Disclaimer:

I do not own Harry potter... Obviously...

Harry's Fantastic Photographs
Chapter 12: The New Term Interlude

Dumbledore sighed as he finally slumped back into his padded desk chair. The first night of term was always a tiring affair, but already, this Sorting Feast had become quite the showstopper in his long career as an educator.

It seemed his suspicions that Harry's escapades would not end with the late, possessed Professor Quirrell had proven sadly correct. It was perhaps even more unfortunate that it had been his own unintentional hand that caused this particular debacle.

His eyes couldn't help but glance over at his moping familiar, to whom he had already given quite a stern talking-to. Even so, he couldn't help but soften as his old, bleary eyes rested on Fawkes. The phoenix was fast approaching his next burning day and, of course, was just as much at fault for the incident—having been sent off in a rush by an aged headmaster.

Oh, if only he had taken more time to plan before rushing off to deal with his newest and most foolish Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He sincerely hoped the man would serve as a valuable lesson to Harry—and prevent the young man from becoming as big-headed as Lockhart. Hopefully before the other staff members killed him...

Still, the night had brought up more concerns. Harry had told him about the barrier being blocked after being pulled aside following his rather spectacular entrance. That was indeed very concerning and raised many questions...

Just as his mind began to ponder the implications, he heard loud hissing from the fireplace as it began to spit green sparks—the telltale sign of an incoming Floo call. As he approached, he heard a rather stern Amelia Bones call out to him.

"Dumbledore, we need to talk—NOW," she said rather pointedly.

With a sigh, Albus stood and began walking toward his fate, fully expecting his own stern talking-to. As he approached, he couldn't help but glance at the mirror above the mantle and catch sight of his reflection.
Perhaps his familiar wasn't the only one feeling the effects of age...

Molly Weasley hummed a little tune as she worked in the kitchen. The first day without the children was always jarring, no matter how many times she had experienced it, and it was perhaps even more pronounced this time—for the first time in a decade, all of her children were out of the home. Even her precious little Ginny, who had kept her busy and in good company as her boys left for Hogwarts year by year, had finally gone to Hogwarts herself.

She gave a sad sigh as her eyes drifted to her clock, showing most of her children at school, with only her two eldest and Arthur at work.

As she pondered what she would do today, she saw the owl post flying over the meadows toward her window. Ahh, the morning post, she thought with satisfaction as the bird landed on the windowsill and extended its leg.

After dropping a few Knuts into the owl's purse, she reached forward to collect her letters and papers. She quickly seated herself at the kitchen table with some tea and began to sort through the mail.

Advertisements and other less interesting letters were quickly set aside for later. She was most excited to hear from her children—especially about Ginny's sorting. However, before she reached the family letters, she opened the newspaper.

Only to choke upon seeing the front page of the Prophet!
Spluttering and coughing, she took another sip of tea to calm herself before looking more closely at the paper.

As was becoming rather startlingly common, her youngest son's best friend, Harry, was spread across the front page. The picture began with Lockhart 'Squeeeeee' standing at a podium for only a moment before the entire image burst into dramatic flames.

As if that wasn't spectacular enough, Harry appeared to step out of the flames, wearing a fierce yet calm expression, with a large bird of fire perched on his shoulder. The photo ended with the bird extending its fiery wings, framing Harry's figure in a breathtaking display.

She had to watch the impressive display several times before she could tear her eyes away to scan the headline:
A New Term Begins! The Boy Who Lived's Explosive Entrance at Hogwarts!

Glancing down, she saw subheadings with page numbers about phoenixes and information about Harry. It was only the last subheading that mentioned Lockhart's announcement as this year's new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Deciding to read more about that later, she quickly sorted through the rest of the letters and found Ginny's. Excitedly, she opened it and took another sip—
—only to promptly spit it out and gasp in shock.

"WHAT?!"

A new term had begun, and already Harry found himself moping in the library.

As had become somewhat standard after last year's... "incidents," Harry was hiding in the library's quiet refuge. He had come early to avoid the inevitable common room interrogation from curious housemates and was grateful that Madam Pince had let him in without a word—as though she'd expected his arrival.

An hour later, Hermione joined him and informed him that Ron had gone ahead to wait for their new class schedules. He would meet them outside the library with them—and toast—once he was able.

Grateful for his friends, Harry and Hermione chatted about the upcoming classes and plans for the new term. Finally, as the clock chimed the hour, they stepped out to find Ron waiting with toast and timetables in hand.

As they walked through the halls, many students turned to watch them—some even stopping to gawk or whisper. As ever, Ron and Hermione flanked Harry like faithful bodyguards, shielding him from the worst of the stares. Ron even glared back at a few particularly rude students.

As they rounded a corner and finished their toast, Harry sighed.
"I had really hoped this term would be different... I thought with Quirrell gone, it would be a normal year," he complained softly.

"I'm not sure you can have a 'normal' year at this point, mate," Ron said, ignoring the quick glare Hermione sent his way.
"I'm sure it'll die down soon, though—just like last year. Got to give it time," he added with a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, Harry," Hermione agreed. "It's amazing how quickly the wizarding world accepts the spectacular and strange as completely normal and mundane." She smirked and nodded toward a moving portrait of a clearly drunk knight fighting a dragon—only to stumble and be flambéed moments later.

Not entirely satisfied but grateful for their support, Harry changed the subject.
"Did you see Ginny at breakfast? How's she doing?" he asked.

"Disappointed, I think," Ron said with a frown. "But I'm also really nervous for her, Harry."

Harry tilted his head curiously as Ron continued. "Besides the house rivalry—"
At that moment, a high-pitched wail interrupted them, and a blond boy ran around the corner frantically waving his arms. It took Harry a moment to realize it was Draco Malfoy—currently under attack by small, green, mushy bats biting at his face.

Bursting into laughter, Harry watched as Draco fled around the corner—followed by a loud clang and a thud, likely the result of running straight into a suit of armor. A Slytherin prefect dashed after him, clearly summoned to assist.

Still chuckling at the misfortune of the school's most obnoxious bully, Harry and his friends turned the corner and hurried to their first class of the day.

Despite everything, Harry was feeling excited. He'd never met Lockhart before, but Hermione seemed convinced he'd be a fantastic teacher. Surely, at the very least, he'd be better than Quirrell...

He was so much worse than Quirrell!

Okay, maybe that was unfair. Quirrell had been possessed by Voldemort, after all. And even a summer later, Harry swore he could still smell garlic lingering in that old classroom.
But Lockhart? Lockhart was already a disaster.

His first quiz had been filled with pointless questions—like what his favorite color was?

As if having every wall plastered with the man's smiling face wasn't creepy enough...
The man was an obvious flagrant narcissist.

Harry could barely listen through the first ten minutes of class without cringing. Lockhart strutted about the front of the room like it was a fashion runway, his deep violet robes flaring dramatically every time he turned on his heel. He posed at every opportunity—leaning casually against the desk, tossing his hair back with an exaggerated flick, gesturing with grand, sweeping flourishes that bordered on theatrical.

Every sentence he spoke seemed to contain at least three mentions of his own name, followed by breathless recountings of his supposed adventures: wrestling werewolves in Yorkshire, charming banshees in Borneo, surviving a particularly vengeful yet fashion-conscious vampire in Venice, and always, always accompanied by that gleaming, too-white smile.

What made it worse—and what made Harry's stomach twist with second-hand embarrassment—was Hermione!
She wasn't just taking notes—she was hanging on every word. Her eyes sparkled, her quill scribbled, and she even laughed at one of his weaker jokes.

"Seriously?" Harry muttered to Ron.
Ron shrugged. "She'll come to her senses. Probably."

Then Lockhart clapped his hands. "Now be warned!" he continued dramatically as he circled a small cage covered with a purple blanket. "It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind!" he continued as the cage began to rattle.

Nearly all the female students hung on his every word, and even Harry and Ron leaned back a bit from the cage as it seemed to shake—there was no telling what this loon may have brought.

"I ask you not to scream!" he said as he reached for the blanket. "For it might provoke them!" he said as, with a great flourish, he pulled the blanket away and revealed…

"Cornish pixies?!" Seamus called out in disbelief, as several other students laughed or otherwise relaxed or looked on in apparent disbelief.

Harry remembered reading about Cornish pixies with Hermione in the library. They were a breed of blue flying pixies native to Cornwall and known for causing trouble and mischief. However, they were known as more of a household pest than any sort of danger.

"Oh, sure, laugh now, Mr. Finnegan!" he called out to the classroom as he reached out for the cage door.
"Let's see what you make of these little devils!"

No sooner had he opened the cage than total chaos erupted.

The pixies zipped about, causing mayhem—poor Neville was hoisted by his hood onto the chandelier, ink flew, books scattered, and students began to scream and run for the door. Lockhart fumbled as a pixie stole his wand, and with a feminine squeak, he fled the room toward his office.

Harry took charge quickly, flicking his wrist and drawing out his wand from its holster. He took aim at a pixie terrorizing the hanging Neville. "Petrificus Totalus!"

The pixie fell in a full-body bind to the floor, and Hermione, startled out of her shock, also drew her wand and began casting her own binding spells and freezing charms on the pixie hoard.

Together with Ron, they quickly subdued the pixies. By the time they finished, the classroom was in total disarray—torn papers and spilled ink littered the floors, several of Lockhart's portraits had been torn from their frames, and many students had simply left their bags and books as they ran from the room.

"Bloody hell!" Ron gasped as he surveyed the damage. Harry was busy levitating Neville down from the chandelier, but he couldn't help but shake his head.
"Definitely worse than Quirrell," he sighed.

It was a dark and stormy night in the Gryffindor tower. Thunder boomed, rain pelted the windows, and the fireplace crackled ominously...

In the third-year boys' dormitory, which smelled slightly of burnt socks and candy... two redheaded twins and their friend/accomplice Lee Jordan planned their revenge.

George (or was it Fred?) sat ominously at his desk chair, stroking a white feline he had borrowed from the common room.

"We know why we are here, don't we?"

"Oh, indubitably, my good sir," responded his fellow twin with a mockingly posh accent, twirling his cartoonishly evil mustache, which he had conjured for just such an occasion.

"Not since the time of the hallowed Marauders have there been pranksters as gifted as us in these sacred halls," he responded as Lee Jordan watched on with interest, scratching at his conjured eyepatch and fake scar the twins had insisted he wear for their plotting.

"And yet today I stand before you with grave news: we have been challenged!"

Fred (or was it George?) let out a shocked gasp and even clutched at his chest, much to Jordan's bemusement.

"Why are we doing this again?" asked Lee in confusion, having only recently been dragged into the twins' latest shenanigans. "Wasn't it an accident?"

"Oh ho ho! On the contrary!" said the first twin, who proceeded to pull out an old wooden pipe. As he bit onto the stem, tiny bubbles began to form.

"The explosion and destruction of our property may have been accidental..."

"But the prank and the challenge—" the other twin continued, as they so often did…

"Was all too real," the other twin finished. With a dramatic twirl, he unveiled an old piece of blank parchment, while the other twin brought out his wand and spoke.

"So for this year, where Harry is concerned, we have a vow," he said with a roguish grin and waited for his brother to grab onto his wand hand. After both twins held onto the wand, they pointed it at the parchment and spoke:

"We solemnly swear, we are up to no good."

Author's Note:

Guess who's back?

Sorry its been so long but life has been life and between career, broken computers and a new amazing wife, life has indeed been life.

Really looking forward to getting back into this and I hope you all are as well. if you want this excitement to continue please share your comments, reviews and share with your friends.

Oh and I've created a discord just for this fanfic. dm me for the join code if you want a great place to chat and get excited as well as share ideas about the fic and Harry Potter in general.

Stay Magical!