He knew what he had seen.
Gawain had thought his father's fascination with Death was merely a quirk of the rather eccentric man and had always been dismissive of it until the moment Ignotus Peverell had walked into the embrace of the cloaked figure.
It had appeared for only the briefest of moments, but there was no denying it.
Gawain had watched as the hand had grasped his father's shoulder and froze as the figure looked directly at him, almost as though he was judging his worth as a man.
He'd seen his father's soul leave his body before the two vanished into an archway that had formed, his sire smiling as they went on their way leaving his vessel for his only son to bury.
The service had been a sombre one.
Ignotus Peverell has been held with high regard in the village, and wizard, witch, and muggle alike had filled the church to pay their final respects.
Ahead of them all had been Gawain, clutching his father's parting gift as he mourned his loss.
That had been some years ago now. How many, Gawain could not be certain, but the memory of what he'd witnessed remained as clear as though he could see the figure before him now.
"Gawain, are you listening?"
Harry looked up at the bedraggled man.
"You have my apologies, Tristan. Go on."
Tristan looked at him in concern for a moment before shaking his head.
"You've heard the rumours, Gawain, and I have seen the aftermath for myself. She sacked Gloucester and will soon be on her way to Cymru."
Gawain hummed.
His lands had seen peace since his Uncle Antioch had viciously rebuffed the Danish invasion decades prior, the name Peverell enough to deter any fool from making a similar attempt.
With the passing of his father, it seemed that there were now those that had forgotten what had happened.
"They say that she controls the serpents, that she speaks with them and they do her bidding," Tristan continued. "She is an evil witch, Gawain. She must be stopped, even if she is your kin."
Gawain slammed his fist on the table.
"I do not consider her such!" he said firmly. "Just because Daffyd wed one of them it does not make her my kin. The Gaunts have always been troublesome for the Angles, but should she cross into our land, she will meet the cold steel of my blade."
"She has gathered quite the following," Tristan warned. "The Snake Worshippers are what people call them."
Gawain snorted.
"A snake is weak when it is faced with Death," he murmured. "I need no army to be rid of her, should it come to that. My father and uncles vowed that any with the Peverell blood would keep Cymru free from any who would bend us to their will or bring violence to the people. I am a Peverell, Tristan, and I will uphold that vow until my dying breath. Give the people my word. They will not be harmed by Malory Gaunt nor her sycophants."
"I will," Tristan replied as he stood, offering Gawain a bow of respect before leaving the home.
"Come Death, come," Gawain sighed, his gaze shifting to the cloak and the blade he'd become accustomed to carrying.
It had been a gift from the goblins to him shortly after the death of his father.
A rare, yet treasured endowment indeed.
It may come in useful throughout the days to come.
He had heard the whispers of a mad woman seeking power across the Isles, slaughtering those that would not bow to her. Those that did comply did so from fear, not loyalty.
Malory Gaunt would be best to avoid these lands if she wished to live.
Gawain Peverell would show her no mercy, just like his Uncle Antioch and the Danes.
Harry had thought that perhaps with the passing of Ignotus Peverell he would no longer be shown any more visions, but his notion had been proven wrong.
It was only a few days after the last vision and here he was, once more contemplating a series of events he had yet to see.
Who was Malory Gaunt?
Harry had never heard the name, and in truth, he was still focused on the passing of Ignotus and the final visions he'd had of the man.
Godric's Hollow.
That was where he would find the book Ignotus had mentioned whilst peering into the looking glass.
It turned out that Godric's Hollow was also where Harry had been born a little over a decade ago.
Harry had already ascertained that somehow he was a direct descendant of Ignotus Peverell, which only made the story shared with him of the man's life all the more personal.
He was born to the line of those that had summoned Death.
It was quite the revelation, and it seemed that having seen the vision of Gawain Peverell, his journey was only just beginning.
How far would it take him?
Would he see where the Potter and the Peverells eventually became one?
He couldn't be certain, but he was almost sure that there were no longer any Peverells in the world and Harry was deeply interested to see how that had transpired.
What had become of Cadmus's line?
Evidently, he had married into a family, the Gaunts, that was not so well-thought of.
"Malory Gaunt…" Harry whispered.
Who was she?
From what little he had learned from the vision, she was not a pleasant woman, but could seemingly speak with snakes.
Harry could do that.
Well, he had done it once at the zoo on Dudley's birthday the previous year.
Was it a bad thing that he could?
The latest vision had only raised more questions.
Shaking his head of the thoughts, he turned his attention to the still open book in front of him.
He had been studying them intently, and despite the fact that much of what he read went over his head, Harry had quickly learned that he did not wish to fall victim to any of these spells.
He couldn't imagine the pain of his eyeballs exploding in their sockets, or his guts rotting from the inside out and leaking out of every orifice of his body.
He shuddered at the very image.
No, he wouldn't want that at all.
Nonetheless, he would rather know what he could potentially face one day, and how to defend himself against it, at the very least.
He couldn't imagine using the magic himself, except maybe against Voldemort.
There seemed to be little he had read that he would not exact upon the man who had murdered his mother in front of his infant eyes.
Yes, maybe Voldemort deserved all of the spells to be cast on him.
Not that Harry had attempted any of them. The spells were certainly above his current ability, and as things were, he did not wish to spend his days here in a perpetual state of hurt and anger, something that was necessary according to the books.
It seemed that emotions played a key role in the casting of certain magics, and he did not have a strong enough grasp of Occlumency to be able to flit from one to another seamlessly.
"Harry, are you ready?"
Looking towards the clock, he realised the time was drawing ever-nearer to eleven am in London, and though Harry would miss being here, he was keen to return to Hogwarts.
In all, his summer had been much better than he could have anticipated, but he longed to spend time with his friends and attend his much-needed lessons in magic.
Ensuring he didn't leave anything behind, he packed the last of his things into his trunk before taking a final look around the room he had spent the last several weeks in.
France had been good for him in many ways.
It had been an escape from the Dursleys, and Harry had gotten to know the magical world and how it functioned a lot more intimately.
Dragging his trunk behind him, he made his way into the kitchen where Nicholas and Perenelle were waiting for him.
Immediately, the woman swept him into a tight embrace and began murmuring in her native tongue.
"You will write to us," she insisted.
"I will," Harry promised, revelling in the warmth that spread throughout him.
Perenelle truly was a sweet woman, firm at times, but one of the nicest people he had met.
"Good, now make sure you stay out of trouble. I will be checking with Albus."
"Leave the boy be," Nicholas snorted. "Come, Harry. You do not wish to miss the train."
Bidding a final farewell to Perenelle, Harry braced himself for another journey by portkey, the last for a while, he hoped.
With a knowing grin, Nicholas took him by the arm and as he had become reluctantly accustomed to, Harry felt the odd hooking sensation in his navel as he was pulled away from the Flamel home.
The duo landed in an alleyway a moment later, and Harry took a moment to catch his bearings, grateful he had neither stumbled nor fallen flat on his face this time around.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," he grumbled.
"Ha, just wait until you apparate for the first time!"
"Apparate?"
It is another form of magical transportation," Nicholas explained. "You can vanish from one place to another without a portkey."
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
"Is it possible to do it accidentally?"
"I suppose if the need was great enough," Nicholas mused aloud. "Apparation is very dangerous. That is why you have to be sixteen to get a licence to do it."
"I think I already did it," Harry revealed. "My cousin and his friends were chasing me at school. I remember thinking I wanted to get away from them, and when I opened my eyes, I was on the roof. They had to call the fire brigade to get me. My Aunt and Uncle were furious."
"Is that so?" Nicholas said amusedly. "Well, it certainly sounds like that it was happened. Maybe you are a natural, but I would not attempt it until you are a little older. Perhaps I will teach you myself after you've finished your third year. It will be an invaluable skill for you to have. Of course, that would have to be kept between us. It is quite illegal, after all."
Harry grinned as he followed the alchemist, looking forward to the future lessons.
It couldn't be any worse than travelling by portkey, could it?
"Ah, here we are," Nicholas announced a moment later as they emerged onto a busier street. "It has changed over the past century," he added with a frown.
"King's Cross?"
Nicholas nodded.
"Everything has changed for me, Harry. Come along, we don't have much time."
Again, Harry followed the man into the familiar station where muggle businessmen spoke on mobile phones as they dragged little suitcases on wheels in their wake.
Nicholas eyed them all curiously until they reached the pillar between platforms nine and ten where the man came to a halt.
"I will echo Perenelle's sentiment for you to write to us often, Harry," he said fondly. "I will visit to check on your progress with the Mind Arts throughout the year, so this certainly isn't goodbye. Keep your wits about you and keep doing what you are. Remember, you must live and breathe what it is you wish to achieve."
"I will," Harry promised, feeling a pang of sadness settle in at the impending separation.
"I know you will," Nicholas murmured as he pulled him into an embrace. "Come now, it is almost eleven. Your friends will be waiting for you."
With a nod, Harry wheeled his trunk towards the pillar and offered the man a wave before attempting to pass through, only to groan as he hit his head on the brickwork.
"Bloody hell," he groaned.
"You need to focus, Harry," Nicholas chuckled as he helped him to his feet.
Harry rubbed his head before attempting to pass through again, only to be met by a solid barrier.
"I did focus," he huffed irritably.
Nicholas hummed before reaching through the divide without being hindered.
"Try now," he urged.
As Harry did so, the man was pushed away from the pillar and he frowned deeply.
"Something is preventing you from passing through," he muttered as he drew his wand, his gaze sweeping around the passers-by around them. "No, something isn't right. Wand out, Harry."
Harry immediately drew it, suddenly uncomfortable with the development.
Nicholas was evidently concerned as he shifted his attention back to the barrier and began muttering under his breath.
"It isn't human magic," he whispered. "I cannot be certain what it is, but something does not want you on that train. Come, we will return to France and I will send a message to Albus informing him of what has happened. It looks as though there is more portkey travel in your future," he added with a smirk.
Harry could only groan as he followed the man back out of the station.
What had prevented him from passing through to the Hogwarts Express?
Harry did not know, but with how his first year had ended, it was worrying to say the least.
Was it the work of Voldemort?
His grip tightened around his wand at the very thought.
Not that he would be a match for the man if he was here, but Harry remained true to his vow.
He would not die pleading for his life, even if he had no hope of success fighting for it, if necessary.
(Break)
"Where is he?" Hermione asked worriedly, biting her lower lip as she peered through the window at the last of the students boarding the train. "It's almost eleven."
"He'll be here," Ron assured her dismissively, though Hermione took no comfort in his words, especially as the whistle sounded only a moment later with no sign of Harry in sight.
"Maybe he won't," Ron said confusedly, finally showing some concern for their friend when the train began to depart the station. "Could he already be on?"
Hermione shook her head.
"No, he promised he would find us."
"Then where is he?"
"I don't know," Hermione answered sadly. "I hope he's okay."
"We'll find Dumbledore when we get to the castle," Ron decided. "He'll know what to do."
Hermione nodded, but once more, she took little comfort as she tried to settle in for the long journey to Hogwarts.
Where was Harry, and why hadn't he made it to the train?
(Break)
Nicholas watched as Albus carefully inspected the pillar.
He'd immediately reached out to his mentee upon returning home to explain what had happened and the man had met him at King's Cross Station.
"Whatever was blocking him has been removed now," Albus spoke, "but it has left traces behind."
"What was it?" Nicholas asked curiously.
Albus placed his wand up his sleeve as he frowned deeply.
"It seems that it was a house-elf that is responsible."
"A house-elf? What would a house-elf be doing attempting to prevent a student returning to school?"
"That is the pertinent question," Albus mused aloud. "They rarely act without instruction. I too am curious as to who would intervene in such a way."
Nicholas did not like it.
He'd never owned a house-elf as he'd never felt the need of one, but he knew they were common amongst the upper echelons of society across the wizarding world.
"A pureblood then," he murmured.
"Undoubtedly," Albus agreed unhappily. "I can think of few that do employ an elf that would have the best of intentions towards Harry."
"But why simply try to stop him getting the train? It would make more sense to have the elf attempt to kill the boy."
Albus hummed as he pondered the conundrum.
"It would," he agreed. "Perhaps the elf was not acting on the orders of its master. Maybe it was acting of its own accord in a bid to keep Harry safe."
"From Hogwarts?" Nicholas asked sceptically.
"It does not make any sense," Albus sighed. "I would urge Harry to be particularly vigilant until the culprit is identified. He will be safe when he is within the castle. I will instruct our own elves to be on the lookout for any that do not belong amongst them."
"So, any house-elf can come and go as they please?"
"Only if they are serving the family of a student," Albus explained. "It is a rather glaring loophole and I have attempted to have it changed. The governors and certain parents, however, are reluctant to comply. They pointed out that certain students must be accessible as they are being groomed to take over the interests of a family."
Nicholas shook his head.
"That is a glaring issue," he reiterated. "What is to prevent them from bringing contraband into the castle?"
"Very little," Albus acknowledged. "We have our rules in place. The protections around Hogwarts are far from infallible as demonstrated by what occurred at the end of the previous school year. Were I allowed to; I would certainly improve measures."
"But the governors are uncooperative?"
"With Lucius Malfoy on the board, they are quite the hindrance."
"Malfoy. Wasn't he one of his followers?"
Albus nodded darkly.
"He has gone to great lengths and expense to redeem himself in the eyes of the public. Unfortunately, Cornelius has fallen for his charms and his generous donations over the years have rather endeared him to many. He has cultivated quite the reputation for himself. There are, however, those that have not forgotten. He claims to have been under the Imperius Curse."
Nicholas cursed in his native tongue.
"And he is allowed to be a school governor?"
"I have no say on who is appointed," Albus explained. "They nominate and ratify their own candidates. Unsurprisingly, when Lucius made it known he was interested in a position, one became available quickly. It took less than a week before the rest were catering to his whims."
Nicholas could only shake his head.
He despised devious individuals, especially those who got away with their crimes.
Still, he had faith that Lucius Malfoy would eventually get his comeuppance, but for now, Harry should exercise caution with the man.
It also raised the question of how many others had gotten away with their part in Voldemort's uprising?
Was Britain crawling with those still loyal to the Dark Lord?
"I will fetch Harry and bring him to the castle myself," Nicholas decided.
He would need to have a word with the boy and explain the need to remain vigilant.
All it could take would be a whisper that Voldemort was still out there somewhere for one of the Death Eaters to strike.
Nicholas would not see that happen.
No, Harry truly needed to tread carefully until he was able to defend himself.
"Look out for him, Albus. Perenelle and I will be most displeased if any harm was to come to Harry."
Albus nodded his understanding and Nicholas once again took his leave of the station, his thoughts troubled by what he had learned.
(Break)
"Come on, Ronald!" Hermione urged as they departed the train several hours after they had set off.
"Alright, I'm coming," Ron huffed.
He had been rudely awoken from his nap as they had pulled into Hogsmeade, and it took the redhead several moments to gather his wits.
Hermione all but dragged him into one of the waiting carriages before closing the door, tapping her feet impatiently for the duration of the ride to the castle.
As they came to a stop, she did not hesitate to hurry inside, her gaze seeking out any member of staff who could help her.
"Professor McGonagall!" she called as she spotted the woman leaving the Great Hall. "Harry wasn't on the train!"
"I am well aware of Mr Potter's circumstances, Miss Granger," the woman replied. "He is already inside."
Without another word, Hermione charged into the hall, breathing a sigh of relief as she saw Harry sitting at the Gryffindor table.
"Why weren't you on the train?" she asked breathlessly as she reached him.
"Hello to you too, Hermione," Harry chuckled. "There was a problem with the barrier. It's fine, I made it here."
"See, I told you he would be fine," Ron huffed.
"He might not have been, Ronald," Hermione bit back as she took a seat next to Harry.
Ron merely grinned in response.
It was easy for him to get a rise out of her and he seemed to revel in it.
Still, Harry seemed to be okay if a little distracted, and the Great Hall began to fill with the other students only a few moments later.
"I wonder if Ginny will be a Gryffindor?" Ron asked as the new influx of nervous first years were led into the room shortly after the others were settled.
"When was the last time a Weasley wasn't?" Hermione asked.
Ron shrugged.
"I think there was a Great Uncle of some sort who was a Slytherin about a hundred years ago. Dad doesn't speak about him though. I think he died in Azkaban in the end."
"Really?" Hermione asked interestedly.
"What's Azkaban?" Harry broke in.
"A wizarding prison," Hermione explained. "It houses the worst and most dangerous criminals in the country."
"I never thought about it," Harry murmured with a frown.
Before they could discuss the matter further, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and addressed the assembled first years.
"When I call your name, you will step forward and the Sorting Hat will be placed on your head. Once your house has been announced, you will join your housemates at their table."
A redheaded girl that could only have been Ron's younger sister glared at the laughing Fred and George, who had undoubtedly exaggerated what the sorting would entail.
"Adam Appleby."
Hermione clapped politely with the rest of the students as each of the first years was sorted and felt Ron stiffen next to her when it was Ginny's turn.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat declared within a second of being placed on her head.
The girl beamed as her brothers cheered uproariously, and being the last to be sorted, Professor Dumbledore stood to greet the students.
"Welcome one and all for another year at Hogwarts," he began with a smile. "Before we indulge in our sumptuous feast, there are a few start of term notices to give. Firstly, Mr Filch has asked that I remind you all that the list of banned items can be found attached to his office door. I would suggest you all familiar yourself with it."
"Fat chance," one of the twins muttered, offering Professor McGonagall an innocent smile as she glared at him.
"Of course, the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students," Dumbledore continued, he too shooting a glance towards the Weasleys. "And finally, I would like you to give a warm welcome to Professor Lockhart who will be joining us as your Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor."
Hermione felt her cheeks tingle as the man sauntered into the room, smiling brightly at the students.
"Bloody hell, him?" Harry groaned as his head thudded into the table.
Hermione frowned at the boy.
Professor Lockhart would be a fantastic teacher. He'd undertaken so many daring deeds across the world over the years. They were lucky to have him.
"Pompous prat," one of the twins muttered.
"Git," the other added, taking a sharp intake of breath as one of the Chasers kicked him under the table.
"Yes, welcome Professor Lockhart," Dumbledore said as the applause for the man died down. "Now, let us eat."
Hermione helped herself to the platters that appeared in front of her, loading her plate as the others bemoaned the appointment of Gilderoy Lockhart.
"I'd rather have Snape than him," Harry said moodily as he stabbed a potato with his fork. "At least the greasy sod doesn't try to grab me."
"He'd sooner strangle you, mate," Ron snorted.
"What is Dumbledore thinking?" one of the twins sighed.
"He will be great," Angelina said supportively.
"A great arse. There's no way he did all those things in those books."
"It's all bollocks," the other twin declared.
"You think he's a liar?" Harry asked.
The twins nodded in unison.
"Just look at him. Does he look like someone who could tangle with a vampire? I doubt he could tangle with a Flobberworm."
The boys laughed at the quip, and the girls eyed them disapprovingly.
They were just jealous of Gilderoy Lockhart.
His travels and accomplishments were well documented, and Hermione was certain he would prove them all wrong.
(Break)
Emotions
This was touched upon very briefly when you were introduced to the topic of Occlumency.
Emotions are powerful tools in many scenarios, but they can also be quite the burden for a practitioner of the Mind Arts. Showing emotion is a natural reaction, but one that is necessary to curb when in the presence of hostile persons.
Emotions will give away your weaknesses, only arming your more aware enemies.
You must become accustomed to minimising your instinctual, emotional responses. Practice it consistently and it will soon become as natural as drawing breath.
To all practitioners, flitting between being amongst friends and enemies alike will be important on your journey to mastering the Mind Arts.
This is not to say you should attempt to entirely block out emotions.
It would be detrimental to do so, but there are times that should and shouldn't allow them to be read.
Choose your moments wisely.
This is step one, a more defensive mechanism in practice, now step two is considerably more complicated.
Using Memories as Weapons
Yes, you read that correctly.
Emotions are exceedingly powerful conduits for casting magics such as Charms, Hexes, Curses, and Jinxes.
Many of these rely on an emotion to fuel them correctly, or to achieve casting them at all.
However, it is not always conducive to your current mood when you have the desire to use a particular spell.
That is where creating what we will refer to as an 'emotional bank' will come in most handily.
As essential as it is to be able to hide what it is you are feeling around enemies, it is equally essential for you to call upon emotions at will to employ the above mentioned magics.
Already, you should have compartmentalised your key memories. It is these you will require to create your 'emotional bank'.
For this, you will need to create another compartment where you will be able to access memories that trigger various, emotional responses within you.
It is suggested that you choose only the strongest memories for each emotion including joy, fear, hope, happiness, despair, love, and envy.
These are the emotions most relevant to emotion-based casting, but it is advised you do not leave any others neglected from the 'emotional bank'.
Once you have sorted and stored these memories in their new compartment, you will be ready to proceed on to how to use emotions as a form of both attack and defence with regards to enemies attempting to break into your mind.
Remember, a state of perpetual calmness and serenity, for the most part, will serve your use of emotions incredibly well in mind and in magic.
The study and practice of Occlumency was getting harder. That, Harry couldn't deny, but he'd already begun putting his latest task into motion during his first Potions lesson of the year.
Although Professor Snape had not been as unpleasant as he was used to, he was the perfect candidate to act as Harry's enemy.
As such, he had practised remaining calm and allowing no emotional response to cross his features.
The Potions Master had offered him an odd look or two throughout the lesson, but Harry had remained steadfast in his practice.
"Honestly, the man is a disaster," one of the twins groaned from their spot at the Gryffindor table. "He doesn't know his arse from his elbow."
"Did you have Lockhart?" Ron asked.
The twins nodded in unison.
"Don't get your hopes up. He's a bigger prat than you can imagine."
"You just don't like him because he's handsome," Katie snorted.
"Oi, I'm handsome!"
Katie raised an eyebrow at the boy, eliciting a bout of laughter from the other Chasers.
"You are handsome, Fred," Angelina cooed.
"I'm Fred!" the other twin protested.
Angelina rolled her eyes at the boys.
"I am not falling for that again!"
The twins shared a grin.
"Is he that bad?" Harry asked.
"Worse," Fred or George answered.
"It's his first day," Alicia defended.
Harry wasn't convinced, but he couldn't be worse than Quirrell.
At least Lockhart was unlikely to attempt to murder him, would he?
"Come on, it's time for Defence," Hermione announced with a bright smile.
"Bloody hell, not her too," Ron grumbled.
It seemed as though every female in the castle was enthralled with Gilderoy Lockhart. Even Professor Sprout had blushed at the mention of the man during her lesson on Mandrakes.
Harry didn't understand it, and his already low expectations were lowered when they reached the class to find a piece of parchment on the desk, a list of questions about Lockhart.
"What has this got to do with Defence?" he muttered irritably.
"It's an icebreaker," Hermione said as she produced a quill and some ink. "He wants us to get to know him."
"I'd rather get to know Filch," Ron snorted, grimacing as Lockhart entered the room, his smile as dazzling as ever.
"Welcome," he greeted the class, his teeth sparkling. "I am Gilderoy Lockhart, author of many works, and the protagonist for each. Numerous winner of Witch Weekly's most charming smile." he added with a wink. "As you can see, I have arranged a little quiz for us to begin with. It is just a little fun, but I do not expect any of you to struggle. Begin, now."
Harry shook his head as he read the first question.
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?
The man was even more arrogant than Snape professed Harry to be, and as he made his way around the classroom offering comments to answers he read over the student's shoulders, Harry realised he disliked the man more and more with each passing moment.
"Time is up," Lockhart declared several agonising moments later. "Please, hand your parchment to the front of the class. I will look them over later."
"Ponce," Ron muttered.
Hermione shot him a look of irritation as Lockhart continued to grin, stupidly in Harry's opinion.
"Now, let us move on to what we are here for," the man spoke once the quizzes had been piled on his desk. "In my lessons, you will face things beyond your imagination. You will be confronted by creatures that reduce most men to quivering wrecks, but there is nothing to fear so long as I am your professor. I will ensure you are kept safe."
Harry was almost convinced for the briefest of moments that perhaps he had been wrong about the man, but as Lockhart uncovered the jittering cage on his desk, he quickly decided he had gotten the measure of their new professor.
"Pixies?" Seamus Finnegan mocked.
"Freshly caught Cornish Pixies," Lockhart corrected. "They can be very tricky creatures, as I will now demonstrate."
With a tap of his wand, the cage door burst open, and the dozen or so critters within immediately sprang to freedom, descending on the students who immediately began to panic.
Harry took refuge below his desk, eyeing the pixies warily as they zoomed around the room.
"Not to panic, they are rather simple to subdue," Lockhart declared.
Harry watched interestedly as he drew his wand. Perhaps now Lockhart would prove himself competent.
"Pesky Pixie Pesternomy!"
It didn't even sound like a real spell, and one of the pixies snatched the wand from Lockhart's hand, eliciting a girlish scream from the man.
"Well, I am sure you can handle this," he spoke as he all but sprinted up the stairs to his office, slamming the door shut behind him.
Harry could only shake his head.
Lockhart was evidently incompetent and a coward.
Drawing his own wand, he shuffled himself out from his retreat and swept it across the breadth of the room.
"Immobulus," he whispered.
Immediately, the pixies were frozen stiff, floating through the air above the class.
"I was just going to do that!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise, looking towards Harry thoughtfully, her own wand in hand.
Harry merely shrugged as he began rounding up the pixies and putting them in the cage whilst the rest of the students gathered themselves.
"I suppose that means this lesson is over?" Dean Thomas chuckled, shooting a look of disgust towards the office door. "He's not very good is he?"
"It's his first day," Hermione defended with many of the girls nodding their agreement.
"He's a bloody prat," Ron declared. "What idiot sets a load of creatures loose when he can't even control them?"
"They took his wand," Parvati Patil returned.
"That just makes him even more of an idiot," Seamus snorted. "Even Neville didn't lose his wand to them."
"He's hanging from the chandelier!" Lavender scoffed.
"He still has his wand," Harry pointed out. "Anyway, I don't think Professor Lockhart is coming back."
"He's probably changing his pants," Seamus snickered.
The boys laughed and even Harry grinned as he left the room.
There was no reason to remain there without Lockhart to teach them.
Not that it seemed he could teach them much.
Still, Harry had more than enough to keep him occupied when it came to the study of Defence Against the Dark Arts.
It wasn't as though he would suffer through Lockhart's tenure.
If there was any mercy in the world, however, the man wouldn't last the year.
"Practice tonight, Potter," Wood suddenly spoke from next to him as he passed the library, pulling Harry from his thoughts.
"It's the first day back."
"Exactly. We need to get ahead of the others. We have a championship to defend, and new teams to prepare for. We are the only house with ours intact from last year. Six o'clock."
With that, the Keeper walked ahead and Harry frowned.
The boy really was obsessed with Quidditch.
(Break)
The book was of the highest quality leather, the writing etched into the back in what she believed to be real gold. It felt good in her hands, even if she didn't remember purchasing it.
Her mother must have packed it in her trunk.
"Tom Riddle," Ginny murmured as she ran her finger over the lettering.
With a shrug, she opened what she had already decided to use as her diary. There were things that a young girl needed to express, but with only several older brothers and no close friends as yet, a diary was perfect.
Rifling through her bag, she retrieved a quill and some ink, removing the lid from the latter before dipping the writing tool in.
It is strange being at Hogwarts.
I never thought it would happen and I am so happy to be here, even if Harry hasn't even said hello to me.
Ron is his best friend, so I will get the chance to speak with him.
His hair is messy, and he is just as handsome as the books said. If only he would notice me.
Who knows, maybe one day we will be married and I will be Ginny Potter…
She frowned as the ink vanished into the parchment and huffed irritably.
The diary was broken, just like almost everything else she owned.
Just as she was going to discard the book in her trunk, some writing appeared on the page she had been using, though it was not her own musings.
Hello, Ginny
Ginny's eyes widened before she penned her reply.
Hello, who are you? Why are you inside my diary?
Only a moment past before another response came forth.
My name is Tom. I didn't wish to intrude, but I have been here for so long without any friends. Would you be my friend? I can keep all of your secrets and even share some of mine.
Ginny wasn't sure.
Please, Ginny, it is so lonely here…
She felt a pang of sadness.
Ginny always had her brothers, but being the only girl, it often felt as though she was alone, so she understood Tom and how he felt.
I can be your friend
Again, only a moment went by before another message appeared on the page.
Thank you! I promise I will be the best friend you could ever hope for. You wrote about someone named Harry…
Harry Potter is a famous wizard at my school
He sounds very interesting. I'd like you to tell me everything you can about him…
Ginny smiled as she dipped her quill in the ink once more.
Telling Tom everything she knew about Harry would take some time. There was so much to say about the boy who had rid the world of You-Know-Who.
