Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 12-The Unforgivable Curses

The next two days pass without great incident, unless you count Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Professor Snape, who seems to have attained new levels of vindictiveness over the summer, gives Neville detention, and Neville returns from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads.

"You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?" says Ron to Harry and me as we watch Hermione teaching Neville a Scouring Charm to remove the toad guts from under his fingernails.

"Yeah," says Harry. "Moody." And there we are right back to the professor that has captured the attention of all us. Moody is practically a legend around here now for turning Malfoy into a ferret, which is still my favorite memory of this year so far.

It is common knowledge that Snape really wants the Dark Arts job, and he has now failed to get it for the fourth year running. Snape has disliked all of our previous Dark Arts teachers, and shows it — but he seems strangely wary of displaying overt animosity to Mad-Eye Moody. Indeed, whenever I see the two of them together — at mealtimes, or when they pass in the corridors — he has the distinct impression that Snape is avoiding Moody's eye, whether magical or normal.

"I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him, you know," Harry says thoughtfully.

"Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad," I say, my eyes misting over, "and bounced him all around his dungeon. . . ." That is a really nice thought.

The Gryffindor fourth years are looking forward to Moody's first lesson so much that we arrive early on Thursday lunchtime and queue up outside his classroom before the bell has even rung. The only person missing is Hermione, who turns up just in time for the lesson.

"Been in the —"

"Library." Harry finishes her sentence for her. "C'mon, quick, or we won't get decent seats."

We hurry into four chairs right in front of the teacher's desk, take out our copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, and wait, unusually quiet. Soon we hear Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he enters the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. We can just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes.

"You can put those away," he growls, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need them." We return the books to our bags, Ron looking excited (I'm pretty excited as well).

Moody takes out a register, shakes his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and begins to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swivels around, fixing upon each student as he or she answers.

"Right then," he says, when the last person has declared themselves present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures — you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There is a general murmur of assent. "But you're behind — very behind — on dealing with curses," says Moody. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark —"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurts out. Moody's magical eye spins around to stare at Ron; Ron looks extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiles — the first time I have seen him do so. The effect is to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it is nevertheless good to know that he ever does anything as friendly as smile. Ron looks deeply relieved.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody says. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago. . . . Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore. . . . One year, and then back to my quiet retirement."

He gives a harsh laugh, and then claps his gnarled hands together.

"So — straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

Lavender jumps and blushes. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently Moody's magical eye can see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head. I can't help but be happy that she got caught.

"So . . . do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by Wizarding law?" Oh well… I do.

Several hands rise tentatively into the air, including Ron's and Hermione's. Moody points at Ron, though his magical eye is still fixed on Lavender. I am not going to volunteer them; I have had enough of those curses for a lifetime.

"Er," says Ron tentatively, "my dad told me about one. . . . Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes," says Moody appreciatively. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

Moody gets heavily to his mismatched feet, opens his desk drawer, and takes out a glass jar. Three large black spiders are scuttling around inside it. I feel Ron recoil slightly next to me — Ron hates spiders.

Moody reached into the jar, catches one of the spiders, and holds it in the palm of his hand so that we can all see it. He then points his wand at it and mutters, "Imperio!"

The spider leaps from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and begins to swing backwards and forwards as though on a trapeze. It stretches out its legs rigidly, then does a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it begins to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerks his wand, and the spider rises onto two of its hind legs and goes into what is unmistakably a tap dance.

Everyone is laughing — everyone except Moody and me.

"Think it's funny, do you?" he growls. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?" The laughter dies away almost instantly.

"Total control," says Moody quietly as the spider balls itself up and begins to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats . . ." Ron gives an involuntary shudder.

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," says Moody, and I know he is talking about the days in which Voldemort had been all-powerful. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will.

"The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barks, and everyone jumps.

Moody picks up the somersaulting spider and throws it back into the jar. "Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

Hermione's hand flies into the air again and so, to my slight surprise, does Neville's. The only class in which Neville usually volunteers information is Herbology, which is easily his best subject. Neville looks surprised at his own daring.

"Yes?" says Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.

"There's one — the Cruciatus Curse," says Neville in a small but distinct voice.

Moody is looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.

A shiver runs down my spine at the name of the curse. Flashes of light and screams dance across my eyes.

"Your name's Longbottom?" he says, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again. I don't like where this is going.

Neville nods nervously, but Moody makes no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reaches into the jar for the next spider and places it upon the desktop, where it remains motionless, apparently too scared to move.

"The Cruciatus Curse," says Moody. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he says, pointing his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!"

The spider swells. It is now larger than a tarantula. Abandoning all pretense, Ron pushes his chair backwards, as far away from Moody's desk as possible.

Moody raises his wand again, points it at the spider, and mutters, "Crucio!"

More flashes of lights and a piercing scream come to the forefront of my mind, this one more recent then the rest of the old memories best forgotten.

At once, the spider's legs bend in upon its body; it rolls over and begins to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound comes from it, but I am sure that if it could give voice, it would be screaming. Moody does not remove his wand, and the spider starts to shudder and jerk more violently —

I slam my eyes closed and start breathing heavily. "Stop it!" Hermione says shrilly. I don't open my eyes to see what's bothering her. I have a guess of who she's worried about and it's not me.

"Reducio," Moody mutters. I unscrew my eyes and look at the now regular sized spider. He puts it back into the jar.

My breath is still shuddering and Harry is eyeing me worriedly. "Pain," says Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse. . . . That one was very popular once too.

"Right . . . anyone know any others?"

I look around. From the looks on everyone's faces, I guess we are all wondering what is going to happen to the last spider. Hermione's hand shakes slightly as, for the third time, she raises it into the air.

"Yes?" says Moody, looking at her.

"Avada Kedavra," Hermione whispers. There it is. Several people look uneasily around at her, including Ron.

"Ah," says Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra . . . the Killing Curse."

He puts his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knows what is coming, the third spider scuttles frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he traps it, and places it upon the desktop. It starts to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

Moody raises his wand, and I feel a sudden thrill of foreboding. "Avada Kedavra!" Moody roars.

There is a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something is soaring through the air — instantaneously the spider rolls over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifle cries; Ron has thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skids towards him.

I stare at the spider and attempt to swallow. Moody sweeps the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he says calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me." I glance at Harry and see him pale. Its one thing to know that and have others know that, but when someone says it out loud in such a serious situation it is different.

"Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it — you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it.

"Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roars, and the whole class jumps again.

"Now . . . those three curses — Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus — are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills . . . copy this down. . . ."

We spend the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one speaks until the bell rings — but when Moody has dismissed us and we have left the classroom, a torrent of talk bursts forth. Most people are discussing the curses in awed voices — "Did you see it twitch?" "— and when he killed it — just like that!"

I wince at each excited and awed voice. This is not the right reaction to what we just saw.

"Hurry up," she says tensely to Harry, Ron, and me.

"Not the ruddy library again?" moans Ron.

"No," says Hermione curtly, pointing up a side passage. "Neville." Neville is standing alone, halfway up the passage, staring at the stone wall opposite him with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he has worn when Moody has demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse.

"Neville?" Hermione says gently. Neville looks around.

"Oh hello," he says, his voice much higher than usual. "Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm — I'm starving, aren't you?"

"Neville, are you all right?" says Hermione.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. "Very interesting dinner — I mean lesson — what's for eating?"

Ron gives Harry a startled look. "Neville, what — ?"

But an odd clunking noise sounds behind us, and we turn to see Professor Moody limping towards us. All four of us fall silent, watching him apprehensively, but when he speaks, it is in a much lower and gentler growl than we have yet heard.

"It's all right, sonny," he says to Neville. "Why don't you come up to my office? Come on . . . we can have a cup of tea. . . ." While they leave Moody's magical eye focuses on me and I swear that I can read meaning from it. I shift my gaze away and scuff the ground with my shoe.

Moody turns his magical eye upon Harry. "You all right, are you, Potter?"

"Yes," says Harry, almost defiantly. Moody's blue eye quivers slightly in its socket as it surveys Harry. Then he says, "You've got to know. It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending . . . well . . . come on, Longbottom, I've got some books that might interest you."

Neville looks pleadingly at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me but we don't say anything, so Neville has no choice but to allow himself to be steered away, one of Moody's gnarled hands on his shoulder.

"What was that about?" says Ron, watching Neville and Moody turn the corner.

"I don't know," says Hermione, looking pensive.

"Some lesson, though, eh?" says Ron to Harry as we set off for the Great Hall. "Fred and George were right, weren't they? He really knows his stuff, Moody, doesn't he? When he did Avada Kedavra, the way that spider just died, just snuffed it right —"

But Ron falls suddenly silent at the look on Harry's face and doesn't speak again until we reach the Great Hall, when he says he supposed they had better make a start on Professor Trelawney's predictions tonight, since they would take hours.

Hermione does not join in with our conversation during dinner, but eats furiously fast, and then leaves for the library again. "Hey guys I'll meet you back at the tower." I say. They give me wary looks but nod their heads anyway.

As they leave I look over at the Ravenclaw table trying to find my brother, but I don't see him. I bite down on my lower lip and glance around the hall. I stop when I spot someone that I do know, and might know where Luka is. Before I can sway myself otherwise I walk over to the Hufflepuff table.

Susan Bones nudges Ariana as I come up to them. She turns around and raises her eyebrow at me. "Do you know where Luka is?" I blurt out not even bothering with a greeting. Her brown eyes study me for a long moment, then she murmurs a goodbye to her friends. Ariana gets up and takes me by the arm leading me out of the Great Hall and into the entrance hall.

"What happened Jamie?" Ariana asks me softly leading me through the halls passively.

"He— he killed it. I— I get that its only a spider but… still…" I say trailing off in the end. Ariana stiffens next to me for a second then forces her body to relax again.

"You saw something?" She asks. I flick my gaze to hers quickly wondering how she knew that.

"To use those spells so carelessly…" I tell her. Suddenly Ariana leads to an alcove and sits me down. "Ari?" I ask curiously looking at her pensive face.

"Did I ever tell you how I came to be living with my grandfather?" Ariana asks me quietly. I raise my eyes to hers in shock. In all the years that I've known her she's never once mentioned how she ended up there. No one really liked talking about the Dumbledore family since most people have a great respect for the Headmaster.

I shake my head wordlessly. With a long sigh Ariana slumps against the wall in front of me. She looks nervous and agitated, something that I'm not used to seeing her as, and it bothers me. "A long time ago before my grandfather really grew up and began to understand himself he had a fling with a muggle girl." She starts.

My eyebrows rise at that. "Her name was Genevieve. That's all that I've ever been able to get out of Grandfather. He's never told me anything else other than that she dies many years ago. It was a one time mistake as he tells it, and nine months later that mistake produced a child. That child was left on my Grandfather's doorstep one morning after Genevieve was able to track him down."

"In case you haven't guessed the kid was my father Adrian. Grandfather took the baby in despite his family's qualms about keeping the son and raising him but Grandfather wouldn't abandon my father. He loved him. So my father grew up as a Dumbledore and lived with the family. Hogwarts as always changed his life. While my father was at school here he met a girl— Mira. I still don't know her last name."

"They were madly in love and a year out of school they got married to each other. Mira was my mother. The war was going strong by then. My parents got pregnant with me around the same time that everyone else in our year. Grandfather tried everything to protect our family especially once I was born. It wasn't enough though… my parents were involved in anti Voldemort efforts along with your parents and Harry's. Of course that put targets on their backs and just like your family are Pendragons mine are Dumbledores. We have high prices on us."

"My mother Mira was taken one day in a fight. She was captured, tortured for information which she wouldn't give, and when there was practically nothing left of her… V— Volde- he killed her. He sent back her body to my family. My father went mad with grief swearing that he would kill him if it was the last thing that he would do. Grandfather begged and pleaded with him to stop and let it go… to live for me."

"I… I guess that I wasn't enough at that point. My father left me with Grandfather and went off screaming for Voldemort to come and face him. My father dies that very night by his hand. In the course of a few days my family was taken from me and my Grandfather is left as my last family member. I understand what it feels like to see those spells performed. I might have not been there when it happened, but the effect is still the same."

"Why practice magic when it has taken away the very things that we love? Those questions haunt me still." Ariana finishes staring down at her shaking hands while tears streak down her cheeks. I slowly get up from my spot on the bench and raise my hand to wipe away her tears with my thumb. Her eyes focus back onto me.

"We practice magic to honor those who have gone and to protect those that we have left. I am sorry about your parents Ariana. I understand, but you are not alone. You will never be alone as long as we stand beside you." I tell her. A last tear streaks down her cheek, and she wraps her arms around my waist burying her face into my neck.

"Thank you." She breathes, and I tighten my grasp on her stroking her back slowly. Everyone needs a friend and it looks like Ariana Dumbledore is going to be stuck with me.

"Always." I reply. After a minute we break apart. She straightens herself up and I'm amazed how the blond can make herself look like she hadn't just had an emotional breakdown.

"Your brother is just through there Pendragon. I'd suggest going now before you've lost him to the realm of books and papers. Something about an opportunity for an extra credit assignment all ready or something." She tells me gesturing to the door. I nod my head and smile softly at her.

"Thanks Dumbledore. I'll see you in Herbology." I reply understanding that she needs to get back to a lighter mood. With one last grin she parts ways with me. I let out a shaky breath of air and push open the door to see my brother surrounded by five books surrounding him that are all open, and piles of paper on the table beside him.

"You do understand that we've only been back at school for four days correct?" I question coming closer to look at what he's working on. Luka jumps about a foot in the air adjusting his glasses on his nose while scowling at me.

"Don't you know that it's considered rude not to knock?" He shoots back. I roll my eyes at him and sit backwards in the chair in front of him.

"How did you make it through DADA class?" I ask him upfront not bothering to beat around the bush. The pencil in Luka's hand drops to the desk with a clatter. The color has drained from his face as well.

"Oh— you had Moody today." Luka stutters. I roll my eyes at his obvious statement.

"Yeah. Did— did you see it? I-I can't stop seeing it now. Its like it's burned to the back of my eyelids again. It's been gone for so long Luka and now its back and I don't know what to do." I cringe squeezing my eyes shut attempting to get the vision of him on the floor out of my mind. The ghostly howl rips through my ears causing me to wince.

I feel a warm hand on mine squeezing tightly. "Jame, that's in the past it's not happening right now. We're all fine everything is okay. No one got hurt." Luka says. I open my eyes to look at him incredulously.

"They were in our house! Kingsley was on the floor, and the screaming! Merlin there was so much screaming! If we hadn't be taught where to hide…" I gasp not wanting to think about that thought any longer.

"Everything turned out all right. The aurors came and Kingsley is just fine now. That's the whole reason we got a new house and fidelous charm in the first place. The bad men are gone and locked up in Azkeban. They can never hurt us again. The memories will go away again Jamie. We're safe." Luka insists staring me in the eye.

I nod my head slowly in acceptance calming down considerably. This is why Luka is the oldest. Everyone else might think that I'm the strong one out of the pair of us, but its Luka who's able to stay sane throughout almost every crisis. I let out a shaky breath of air and look at my brother.

"Thanks." I say. He grins at me crookedly and nods his head.

"That's what I'm here for. Someone has to keep you from going off the deep end, and let me tell you sister it is no picnic." Luka says. I glare at him playfully and smack his arm.

"I'll see you later dork." I say getting up and heading towards the door.

"Good night sister dearest!" Luka calls after me.

When I get back up to the tower Harry, Ron, and I work on our charts for Divination coming up with the most wild and grisly deaths that we can possibly think about for ourselves. I am barbequed by a dragon in one prediction. I thought that it was rather ironic.

Hermione climbs into the common room carrying a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a box whose contents rattle as she walks in the other. Crookshanks arches his back, purring.

"Hello," she says, "I've just finished!"

"So have I!" says Ron triumphantly, throwing down his quill. Hermione sits down, lays the things she was carrying in an empty armchair, and pulls Ron's predictions towards her.

"Not going to have a very good month, are you?" she says sardonically as Crookshanks curls up in her lap.

"Ah well, at least I'm forewarned," Ron yawns.

"You seem to be drowning twice," says Hermione. I snicker at the mistake that he's made. At least I only managed to be hit by lightning once.

"Oh am I?" says Ron, peering down at his predictions. "I'd better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff."

"Don't you think it's a bit obvious you've made these up?" says Hermione.

"How dare you!" says Ron, in mock outrage. "We've been working like house-elves here!" Hermione raises her eyebrows. She's still touchy about the whole subject.

"It's just an expression," says Ron hastily. Harry lays down his quill too, having just finished predicting his own death by decapitation.

"What's in the box?" he asks, pointing at it.

"Funny you should ask," says Hermione, with a nasty look at Ron. She takes off the lid and shows tus the contents.

Inside are about fifty badges, all of different colors, but all bearing the same letters: S.P.E.W.

"'Spew'?" says Harry, picking up a badge and looking at it. "What's this about?"

"Not spew," says Hermione impatiently. "It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

"Never heard of it," says Ron. Neither have I and I happen to know a lot of random civil right groups.

"Well, of course you haven't," says Hermione briskly, "I've only just started it."

"Yeah?" I say in mild surprise. "How many members have you got?"

"Well — if you three join — four," says Hermione. I raise my eyebrows at that.

"And you think we want to walk around wearing badges saying 'spew,' do you?" says Ron.

"S-P-E-W!" says Hermione hotly. "I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status — but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto." She brandishes the sheaf of parchment at us. Part of me is amazed and proud of her and the other is just plain terrified.

"I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now."

"Hermione — open your ears," says Ron loudly. "They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!"

"Our short-term aims," says Hermione, speaking even more loudly than Ron, and acting as though she didn't heard a word, "are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented."

"And how do we do all this?" Harry asks.

"We start by recruiting members," says Hermione happily. "I thought two Sickles to join — that buys a badge — and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron — I've got you a collecting tin upstairs — and Harry, you're secretary, so you might want to write down everything I'm saying now, as a record of our first meeting. Jamie you're PR that stands for Public Relations and will talk to people about the cause."

I can't believe she's done all this. There is a pause in which Hermione beams at the three of us, and I sit, torn between exasperation at Hermione and amusement at the look on Ron's face. The silence is broken, not by Ron, who in any case looks as though he is temporarily dumbstruck, but by a soft tap, tap on the window. I look across the now empty common room and see, illuminated by the moonlight, a snowy owl perched on the windowsill.

"Hedwig!" Harry shouts, and he launches himself out of his chair and across the room to pull open the window.

Hedwig flies inside, soars across the room, and lands on the table on top of Harry's predictions. Lets hope she doesn't relieve herself on them, but then again I'd love to see the look on Professor Trelawney's face when she receives the work.

"About time!" says Harry, hurrying after her.

"She's got an answer!" says Ron excitedly, pointing at the grubby piece of parchment tied to Hedwig's leg.

Harry hastily unties it and sits down to read, whereupon Hedwig flutters onto his knee, hooting softly.

"What does it say?" Hermione asks breathlessly.

"Come on Harry don't leave us guessing." I prompt him. The letter is very short, and looks as though it had been scrawled in a great hurry. Harry reads it aloud:

"Harry —

I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore — they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is.

I'll be in touch soon. My best to Jamie, Ron, and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry."

Harry looks up at Ron, Hermione, and me. "He's flying north?" Hermione whispers. "He's coming back?" That is rather odd now that I think of it.

"Dumbledore's reading what signs?" says Ron, looking perplexed. "Harry — what's up?"

For Harry has just hit himself in the forehead with his fist, jolting Hedwig out of his lap.

"I shouldn't've told him!" Harry says furiously.

"What are you on about?" says Ron in surprise.

"It's made him think he's got to come back!" says Harry, now slamming his fist on the table so that Hedwig lands on the back of Ron's chair, hooting indignantly. "Coming back, because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I haven't got anything for you," Harry snaps at Hedwig, who is clicking her beak expectantly, "you'll have to go up to the Owlery if you want food." I take a good look at her, and notice that Hedwig is looking rather round lately.

Harry must be feeding her too many scraps at the table recently. Hedwig gives him an extremely offended look and takes off for the open window, cuffing him around the head with her outstretched wing as she goes. I've always liked that bird she has spunk.

"Harry," Hermione begins, in a pacifying sort of voice.

"I'm going to bed," says Harry shortly. "See you in the morning." With that he stomps up the stairs to the boys dormitory. I roll my eyes after him. Harry's acting like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Don't bother. Let him go." I say waving off my friends' attempts to call him back. A few minutes later we retire as well. Up in my room under the covers of my bed I finally allow my body to relax all the way after the stressful day that I've just had.

Hopefully the days to come won't be as bad or I won't live long enough to see fifteen.