Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Arabella, Lyla, and their groups of friends pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Arabella couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless because the skrewts didn't seem to have mouths.

"Ouch!" yelled Dean after about ten minutes. "It got me!"

Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious.

"Its end exploded!" said Seamus angrily.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," said Hagrid, nodding.

"Eurgh!" said Lavender Brown again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, well, some of 'em have got stings," said Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box). "I reckon they're the males. . . . The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies. . . . I think they might be ter suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," said Pansy sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

"Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," Lyla snapped. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"

Arabella and Ron grinned at Hagrid, who gave them a furtive smile from behind his bushy beard. Hagrid would have liked nothing better than a pet dragon— he had even owned one briefly during their first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback named Norbert. Hagrid simply loved monstrous creatures. The more lethal, the better.

"Well, at least the skrewts are small," said Theo as they made their way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later.

"They are now," said Lyla, "but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."

"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?" said Ron, grinning slyly at her.

"You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Pansy up," snorted Lyla. "As a matter of fact, I think she's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all."

Arabella, Ron, and Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped themselves to lamb chops and potatoes that afternoon. Hermione began to eat so fast that Arabella and Ron stop[ped what they were doing, watching her with slight disgust and awe.

"Uh— is this the new stand on elf rights?" said Ron. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"

"No," said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster, her mouth bulging with sprouts. "I just want to get to the library."

"What?" said Arabella in disbelief. "Hermione— it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!"

Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had not eaten for days. Then she leaped to her feet, said, "See you at dinner!" and departed quickly.

When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Arabella and Ron set off for North Tower, where, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase, a silver stepladder led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling and the room where Trelawney lived.

The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met their nostrils as they emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed; the circular room was bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, which were all draped with scarves and shawls. Arabella and Ron walked through the mass of occupied chintz chairs and poufs that cluttered the room and sat down at the same small circular table.

"Good day," said the misty voice of Trelawney right behind Arabella, making her jump.

A very thin woman with enormous glasses that made her eyes appear far too large for her face, Trelawney was peering down at the girl with the tragic expression she always wore whenever she saw her or Lyla. The usual large amount of beads, chains, and bangles glittered upon her person in the firelight.

"You are preoccupied, my dear," she said mournfully. "My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas. . . most difficult... I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass. . . and perhaps sooner than you think..."

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at Arabella, who looked stonily back. Trelawney swept past them and seated herself in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender and Parvati, who deeply admired the professor, were sitting on poufs very close to her.

"My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars," she said. "The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle. . ."

But Arabella's thoughts had drifted. The perfumed fire always made her feel sleepy and dull-witted, and Trelawney's rambling talks on fortune-telling never held her exactly spellbound— though she couldn't help thinking about what she had just said to him.

"I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass…."

But Blaise was right, Arabella thought irritably. Trelawney really was an old fraud. She wasn't dreading anything at the moment at all. . . well unless you counted his fears that Sirius had been caught. . . but what did she know? She had long since concluded that her brand of fortune-telling was really no more than lucky guesswork and a spooky manner.

Except, of course, for that time at the end of last term, when she had made the prediction about Voldemort rising again. . . and Dumbledore himself had said that he thought that trance had been genuine when she had described it to him.

"Arabella!" Ron muttered.

"What?"

She looked around; the whole class was staring at her. She sat up straight; she had been almost dozing off, lost in the heat and her thoughts.

"I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn," said Trelawney, a faint note of resentment in her voice at the fact that he had obviously not been hanging on her words.

"Born under— what, sorry?" said Arabella.

"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!" said Trelawney, sounding definitely irritated that this news didn't rivet Arabella. "I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth. . . . Your dark hair. . . your mean stature...tragic losses so young in life. . . I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?"

"No," said Arabella, "I was born in July."

Ron hastily turned his laugh into a hacking cough.

Half an hour later, each of them had been given a complicated circular chart and was attempting to fill in the position of the planets at their moment of birth. It was dull work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles.

"I've got two Neptunes here," said Arabella after a while, frowning down at her piece of parchment, "that can't be right, can it?"

"Aaaaah," said Ron, imitating the Professor's mystical whisper, "when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Arabella. . . ."

Seamus and Dean, who were working nearby, sniggered loudly, though not loudly enough to mask the excited squeals from Lavender Brown.

"Oh, Professor, look! I think I've got an unexpected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"

"It is Uranus, my dear," said Trelawney, peering down at the chart.

"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?" said Ron.

Most unfortunately, Trelawney heard him, and it was this, perhaps, that made her give them so much homework at the end of the class.

"A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart," she snapped, sounding much more like McGonagall than her usual airy-fairy self. "I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!"

"Miserable old bat," said Dean bitterly as they joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will. . ."

After a long day's worth of classes, Lyla, Daphne, and Theo reached the entrance hall, at long last, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. They had just joined the end of the line and caught sight of their Gryffindor friends when a loud voice rang out behind them.

"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"

Everyone turned. Pansy and her gang were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.

"What?" said Ron shortly.

"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" said Pansy with a sneer, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly so everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear. "Listen to this! FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC! It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

Pansy looked up while her friends jeered.

"Imagine them not even getting his name right… It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, right?"

Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. The narrow-eyed girl straightened the paper with a flourish and read on:

"Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene… And there's a picture," finished Pansy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house— if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"

Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him.

"Get stuffed, Pansy," said Arabella. "Como on. . . just leave it…"

"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" sneered Pansy. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"

"You know your mother, Pansy?" said Lyla loudly, "that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

"Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter," said Pansy, her face going slightly pink.

"Then you keep your fat mouth shut," said Lyla coolly, turning away.

BANG!

Several people screamed— Lyla felt something white-hot graze the side of her face— she plunged her hand into her robes for her wand, but before she'd even touched it, she heard a second loud BANG and a roar that echoed through the entrance hall.

"OH NO, YOU DON'T, LASSIE!"

Everyone spun around. Alastor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out, and it was pointing right at an inky black guinea pig, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Pansy had been standing.

There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Lyla— at least, his normal eye was looking at her; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.

"Did she get you?" Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.

"Uh, n-no," stammered Lyla, "missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted.

"Leave— what?" Arabella said, clearly bewildered.

"Not her— him!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Goyle, who had just frozen, about to pick up the tiny creature. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was indeed magical and could see out of the back of his head.

Moody started to limp toward the evil group of Slytherins, while the black guinea pig gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the quivering rodent again— it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more.

"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's backs are turned," growled Moody as the furry animal bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do..."

The guinea pig flew through the air, its legs flailing helplessly.

"Never— do— that— again—" said Moody, speaking each word as the creature hit the stone floor and bounced upward again.

Those who watched had a combination of horror and reverence dancing across their faces.

"Professor Moody!" shrilled a shocked voice.

McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the animal still higher.

"What— what are you doing?" said McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing animal as they progressed through the air.

"Teaching," said Moody nonchalantly.

"Teach— Moody, is that a student!?" shrieked McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.

"Yep," answered Moody cooly.

"No!" cried McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Pansy Parkinson had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his curtain of dark hair all over her now brilliantly pink face. She got to her feet, wincing.

"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" shouted McGonagall. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah…," said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock—"

"We give detention, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that, then," said Moody, staring at the girl with great dislike.

Pansy, whose dark eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable.

"Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father, girl... You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his daughter. . . you tell him that from me. . . . Now, your Head of House will be Snape, will it?"

"Yes," said Pansy resentfully.

"Another old friend," growled Moody. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. . . . Come on, you. . ."

And he seized Pansy's upper arm and marched her off toward the dungeons. McGonagall gazed anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

"Don't talk to me," Daphne said as the small group approached the Slytherin table.

"Why not?" said Draco in surprise.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," said Daphne with relish, her eyes closed and an uplifted expression on her face. "Pansy Parkinson, the amazing bouncing guinea pig…."

Everyone laughed at that statement.

"He could have really hurt her, though," said Blaise. "It was good that McGonagall stopped it—"

"Blaise!" said Daphne furiously, her eyes snapping open again, "you're ruining the best moment of my entire life!"

Blaise made an impatient noise and began to eat. No sooner had they begun to eat, Fred and George wandered over, beaming brightly.

"Moody!" said Fred. "Arabella's just told us what happened."

How cool is he?" asked George dreamily.

"Beyond cool," said Fred.

"Supercool," said the twins together.

"We had him this afternoon," George said with his mischievous grin.

"Oh, what was it like?" said Lyla eagerly.

Fred and George exchanged looks full of meaning.

"Never had a lesson like it," said Fred.

"He knows so much," finished George.

"Knows what?" said Theo curiously, leaning forward.

"Knows what it's like to be out there doing it," said Fred impressively.

"Doing what?" said Daphne.

"Fighting the Dark Arts," said George in a low voice.

"He's seen it all," said Fred, nodding in agreement.

Blaise dived into his bag for his schedule.

"Damn, we haven't got him till Thursday!"


P.S. If you could, if one has the time, please leave

-Long Comments

-Short Comments

-Questions (if any)

-Kind Critisim

General Feedback