Chapter 7
Harry sat, frozen. Not daring to move, not even to breathe. The room seemed warped, shook, and spun. He could hear voices afar off, but couldn't quite make them out. The edges of his vision started to turn black as his mind ran wild with all the things that they could have seen on his back, when a pair of hands wrapped themselves around his wrists.
He snapped back to reality. He wrenched himself away from whoever had a hold of him, and would have toppled over the back of his seat if a pair of arms hadn't steadied him. He looked up, expecting to see the face of his Uncle, but hoping for his parents. But it wasn't any of them.
It was Sirius.
Sirius was looking down at him, not with anger, or hate, or disgust that he is used to. Or the pity that he had come to expect from those that he lets in on what goes on at the Dursleys' house. No. Instead, he sees nothing but understanding.
Understanding from someone who has been in his shoes before. Understanding from someone who knows on some level what he has been going through, and won't judge him for it.
Harry turns in Sirius' gentle hold, and wraps his arms around him as best as he can. His shoulders shaking with the force of the sobs that he lets out into Sirius' shirt.
Harry's parents, both by birth and adopted, all came to comfort him. Whether that be rubbing his back, running their hand through his hair, whispering soft words of comfort, or even just being a comforting presence.
Sirius wraps his own arms around Harry in a hug. After a moment he slowly sits down on the ground with Harry in his lap, rocking him back and forth. His hand rubbing Harry's back as the small child clung onto him. Minutes ticked by, as Sirius helps Harry through his panic attack. Whispering comforting, and funny quips into his hair. Finally, Harry was able to pull himself together, and they were able to continue on with the book.
And although they wanted to know what it was that they had seen, they didn't think it would be a good idea to bring up a touchy/painful subject so soon after Sirius got Harry to calm down.
Harry's parents on the other hand, were adamant that they were going to sit down with Harry, and see if maybe he would tell them what happened. They'll also be bringing Bones along as well. But they'll let Harry calm down and cool off right now. They'll wait until, maybe in between books, to get him to tell them the truth.
Chapter Seven: Mudbloods and Murmurs
Ripples of anger spread throughout the Hall.
…
He, Ron, and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
"Whassamatter?" said Harry groggily.
"Quidditch practice!" said Wood. "Come on!"
Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn't understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.
"Oliver," Harry croaked. "It's the ass crack of dawn."
Steve opened his mouth to reprimand Harry on instinct, when half the Hall laughingly said, "Language!"
Bucky looked at Steve with a smile on his face.
"Don't look at me like that Buck. I may have a worse mouth than you, but you're the one who would curse at superior officers. So when they saw that I wasn't swearing, and that we are friends, they asked me to do what I could to keep you in line." Steve said, they could all tell that he's been wanting to get this off his chest for a while.
"That's rich, coming from you." Bucky said, all high and mighty.
Steve just threw his hands up in the air, while the Hall tried to contain their giggles.
"So the whole 'Language' thing, that is just a force of habit by now. Because of this guy," Steve points at Bucky, "has absolutely no respect for authority figures, whatsoever."
"That is not true." Bucky said hotly. "I have great respect for authority figures… You know, when they're not being completely idiots and ass'."
The giggles resumed threefold. Hermione and McGonagall however, were not impressed.
"Bucky…" Steve sighed, pinching his nose between his fingers.
"Alright, alright." Bucky held up his hands in surrender. "I've had my fun. Please continue."
"Exactly," said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. "It's part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go," said Wood heartily. "None of the other teams have started training yet; we're going to be first off the mark this year -"
Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.
"Good man," said Wood. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes."
…
"I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show you -"
Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose.
A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognized as his own. He was pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.
Harry, who had recovered somewhat from what the previous chapter revealed, smiled.
"Will you sign it?" said Colin eagerly.
"No," said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry - Quidditch practice -"
He climbed through the hole after him.
"Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!
…
"There you are, Harry, what kept you?" said Wood briskly. "Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference…."
…
The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. Harry sank into a stupor as Wood droned on and on.
"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from a wistful fantasy about what he could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up at the castle. "Is that clear? Any questions?"
"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"
"An excellent question, Feorge." Fred said.
"Thank you, Gred." George inclined his head toward his twin brother. They then turned toward Wood.
"Why can't you just tell us this the day before when we are awake?" Fred asked.
"It would save time, and you don't run the risk of your players nodding off from lack of sleep." Hermione pointed out.
Wood started to reply, stopped. Started again, but no words came out. His mouth flapped like a fish on dry land. Finally, he decided that no answer is better than to embarrass himself in front of the entire school, and turned back to the book.
Wood wasn't pleased.
"Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at them all. "We should have won the Quidditch Cup last year. We're easily the best team. But unfortunately - owing to circumstances beyond our control -"
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the reminder. After all, it was his fault that Gryffindor had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years. At least, that's how he felt. That's what the records said. And that's what everyone else said. Even if they didn't say it to his face.
…
Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Their last defeat was clearly still torturing him.
"So this year, we train harder than ever before…. Okay, let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stifflegged and still yawning, his team followed.
…
"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.
"Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."
…
"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they hurtled around the corner.
"Hey," Clint said, a grin creeping onto his face. "It's Gonly Bonly!"
Natasha smacks Clint on the head, "I apologize. He was dropped on his head as a child."
"Nat!" Clint whined, an overly large frown on his face directed at Natasha, while rubbing the back of his head. "I told you that in confidence!"
Nat rolled her eyes at her friend's dramatics.
"...Seriously, who's Gonly Bonly?" Fred asked, completely confused.
Clint just looked at him smugly, like he knew a big secret and he didn't. A secret that he had no qualms keeping from him. A secret he had no interest in sharing any time soon.
Harry looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.
"Look this way, Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly.
"Who's that?" said Fred.
"No idea," Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin.
"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward 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."
"He's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly.
"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.
"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.
"Because they're here in person," said George, pointing.
Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broom sticks in their hands.
…
"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"
"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a special 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?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"
And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.
"Ugh!" groaned every other quidditch team, in annoyance.
Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.
"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."
All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleaming under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun.
Wood stared at the book, then at Malfoy, then at the book. Back and forth. Malfoy smirked smugly back at the Gryffindors.
"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps" - he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives - "sweeps the board with them."
…
"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought for our team."
Ron gaped, openmouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.
"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."
The Slytherin team howled with laughter.
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."
"Oh, burn!" Ron laughed, followed by the rest of the Hall.
This snapped Wood out of whatever trance he was in. The knowledge that everyone on his team was picked because they were the best in Gryffindor, not because they bought their way in, brought him a great amount of comfort.
"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.
The Hall gasped, and then yelling and curses (the non-magic kind) were thrown at Malfoy.
The Gryffindor team gasped cries of outrage. Ron pulled out his wand, what he was planning to do with it we never found out. Fred and George had grabbed him by both of his arms and held him back.
Hermione however, didn't say a thing. Didn't get upset. She very calmly stepped up to Malfoy, licked her hand from the heel of her palm to the tips of her fingers. And then, slapped Malfoy across the face.
Stepping back, Hermione then proceeded to yell out, "You got mud on your face, You big disgrace, Somebody better put you back into your place!"
Every person in the room who had heard that song knew what they had to do. They pounded their fists onto the tops on the tables, and then clapped. Bang, bang, clap. Bang, bang, clap. Bang, bang, clap.
As one, in a low ominous voice, they all began to chant, "We will, we will, rock you. We will, we will, rock you."
It bounced and echoed off the walls, in a never ending cycle.
It didn't help that the chanters didn't stop. They kept going for several minutes. Getting louder with each cycle.
Malfoy looked around, becoming more and more distressed.
"Is this a Muggle damning Ritual?! Am I going to Hell?!" Malfoy cried, "I'm sorry! I don't want to die!"
It was only then that they decided to stop.
…But not all at once. Oh no, they very slowly, one by one, ceased their chant.
If they just so happened to give Malfoy a new outlook on Muggles, and that, 'Yes, they can be very scary too'. Well, that's no skin off their back.
Then, without missing a beat, Harry, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie gave two big stomping steps toward Malfoy, then clapped loudly. Stomp, stomp, clap. Stomp, stomp, clap. Over, and over again, continuing to get closer and closer.
Malfoy backed away. Half because they were freaking him out (he'd never admit to that though), and half because he needed to go up to the castle and clean his face with his special face cream.
With that, Malfoy retreated from the Quidditch pitch, his team running after him calling out to him.
Wood turned to Hermione, "Could you come to all of our practices? Please? That was amazing."
The laughter that followed was the loudest yet. Harry was doubled over, fist banging on the table. Hermione was laughing so hard she was snorting. Ron had tears running down his face.
…
As they were leaving the pitch, Ron who still had his wand out and still upset about what Malfoy said, was launched backwards with a loud bang. His wand sparking something fierce. Hermione and the Gryffindor team converged on him, looking to see if he is alright.
Ron turned over on his stomach, got up on his hands and knees, and proceeded to start vomiting large glistening slugs.
Malfoy and his friends were the ones who were laughing this time. But there were only a couple dozen people laughing, so you could pick out some of the different people's laughter. Parkinson's laugh sounded like how her face looks. Like a pug. Crabbe and Goyle sounded like Dumb and Dumber were in the room with them.
…
"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.
"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.
"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"
…
They were twenty feet from Hagrid's house when the front door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.
"Quick, behind here," Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly.
"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got one - I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!" And he strode away toward the castle.
Harry waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. They knocked urgently.
Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened at once when he saw who it was.
"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me - come in, come in - thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart hack again -"
…
"Better out than in," he said cheerfully,
"We can play checkers. And in the mornin', I'm making waffles." a fourth year Ravenclaw said in an American accent.
"I thought I told ya to stay outside?" a seventh year Hufflepuff said in his scottish accent, in a near perfect Shrek impersonation.
"But I am outside!" The Ravenclaw said.
"Oh no. No! What are yeh doin' in ma swamp?!" The Hufflepuff yelled.
The Hall erupted in laughter once more.
plunking a large copper basin in front of him. "Get 'em all up, Ron."
"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand -"
Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Harry.
"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching Fang's ear's.
"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."
Remus nodded in agreement.
It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts teacher, and Harry looked at him in surprise. Though a small grin played across Harry's lips. Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job -"
"He was the on'y man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle toffee, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. "An' I mean the on'y one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now.
"I'm pretty sure it's been a lot longer than a while." James said.
"None of the DADA teachers lasted for more than a year back when we were going here too." Remus commented.
"So, yeah I'm pretty sure that it's cursed." Sirius nodded sagely, like he had just found the answer to life, the universe and everything.
So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?"
"Malfoy called Hermione something - after I heard Malfoy and his dad call her that over the summer, I looked it up. And if Hermione hadn't handled it as well as she did, I would have cursed him myself." Harry said.
Malfoy hid a gulp. Because Ron cursing him? He could brush that off like it wasn't much, but Potter cursing him? He might as well decide what flowers he wants at his funeral now. After all, all of the books are named after him. He's only going to get more dangerous as time goes on. So he's got two choices, he could either continue bullying Potter and his friends, or, he could swallow his pride, and befriend him and get on his good side. He better pick before the end of the book reading…
"It was bad," said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. "Malfoy called her 'Mudblood,' Hagrid -"
Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.
"He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.
"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course -"
"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," gasped Ron, coming back up. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born - you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards - like Malfoy's family - who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood."
He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin and continued, "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom - he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up."
Ron winced, "Sorry Neville."
"It's okay."
"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.
"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out."
"Very true. You-Know-Who and his followers and the pure-blood elitists might not want to admit it, but it's true." said Madam Bones.
…
"Harry," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"
Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart.
"I have not been giving out signed photos," he said hotly. "If Lockhart's still spreading that around -"
But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.
"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yeh more famous than him without tryin'."
"Bet he didn't like that," said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.
"Don' think he did," said Hagrid, his twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle toffee, Ron?" he added as Ron reappeared.
…
"Harry, what did you mean when you said that Malfoy and his dad had called me that over the summer?" said Hermione curiously.
"Hm?" Harry said, thinking back, then he gasped as he remembered. "Oh yeah!" He then spent the next few minutes telling them what exactly had happened inside of Borgin and Burkes.
"And after, I didn't know what it meant, but I knew that it couldn't be good, so when we got back to the Burrow I looked it up in my books." Harry finished.
"Why didn't you tell us this?" Hermione asked.
"I thought I did. Really. It wasn't until what had happened with Malfoy that I even remembered. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Harry." Hermione said.
Mr. Weasley frowned again as he thought back to the fact that Malfoy is trying to sell items that are most likely dangerous and illegal. He needed to find a way to catch him red handed, once and for all.
…
It was nearly lunchtime and as Harry had only had one bit of treacle toffee since dawn, he was keen to go back to school to eat. They said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs.
They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, "There you are, Potter - Weasley." Ms. McGongall was walking toward them, looking stern. "You will both do your detentions this evening."
"What're we doing, Ma'am?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.
"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch," said Ms. McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley - elbow grease."
Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school.
"And you, Potter, Will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," said McGonagall.
"Oh n- Ma'am, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?" said Harry desperately.
"Certainly not," said McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."
"No, Ma'am please, no. Anything but that." Harry said.
"Harry and I could switch." Ron said, his eyes having grown large.
"You know that this is taking place in the future, and hasn't happened. Right?" Hermione, her eyebrow having risin to hide beneath her bangs.
"Oh, right." Ron said, his ears growing hot.
"We knew that," said Harry, sinking down in his chair.
…
After lunch Harry sat Ron and Hermione down and finally told them what he hadn't been ready to tell them before. He told them about finding out about being adopted. About who his birth parents are.
Steve smiled at Toni, and then smiled at Harry. Toni was looking at Harry, but was looking at Steve out of the corner of her eye. When she saw him smile at her like that, she had to squash down that little part of herself that squealed. The teenage crush is trying to come back, but she's adamant that it stayed buried where it belongs.
In the past.
So what if she just so happened to take notice of the way that Steve's eyes seemed to sparkle when he looked at her. That could have been her over active imagination. Right?
About his meeting with Stane and what he told him.
The Hall growled at the mention of Stane, but none quite as loud or as angry as Toni.
Figuring out how to merge magic and technology together over the summer.
Toni was so proud of Harry. Just look at her little techno-magic baby go.
The company he is starting with his discovery.
'Note to self, invest in Harry's company when time syncs up.' Toni thought.
Slowly, Harry talked about what his dorm-mates found out.
Many couldn't help but to be curious about it. They were teenagers, otherwise known as cats. And they were Curious.
Finally, Toni Stark being kidnapped, and his decision to find her and help her.
Toni didn't know how to feel about this. On one hand, Harry was trying to help her, trying to find her, even after everything that he thinks that she did to him. But on the other hand, Harry could get into trouble. The Ten-Rings could come looking for him.
She admits it, she was worried.
After Harry was done talking, Ron and Hermione sat in silence as they took it all in. Harry shifted in his seat as the silence stretched on.
Finally Hermione said, "Harry not to sound insensitive, but why are you looking for Toni Stark? After everything that she did? I mean, she abandoned you. Why are you helping her?"
Harry signed and shook his head. "You don't understand."
"Then help us understand." Ron said.
Harry looked at them and said, "Just because she abandoned me, does not mean that I will abandon her."
Toni got up and made her way over to Harry. She came back shortly, Harry in toe. He happily sat in between his birth parents.
…
Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, It was five minutes to eight, and Harry was dragging his feet along the second-floor corridor to Lockhart' office. He gritted his teeth and knocked.
The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him.
"Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in -"
…
The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Harry moved his aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley's address. It must be nearly time to leave, Harry though miserably, please let it be nearly time….
And then he heard something - something quite apart from the spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart's prattle about his fans.
It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breath-taking, ice-cold venom.
"Come… come to me…. Let me rip you…. Let me tear you…. Let me kill you…."
People gasped, and soon the scared whispers from the students were at.
Harry gave a huge jump and a large lilac blot appeared on Veronica Smethley's street.
"What?" he said loudly.
"I know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"
"No," said Harry Frantically. "That voice!"
"Sorry?" said Lockhart, looking puzzled. "What voice?"
"That - that voice that said - didn't you hear it?"
Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment.
…
"My muscles have all seized up," he groaned, sinking on his bed. "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch Cup before he was satisfied. And that I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to get the slime off…. How was it with Lockhart?"
Keeping his voice low so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Harry told Ron exactly what he had heard.
"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" said Ron. Harry could see him frowning in the moonlight. "D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it - even someone invisible would've had to open the door."
"I know," said Harry, lying back in his four-poster and staring at the canopy above him. "Don't get it either."
"And it's going to drive me mad until I do." Harry thought to himself.
