If the recent rumor was to be believed, Harry and Ron had come to Hogwarts in a flying car, crashed into the Whomping Willow, and gotten expelled. We had been eating dinner—me, Hermione, and Ginny, who had been sorted into Gryffindor. The Hat, apparently, didn't break the traditional house sorting of all families. How fun.

As we were eating, Seamus gave me this interesting piece of news, which I immediately shared with Hermione. She was livid.

I couldn't believe them, really. They had not even put a foot into Hogwarts yet and had already gotten into trouble. But somehow, expulsion seemed a bit too extreme. Besides, Dumbledore loved Harry.

So I wasn't as worried. Instead, an immensely important question was roaming around in my head, one that needed Hermione's immediate attention. The added bonus was that it would also distract her from getting all worked up over the boys.

"Hermione, how do cars work exactly?"

She paused from hurriedly shoving food into her mouth to give me a look of pure exasperation.

"Luce, your friends just broke a few laws, and this is what you're thinking about?"

I shrugged. "Come on, tell me."

"Honestly, Lucy, you need to take this seriously. They—"

"All right, I get it. You're too worried to answer my question. I'll just ask Dean."

She gasped, as if I had suggested I was going to scribble all over her books.

"I'm going to tell you, aren't I? Why would you ask somebody else?" she said indignantly. It was so much fun to annoy her. Goodness, annoying people I loved was becoming my favorite activity now.

I leaned in and smirked. "Jealous, Granger?"

She narrowed her eyes at me. "No, it's just that I tell you everything—muggle and magical. It's like—like if I asked somebody else to lie to a teacher for me."

Wow. That was what I was the most irreplaceable person at—lying.

"Excuse me, your thing is knowledge, and mine is lying?" I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

She turned pink and backpedaled. "No, no—you have other things."

"Oh? Tell me then."

She paused, thinking about it. I swatted her. "Why is it taking you so long to think of something?" I said.

She suddenly brightened up and, with her nose in the air, told me, "I'll talk about everything with someone else."

I snorted. "No one talks like me, 'Mione."

She huffed, then smirked. "Fine then, I'll ask someone else to talk to new people, and I'll get gossip and other information from somebody else."

I was pretty sure I was scowling. "You wouldn't dare," I said.

She grinned. "Try me."

Then I noticed Ginny looking at us with what could only be described as pure judgment. Yeah, we were weird. We'd grow on her, I was sure. I winked at her and turned back to Hermione.

"You evil witch," I said.

"You started it," was her response.

"You could have just explained how a car works," I said stubbornly.

She heaved a sigh of great suffering and finally explained it to me. I was blown away.

"That—that is smart," I said. Muggles were clever; I had to give it to them.

"Don't sound so surprised," she said.

I flushed and muttered, "I didn't mean it that way."

She shook her head and went back to shoving food into her mouth, and I did too. Because for all my joking, I wanted to make sure the boys were all right. The Whomping Willow was brutal.

As soon as we could, Hermione and I dashed to the Gryffindor Tower, and there they were—the boys.

"There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumors—someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car!" said Hermione.

"Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured her.

"You're not telling me you did fly here?" said Hermione, sounding severe.

"You seriously flew here in a car? Do you know it has this thing called an engine that—" I started.

"Lucille! Don't encourage them," Hermione cut me off.

"Skip the lecture," said Ron impatiently, "and tell us the new password."

"It's wattlebird," said Hermione impatiently, "but that's not the point—"

Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the fat lady swung open and there was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked as though the whole of Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for them to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside, leaving Hermione and me to scramble in after them.

I shared an annoyed look with her.

"Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow—people'll be talking about that one for years—"

Everyone started fussing over the boys. Hermione huffed and went up to the second-year girls' dormitory, and I followed. You don't want to get on the bad side of Hermione Granger.

The next morning, when I came downstairs alone (Hermione had already gone off), Harry was the only one there.

"Ron's in the shower," he explained.

"What were you doing at that shop?" I lowered my voice. "In Knockturn Alley?"

He flushed, looking embarrassed. "I messed up the Floo Powder."

Poor Harry—he really couldn't catch a break. I shook my head.

I plopped down on the couch, and he sat down beside me.

He said, "I was with the Weasleys this summer."

"I figured that much out when the whole Mr. Weasley and my father thing happened."

"Right. Your father."

There was something in his tone that made me narrow my eyes at him.

Then he asked softly, "Is it because of him? You didn't want anybody to know—that you helped against Voldemort?"

Merlin's beard, why was he getting so clever all of a sudden?

"Harry, you're still stuck on that—let it go already. How did you end up with the Weasleys?" I tried to change the subject, and thankfully, he didn't push.

Then he told me. How horrible his aunt and uncle were. How they had stopped giving him food properly and put bars on his window.

I felt angry on his behalf. He didn't deserve that. Thank Merlin for Ron and his brothers smuggling him out of there.

"That's disgusting, Harry. Your relatives are horrible—if you don't mind me saying that," I said cautiously. People can be weird about family—I knew that all too well. My family wasn't very nice to a lot of people, but I was still protective over them.

But he just said, "I don't."

"You know, I always thought you would have had a pampered life, with 'The Boy Who Lived' and everything."

"I think, for once, Lucille, you made the wrong observation," he said.

I rolled my eyes and replied, "I never said I was perfect."

Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, he asked, "Do you have house-elves?"

"Yeah, Dobby and Hoppy. Why?"

"No reason," he said quickly.

It was only when we had reached the Great Hall that I realized he hadn't told me why his aunt and uncle had started acting so horribly—going as far as not giving him food.

But he couldn't exactly forget something like that. He didn't want me to know. I suppose I could respect that—I didn't tell him everything either, did I? I wasn't going to push him.

I sat down beside Hermione, her copy of *Voyages with Vampires* propped open against a milk jug, and Harry sat beside me while Ron took the seat on Hermione's other side. Hermione gave the boys a stiff, "Morning."

She still hadn't forgiven them, then.

Neville, on the other hand, had no such qualms and greeted them cheerfully.

"Mail's due any minute—I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot."

As I reached for my pumpkin juice, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead. A hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head, and, a second later, something large and gray fell into Hermione's jug, spraying us all with milk and feathers.

"Errol!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet.

Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.

"Oh, no—" Ron gasped.

I had just had the misfortune of taking a sip of my pumpkin juice—I choked on it.

A Howler. He had gotten a Howler.

Harry whacked me on the back a couple of times.

Meanwhile, "It's all right, he's still alive," said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

"It's not that—it's *that.*"

Ron was pointing at the red envelope.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"She's—she's sent me a Howler," said Ron faintly.

"You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville in a timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and"—he gulped—"it was horrible."

Harry looked from our petrified faces to the red envelope.

"What's a Howler?" he said.

Since Ron was understandably focused on the Howler, I answered, "It's difficult to explain, but it's like a shouting letter."

The letter had begun to smoke at the corners.

"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll all be over in a few minutes—"

Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol's beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears, and I grimaced. A roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

"—STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE—"

Mrs. Weasley's yells were very—*very*—loud. They made the plates and spoons rattle on the table and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair, he almost disappeared.

"—LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED—"

I winced. That wasn't exactly wrong.

"—ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED—YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few people laughed, and gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of Ron's head.

"Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you—"

"Don't tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron.

I had a feeling he was going to be snappy all day. To be honest—I wouldn't blame him.

Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out course schedules. We had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.

I, Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses where the magical plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one good thing: Hermione seemed to think they had now been punished enough and was being perfectly friendly again.

As we neared the greenhouses, we saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. We had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and the Whomping Willow in the distance had several of its branches now in slings.

"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at us. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels...

"Harry! I've been wanting a word—you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and closed the greenhouse door in her face.

I exchanged looks with Ron and Hermione as Professor Sprout stood behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on the bench. Five minutes later, Harry had taken his place between me and Hermione, Ron standing on my other side.

Professor Sprout said, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

Hermione's hand shot up. "Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative. It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Professor Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up again.

I bit back a smile.

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said promptly.

"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish-green in color, were growing there in rows.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs up. Right—earmuffs on."

I put the earmuffs over my ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. She dusted off her hands, gave us all the thumbs up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

"Five to a tray—there is a large supply of pots here—compost in the sacks over there—and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula. It's teething."

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

We were joined at our tray by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy we had never spoken to.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter... And you're Hermione Granger—always top in everything..."

Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too.

"And Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?"

Ron didn't smile. All four of us were waiting for him to say something to me, but he didn't. Ron looked between the both of us, Harry was glaring, and Hermione's lips were pursed.

"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said Justin happily as we all began filling our plant pots with dragon dung compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and—zap—just fantastic. My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books, I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family..."

He didn't seem to notice the awkwardness at all, but I did, so I asked casually, "What is Eton?"

The dragon dung slipped from Justin's hands, and he looked up quickly. "It... it is a school—a good school, I mean prestigious. Yes, prestigious."

Wait a minute, was he scared? Well, I'd be lying if I said that didn't make me feel somewhat pleased. Who knew I could be intimidating? But just then, it clicked. He was a Muggle-born, and I was Draco's sister.

Draco must have bullied him.

So I smiled at him. "So it is like the Hogwarts of Muggles," then I raised my eyebrow teasingly, "since Hogwarts is one of the most prestigious schools in the wizarding world."

He blinked at me. My friends blinked at me.

Then he said somewhat sheepishly, "Of course, it's the best."

"But seriously, just Lockhart's books convinced your mother? Make her read Martha Geroff. Someone told me she's a good one—your mother will fall in love with us wizard lot."

"Yeah?" he said, and I nodded.

"You read often?"

I grimaced. "Not the intellectual kind, I'm afraid."

He laughed. Well, not scared anymore, are we, Finch-Fletchley?

"I'm the both kind—maybe you can give me some recommendations—"

But everyone had started putting their earmuffs back on, and he just said, "Later."

When I turned back, I realized all three of my friends were staring at me. Was that awe I was seeing? Probably not.

So I mouthed a "What?" and got to work.