entered the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over. They each had identical grins on their freckled faces.
"Well done, Harry," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. Er –"
Their grins slipped slightly when they saw Luna sitting beside Harry, but they returned full force when he said, "Don't worry she already knows."
"Breaking the rules already, Harry?" Fred scolded teasingly. "Naughty, naughty – we're on the team too – Beaters."
"And we should definitely be thanking you for making sure McLaggen didn't make the team," George added, shooting a dark look up the table where the curly haired boy was holding court. "He spent the whole of the tryouts telling Wood how he should be managing the team instead of looking for the Snitch … we'd never win with someone acting like that."
"I've got a feeling that Quidditch Cup is in the bag this year," said Fred. "We've got three awesome Chasers and Wood was almost skipping when he told us about you, so you must be good.
"Anyway," George broke in. "we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."
"I'll bet you it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week," added Fred.
"See you," they chorused.
As Fred and George disappeared, Harry finished polishing off the rest of his steak and kidney pie and went to get up as well. He wanted to send a letter to his grandad to let him know all about the day's excitement. Unfortunately, no sooner had he risen to his feet then someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Having a last meal before you're chucked out, Potter?" he sneered.
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but Harry had faced worse odds and come out well enough that he wasn't going to allow himself to be overly worried about his chances against a pair of meatheads who's only talents seemed to be cracking their knuckles, scowling in a menacing fashion, and pandering to a little toe-rag like Malfoy.
Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own," he said. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
"Course I have," snapped Harry. He'd suffered thorough a dreadfully dull lecture by Professor Binns on Emeric the Evil's defeat by Egbert the Egregious just the day before. "Is the only limit going to be 'no contact'?"
"Yes," said Malfoy shortly, and Harry had to repress the urge to smirk at just how put out the Slytherin looked that he'd actually accepted the challenge. "Midnight all right?" The pale boy added, "I'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."
"See you then …"
It was only after Malfoy and his hangers-on had gone that Harry allowed himself to wonder just what he'd gotten himself into.
"You just avoided expulsion by the skin of your teeth and now you're accepting a duel," Luna remarked, staring up at him from her seat. Her pale eyebrows had risen so far up her forehead they were threatening to join with her ash blonde hair.
"Yeah," Harry groaned sinking back down into his seat. "That – that's something that just happened."
"Excuse me," chimed a voice behind them.
It was Hermione Granger with a rather disapproving expression on her face.
"Yeah?" Harry hedged.
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –" she began.
I bet you couldn't, Harry thought tetchily.
"– and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. I know you don't seem to be one to put much store in House loyalty, but it's really very selfish of you."
"And it's really none of your business," said Harry coldly.
Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something else, seemed to change her mind after a moment, then gave a frustrated huff and marched off. Luna giving her a cheery way of good-bye as she went.
Later that night Harry lay awake listening as Dean, Ron, and Seamus fell asleep in their fourposters (Neville still wasn't back yet from the Hospital Wing). He had spent most of the evening going through Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed and Cantrips for the Cantankerous looking for anything he thought might be useful in his duel with Malfoy. He knew there was a very good chance he was going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and he felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule – but, on the other hand, this was his chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face and he just couldn't pass that up.
At half-past eleven Harry crawled out of his bed, pulled on his dressing gown and boots, picked up his wand, and crept on silent feet across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor Common Room. The trophy room often moved itself from the sixth to the third floor at night and so he and Luna planned to meet up at the statue of the Glatisant Beast on the fifth-floor landing, then head down together. She was of the opinion that Malfoy would show up with Crabbe and Goyle and have the pair of them pound on him the moment he walked in through the door.
The Common Room appeared deserted when Harry entered it. The portrait of the lion above the mantel piece was snoozing in its frame and only a few embers were still glowing in the fireplace itself. He had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest to him, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."
A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown and a frown.
"Go back to bed," Harry snapped.
"I almost told Percy Weasley," Hermione snapped, "he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."
Harry growled low in his throat, but didn't say anything. He couldn't believe that anyone could be so interfering. Striding past her, Harry pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.
Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed him through the portrait hole, hissing at him like an angry goose.
"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourself, I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you're going to lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."
"Sod off."
"Well I never," Hermione huffed. "All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so –"
But whatever Harry was, he didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing a blank stretch of canvas. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor tower.
"Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.
"You're asking me," Harry remarked wryly. "This is your problem. I've got somewhere I gotta be, ta."
And he set off. He hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with him.
"I'm coming with you," she said.
"No you're not."
"If you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me you've got another thing coming! At least if he catches the two of us I can just tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."
Harry snorted, like that was going to happen.
They'd gone a few steps further when Harry heard a sort of snuffling sound.
"Is it Mrs. Norris?" breathed Hermione, squinting through the dark.
But it wasn't the saw-dust colored terror. It was Luna in spangled dressing gown and a pair ludicrously fuzzy slippers with clawed toes. But that wasn't the oddest thing, curled up on the floor beside her, fast asleep was Neville.
"Hello, Harry," she greeted with a smile. "Hello, Hermione."
"I thought we were going to meet on the fifth-floor," said Harry, shooting a curious look at the sleeping Gryffindor beside her.
"I decided to keep Neville company while I waited," she replied serenely, climbing to her feet.
All of this was apparently enough wake Neville who came to with a start.
"Does this mean I can get into the Common Room now?" he asked blearily, looking up at them. "I couldn't remember the new password and Luna said you'd be coming by about now and could let me in."
"Keep your voice down, Neville." Hermione warned. "The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."
"How's your arm?" said Harry, noting that the other boy wasn't even wearing a cast.
"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."
"Brilliant," Harry breathed, his grandad had had to heal a few broken fingers for him over the years after a couple of botched spars with the training dummy at home and it was good to know the school nurse could do the same. Then remembering where he was he added, "Neville, we've got to be somewhere, I'll see you later –"
"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet. "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."
Not wanting to waste time arguing Harry shrugged and the four first-years set off. Creeping along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry half expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. The final leg of their journey found them darting down a staircase to the third floor and tiptoeing towards the trophy room.
Malfoy wasn't there yet and neither were his two friends. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, statues and plaques all glinted dully in the gloom. The four of them edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry drew his wand in case Malfoy disregarded all dueling etiquette and leapt in flinging spells.
Several minutes crept by. Hermione and Neville stood huddled together in a corner of the room while Luna examined the crystal cases around them while they waited. Feeling rather impatient, Harry glanced at his wrist watch and saw that it was already half-past midnight
"D'you reckon Malfoy's chickened –," Harry began, turning towards the blonde girl only to trail off. Luna had gone ridged, her eyes flickering rapidly as she stared into the polished gleam of the nearest case.
"We've got to go," she gasped, tearing her eyes away from the vision she'd seen in the glass. "Filch is coming."
"What," Hermione queried, staring at the other girl in confusion. "How do you know?"
"I just do," Luna snapped, not at all sounding like her usual dotty self. "We got to –"
But a noise outside the room caused her to fall abruptly silent – Filch had arrived.
"Sniff around, my sweet," said the caretaker greasily. "They might be lurking in a corner."
Horror-stuck, Harry waved for the other three to follow him as quickly possible and the four first-years scarpered. Rushing as quickly and as quietly as they could out the trophy room door in the opposite direction from Filch. Neville's robes barely whipping out of sight around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.
"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."
"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped and toppled right into a suit of armor.
The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.
"RUN!" Harry yelled, pausing just long enough to jerk Neville to his feet and the four of them were sprinting down the gallery, not bothering to look back to see whether or not Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going – they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was one the other side of the castle from the trophy room.
"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering and Luna's pale face was now splotched with high color in her cheeks.
"I – told – you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I – told – you."
"We need to get back to our towers as quickly as possible," said Harry regaining his breath. "Hopefully the Fat Lady'll be back by now."
"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."
"Or he caught Malfoy first and the plonker grassed," interrupted Harry, he actually thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her that. "What happened doesn't matter," he said instead, "we just need to get out of here and back to the tower."
It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.
It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.
"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut," he cackled. "Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please," reasoned Luna.
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."
"Didn't take you for a grasser," snapped Harry and Peeves froze in the middle of the air.
"Grasser," the poltergeist gasped in mock shock. "You mortally offend me, Firstie!" Peeves pretended to swoon mid-air, but his wicked smile remained. "I'll make it sporting then shall I, Ickle Firstie," he said, swooping back up into the air. "Give you a head start shall I."
"Fair's fair," Luna agreed, and they all knew that this was probably the best deal they could strike with the poltergeist.
Ducking under Peeves, the four of them ran on. It was barely a minute later that they heard Peeves bellow, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"
Unfortunately, the luck they'd had with Peeves didn't hold out. The corridor they now found themselves on ended in a door that the four first years were dismayed to discover was locked.
"No!" Harry hissed, as they pushed helpless at the door.
They could hear footsteps, most likely belonging to Filch as he ran as fast as he could toward Peeve's shouts.
"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.
"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."
"Say 'please.'," demanded the poltergeist.
"Don't mess with me, Peeves," Filch snarled. "Tell me where they went!"
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.
"All right – please."
"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch swearing in rage.
"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay – get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeves of Harry's dressing gown for the last minute. "What?"
Harry turned around – and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.
They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.
They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.
It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.
"Sweet Ranna," Harry gasped, as pages from The Book of the Dead flickered open in his mind's eye and through terror numbed lips Harry began to whistle.
The sweet song of the Sleep-bringer hit the three-headed dog with the force of a sledge hammer. Its great golden eyes rolling up into its head as it went weak in the knees and flopped upon the ground with a thunderous crash.
The noise was sure to draw even more attention to the forbidden corridor and so the four of them bolted at once. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared – all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them that that monstrous dog. In fact, the four of them didn't stop running until they had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.
"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their dressing gowns hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.
"Never mind that – pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry.
As the portrait swung forward they all went piling in. Three Gryffindors and a single Ravenclaw. The four of them staggered over to the smoldering fireplace and collapsed, trembling, into the squashy armchairs.
It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.
"Stars and stones, what are they playing at keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Harry finally, running a trembling hand through his sweaty hair. "We're nothing but bit sized nibblets to that thing."
Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again.
"You don't use your eyes, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"
"No, I didn't. I was a bit preoccupied trying to keep it from killing us in case it slipped your notice," Harry snapped irately.
It was Luna's quiet voice that broke the standoff between the two Gryffindors.
"A trapdoor," she said softly. "It was standing on a trapdoor."
"Exactly," said Hermione. "It's obviously there because it's guarding something."
She climbed to her feet, still glaring furiously at Harry.
"I hope you're pleased with yourself," she informed him crossly. "We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed we've got Potions first thing in the morning, after all." And off she stormed up the spiral staircase that led to the girls' dormitory.
Harry could only shake his head in exasperation as he watched her go. Neville, too, crept away soon enough. Leaving only Harry and Luna in the shadowy Common Room.
"Your Common Room is a bit stuffier than ours," declared Luna, she was now looking around the tower room with great interest. Her nervous trembles having ceased. "Fewer book cases as well, but I guess that would make sense."
"Yeah, we're not the most bookish lot," Harry agreed, but bookish or not Harry had been given something to think about. One of Cerberus's Get was in the castle and it was guarding something…. What was it that Hagrid had said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to keep safe – except perhaps Hogwarts….
Well, it looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.
Author's Note:
None of the songs used in this chapter are mine.
"Five Little Pumpkins" by Raffi
"Puddlemere United Anthem" by J.K. Rowling
"Blind Pig" by J.K. Rowling
"Blackbird" by The Beatles
On another note. I'm aware that a fair bit of this follows along very closely with the book. Major divergents from the original plot will be occurring slowly. So please trust me when I say that I do have plans for where this is all going.