'Are you sure they will come, my dear?'

'I am quite certain. They are very forgiving.'

'Excellent. This will be the start of the regime. Let us hurt those who hurt us, is it not so?'

The girl nods in agreement. 'They deserve it, for what their name has brought to us. Blood traitors!' she cries, her cackle spreading throughout the dark night.

October

Fifth Year Herbology is completely and utterly not fun. Professor Longbottom is a complete klutz outside of the classroom – he's the one teacher I might actually confide in just because his mental age is probably equivalent to that of a teenager's – but in the classroom (or greenhouses in this case), he's bossy and annoying and teacher-ish. I mean, Herbology's interesting, and I'm not exactly bad at the subject, but I don't enjoy it. I think I prefer Transfiguration, if I'm honest. It's a close second-bottom.

Take this, for example: the Venomous Tentacula tried to strangle me the other day. I screamed a pretty bad swear word, which resulted in Colin Creevey II having to beat it off me. I think it's pretty fair that I was scared. I nearly died. But no, Professor Longbottom puts me in detention re-potting Mandrakes and writing out twenty times 'I must not swear in the greenhouses in case I teach them to the Parrot-plant'. And when I tried to protest, he threatened me with having to sit alone in Greenhouse Three for a night. With the Venomous Tentacula. I think he found his soul mate in that plant.

Colin Creevey II, my eternal Herbology partner and total idiot-with-a-camera, is currently photographing our homework project that we (thankfully) have been given time to complete in the lesson. Apparently the report on it is worth about a third of our final grade, so Colin thinks that filling most of said report with photos will get us an O. I disagree, so I'm actually writing the report. By hand. I miss my computer. Plus, coursework is an addition to the new OWL specification that the Ministry of Magic has imposed, because it gets muggles better grades, so it must get wizards better grades too. Allegedly.

'Colin, would you stop that? I think we have enough pictures of our dying plant,' I snap, irritated. It's hard writing a conclusion to an investigation when said investigation epically failed.

'Sorry. Do you think I should just develop them normally, the muggle way, since the plant doesn't move anyway?'

'I don't know, Colin, okay? I'd develop them the wizard way so you don't confuse poor Longbottom. But I'd really appreciate your help with this. Does mandrake juice affect the growth of daffodils?'

'Yes. It kills them,' he says, still taking pictures.

'But that's not what's supposed to happen! It's supposed to make them flourish, walk and sing! They become mandrake-like!'

He shrugs. 'I don't know, do I? That's why I'm taking these photos. To distract from our horrible essay.'

'It is not horrible!' I cry. 'And it would be better if you put the effort in!'

He shakes his head and ignores me. I raise my hand, glaring at Colin. He catches my eye and grins. He's such a boy.

'Yes, Miss Penny?' Professor Longbottom says wearily.

'What do I put, sir? Since our investigation couldn't have gone worse?'

'Your conclusions are what your results show. So you have a – ah – dead daffodil here,' he frowns, evidently confused as to how we have gone so wrong. 'So your conclusion would be that mandrake juice kills daffodils. Which is wrong, but it's what you found. Then you need to evaluate your research. Good luck with that,' he pats me on the back sympathetically and moves on to Parkinson, a Slytherin who seems incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

'Ha! I told you that was our conclusion! You didn't believe me!' Colin smirks. I glare at him and his smirk grows. He's infuriating.

I'm finishing the conclusion as the magical bell that floats through the school and grounds rings.

'Finish your evaluation for next lesson!' Longbottom yells above the noise. Everyone groans.

'But that's Monday! And it's Hogsmeade tomorrow!' someone wails. Longbottom ignores the voice.

I thrust my things into my bag and dash out. James is waiting for me, leaning against a nearby tree. He grins as I run up to him.

'You took your time,' he says.

'My conclusion is rubbish. My daffodil died,' I grimace. 'And Colin Creevey II is an idiot.'

'His dad was the same, apparently. Dad says that Colin Creevey used to follow him around when he was in Second Year, and then his brother, Dennis, did the same. Colin died in the Second Wizarding War, so his nephew has his namesake, like my cousin Fred.'

'And personality-sake, by the look of things!'

James grins again. 'So, the first Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow,' he begins, slowly and deliberately. I try to hide the fact that my eyes light up. It's not because it looks like he's asking me… 'Want to come with me? I can show you Honeydukes, and the Shrieking Shack and everything. It's really cool.'

Yes! Yes yes YES!

'Sure, okay. But your parents withdrew my slip after the last time I was in trouble. No thanks to you.'

'You think that matters? I have something better than a slip,' his eyes twinkle mischievously. 'But I'll have to meet you in the afternoon; I've got a detention with Filch.'

I roll my eyes. 'You are not making me help you get out of it this time.'

'Nah, it's cool. Al is helping me instead,' his eyes flash again. 'I'll meet you at one, outside that statue of the witch with the hump on the third floor.'

'Cool. So what have you got now?'

'Arithmancy. You?'

'Defence against the Dark Arts.'

'Oh, cool. Dad's lecturing today – you're having a mixed group with the Sixth Years.'

'I should be in Sixth Year,' I grumble. James pats my arm patronisingly and we turn down the Charms corridor.

'James, don't you have Arithmancy? It's the other way,' Rose says, marching up to us. 'I think Laoise knows the way to Defence by now…'

James ignores her. 'I'll see you tomorrow, Laoise,' he says, smiling at me. He kisses me on the cheek and walks away.

'No you won't James Potter! You are attending Filch's detention!' Rose yells after him.

'Ah, leave him be, Rosie,' I say. 'He's not hurting anyone.'

'You speak as if he's a baby,' Rose comments snottily. 'He's seventeen – he should know how to behave.' She folds her arms grumpily.

'Why are you in such a foul mood?'

'Scorpius Malfoy! Oh, he annoys me!'

'Your boyfriend annoys you?' I ask incredulously. We lean against the wall, waiting for Defence to begin.

'He's not my boyfriend!' Rose announces furiously. 'I might've kissed him a few times, just to annoy Dad… But that gives him no right to prance around like some overpaid Quidditch player claiming that I'm another notch on his belt!'

'Rose, did you sleep with him?' I ask tentatively, not mentioning that she plays Quidditch for Gryffindor, or that the entirety of Gryffindor tower and the Potter/Weasley family did think she and He Who Must Not Be Named II are actually dating.

'Of course not!' she exclaims, affronted. She glowers at me for even suspecting her of such a thing.

'I'm just saying… I've seen you party. You couldn't have been drunk?'

'Not that drunk. Hi, Uncle Harry,' she says sternly, changing the subject. It's bizarre how she can act like a swotty know-it-all most of the time, but be ridiculously like those detested overpaid Quidditch players the next.

'Hi, Rose, Laoise,' Mr Potter says brightly. 'How's school? Are you coming in?'

The class troop in after Mr Potter, apparently unsurprised that the famous Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, defeater of Voldemort, Head Auror, and defender of all things good is taking their lesson.

'Okay, today we're going to go over the Unforgivable Curses. I know that they're a fourth-year topic, but the new OWL and NEWT specifications require you to have more experience than just a basic knowledge. We can thank Kingsley Shacklebolt's own interference for that. Now, what do you know already?'

I see Colin Creevey II hanging onto Mr Potter's every word. His hand darts up. Rose and I roll our eyes simultaneously. 'We know what they are, Mr Potter, sir, but we don't know how to work them or anything, and we haven't learnt any case studies we can use in the exam,' he babbles.

'I think he'd wind up marrying Dad if gay marriage were legal,' Albus whispers from behind us. I laugh.

'Er, thank you Colin,' Mr Potter says awkwardly. 'Okay, what are the Unforgivable Curses?'

There's a silence. Rose, Al and I raise our hands.

'Only three people? Colin, I thought you said everyone knew what they are.'

Colin blushes. 'Sorry, sir.' Rose's hand begins to wave.

'Alright, Rose,' Mr Potter says in a bored manner, as though used to Rose's class tendencies.

'The Cruciatus Curse, the Imperius Curse and the Avada Kedavra Curse. That's all we were taught last year. I know that the current fourth years have been set a great deal more work on it than we were, but a number of parents and teachers were concerned about insufficient training so we didn't learn much,' she tells Mr Potter in one breath. Mr Potter tuts.

'I'm surprised you haven't looked them up, Rose.'

Now Rose blushes. 'My mum thinks that I shouldn't be learning them yet.'

Mr Potter looks concerned. 'That's not the Hermione Weasley I know. She always thought education was the best way forwards.'

Rose shrugs. I raise my hand again.

'Sir, the three Unforgivable Curses are the most evil curses known to wizard, essentially because they are varying forms of thievery. The Cruciatus Curse tortures; it steals the right to answer freely. The Imperius Curse controls; it steals the right to free will. The Avada Kedavra Curse kills; it steals the right to life. It was the use of these three curses during the Second Wizarding War that caused the Ministry of Magic to make the then-Prime Minister Tony Blair to enforce the Human Rights Act. These rights are now applicable to all human beings: Muggles, Mudbloods, half-bloods and pure-bloods, and there are even graver punishments for breaching those rights now.'

Mr Potter looks impressed. 'Nice analogy, although I wouldn't quite say it works for the Cruciatus Curse. Did you get it from The Kite Runner?'

I nod.

'A fine book, according to my wife,' he grins. 'Alright, let us build upon Miss Penny's analogy!'

The lesson continues in a very fun manner, but I can't help feeling that I've shown too much knowledge. My tutor was a great wizard, the son of a great wizard and he felt it important that I know how to defend myself by any means, but no one else can know what he taught me, if we want to succeed. I just know Rose and Al will ask questions.

'Alright, read up on the Unforgivable Curses for Professor Boot. If any Sixth Years need slips for the Restricted Section, owl me through Albus.' Mr Potter promptly walks out exactly as the bell goes.

'Come on, you two, I'm starving,' Al says, evidently glad that his father has left.

'I'm not eating tonight – I've got a major report to write up for Longbottom by tomorrow,' I announce. 'I'll speak to you guys later.'

I stalk off to Gryffindor tower, give the password ('bowtruckle') and walk into the middle of a fight between James and his Chaser, Michael Wood.

'What do you mean, you're not allowed to play for the rest of the year?' James demands.

'I got into a spot of bother with some Slytherins and a broomstick so I'm not allowed to play now…' Wood says sheepishly.

'But you have Slytherin friends!' James cries.

'Not anymore,' Wood says miserably. 'I'm sorry, James. You're going to have to hold Chaser try-outs.'

James had already held try-outs for the team, but I had turned him down despite his offer. I see no way that I could be any good on a broomstick.

'What's going on?' Rose asks, as she and Albus climb through the portrait hole.

'We're holding Chaser try-outs,' James fumes. 'Tonight!' he adds loudly so that everyone in the common can hear him. 'Our next game's in a fortnight, damn it.' He storms off to the boys dormitories, and returns with a broomstick. 'Rose, Roxanne, I'm going to need you too.'

Al adds, 'I'll find Jacob Thomas and Ethan Finnigan. Want to come to watch some Quidditch, Laoise?'

'Alright,' I say, reluctantly.

We find Jacob and Ethan and Al's broomstick and traipse down to the Quidditch pitch. The boys take it upon themselves to teach me the rules of Quidditch.

'Right, there are seven players and four balls,' Al begins. 'The Chasers and Keeper play with the Quaffle.'

'I'm a Chaser, and so is Rose,' Ethan interjects. 'It's our job to score by throwing the Quaffle through one of three hoops, and the Keeper, Roxanne, defends those hoops. We score ten points if we succeed.'

'Me and James are Beaters,' says Jacob. 'There are these balls that fly around trying to beat people up-'

'That's not what they do, Jake…'

'…and we have to hit them towards the other team. Then there's Al. He's the Seeker.'

'I have to catch the Golden Snitch, which ends the game and earns us one hundred and fifty points.'

'We like the Snitch,' says Jake evilly. 'My precious…'

'I'm not sure I do. I got beaten up last year because it was next to my elbow,' frowns Ethan.

'Yeah, sorry about that…'

Jake, Ethan and Albus continue to discuss the many rules and fouls of Quidditch, such as blagging, stooging and Snitchnipping. I pretend to be interested. After what feels like years, we wind up at the Quidditch pitch. There is a huddle of Gryffindors with broomsticks, waiting to try out.

Half an hour later, a Chaser still hasn't been found and there's only one person left.

'Alright, Isabella. You try,' James says doubtfully. Al informs me that she alternates commentating with Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

James throws his broom down in frustration when Isabella succeeds in missing every shot possible.

'Anyone else? Laoise, do you want to try?'

More out of pity than actually feeling a thrill for the sport, I agree to get on a broomstick. I kick off and suddenly I realise that this isn't so bad. It's actually quite fun. Rose passes the Quaffle to me and I catch it easily. I toss it to Ethan who throws it back to me. James yells 'Shoot' and I put it through the hoop. There's a great deal of cheering from the ground.

Somehow I manage to only miss twice, which was thanks to James turning some Bludgers on me, and I've made the team. I start to argue with James.

'What makes you think I'll be any good?' I demand crossly as we walk back up to the dormitories. 'Why should I play?'

'You don't need to be brilliant. Rose and Ethan are, so it doesn't matter if you're not. But it'll be fun. Anyway, I need a third Chaser and everyone else was horrible. So come on!'

'Oh, that makes me feel better!' I say, glaring. 'Fine, I'll do it. When do you practise?'

'Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Now go to bed and I'll see you tomorrow for Hogsmeade,' he says in a superior tone. I hit him on the arm and he leans down and kisses me.

'Damn you,' I grumble.

'You love me really.'

'Humph.' I march up the stairs to my dormitory, but despite my frustration at being roped into a pointless sport, I feel that tomorrow could be the best day ever and with that in mind, I fall asleep easily.