The next day, however, Harry barely grinned once. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long House tables were laden with food. Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Amy and Ginny and across from Grace, Taylor, and Hermione, Hermione and Grace had their copies of "Voyages with Vampires" propped open against a milk jug.
Neville: Mail's due any minute — I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot.
Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head and, a second later, something large and gray fell into
Hermione's jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.
Ron: Errol!
Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.
Ron: Oh, no...
Grace: It's all right, he's still alive.
Ron: It's not that — it's that.
Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Harry, Amy, and Taylor, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode.
Taylor: What's the matter?
Ron: She's — she's sent me a Howler.
Neville: You'd better open it, Ron. It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and it was horrible.
Harry: What's a Howler?
But Ron's whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.
Neville: Open it. It'll all be over in a few minutes.
Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol's beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, Harry knew why. He thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.
Mrs. Weasley: …STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE…
Mrs. Weasley's yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.
Mrs. Weasley: …LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED…
Harry had been wondering when his name was going to crop up. He tried very hard to look as though he couldn't hear the voice that was making his eardrums throb.
Mrs. Weasley: …ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED—YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.
A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.
Grace and Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of Ron's head.
Grace: Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you…
Ron: Don't tell me I deserved it.
Harry pushed his porridge away. His insides were burning with guilt. Mr. Weasley was facing an inquiry at work. After all Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had done for him over the summer… But he had no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out course schedules. Harry took his and saw that they had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first. Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one good thing: Grace and Hermione seemed to think Harry and Ron had now been punished enough and was being perfectly friendly again.
As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Taylor, Grace, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor
Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt, Harry spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.
Lockhart: Oh, hello there! Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! 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…
Sprout: Greenhouse three today, chaps!
There was a murmur of interest. 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. Harry was about to follow Taylor, Grace, Ron, and Hermione inside when Lockhart's hand shot out.
Lockhart: Harry! I've been wanting a word; you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout? That's the ticket. Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry. When I heard — well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself.
Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was about to say so when Lockhart went on
Lockhart: Don't know when I've been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, Harry. Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I? Gave you the bug. You and your sisters got onto the front page of the paper with me and you couldn't wait to do it again.
Harry: Oh, no, Professor, see…
Lockhart: Harry, Harry, Harry. I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste — and I blame myself for giving you that, because it was bound to go to your head — but see here, young man, you can't start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's all right for him, he's an internationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I'd say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! I know, I know — it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most Charming-Smile
Award five times in a row, as I have — but it's a start, Harry, it's a start.
He gave Harry a hearty wink and strode off. Harry stood stunned for a few seconds, then, remembering he was supposed to be in the greenhouse, he opened the door and slid inside. 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 Ron and Taylor Professor Sprout spoke
Sprout: We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?
To nobody's surprise, Hermione and Grace's hands were first into the air.
Hermione: Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative…
Grace: …It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.
Sprout: Excellent. Twenty points to Gryffindor. The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?
Hermione and Grace's hands shot up again.
Grace: The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it.
Sprout: Precisely. Take another ten points. Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young. Everyone take a pair of earmuffs. When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered. When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right — earmuffs on.
Harry, Grace, Taylor, Hermione, and Ron snapped the earmuffs over their ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.
Harry and Taylor let out gasps of surprise that no one could hear. Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He was bawling at the top of his lungs. Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him 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.
Sprout: As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet. 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. 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.
Grace and Hermione went off to find a group while Harry, Ron, and Taylor were joined at their tray by a
curly-haired Hufflepuff boy that they knew by sight but had never spoken to.
Justin: Justin Finch-Fletchley. Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter… And you're the famous Taylor Potter — always making everyone smile and you're Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?
Ron didn't smile. The Howler was obviously still on his mind.
Justin: That Lockhart's something, isn't he? Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if a werewolf had cornered me in a telephone booth, but he stayed cool and — zap — just fantastic. My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family…
After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Taylor didn't have that hard of a time but it was still difficult for her, Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot, and Ron had bad luck with his. By the end of the class, everyone was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. Grace and Hermione had no problem, but Harry, Ron, and Taylor struggled. Harry, Taylor, and Ron were relieved to hear the lunch bell. Everyone filed out of the classroom except Harry and Ron, who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.
Ron: Stupid — useless — thing…
Harry: Write home for another one.
Ron: Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back. 'It's your own fault your wand got snapped…
They went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was not improved by Grace and Hermione showing them the handful of perfect coat buttons they had produced in Transfiguration.
Taylor: What've we got this afternoon?
Grace: Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Ron grabbed Hermione and Grace's schedules.
Ron: Why, have you two outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?
Grace and Hermione snatched their schedules back, blushing furiously. They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Grace and Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried their noses in "Voyages with Vampires" again. Harry, Taylor, and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes since Taylor was excited about making the team as a chaser (A/N Charlie decided to become keeper since he practiced with Wood before he left and became really good. Taylor took his spot) before Taylor became aware that they were being closely watched. Looking up, she saw a very small, mousy-haired boy she'd seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night staring at Harry, Grace, and herself as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Taylor looked at him, he went bright red. Harry then looked up and saw the boy Taylor was looking at.
Colin: All right, Taylor? I'm — I'm Colin Creevey. I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think — would it be all right if — can I have a picture of you three?
Harry: A picture?
Colin: So I can prove I've met you. I already have a picture of Amy since she is in my year. I know all about you four. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a
lightning scar on your forehead and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll move. 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. My dad's a milkman he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you three maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you guys sign it?
Draco: Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potters? Everyone line up! The Potters are giving out signed photos!
Taylor: No, we're not. Shut up, Malfoy.
Colin: You're just jealous.
Draco: Jealous? Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.
Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.
Ron: Eat slugs, Malfoy.
Draco: Be careful, Weasley. You don't want to start any trouble or your mommy'll have to come and take you away from school. If you put another toe out of line… Weasley would like a signed photo, Potters. It'd be worth more than his family's whole house.
Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut "Voyages with Vampires" with a snap
Hermione: Look out!
Lockhart: What's all this, what's all this? Who's giving out signed photos? Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Potters! Come on then, Mr. Creevey. A quadruple portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll all sign it for you.
Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes.
Lockhart: Off you go, move along there. A word to the wise, you three. 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… Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible — looks a tad bigheaded, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go but I don't think you're quite there yet.
They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let them go at last. Harry and Taylor yanked their robes straight while Grace just smiled and they headed for a couple of seats at the very back of the class, where Taylor and Harry busied themselves with piling all seven of Lockhart's books in front of them, so that they could avoid looking at the real thing. The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron sat next to Harry and Hermione sat down next to Grace.
Ron: You could've fried an egg on your face. You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Potter fan club.
Taylor: Shut up!
When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of "Travels with Trolls", and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.
Lockhart: Me, 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! 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 — just 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
Lockhart: You have thirty minutes — start — now!
Taylor looked down at her paper and read:
1. 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?
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.
Lockhart: 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 you 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 Firewhisky!
He gave them another roguish wink. Taylor, Harry, and Ron were now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on their faces; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Grace and Hermione, on the other hand, were listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned their names.
Lockhart: …but Miss Hermione Granger and Miss Grace Potter knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions—good girls! In fact full marks! Where is Miss Grace Potter and Miss Hermione Granger?
They raised their trembling hands.
Lockhart: Excellent! Quite excellent! Take twenty points for Gryffindor! And so — to business…
He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.
Lockhart: Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! 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.
Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front row seat.
Lockhart: I must ask you not to scream. It might provoke them.
As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.
Lockhart: Yes. Freshly caught Cornish pixies.
Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.
Lockhart: Yes?
Seamus: Well, they're not—they're not very—dangerous, are they?
Lockhart: Don't be so sure! Devilish tricky little blighters they can be! Right, then. 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 Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. Within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.
Lockhart: Come on now—round them up, round them up, they're only pixies. Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"
It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way. The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Taylor, Grace, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at the door.
Lockhart: Well, I'll ask you five to just nip the rest of them back into their cage.
He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.
Ron: Can you believe him?
Grace: He just wants to give us some hands-on experience.
Taylor: Hands on? Grace, he didn't have a clue what he was doing.
Hermione: Rubbish. You've read his books—look at all those amazing things he's done…
Ron: He says he's done.