To Harry's relief, Tracey's doubts did not seem to surface again. She even saw Daphne – without Pansy – two more times through what remained of August, and both times, she came home looking rather happy – though Harry supposed that it would be harder to avoid Pansy once school began. Neville invited Harry over to his house one more time, this time with Hermione, and to Harry's dismay, he had to sit through another formal tea with Mrs Longbottom while she questioned her.

The rest of the time these last two weeks of August was spent at home – or rather, the Davises' home, but Harry found it relatively easy to simplify the term in his mind. Orville, as always, was often out on trips or meetings, while April spent much of her day in her office, looking over documents, though she also had to regularly go out to attend one meeting or another. Hermione seemed to have left quite a good impression on her that day in Diagon Alley, for April revealed one night that she had sent her two letters, asking about her work, something that she was more than happy to talk about with her.

While Harry liked Hogwarts, there was still a touch of sadness as he went into the final week of the summer holidays. He would miss the relaxation of the last month and a half as he dove back into his classes as well as being here at the Davises. On the other hand, though, he was also looking forward to the excitement that only Hogwarts could offer. London and Diagon Alley were certainly great, but it had been some time since he had experienced the atmosphere of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Before long, the night of the twenty-nineth of August came. The Hogwarts Express was due to depart the next day, a Sunday. Harry went to bed early, despite the eleven o'clock departure of the train and Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters being only a few seconds' trip away by Floo. That turned out to be a mistake, for he ended up being unable to fall asleep at the earlier-than-usual time – though the anticipation certainly did not help matters, either. As he tossed and turned in bed, he thought about the journey tomorrow on the Hogwarts Express and the dormitory. Will they have the same one as last year, or will they be moved?

Briefly, his mind drifted towards Tracey, and what going back to Hogwarts meant for her. Was she looking forward to it? Or was she dreading it? She had certainly intimated that she would miss the summer, in part due to them being in different Houses and different common rooms during the school year, making spending time far more of a challenge.

'We'll still be in the same classes,' Harry had said earlier that day to alleviate her fears as they played Galleons. 'We'll also see each other at meals…and I'm sure there'd be other opportunities…'

'Still, it won't be the same,' Tracey had replied. 'It'll be harder…and I'll have to spend more time around Pansy…'

'If you don't want to spend time with her, just don't. It'll be okay.'

'I won't,' Tracey had said with a resolve that Harry was glad to hear in her voice. 'I'm not going to be a part of her gang anymore. I'm not going to be around her any more than I have to. It's just…well…it's hard to avoid someone completely when you share the same dormitory.'

Eventually, Harry drifted to sleep, and asleep he remained until he was awoken by a crashing noise. His eyes shot open. It was still a while from dawn, as evidenced by the shade of the light seeping through the edges of the curtains. Where had the noise come from? Had it emanated from outside? It did not sound like it, but then again, he had still been asleep when he had first heard it.

Curious, he threw back his covers and sat up, wanting to briefly investigate. He shifted and stood up to get out of bed, but before his right foot touched the ground, he felt something warm and skin-like underneath his feet. Panicking that there might be an intruder in the house, he grabbed his wand from the bedside table and lit up all the lights in his room. If this was Dobby's warning coming true, then he had to at least defend himself against whoever was out for him.

When Harry looked at the now-illuminated figure that he had stepped on, however, he found that it was not any threat that Dobby warned of, but rather, Dobby himself. On his face was plastered a look of surprise and fear as he saw Harry. He looked a little better than he did the last time Harry saw him – the number of open wounds on his body seemed to have decreased in count – but by no means did he look happy and healthy.

'Dobby apologises, Harry Potter!' Dobby whimpered. 'Dobby has not meant to wake up Harry Potter!'

Harry's eyes narrowed, and the fearful look on Dobby's face deepened, though Harry did not particularly care for his comfort at this moment. 'What in the world are you doing here?' he hissed.

'Dobby is come again to warn Harry Potter!' Dobby squeaked. 'Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts tomorrow!'

'We've been through this already,' Harry snapped. 'I'm going on the train tomorrow, and unless you tell me something to convince me otherwise, you're not stopping me.'

'Dobby can only tell Harry Potter that he must not go,' Dobby replied. 'But Dobby cannot say anything else.'

'Then I'm going on the train tomorrow.'

'You must not!'

'You still haven't given me a single reason why I shouldn't.'

'Dobby has told Harry Potter all that he can tell.'

'Then why did you come here again?' Harry fumed. 'To wake me up in the middle of the night so that you could say the same vague, meaningless sentence that you've said to me fifty times already? And what was all that racket for?'

Dobby suddenly hung his head in shame. 'Dobby has thought…Dobby has thought that if he would steal Harry Potter's school trunk…Harry Potter should not return to Hogwarts.'

'You were going to steal my trunk?' Harry asked in disbelief.

'Dobby has not been able to think of any other way to keep Harry Potter from going to Hogwarts,' Dobby said. 'Dobby has decided to steal Harry Potter's trunk. If Harry Potter would not have his trunk, he should not be able to go to Hogwarts.'

'Did you really think you could just steal my things?'

'Dobby has not meant to steal, Harry Potter!'

'Then what did you mean to do?'

Dobby fell silent for a long moment. 'Dobby has meant to…Dobby has meant to…he has meant to protect Harry Potter,' he answered finally.

'From what?' Harry demanded through gritted teeth as he jumped from his bed, dove under it, and grabbed his trunk, lest Dobby attempt to steal it while he was distracted in conversation.

'From grave dangers that shall happen at Hogwarts this year.'

Harry sighed, exasperated. 'You telling me about the "grave dangers" that you say are going to happen at Hogwarts is completely useless if you cannot tell me a single thing more about what you're warning me against.'

'Dobby wishes that he could, Harry Potter, but he has been ordered to – '

'I know!' Harry cut him off, angry and annoyed. 'You've said that as many times as the other line! But how exactly do you expect me to trust you on your word alone and do something as mad as not going to school for a year?'

'Dobby says that it is better for Harry Potter to not go to school for a year than for him to risk his life at Hogwarts,' Dobby argued.

'Again, if you actually told me anything, I might take this seriously,' Harry shot back. 'But right now, you've given me absolutely nothing except demanding that I don't go to Hogwarts – while trying to steal my things to boot. Don't you see why I don't believe you?'

Dobby gulped. His expression looked desperate, but Harry could only feel an acute vexation at his behaviour. 'Dobby knows not what else he can do to keep Harry Potter away from Hogwarts,' he said quietly. 'Dobby can only ask Harry Potter to take his warning seriously.

Before Harry could say anything in reply, Dobby disappeared with a pop.


When Harry discussed the encounter with Dobby with Orville and April the next morning, the conclusions drawn were essentially identical to what they already thought – unsurprising given the complete lack of any new information. Both still advocated for Harry to watch out for himself and stick close to people he trusted, but as with before, there was nothing that they could or should do on such vague warnings.

'Write to Dumbledore again,' Orville advised. 'He should know that this happened a second time. You should also keep him in the know if anything else suspicious happens. At Hogwarts, he is the person best-equipped to handle anything abnormal that happens.'

It was Orville who later brought them to King's Cross, for April had received an urgent message from a client demanding all the shares she held in a company to be dumped at once, something that apparently involved a bit of work to clear, as it involved a large sum of Galleons. Before they departed, April sent them off in front of the fireplace, telling Tracey to behave herself and be careful about making good friends before sending her through to Orville.

It was only her and Harry left in the living room. 'Thanks for a great summer, Harry,' she said, before stepping forward and hugging Harry.

'Thank you,' Harry replied. 'I…well…just…thank you.'

April chuckled before looking him in the eye. 'Remember to be careful,' she bade. 'We can take one thing away from Dobby's warning: there's something going on. If there's anything…remember to tell Dumbledore. You can also tell me, and I'll try to do whatever I can. Be safe.'

With that, Harry stepped into the flames, and after a short trip, arrived in a large waiting room. It was still early – nearly half an hour before departure – and the room was relatively empty save for three or four older students who looked to be either Prefects or heads. Orville led them out onto the platform, where the train was already waiting. He sent Tracey off first, echoing April's advice and telling her to be careful in the Slytherin House. Once Tracey was on the train, he turned to Harry.

'It was a pleasure to have you, Harry,' he said, putting out his hand, and Harry shook it. 'It's been very enjoyable for all of us.'

'It was great to stay with you,' Harry replied. 'Thank you.'

'Certainly,' Orville said. 'Do you know what your plans for the winter holidays are?'

Harry shook his head. 'Not yet.'

'Well, know that you are always welcome back.'

Harry smiled. 'Thank you.'

Orville nodded. 'Now be careful. I'll wager that April has already told you this, but I'll say it if she hasn't. If anything happens, tell Dumbledore. Let us know. We know resources that might be able to help. As with what I told Tracey, be careful around people. Every first-year, of magical background or not, is wide-eyed and innocent about doing magic by themselves for the first time. In second year, you start forming into who you will become, for better and for worse. I suspect that Tracey already sees this about Pansy Parkinson and knows that a childhood friendship is nearing its end, or it has already reached it. Am I correct in my understanding of what happened that day in Diagon Alley?'

Harry, after a moment's hesitation about whether to tell Orville, nodded. 'Yes.'

'Exactly,' Orville continued. 'Learn to read people, but most importantly, understand that people are not defined forever by one thing or one period. A friend one day may be an enemy another; an enemy one day may be a friend another. Don't trust easily and freely, but do stay close to the people you do give trust to. It will protect you, in the short term, yes, but more importantly, the long. Understand, Harry?'

Harry nodded. 'Understood.'

'Go ahead now,' Orville said. 'I'm sure Tracey's waiting. Remember, be careful. Have a good term.'

Harry waved one last goodbye to Orville before dragging himself and his trunk onto the train. Tracey was waiting for him a short distance up the carriage, and Harry walked up to her. 'Where do you want to sit?' he asked.

'I'm going to the third carriage,' Tracey answered apologetically. 'I'm meeting Daphne there.'

'Oh, okay,' Harry replied, a little disappointed. 'Well…uh…'

'I'll see you later at Hogwarts,' Tracey said, smiling. 'Have a good trip.'

She turned around and walked up the corridor to the end of the carriage, leaving Harry alone in the now-empty first carriage. He opened a compartment and sat down, claiming it and waiting for Neville and Hermione to show up. He sat and waited as the train began to slowly fill up with students. After a short while, Neville appeared. Not long after that, Hermione joined their complement.

Eleven-o-clock came around, and the train pulled out of the station right on time. As they gathered speed through what was unmistakeably magical London – the surroundings did not resemble the area around King's Cross at all – an unexpected visitor in the form of Dean Thomas poked his head into the compartment. 'Good morning,' he said awkwardly.

'Dean!' Neville replied, surprised. 'How're you doing?'

Dean shrugged. 'Not bad. Look, can I join you? I just barely caught the train, but there were no compartments left…well…Raul and Ron and Sally-Anne had an open compartment…but…'

Neville chuckled. 'You'd rather not?'

'I like my sanity.'

'Understandable. Come on in.'

'Did you have good summers?' Dean asked as he stowed his trunk.

'Not bad,' Neville answered. 'And you?'

'Good enough,' Dean replied. 'A bit boring. It's a shame I couldn't do any magic.'

Hermione nodded in commiseration. 'It annoyed me, too. I understand why, of course, but it's still dumb that we can't practise basic spells we learned in school in our own houses.'

'Professor Cauverina will roast me alive tomorrow,' Dean said. 'God knows if I can even perform a spell anymore after not doing it for so long.'

'Professor Cauverina's not roasting anyone alive,' Neville observed. 'She's far too nice to do that.'

'What about McGonagall, then?'

'No guarantees on that one,' Neville answered, and the two boys laughed.

'What's with this new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor we got?' Dean asked after a short while. 'The textbook he assigned is pretty…unusual. I read one chapter out of curiosity. It's something like eighty percent his own anecdotes. Is that even a textbook at that point?'

'It is strange,' Harry agreed, having also read ahead. 'It's impressive for sure, but I'm not sure how exactly it's supposed to teach us anything. I mean…unless he expects us to replicate his slaying of a manticore while armed with only a bronze staff…'

'I'll pass on that one, personally,' Dean said. 'I wouldn't want to face any of those creatures even if I'm sitting inside a tank.'

'How're you supposed to kill a manticore sitting inside a tank?' Neville asked. 'Isn't that asking to be burned alive? Or drowned?'

'A tank, not a tank,' Hermione explained. 'You're thinking about a water tank. Dean's talking about a battle tank. It's a…how do I explain it? It's a muggle weapon. It's a vehicle that has a lot of armour and a big cannon that shoots things to destroy other tanks. I don't know, I think I'd be quite glad to be sitting inside a tank if there were a manticore in front of me.'

'A dragon will probably not be having a good day after taking a giant high-explosive shell to the face,' Dean agreed with a laugh.

'Dragons have a lot of armour, too,' Neville pointed out. 'The dragon might just shrug off whatever it is that…the tank…shoots.'

'Tanks can shoot things that go through a metre – that's something like three Standard Feet – of armour,' Dean replied. 'I doubt even a dragon can grow that much armour on itself.'

Neville shrugged. 'If you say so. As for me personally, I think if I ever see a dragon, I'll just run as far away from it as possible.'

'Back to Lockhart, though,' Dean said after the laughter died down. 'Who even is he?'

'Well, he's the protagonist in all his books,' Hermione answered. 'He travels around the world, fighting against all kinds of dark magic: creatures, objects, wizards, and so on. He's supposed to be a really talented wizard – really good at offensive and defensive magic. They even awarded him the Order of Merlin, Second Class for his exploits.'

'If he's really good at offensive and defensive magic, why did he need to beat a manticore to death with a stick?' Dean asked.

'That one was because he lost his wand and then broke his spare one,' Harry replied. 'What he did does seem pretty impressive…but April did say that she didn't believe that all of it happened exactly the way he told in his books.'

'Actually, we don't know much for sure about Lockhart at all,' Neville interjected. 'You won't believe a bit of his official life story. He claims that he lost his best friend to "dark magic" when he was twenty – whatever "dark magic" means – then travelled the world learning from different masters so that he could take revenge for his friend.'

'Sounds like a typical literary hero,' Hermione noted.

'Exactly. There's no way that's real.'

Hermione looked thoughtful. 'It definitely sounds fake, but is there evidence that actually proves it's a made-up story?'

'There is,' Neville said. 'Gran looked into him when it was announced that he would be the next Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. The records aren't exactly hard-to-find if you ask the right people in the Ministry. She says that the records say Lockhart was in the Army for most of his early twenties. He went into it right after leaving Hogwarts and stayed there until he was twenty-five. Apparently, he was a very good soldier and was promoted quickly to a…major, I think, by twenty-one, and he still had a lot of room to advance. This was during the war with You-Know-Who, so maybe they promoted him more quickly than they otherwise might have, but still, what he did is still extremely unusual.'

'So there's no way he could've been travelling the world learning magic during that time.'

'Definitely not being in the Army while it was fighting You-Know-Who,' Neville agreed. 'It gets even stranger, though. Officers in the Army have to serve for ten years before they can leave – no exceptions – but right after the end of the war, when Lockhart was twenty-five – that's only seven years of service – he got discharged from the Army.'

'Why?' Harry asked.

Neville shrugged. 'Nobody knows. Gran says the records don't say why. But not long after he left the Army, he starts working some low-level desk job in the Department of International Relations, which is strange, considering how much further he could've gotten in the Army. And even If he wanted a desk job, he could've easily gotten far better ones than what he ended up working as.'

'So when did he become an author?' Harry enquired.

'Uh…about a year after he started working his desk job, if I remember correctly,' Neville replied. 'His first book, Wanderings with Werewolves, was published in 1983, and he started his desk job in 1981, so sometime between that, he apparently found time to hunt down a cell of rampaging werewolves in Ireland and then write a full book about it.'

'It's really impressive,' Hermione remarked. 'But still, why was he discharged early from the Army? Why did he start working that desk job? If you said that you can't just leave the Army whenever you want to, how did he convince them to let him go?'

'No idea,' Neville replied. 'Gran has no ideas either to string all these events together. The only one who has ever come up with an alternate story is a bloke called Xenophilius Lovegood, but…well…when I say "alternate", that's not saying it makes any more sense than the official version. Actually, it makes even less sense.'

'What's his story, though?'

Neville sighed. 'It was an article in Lovegood's newspaper, some quack publication called The Quibbler that he writes himself. It's basically all strange conspiracy theories – I think Lovegood has some theory about the Ministry plotting to destroy itself by using dark magic to cause employees to get cavities.'

Hermione blinked. 'What?'

'Yes, "what",' Neville said with a laugh. 'Gran says that this very Quibbler ran a story in 1982 about Lockhart being sent by the government to Ireland hunt down all the "Crumple-Horned Snorkacks" – some imaginary creature that only exists in Lovegood's mind – in the world, so that Fudge could monopolise the industry and make millions. Then, he explained away Lockhart being discharged from the Army early as Fudge not wanting to share the profits from the Snorkack trade with Army commanders, so Fudge engineered a situation where they were forced to discharge Lockhart.'

Neville finished, and the four of them stared at one another in silent confusion. 'What did I just hear?' Dean breathed finally.

'I don't know what else to tell you,' Neville said. 'That's the theory. I told you it made no sense.'

'It doesn't "make no sense",' Hermione corrected. 'It's absolutely bonkers. It's like…it's like saying the moon landings were faked!'

'The what were faked?'

'I'll explain later,' Harry muttered to Neville quietly. 'Here's another question. Why would a successful author like him take a teaching position at Hogwarts? I get that Hogwarts is the best school in all of the British Isles, but why would he trade being a successful author for being a teacher? I'd get it if he loved to teach, but he didn't seem enthusiastic at all in Flourish and Blotts, when he noticed we were Hogwarts students. Why would he suddenly decide to be something he doesn't even seem to really want to be?'

'That sounds like Mike Small suddenly taking a job as a physical education teacher in some comprehensive,' Dean said. 'Mike Small's a footballer who plays for West Ham United,' he added at everyone else's confused looks.

'I don't know,' Neville replied. 'But there's definitely more to Lockhart than anyone – even Xenophilius Lovegood – knows.'


Harry had expected that they would be taking the boats up to Hogwarts again, as they had last year, but as it turned out, they were instead herded by the Prefects in the opposite direction from Hagrid. The mass of students lined up along a cobblestone road, where a column of carriages was waiting. Like the 'horseless carriage' that they had taken to the Davises' ball, these carriages were undrawn. Unlike those, however, the design of these were more along the lines of standard carriages than resembling classic automobiles.

'Six per carriage!' a Prefect's amplified voice boomed over the students. 'Six per carriage, no less, no more! Find a seat and go! No saving seats, and absolutely no fighting! Any fighting or horseplay will be punished severely!'

The line slowly crept forward as carriages departed and new carriages arrived to take their place. As Harry got closer to the carriages, he heard the unmistakeable sounds of hooves clopping against the ground – though that sound was far too soft to be that of horse hooves. The carriages were still as undrawn as ever, however.

Hermione seemed to have heard it, too. 'Why do I hear hooves when there're no horses?' She looked at Harry and Neville. 'You hear it, too, right?'

Harry and Neville nodded, but Dean shook his head. 'What hooves?' he asked. 'Are you sure you're not just hearing the wheels against the stones?'

'I don't think that's it,' Neville said. 'It definitely sounds like hooves.'

Dean craned his neck to listen, but after a few seconds of trying, he shook his head again. 'I still don't hear anything.'

'That's strange,' Harry said. 'I hear it quite clearly.'

'I still hear nothing,' Dean insisted.

Even when they finally got on their carriage, Dean still maintained that he did not hear anything, though the sound was clearer than ever for Harry, Hermione, and Neville, coming from right in front of them. Two older students joined their carriage to fill it up to a full complement of six, but Harry did not feel brave enough to ask them if they heard the sound or not.

The carriages arrived at the school much more quickly than the boats did, and as they crossed a tall viaduct over a river gorge, Harry could see the glow of the boats carrying the first-years across the lake. When they arrived, Prefects guided them into the Great Hall, at the front of which the Sorting Hat sat on a tall stool, ready to sort the new arrivals into the Houses.

The Hall slowly filled up, and the teachers trickled in, too. Dumbledore was the first one to arrive, followed by Flitwick, Cauverina, one that Harry did not know, Anna, Sprout, and finally, after everyone else save for McGonagall and Hagrid – who were escorting first-years – had already arrived and taken their seats, Lockhart.

Lockhart's arrival was greeted by many 'oohs' and 'ahs' from the crowd of students. Lockhart waved back and put on a rather half-hearted smile – though that seemed to matter not to the admiring students – before taking his seat next to Snape. The Potions Master did not even acknowledge Lockhart's arrival, his body not moving a hair and his eyes locked on the Slytherin table, perhaps waiting for someone to step out of line so that he could assign punishment.

The doors of the Great Hall swung open, and Harry watched the first-years enter the hall, led by Professor McGonagall. Their eyes were filled with an almost comical wonder as they took in the Great Hall. It was even a little humorous to watch, but Harry knew that this was exactly how he had looked when he had walked in last September. How things had changed – there were still traces of that wonder left, but the events of the past year seemed to have weathered him, mixing into that wonder an appreciation or even fear at the full extent of what magic was capable of doing.

The sorting began. The Gryffindor House cheered as a small, brown-haired boy named Colin Creevey became the first to be sorted into the House. For the most part, the Sorting Hat did not seem to deliberate too long while sorting this cohort of students, though a girl named Luna Lovegood took the better part of a minute to be sorted into Ravenclaw.

'Lovegood?' Hermione whispered to Neville, her eyebrows raised. 'Does she have any relation to that Xenophilius Lovegood guy?'

'I think she's his daughter, actually,' Neville breathed back.

'Do you think she'd know anything – '

'Be quiet,' Ron hissed. 'You're distracting me from watching the Sorting.'

'Your sister's not going to be sorted for a while,' Raul said to him. 'They're only on "L's". Calm yourself.'

'I can't calm myself,' Ron snapped. 'What if she gets sorted into Slytherin?'

Raul rolled his eyes. 'What're the chances of her getting sorted into Slytherin when the rest of her family has been Gryffindor?'

'You never know,' Ron argued. 'Ginny is evil.'

'Can't you be quiet?' Seamus grumbled. 'I'm trying to watch the Sorting.'

As it turned out, Ginny was one of the last sorted. Harry heard Ron take in a sharp breath as she sat down on the stool and Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head.

'It had better not be bloody Slytherin,' Ron said under his breath.

The Sorting Hat had been on Ginny's head for at least fifteen seconds now, and there was still no decision – nothing like Ron's immediate sorting last year. If Ron had been impatient before, he was now becoming downright irritated.

'If it's Slytherin…I'm going to burn that stupid hat.'

A minute passed, but there was still no decision. The Great Hall had fallen silent now, the occupants of each of the tables staring up at the front with anticipation. Harry could see Ginny's lips moving as she tried to talk to the Hat – though Harry knew from experience that that was of no use.

Another minute went by, and still nothing. Ron was getting even more anxious now, as evidenced by the nervous tapping of his fork against his plate. He had fallen silent, too nervous to say anything.

'Slytherin!' the Sorting Hat shouted.

Applause sounded at the Slytherin table – though more tepid than which greeted the likes of Astoria Greengrass – as Ginny got off the stool. Her face bore a surprised and shocked expression as she slowly walked towards the Slytherin table. Briefly, she stole a glance at her brothers sitting around the Gryffindor table, and her countenance grew even more stunned.

'No…' Ron gasped. 'No…this…no…'

Harry stole a glance at Ron. His eyes were unfocused, and his mouth was hanging wide open. He had dropped his fork, and his hand had knocked over his goblet. He did not seem to have noticed any of it, however, for the only thing he could do was track Ginny's movement away to the Slytherin table with his eyes.

Harry looked back up front. At the head of the Gryffindor table, Percy also surveyed the scene, slack-jawed. Further down the table, Fred and George were holding their heads, staring at one another in disbelief. None even noticed the last few students getting sorted or Dumbledore standing up and clapping his hands to gather the students' attention.

'Welcome, students, to the start of another school year,' Dumbledore said. 'I am sure you are all tired after a long day of travels, but please allow me to take just a few more minutes of your time before you begin your long-awaited feast. Firstly, a congratulations to all the newly-arriving first-years. All of you have been chosen to attend Hogwarts in recognition of your magical potential, and I hope and believe that in the next seven years, that potential will be fully realised.'

'First-years, it is a tradition to begin our Welcoming Feast with an offer to the Istworjancis in the hope that the year ahead will be successful and fruitful,' he continued. 'Legend has it that these are the seven Creators who created all of Earth and magic. This tradition goes all the way back to the founding of Hogwarts. You are all invited to join, but if you choose to simply watch, I ask you to please remain silent out of respect for the students taking part. Professor Sprout, if you may.'

The whole ritual was now familiar to Harry, having witnessed it once, but the new first-years looked on with mixed intrigue and confusion as Dumbledore lit the twigs in the goblet and began the ritual. 'Istworjancjes,' he began.

'Istworjancjes,' came the response.

Dumbledore and the students proceeded slowly through the offering, and as Harry stole glances around the Great Hall, he noticed many students gawking around the room with a mixture of intrigue and confusion. Maybe they were like him, he thought, muggle-born or raised by muggles, curious at and awed by the strange 'religion' of the wizarding world. Just like last year, Harry noticed that a number of students, many of them Slytherins, refused to repeat the line honouring Hwjerikwun. Now that Harry had heard Anna's story, however, he understood the reason: their disbelief of the existence of this particular Istworjanc. There was no mention, however, of the Istworjanc which they believed to be the rightful seventh. Never once did Dumbledore utter the name Xarnjale.

'Thank you for your attention,' Dumbledore said after the flames in the chalice extinguished. 'Just a few more things before you tuck into your feast. Please join me in welcoming our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.'

Lockhart stood up at the head table. He wore a smile on his face, but it was the tired and somewhat unfulfilled smile of someone who was trying to hide the fact that they did not particularly care to be here. Nonetheless, Lockhart was met by a tidal wave of applause and whistling, especially from the girls of the older years. Even Ron, Percy, and the twins clapped along, though far less enthusiastically than the others in their shell-shock over Ginny. Harry, too, clapped for Lockhart, but the questions he had about the many mysteries of the man tempered his enthusiasm. Judging by the way Neville was clapping, he felt the same. Hermione, however, despite knowing all that they knew, greeted Lockhart with the same eagerness as she did every teacher.

'For those who don't know, Mister Lockhart is famous for his published exploits against the dark arts,' Dumbledore continued after the applause had quietened. 'He holds the Order of Merlin, Second Class for "merits and uncompromising heroism in fighting the dark forces". He has agreed to take this teaching position at Hogwarts this year. Good luck, Professor Lockhart.'

'Students should know that the right-hand-side corridor on the third floor is once again open to all students,' he added. 'The staff has also agreed on regulations on the awarding and taking of House Points following the spate of unruly behaviour near the end of the previous school year, and all students are encouraged to report to their Head of House for any suspected discrepancies with the school policies. There are further announcements regarding changes to classes, but seeing as it is already getting late and you must be famished, I will leave them to your Heads of House to deliver them tomorrow morning. Best of luck to you in this upcoming school year!'

With that, the feast began. Ron, who was usually quite excited about food, was extremely subdued, taking only a single chicken leg and two slices of sandwich, barely touching the other dishes – he even nearly forgot his pudding. Harry had no complaints, for he was spared the sight of table manners and hygiene which left much to be desired. He wondered, however, if he could sympathise with his housemate. He could understand the shock, of course, but knowing Tracey and her family the way he now did, he felt that Ron's anger at his sister going to Slytherin was probably vastly overblown.

The feast ended, and as with last year, the Prefects walked the students up to their dormitories. The second-year boys' dormitory was located half a turn of the spiral staircase above the first-year dormitory, and all six occupants claimed beds in the same positions as they had claimed the previous year. Harry and the others quickly unpacked and put away their trunks, save for Ron, who sat stilly on his bed, a surly expression plastered on his face.

'What's the need to be so cross?' Raul asked once his things had been cleaned up.

'What's the need to be so cross?' Ron repeated, incredulous. 'What's the need to be so cross? The Sorting Hat just put my sister into Slytherin! What's the reason to be so cross…'

'What's so bad about Slytherin?' asked Dean. 'Sure, nobody likes Malfoy and Parkinson and their little gangs, or Snape, but there are plenty who don't bother anyone. Have you ever once heard Edel talk outside of a classroom?'

'It's precisely those that you have to worry about!' Ron insisted. 'Everyone knows every dark wizard or witch ever has come out of Slytherin! And now Ginny's going to be stuck with them…'

'I'm pretty sure not every dark wizard or witch has come out of Slytherin,' Seamus said. 'Everyone knows about Sirius Black, and he was in Gryffindor when he was at Hogwarts.'

'Okay, but Black was one nutcase,' Ron argued, refusing to allow others to calm his anger. 'Plus, his whole family was dark, and they were all in Slytherin. He doesn't prove anything.'

'There're definitely Slytherins who're nice and aren't into dark magic,' Harry said quietly. There was no reason he had to join this fight, but he felt a degree of dereliction of his friendship to Tracey if he did not at least try to repudiate Ron's sweeping statements which, ultimately, also attacked her. 'Maybe you just haven't been able to meet any.'

Ron snorted in disbelief. 'And have you met any?'

'I have.'

'Maybe they just didn't want to show it to you,' Ron said with a dismissive wave. 'Scared of the boy who defeated You-Know-Who and all.'

'That's just stupid,' Neville jumped in. 'If a wizard were really dark, why would they be scared of a twelve-year-old boy with one year of magical training?'

'Who had also defeated You-Know-Who,' Ron reiterated.

'Still a twelve-year-old boy against an adult wizard.'

'Whatever you say,' Ron scoffed. 'It doesn't even matter anyway, whether you go dark or not. Being sorted into Slytherin brings bad luck, plain and simple. There's nothing good that comes out of having someone you know sorted into that House.'

'Why?' Dean asked. 'Slytherin families seem to be doing pretty okay for themselves.'

'Maybe not them,' Ron said. 'Their whole families have been in Slytherin. They might just be immune.'

'But why do you think you'll have bad luck in particular?' Dean pressed. 'For all you know, your family's going to be just fine.'

Ron gulped and opened his mouth, but he quickly closed it again. He paused for several long moments, seemingly struggling with what he wanted to say.

'I know because I do,' Ron said harshly, throwing back the covers of his bed and beginning to pull shut the curtains around his bed. 'Bad things have happened to my family because people got sorted into Slytherin. Now if you'll excuse me, we have to wake up early tomorrow, and I'd rather go to bed than listen to you lot sing the Snakes' praises.'