Chapter Four

The rest of the summer holiday seemed to fly by in a daze of quiet grief and weeding. Harry stayed at Neville's house, content to help the other boy in the family greenhouses for hours on end. If the Longbottom clan noticed Harry's greater quietness, none of them mentioned it.

They will live again, was the prevalent mantra that got Harry through the hard days. You will see them again. Even if they never call you father, you will be there to watch over them, watch them grow up, all of it. You will. And maybe…maybe. Maybe they will end up mine anyway. Maybe.

Time, as it does, heals most grief. The heartache that choked Harry for the first few days after visiting Ollivander's shop faded, as he knew it would. The bittersweet memories played out in his dreams, hazy as half forgotten imaginations, but the pull on his heart stayed the same. James, Albus, Lily, Harry would wake with tears still wet on his face sometimes. Neville never asked him why.

Harry went with his friend to St. Mungo's once a week. Harry stayed in the waiting room, not wanting to crowd Neville's time with his parents. Neville seemed to draw strength from Harry's company – or at least that was what Mrs. Longbottom told him.

Before he knew it, it was September first again and the school term was upon them.

They were up at dawn, even though they had packed the night before. "Gran's always like this," Neville said through a yawn as they tromped down for breakfast.

After that Mrs. Longbottom called the Knight Bus, while a few of Neville's older relatives came to see them off. They were on their way to London by a little after eight in the morning. Harry played cards with Neville as the bus made several more stops. Harry waved to a familiar Hufflepuff face, even as a shy Slytherin third year came by to say hello to a bewildered Harry. Harry didn't recognize the face from his memories, but a glance at the girl's parents told him why – the man was clearly a wizard, in his worn robes and wand, but the woman sitting next to him was in Muggle clothing and was peering around with bright, interested eyes.

They reached King's Cross Station with almost an hour to spare. Mrs. Longbottom saw them off with little fanfare; a brusque kiss for Neville and a gracious nod for Harry seemed to be extent of her public affections.

The boys claimed a compartment on an eerily empty train. The porters had their things stowed in a flash. Harry and Neville watched the young men lounge near the tea trolley vender and smoke, while flirting with the girl behind the till.

"I've never been here this early," Harry said.

"Me either. Last year we went from Diagon Alley."

"That's right," Harry said. "I never did thank you for your help, did I?"

Neville rolled his eyes at him. "Forget it. Bets on how long it'll take Hermione to ask us about our homework?"

"Five minutes."

"I say three."

They shook on it.

It wasn't long before the platform started to fill. Harry and Neville watched the ebb and flow of the crowd from their window, picking out familiar faces from the rush.

"There you are," came Hermione's voice from the door. "I've been looking all over. We wanted to get here before the rush, but my father forgot to fill the tank for the car and it was just horrid at the fill station."

"Hello, Hermione," Harry grinned as he turned to face his friend.

Hermione beamed back at them. "I am so excited. I can't wait. A whole new year of studies! Do you have your homework finished?"

Harry shared a wry look with Neville. "We finished it. Promise."

"Wonderful. I've come up with a preliminary schedule for our study group, but I'll have to –"

"Study group?"

Harry glanced up to see Theodore Nott standing at the door.

Hermione rolled her eyes "Yes, Theo. The study group. I told you about it."

"Not that you started to schedule it." Theo moved into the compartment, Draco hot on his heels.

"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Hello," the blond's chin came up. Harry thought he caught a hint of nervousness in Draco's gaze.

"Did you finish your homework?"

The haughtiness died as Draco gaped at Hermione. "Of course I did!"

"Well," Hermione sniffed. "Good."

"You're arranging study groups already?" Theo threw himself onto the seat opposite her. "We haven't even got our class schedules yet, how can you start planning?"

"A general study group in the afternoon can be assured of."

"For a single House group, but what about including other Houses?"

Hermione blinked. "You want to join our group?"

"Thank you for the offer; we would be delighted."

"I – but I – hey…"

Harry tuned out Hermione and Theo's squabbling as Draco settled in next to him. "How was your summer?" He asked the blond instead.

Draco shot him a shrewd glance, then Neville. "We had several…unpleasant visitors," he shrugged, his expression grim. "My father was out of temper for the most part. That's probably what caused the," Draco wrinkled his nose. "The – you know."

"Knock down, drag out brawl?"

Color spread over pale cheeks. "Yes."

"No offense, but your dad deserved it."

Draco scowled, but said nothing. What a change, Harry bit down on a smirk.

" – absolute rot –"

" – is not the cause of –"

" – without necessary –"

" – is not –"

"She's been doing this to him all summer," Draco sighed over Hermione and Theo's rising shouts.

"Has not," Theo snapped at Draco, face flushed.

"At least you got to see the Muggle stuff."

"You…wanted to see it, too?" Hermione peered at Draco.

The blond tried to look nonchalant, Harry noted, but failed. "Sure," Draco said. "It would have been diverting."

Harry spared a moment to palm his face. Were we all such twits at this age?

"Diverting," Hermione repeated.

There was a tap on the door. Fred stuck his head inside. "There you are, Harry. Hello, all."

"Hello, Fred," Harry gave the older boy a small wave.

"We've just made it aboard," Fred winced as the train whistled screeched. "Mum wanted us to make sure you lot made in on, too. Now that I've filled my filial duty, I'm off!" Fred tossed them a sloppy salute and was gone.

"He always seems so stupid, but their pranks are well planned and their joke pieces are very well put together," Theo sighed. "It's a shame they weren't sorted into Slytherin."

Harry couldn't help his laugh. "Are you mental? Snape would have drowned them both during their first year." Hermione giggled, but Draco scowled at the Gyrffindors.

"Professor Snape would never do such a thing to a fellow Slytherin."

"Maybe not," Harry grinned. "But I'd bet he'd dream about it."

The rest of the train ride was spent catching up. Apprehension touched Harry at Draco's description of the visitors that had decamped at the Malfoy estate for most of the summer.

"Father seemed furious, but became quite cross with me when I said to just throw them out," Draco sulked. "Mother took me out most days. It was – It was nice."

"They weren't relatives?" Neville asked. "We have relatives that visit a lot. Gran likes them to stay at least a week at a time."

"No, they weren't blood," Draco made a face. "Mum's sister is – ah," he glanced at Neville, who looked away. "Bellatrix is a mental case in Azkaban. Mother never sees her. Father doesn't have any siblings."

"Sounds lonely. Even we have cousins who come over," Hermione said.

"Cousins I've got plenty of," Draco rolled his eyes. "No, Mother said our guests were Father's business partners once, when he made a bad deal. I still think it was rude of them to stay so long, but Mother said we didn't dare throw them out. It would be rude."

Harry let the conversation roll over him, saying as little as possible as he turned the information over in his head. He knew Narcissa had always been neutral to either side of the war – Lucius, not so. However, it sounded like the Malfoys had been visited by unwelcome guests – former Death Eaters, probably, Harry thought as he glanced at Draco. How better to pressure the powerful Lucius Malfoy than to call on the Manor where his only son and heir resides and refuse to leave. Yes, Harry could see why Narcissa had taken Draco out almost every day. Especially if they had sent Greyback to persuade Lucius to be more active to the Death Eater's cause.

The troubling news accompanied him all the way to school. There was nothing he could do for Draco, now, save be his friend and try to help the blond see that his choices for the future were not as limited as they may yet seem. I can help them, Harry reminded himself. Anyone, everyone in Slytherin who didn't have a way out – I can help them, too.

They found their carriages for the ride up to the school. Harry's heart ached as he stared at the Thestrals, but he forced himself to look away and climb inside.

Then they were at the castle and filling in the four long tables with their golden plates and goblets. The bewitched ceiling showed the evening sky overhead, along with a forest of candles hanging in mid-air.

Harry picked out Ginny's shock of red hair as the first years entered the hall. He sat squeezed in between Hermione and Neville as the sorting began. How strange things change, Harry glanced at the head table. Snape's scowl was directed at the line of first years. Last time I did this Snape was hauling us into his office for a scolding. We thought we'd be expelled for sure, Harry glanced at Ron. The redhead seemed to feel his gaze and glanced at Harry – and then scowled. Harry's heart dropped. Will we ever be friends?

Harry looked back at the first years, smiling at a bouncing Colin Creevey and then – Luna! He sat forward, peering at the girl. She looked so different, almost…almost normal. It was bizarre. He bit back a smile. Luna. I'll have to try and talk to her at some point. She was such a help to us when we needed it most, both during Voldemort's attacks and Hammerstein's.

Harry cheered along with the rest of the House when the last of the first years had been sorted. Harry was ravenous by the time the food appeared. He noted with some amusement the approval on Hermione's face as she watched him fall onto his food. Such a mother hen, he smiled down at his plate. Ron and I would have been lost without her. But the thought dimmed his happiness a bit – I have Hermione again, but not Ron. He resolved to push the worry away, for now. He still had plenty of time to befriend Ron. And he would, somehow. He winced and rubbed at the flash of pain that spiked through his head.

They were settled into Gryffindor Tower, with Harry stopping by to congratulate Ginny on her placement. The twins were proud enough to be her father, while Ron glared at Harry anytime he approached. Ginny was alight with joy, smiling and laughing with the other first year Gryffindors. Harry hung back, unable to think of a way to ask about the diary. Hey, I know I barely know you, but I was wondering if you managed to find a creepy journal that talks to you…? He swallowed a snort and turned back to his friends. Yeah, that won't work at all.

Later that night, Harry caught sight of Scabbers sniffing around his trunk. Harry reacted without thinking, firing off a hex at the bloody Animagus – which set off Ron, and then Seamus and Dean had to separate them as Harry and Ron went at each other. Percy waded in before blows could be thrown, but the damage was done – Ron snarled if Harry so much as looked at Scabbers.

The argument and the tension in the room did little to settle Harry's nerves. His dreams were a painful mix of old memories and new fears. Harry woke several times throughout the night, chest heaving, pulse racing, all from the images that haunted his mind.

Harry was up bright and early for the first day of term, easing out of bed on silent feet. He couldn't spot that damned rat anywhere and it wouldn't be long before the others started to wake. No, he would have to bide his time and go after Pettigrew when he was alone in the dorms. He trudged to the bathrooms instead, shelving the problems for later. He found Hermione in the common room, and he, Neville and Hermione all went down to the Great Hall together. Hermione had her copy of Voyages with Vampires with her at breakfast – Harry ignored the text and tried to focus on eating. His appetite had fled during the night.

Professor McGonagall handed out their class schedules as more Gryffindors started to arrive.

"Oh, double Herbology," Neville beamed. "It'll be so nice to have that with the Hufflepuffs this year. And we get to work in the morning! It's ever so much nicer."

"Dirtier, as well," Hermione said.

"A little dirt never hurt a soul," Neville answered back primly. Harry bit back a laugh and finished off his toast.

They left to get their things, waving to Draco and Theo as they ducked out of the hall. Harry noted that Blaise Zabini had sat next to the Slytherins – it looked rather frightful to navigate the politics of that House, Harry shivered. A few first years had also sat near Draco and Theo's side of the table. Harry could only hope that somehow things could turn out differently for a lot of the innocents in that House who had been caught up in the war.

They left the castle, crossed the vegetable patch and made for the greenhouses. Neville, Harry noted, had a bounce to his step. As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class waiting outside. Ron was in a group with Dean and Seamus and a few other Hufflepuff boys.

They had little time to wait before Professor Sprout joined them, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Professor Sport was a squat little woman who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and under her fingernails that would have made Aunt Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a turquoise hat with gold trimming.

"Ah, hello there!" He called, beaming around at the assembled students. "I was just talking with your Professor here about the wonderful plants she's been growing for you this year, yes – but I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels…"

"I bet you did," Harry muttered.

"Greenhouse three, today, chaps!" Professor Sprout called. She was looking distinctly disgruntled and not at all her usual, cheerful self.

"No one is better at Herbology than Professor Sprout," Neville said as they made their way to the greenhouses. There had been a general murmur of interest at the Professor's announcement – they had only ever worked in greenhouse one before – greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants.

Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Neville and Hermione inside when Lockhart's hand shot out. Harry flinched back, startled.

"Harry! I've been wanting a word – you don't mind if he's a couple minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Harry turned to Sprout in mute appeal – the woman's scowl eased as she met Harry's pleading look – but Lockhart moved before she could rescue him.

"That's the ticket, thank you, Pomona," Lockhart said and closed the greenhouse door in her face.

"Harry," Lockhart said as he turned, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing back.

"You, my boy, are such an interesting young wizard. Harry, Harry, Harry," Lockhart took him by the shoulders.

Harry's stomach twisted at the man's proximity – he'd hated Lockhart the first time around and he didn't see himself warming to the man this time, either. He's scum, Harry tried to step away.

"Please, sir. I've got class."

"Harry, Harry, Harry. I know you've had your first taste of publicity with me – gave you the bug, haven't I? Oh, yes."

"Sir, please let go."

"But, Harry, Harry, Harry."

"You're hurting me." Lockhart's fingers had dug into Harry's shoulders as he tried to get away. Harry did not like the manic light that had entered the man's eye.

"Harry, my boy, there is no need to be so wary. You must simply be patient, yes, patient, my dear, dear boy…"

"What is going on here?"

Harry felt an odd moment of disconnect when relief washed through him. When have I ever been grateful for Snape's appearance?

"Severus!" Lockhart turned, one hand still digging into Harry's shoulder. Harry winced and tried again to pull away.

"Professor, please. That hurts and I'm missing class." He glanced up; Snape had several glass vials filled with liquids and bits of herbs. Potions ingredients. Harry met the dark eyes, trying not to flinch when Lockhart's fingers bit in deeper. Stop touching me, I hate it, I hate being touched. I should just kick him, I…

Harry blinked at the hint of a smile on Snape's mouth. "Lockhart," Snape transferred his gaze to the man. "Quit being an imbecile and let our celebrity go to class. You do have your own lectures to attend to."

Lockhart's hand disappeared. "Severus! Really, I know my stunning self is hard to –"

"Thank you, Professor," Harry cut in, forcing himself to say the words. Then he bolted into the greenhouse, not looking back. He heard Lockhart's voice raised to a shout as he eased into place next to Hermione and Neville.

Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different colored earmuffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place between his friends, Sprout said, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

Harry nudged Neville, grabbing Hermione's hand to keep it down.

"Yes, Neville?"

"It's uh – Mandrake," Neville stuttered. "It's a – a restorative."

"Exactly, ten points to Gryffindor," Sprout graced Neville with an approving smile. "Mandrakes are indeed a restorative. They can be used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state. They also form an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up.

"Ms. Granger?"

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," Hermione answered.

"Precisely. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young." She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke. Everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish-green in color, were growing there in rows.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink or fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right – earmuffs on."

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants and pulled hard.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of its head. It had pale green, mottled skin and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

I'd forgotten how creepy they were, Harry shivered.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the mandrake into it, burying it in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly, as though she'd done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up."

She clapped her hands together. "Four to a tray – there is a large supply of pots here – compost in the sacks over there – and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething."

Harry, Neville and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy. Harry had to look away.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," the boy said, shaking Neville's hand. He turned to Harry. "I know how you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter. And you're Hermione Granger – always top in everything, and Neville Longbottom, yeah?"

"Ah, yeah," Neville stammered. Harry said nothing. Justin wasn't a bad sort, he'd even joined Dumbledore's Army, but when Hammerstein had invaded, Justin had fled with his family to Australia and never looked back. Not that Harry could blame him, (although, yes, he did, a little) but…

"…My name was down for Eton, you know," Harry tuned in long enough to hear Justin say. Harry hurried off for the compost heap, not trusting himself to stay pleasant. They didn't have much chance to talk after that, since Sprout gave the order for them to put on their earmuffs and get back to work.

Their Professor had made the transfer look easy. By the end of class everyone was sweaty, aching and covered in earth. Neville was the only one in a chipper mood by the end – Harry had had to struggle to get two fat seedlings into pots and it had soured whatever good mood he'd still had.

A quick wash between lessons was all they had time for before Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work – for which Harry was grateful. He poured his focus into turning his beetle into a button. Again, his magic felt rough- but not as bad as the year before. It has to be from usage, Harry realized as he mastered the transformation. The more you practice, the tamer your magic gets. That's why children's wild magic results in such volatile ways.

Neville had Hermione's help as he morphed his beetle into interesting shapes. McGonagall gave the boy an encouraging nod as she moved on: Ron and Dean were fooling around more than anything and their Professor was quick to pounce on them.

They shared the class with the Ravenclaw second years. Harry was again partnered with Terry Boot. They caught up on their summers as they worked on their beetles together.

Harry escaped with Hermione and Neville at the lunch bell, waving once to Terry as they left. Ron and Dean, he noted, had been kept back by McGonagall for a talking-to.

"I need ever so much help," Neville said as they made their way to the Great Hall.

"You almost had it, Neville," Hermione said. "We'll go over it again, tonight, if you want."

"Oh, could we? I can't fail this year."

"You won't fail."

"What've we got this afternoon?" Harry cut in as they sat.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said at once.

"Why are there hearts all around Lockhart's name on your schedule?" Neville asked.

Hermione folded the paper, a bright blush on her face. "It's nothing."

"But…"

Harry kicked Neville in the ankle and shook his head. "Anything we need to review before class?" He asked Hermione's down turned face.

"Um – um – well," she glanced up at them. "I've been reading through our books, but he hasn't specified which text we'll be covering first, so…"

Harry sat back and let Hermione ramble on about Lockhart's books. It was far better than seeing her embarrassed and miserable. I swore I'd never hurt her again, he poked at his food. I meant it.

After lunch they went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat on a stone step with Harry and Neville on either side of her as she pulled out Voyages with Vampires for them to go over.

"There you are," Draco's voice called. Harry looked up to see the blond and Theo headed their way. "We were looking all over."

"Hello, Draco," Harry said. "Theo."

"You're not reading that rubbish are you?" Theo said to Hermione.

"It's not rubbish," she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Not again," Draco sighed.

"Have you had Herbology yet?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco sat next to Harry. "Why?"

"Get ready to get dirty. You're repotting Mandrakes."

Theo made a face. Draco frowned. "Mandrakes, you say. Mother bought me a load of magical creature books this summer – maybe Hagrid knows about them."

"Probably, but Professor Sprout is on top of it, too."

"They're really more plant than creature," Neville pointed out. "But we could ask Hagrid about them. He might know if they grow wild."

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. He straightened up, scanning the courtyard.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry caught sight of a much detested camera and stifled a sigh. "Nothing," he muttered, slumping down.

"Harry," Draco frowned at him. "What is wrong with you? You act so oddly sometimes."

Harry glanced at Draco, then to the pillar where Colin Creevey stood. "That," he tilted an eyebrow.

Draco peered over at the boy. Creevey came forward, a large camera clutched in his hands.

"H-Hello, ah, hi," the boy stammered. "I- I'm Colin Creevey," he inched closer. "I-I'm in Gryffindor, see, just got sorted, um. Could I – would it be all right if I – I mean," he raised the camera.

"A picture?" Draco drawled.

"So I can prove I met him," Colin told Draco. "I know all about him, everyone's told me. About how he survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill him and how he disappeared and everything and how he's still got a scar on his forehead and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures will move." Colin drew in a great shuddering breath. "It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to my dad and it'd be really good if I had one of you," he addressed Harry for the first time. "Maybe – maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, then, you could maybe sign it?"

Draco had started to chuckle. Harry rolled his eyes and elbowed the other boy. "Colin, look, I'm really nothing special. I –"

"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?" Loud and scathing, Ron stopped right behind Colin. "Trying to impress the first years with your fame, Potter, with signed photos? Everyone line up!" Ron roared to the gathering crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out sighed photos!"

"Ron," Dean said, grabbing the boy's arm. "Stop."

"I'm not giving out photos, Ron," Harry snarled. "Of course I'm not." He saw Colin glancing between them, eyes huge.

"You're just so full of yourself, aren't you, ordering my family about –"

"Hey!" Hermione cut in.

Harry saw Draco's eyes narrow. Harry elbowed the Slytherin before whatever damning words could slip from his mouth.

"Buzz off, Hermione, this doesn't concern you!" Ron snapped.

"Doesn't concern me? I was the one who asked your brothers to go rescue Harry!"

"Rescue?" Draco echoed.

Bugger all, Harry rolled his eyes. "Will you all just stop?" He tried to pitch his voice like they taught in Auror training. It didn't quite work, but it got everyone's attention. "Look, Ron. I'm not sure what crawled up your arse and died when it comes to me, but I've not done anything to you that warrants your constant attitude. So stuff it, please. No, I'm not giving out photographs; Colin just wanted a photo to send to his dad, with him and some schoolmates. That's all. No autographs. No posing, no…"

"Oh, no," Hermione whispered.

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart strode into the courtyard, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signed photos?"

"No one," Harry started.

"Ah, shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!" Lockhart flung an arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry tried to wiggle away. Why must he always touch me, the blathering idiot. He twisted a look at Draco, but the blond was staring, horrified, at Lockhart's robes.

"Come on, then Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, who had Harry pinned to his side. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it for you."

"But, sir…let go…"

"Sir!" Theo said, as Colin fumbled with his camera. Harry saw Dean drag Ron off as the bell rang.

"There we are, off you go, move along here," Lockhart said. He still had a hold of Harry, dragging him along as he headed down the halls.

"Sir," Harry heard Theo say from behind them.

"A word to the wise, Harry," Lockhart said, voice lowered as he marched Harry along. Harry could bet he would have bruises from the man's hold. "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey – if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much."

"I'm not," Harry squeaked as Lockhart's hand slipped into the space between Harry's neck and his robes.

"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible – looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time, when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but," he chortled, hand moving, "I don't think you're quite there yet."

"Let go," Harry tore away from the man. Lockhart swept on, oblivious. Harry shuddered, shaking like a wet dog. Was he always that – that – touchy-feely? What the hell was Dumbledore thinking, hiring that man? Harry scrubbed at the spot on his shoulder where Lockhart's hand had lingered.

"Harry?"

He jumped, spooked by Draco's voice. "Yeah?" His friends were arrayed behind him.

"Are you all right?"

"I need a bloody shower," he muttered.

"Harry! Language!"

Harry made a face at Hermione. "Sorry," he rubbed at his shoulder, again. "I don't like that man." He rubbed harder.

"Harry," Draco reached out and grabbed his wrist. "Stop. You'll hurt yourself."

Harry looked at him blankly. "What?"

"Your shoulder. Did he hurt you?"

"No, he just got touchy," Harry made another face. "Come on. We've got to get inside before class starts." He turned away before they could protest.

Like last year, he took a seat in the back of the defense classroom. Unlike last year, they shared the lesson with the Slytherin second years. Draco took the seat next to Harry, Hermione and Neville the desk in front of them. Theo was at the desk on Harry's other side, Blaise Zabini as his partner. Harry didn't miss the way Hermione's head turned as she looked from him to Lockhart and back again several times before settling into her seat.

When the whole class was settled, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly. I hope he chokes on his own spit, Harry scowled at the man.

Lockhart took Parvati's copy of Travels with Trolls and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

You didn't get rid of her at all, Harry wanted to say. A few people tittered.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books – well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about," he beamed at the chorus of groans. "Just something to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in."

When he had handed out the test papers, he returned to the front of the class and said; "You have thirty minutes. Start – now!"

Harry turned over his paper with a sigh. He heard Draco choke back something next to him. Harry slid him a glance, caught his gaze and rolled his eyes. Draco snickered and turned back to his test.

Harry read; What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to 54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

Harry rolled his eyes and palmed his face. He glanced over at Theo, who was regarding his quiz with an expression of absolute horror.

Harry sighed and started to fill in the blanks with the silliest nonsense he could think up.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut, hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of your need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"

"I need a firewhiskey," Harry muttered. Draco ducked his head.

"…but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair care products. Good girl! In fact," Lockhart flipped the paper over. "Full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Harry saw Hermione lean back in her seat, head cocked to one side. She raised her hand. Harry caught sight of her face – wasn't she all agog over Lockhart the last time? Why is she frowning at him, now? She was cooing over his books just this morning. What changed? Harry reached up and rubbed at his shoulder, where Lockhart had grabbed him. Bloody man.

"Excellent job, Ms. Granger!" Lockhart beamed. "Ten points for Gryffindor. And now, to business!"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now, be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard kind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

Liar, liar, pants on fire, Harry slouched in his seat and folded his arms over his chest.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice, glancing around the room. "It might provoke them." Lockhart waited a moment. Harry could see the man scanning their faces. He's such a con artist. Then Lockhart whipped off the cover to the cage.

"Yes," he announced in a deep voice. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies!"

There were several snorts of laughter from Ron and Seamus. "Those aren't dangerous!"

"Don't be so sure!" Lockhart waggled a finger at Seamus, whose smile slid away. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

Oh, not this again, Harry closed his eyes.

"Right then," Lockhart bellowed. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Goyle by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering Harry and the rest of the back row with broken glass. Harry swore as he felt a slice open up on the back of his neck.

The rest of the pixies proceeded to wreck the classroom. They sprayed ink, shredded books, tore pictures from the walls, upended the wastebasket, and tossed bags. Within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Goyle was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"Come on now, round them up, round them up. They're only pixies," Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

It had absolutely no effect. One of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Goyle, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush for the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry hovering over Draco as the blond made a face at the blood on his hands and said, "Well, I'll ask you lot to just nip the rest of them back into their cage." He swept past them and shut the door in Theo's face.

"Can you believe that man?" Theo spun around.

"Are you hurt badly?" Hermione hovered at Harry's side.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You're bleeding worse than I am," Draco pointed out. He'd gotten nicked on the ear by a piece of glass.

"Your neck, Harry," Neville said. Harry just shrugged it off, more intent on Draco than his own injuries.

"What should we do?" Blaise Zabini had lingered along with the other Slytherins. Harry glanced at him – but Zabini's expression gave nothing away.

"We've got to catch them," Harry flicked a stunning charm at a group of pixies. He was too angry to hide the ease to which the spell came. "Come on, let's do this and then head to the Infirmary." He ignored the way Hermione was hovering, taking out his irritation with Lockhart on the pixies. Stupid, useless wanker of a man.