Discounting the unpleasant encounter with Peeves in the morning, where he tried to stop the Gryffindor second years from getting to breakfast and they had to go the long way around as he shouted rude words after them, Harry had a relatively uneventful, though busy, first day of term. They started to work with mandrakes in Herbology – plants with human-like roots that screamed when one pulled them from the dirt, and so required the use of earmuffs. Neville looked like Christmas had come early. "Mandrakes," he kept saying when they walked back to the castle. "Mandrakes! I thought I wouldn't get to work with them for years! Aren't they amazing?"
The rest of Gryffindors didn't quite share his enthusiasm – the plants were ugly, and everyone was worried their earmuff would slip and they'd end up fainting. Parvati, especially, was very vocal in her dissatisfaction. "And Potions next," she muttered. "Wednesday is not going to be my favourite day."
In truth, they had a lot of Potions classes this year, twice as many as they had the last. Neville, who was still made a little nervous by Professor Snape, got rather glum when he saw the timetable. After lunch, they discovered that Professor Binns got no less boring over the summer, and that Professor McGonnagal was no less strict. Harry was suddenly glad Alduin made him review and study so hard, especially watching most of the others in his class struggle. Parvati was the only other one who seemed prepared properly, but perhaps she was simply enjoying not having to get her hands dirty for once.
Harry also found out there was an article about him starting his second year at Hogwarts on the front page of the Prophet, along with the announcement that Lockhart would be teaching there. Kiara had shown him, amused. Harry could only roll his eyes. Was there really nothing more important to write about?
His classes over, he was resting in the common room and waiting for dinner when he felt Alduin calling him through the mirror. "Yes?" He said, taking it out. "What is it?"
"Are you alone?" Alduin asked, his tone urgent.
Harry frowned. "Not exactly, I'm in the common room..."
"Better go to your dormitory, then, this shouldn't be overheard."
Excited and a little nervous now, Harry quickly climbed the stairs and plopped down on his bed. "Yes?" He said again.
"I spoke to Dobby," Alduin began without preamble. "He says there's Riddle's diary somewhere about at school, a diary that makes people open the Chamber of Secrets."
"The Chamber..." Harry thought for a moment. "But, didn't you say Slytherin put the monster there to protect the school? So it shouldn't be a reason to worry, right?"
Alduin shook his head. "I said that was one theory. I tend to believe it, but I'd personally not bet the life of any students on it. The last time it was opened, when Riddle was at Hogwarts, Myrtle Warren, a Ravenclaw student, died. We don't know it if was an accident, if Riddle turned the monster against her, or what. But I wouldn't tempt it, certainly not if Riddle's diary is in control. So please, if you ever see it..."
"What does it look like?"
"We don't know. Dobby never saw it, he only heard Lucius talk about it."
Harry frowned. "But if Mr. Malfoy knew about it, why didn't he say anything? Is it because he believes the monster is there for protection?"
Alduin seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Undoubtedly, he believes that," he said then. "And remember he doesn't know about Riddle's early history, so he wouldn't know about Myrtle."
Harry nodded. "Should I tell Draco?"
"I'd prefer it if you didn't. He himself can probably be trusted, but he could mention it to someone and...what we need to avoid the most is someone who actually wants to open the Chamber getting their hands on the diary. So only tell those you trust absolutely and implicitly – and, as sorry as I am to say it, I'd stick to Gryffindors now. For most Ravenclaws, the temptation of knowledge can be great, and...well."
Harry nodded. "I'll talk it over with Neville," he said, "and we'll decide."
"Good. And look around, will you?"
Harry promised to do just that, and then ran down to get Neville and drag him through the portrait hole for a walk through the castle to share the news.
"So, looking for a diary that we don't know the look of, that may or may not have Riddle's name on it somewhere...that's gonna be hard."
Harry agreed. "Who do we tell?" He asked.
"Sophie and Ron at least," Neville decided, and Harry nodded immediately. "And I don't suppose there's any danger of Dean and Seamus wanting to open the Chamber either."
"No, I guess not...and anyway I think there's a chance Sophie would tell them if we didn't, so..."
This decided, Harry immediately felt lighter. With more people on the lookout, after all, there was a better chance of the diary being found.
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The next day, they had their first Defence lesson with Lockhart, and Harry couldn't quite believe his eyes. First, before the class even started, Lockhart pulled him aside. "My dearest Harry," he said, "I couldn't help but notice that the article about you starting your second year at Hogwarts took up as much space in the Prophet as the one announcing I'd be teaching here. Tell me, is your cousin your manager?"
Harry could only stare. "Um- no, Professor," he said. "He's- well, he's my cousin. I don't have a manager."
"Oh Harry," Lockhart said with a smile so fake he could give Aunt Petunia a run for her money, "pretended naiveté is all well and good, but you don't have to pretend with me. I know the world of fame inside out, you know. Tell me, what strategies does he prefer to employ?"
Harry stared some more. He had no idea what Lockhart was talking about. Fortunately, it was time for the class to start so the teacher let him go, though he was evidently reluctant.
It didn't improve from then on, though. They were given a test from his books, which concentrated entirely on Lockhart's personal tastes and characteristics, and then he let Cornish Pixies loose in the class, clearly without any clue how to stop them. Pandemonium reigned. Two of them tried to grab Neville by the ears, and Harry, Ron and Sophie had to beat them with Lockhart's books to get them to let him be. When the bell rang, everyone made a mad dash for the door, but only Dean, Seamus, Parvati and Lavender managed to get out before Lockhart emerged from under his desk and ordered the rest of them to deal with the pixies who hadn't, so far, managed to escape through the broken window.
"Can you believe him?" roared Ron as one of them bit him painfully on the ear.
Harry sighed resignedly. "Do any of you have any clue how to deal with pixies?" He asked as they hid under the desk Lockhart had just vacated.
They all shook their heads, and so Harry took out his multi-way mirror and called Alduin once again.
"Yes, Harry?" Was the almost immediate answer.
"Er, do you know how to deal with rampaging pixies?"
Alduin stared for a moment. "Why in Merlin's name would you need to know that?"
"Well, Lockhart let them loose in class and ran away, telling us to clean up..."
Alduin suddenly looked very tired. "Is Dumbledore doing it on purpose to irritate me, do you think?" He muttered. More loudly, he said: "All right, so first, you don't need to clean up after teachers, whatever they might say. The pixies are Lockhart's problem, not yours. But if you want to, well, I'd try immobilizing them in some way. Do you know the Freezing Charm?"
Harry nodded gratefully, and the others already started firing them as Harry ended the talk. "Well, at least we learned something thanks to this class," Neville said.
"Do you think your cousin would perhaps consider teaching us via the mirror, instead of this loser?" Ron added, and Sophie giggled.
Harry suddenly remembered Alduin even vaguely suggesting that the new Defence teacher would be the one to help him train duelling, and began to laugh. The others gave him uncertain looks.
"I just imagined," he said, wheezing, "what would training with Lockhart look like."
Ron snorted. "Well, if you had to fight pixies, it'd be pretty tough!"
Harry shook his head. The first session with Maurice was arranged for Sunday, and whatever it was, he was quite certain it was going to be better than this.
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On Saturday, Oliver Wood woke Harry up at the crack of dawn for Quidditch practice. Harry dragged himself out of bed very slowly and took a shower, still half-asleep. As he stumbled out of the dormitory and to the staircase, he noticed the small, enthusiastic boy from the Sorting watching him. He'd seen him before, around school, and every time he did, the boy had been watching him. It was a little disquieting.
"All right, Harry?" He asked when Harry looked at him, going bright red. "I'm - I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "Do you think - would it be all right if - can I have a picture?" he asked, raising his camera.
"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.
"So I can prove I've met you," Colin said eagerly, stepping closer to him. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and -"
"Sorry," Harry interrupted him, turning to leave, "but I'm in a hurry. I have Quidditch practice."
"Oh, wow! Can I go with you? I've never watched a Quidditch game before!" And without waiting for an answer, Colin joined him.
"You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren't you, Harry? Weren't you?" He asked, trotting alongside him. "You must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there is? I don't really understand Quidditch. Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?"
"Yes," Harry answered, and took it upon himself to explain the rules of Quidditch, grateful for the excuse to avoid Colin's morning enthusiasm. He knew exactly what Ginny had meant.
When they got to the pitch, Colin headed to the stands and Harry to the changing rooms, where Wood was waiting, beaming like a Christmas tree.
"I have great news, team!" He said. "Apparently, the school has had a donation and so we all now have Nimbus 2000s at our disposal to train on and to fly in matches!"
There was considerable excitement. "Is it just us," Angelina asked after a moment, "or do other teams get this too?"
"I'm not sure," Wood admitted. "I guess we'll have to see."
He then treated them to an extremely complicated lecture on this year's strategy. It didn't make much sense to Harry, and he thought that he really should have recommended Ron to Oliver as someone to consult. But maybe the problem was only that his brain hadn't woken up yet.
When Oliver was finally done and they got to the pitch, Harry saw Neville and Ron waiting there for him, with toasts in their hands.
"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.
"Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the food. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."
He got on his broom and kicked off, very glad to be finally in the air, racing Fred and George around the pitch.
"What's that funny clicking noise?" Fred asked when they flew closer to the stands.
Harry looked. Colin was sitting there, his camera in his hands, busily taking pictures. "Look this way, Harry! This way!" he called. Harry groaned.
"Who's that?" Asked Fred.
"A new Gryffindor first-year," Harry replied. "He's a bit...over-enthusiastic."
"What's going on?" Oliver asked, flying towards them. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program."
"Harry says he's a Gryffindor," Fred answered.
"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," George added.
"What makes you say that?" Wood asked, sounding a little irritated.
"Because they're here in person," George replied and pointed. And sure enough, there was the Slytherin team, walking from their changing rooms to the pitch.
"I don't believe it!" Oliver hissed angrily. "I booked the field for today! We'll see about this!"
He landed, Harry, Fred and George behind him. "Flint!" He shouted at the boy. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"
"Plenty of room for all of us, Wood," Marcus replied. Harry rolled his eyes. Marcus knew perfectly well neither team would be willing to train with the other present.
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie came over to watch as well. The Slytherin team was standing against them, shoulder to shoulder, clearly in a confrontational mood. They were each also holding a Nimbus 2001, a brand new broom. Harry sighed. Of course, only the best for Slytherin.
"But I booked the field!" said Oliver, getting only more angry as time passed. "I booked it!"
"Ah," said Marcus. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker'. "
"You've got a new Seeker? Where?" Harry interrupted, curious.
And from behind the other players emerged – Draco!
Harry laughed in delight. "So this is what you've been whispering about with Marcus at IQT!" He said. "This was the secret! It's awesome, congratulations."
Draco smirked. "Thanks," he said. "And sorry about the inconvenience with the pitch," he added, not sounding sorry at all.
Harry rolled his eyes at him. "It just wouldn't be like you, not being dramatic."
"To be fair, it's not like we did it on purpose," Draco replied. "Wood booked the pitch from five AM till lunch, and the Ravenclaws have it in the afternoon. And we do need to train."
"So do we," Oliver said, irritated.
Draco raised his eyebrows at him. "Well, yes. That's why we were told to come only at nine. You had all those hours before."
"It's barely eight," Oliver argued, still irritated.
"Why, yes," Marcus said, smirking, "we might have come a little earlier."
Harry was getting a little tired of rolling his eyes this morning. "Come on," he said, to the two Slytherin players he knew, "give us that hour and go talk in the changing rooms or something. You wouldn't want us to hang around for your practice, would you?"
Marcus looked like he wanted to argue with Oliver, chiefly because he liked winding the other boy up, in Harry's opinion, but Draco smirked again and said: "Don't get all solemn. It's way too much fun tweaking your fingers," confirming Harry's hypothesis, and the team retreated again, giving the Gryffindors their hour.
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His mind fully preoccupied with Lucius' possibly sinister plans with the diary and the newly pressing needs of lobbying for the Muggle Rights law proposed by the Muggle Research Institute, Alduin didn't react exactly well when Tobby came to tell him that Jonathan Crouch was there to see him. Nevertheless, he made himself leave his study and go downstairs, to confront the man head on.
"I'm sorry," Jonathan said as soon as Alduin entered.
Alduin stopped, and looked at him.
"I just wanted you and my sister to finally be able to talk to each other freely. It seemed a pity..."
"And you didn't think it was our decision when the meeting should take place?" Alduin asked coolly.
"I realize that now, and I am sorry." He paused. "Eliza talked to me, after she visited here."
"Yes, I rather thought she might have." There was no way Jonathan was self-aware enough to figure this out on his own.
"She...explained the problem. I truly didn't realize, and I'm sorry."
"Didn't you consult the matter with your parents, or your wife?" Alduin kept pressing him.
"My parents left it up to me, saying that I knew you better. Ginevra...didn't agree with me, but..."
Alduin raised his eyebrow. "Are you a Muggle, to discount your wife's opinion because you're a man? Did it perhaps occur to you that out of the two of you, Ginevra knew me better? In fact, she might actually know Eliza better as well..."
Jonathan grimaced. "Please, don't. I made a mistake, I realize it now, and I'm sorry."
"Very well then. Apology accepted."
Jonathan hesitated for a moment. "You don't sound very...cordial."
"Should I?" Alduin asked archly. "We'll ask you over some time next week, I'll have to discuss the date with Alexandra. Until then, Jonathan."
The older man left, seeming dissatisfied with the conversation. Well, that made two of them.
Alduin pointedly did not have a drink to wash away his irritation, though he desperately wished he could, and went back to work.