Chapter 1150 - Ch: 1-3

Aspirations Forged Manipulations

What if Draco Malfoy had a sister? What if she was a nice person who changed his views on Slytherins and magic in general? The world would change forever. Powerful! Harry, Grey! Harry, Dumbledore Bashing, Ron Bashing, Hermione bashing, Good Slytherins, Competent Ministry, and much more. Enjoy, and don't forget to review! IN PROGRESSHarry Potter, T, English, Adventure & Romance, chapters: 21, words: 133k+, favs: 978, follows: 1k+, updated: Jul 23, 2019 published: Aug 8, 2017, [Harry P., OC] Draco M., Voldemort

Chapter 1: Lyra Malfoy

Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.

"Famous Harry Potter," drawled Malfoy. "Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

"Draco, why are you yelling at some random people?" a girl's voice said.

Harry looked around in confusion, and noticed a pretty blonde girl come next to Malfoy. She had curly blonde hair the same color as Malfoy's, grey eyes, and black streaks in her hair. Matching grey eyes told him that they were somehow related.

"Who are you?" Ginny asked.

"Lyra Malfoy." she replied with a curve to her lips.

"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket. The other Malfoy smacked her brother on the back of the head lightly.

"That was uncalled for." the girl Malfoy snapped. Harry mentally called her Lyra so he didn't mess her up with Malfoy. "What did they ever do to you?"

"That's Potter." Malfoy told her.

She rolled her eyes.

"Indeed. What about it? I'm a Malfoy, and those are Weasleys. Stop holding grudges Draco Malfoy."

"Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in just the same way. "Hello Lyra." he nodded.

"Father." she replied.

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids... I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration .

"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley... and I thought your family could sink no lower."

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please - please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all-

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up-"

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools . He was still holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl - take your book - it's the best your father can give you -" Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and Lyra and swept from the shop. She gave Harry an apologetic look before sweeping away in a flurry of light blue robes.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that - no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter - bad blood, that's what it is - come on now - let's get outta here."

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.

"A fine example to set for your children... brawling in public... what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought-"

"He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report - said it was all publicity-"

Harry gave a small laugh.

But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys, and all their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. They said goodbye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side; Mr. Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs. Weasley's face.

Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself to Floo Powder. It definitely wasn't his favorite way to travel.

The end of the summer vacation came too quickly for Harry's liking. He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but his month at the Burrow had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when he thought of the Dursleys and the sort of welcome he could expect next time he turned up on Privet Drive.

On their last evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of Harry's favorite things, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.

It took a long while to get started next morning. They were up at dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do. Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.

Harry couldn't see how eight people, six large trunks, two owls, and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. He had reckoned, of course, without the special features that Mr. Weasley had added.

"Not a word to Molly," he whispered to Harry as he opened the trunk and showed him how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage fitted easily.

When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said, "Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don't they?" She and Ginny got into the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. "I mean, you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard, Harry turning back for a last look at the house. He barely had time to wonder when he'd see it again when they were back. George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her diary. By the time she had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high.

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife.

"Molly, dear-"

"No , Arthur -"

"No one would see - this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed - that'd get us up in the air - then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser-"

Harry wondered at magic. An invisible flying car!

"I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight-"

They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the road to get trolleys for their trunks and they all hurried into the station.

Harry had caught the Hogwarts Express the previous year. The tricky part was getting onto platform nine and three-quarters, which wasn't visible to the Muggle eye. What you had to do was walk through the solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. It didn't hurt, but it had to be done carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed you vanishing.

"Percy first," said Mrs. Weasley, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr. Weasley went next; Fred and George followed.

"I'll take Ginny and you two come right after us," Mrs. Weasley told Harry and Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.

"Let's go together, we've only got a minute," Ron said to Harry.

Harry made sure that Hedwig's cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier. He felt perfectly confident; this wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as using Floo powder. Both of them bent low over the handles of their trolleys and walked purposefully toward the barrier, gathering speed. A few feet away from it, they broke into a run and-

CRASH.

Both trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backward; Ron's trunk fell off with a loud thump, Harry was knocked off his feet, and Hedwig's cage bounced onto the shiny floor, and she rolled away, shrieking indignantly; people all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, "What in blazes d'you think you're doing?"

"Lost control of the trolley," Harry gasped, clutching his ribs as he got up. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig, who was causing such a scene that there was a lot of muttering about cruelty to animals from the surrounding crowd.

"Why can't we get through?" Harry hissed to Ron.

"I dunno-"

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them.

"We're going to miss the train," Ron whispered. "I don't understand why the gateway's sealed itself-"

Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ten seconds... nine seconds...

He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The metal remained solid.

Three seconds... two seconds... one second...

"It's gone," said Ron, sounding stunned. "The train's left. What if Mum and Dad can't get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?"

Harry gave a hollow laughed. "The Dursleys haven't given me pocket money for about six years."

Ron pressed his ear to the cold barrier.

"Can't hear a thing," he said tensely, "What're we going to do? I don't know how long it'll take Mum and Dad to get back to us."

They looked around. People were still watching them, mainly because of Hedwig's continuing screeches.

"I think we'd better go and wait by the car," said Harry. "We're attracting too much atten-

"Harry!" said Ron, his eyes gleaming. "The car!"

"What about it?"

"We can fly the car to Hogwarts!"

"Ron." Harry gave his best friend an odd look. "That's a very dumb idea, no offense. Do you even know how muggle cars work? It would run out of gas and we would crash somewhere."

"Well what other option do we have?" Ron scowled.

"We'll wait for your parents." Harry said. "They can't leave the car."

After about ten minutes Mr and Mrs Weasley appeared.

"Boys!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"We couldn't get through the barrier, mum." Ron told her.

"Well, we'll just have to apparate won't we." she said, fussing with their clothes.

"Now boys, hold onto us." Mr Weasley told them. "1-2-3!"

Harry felt a tugging sensation before he was whipped away. His vision spun before his eyes, and when he came to his surroundings, he found himself outside of Hogwarts on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"What was that?" Harry asked, trying to keep himself from retching up his food.

"Apparition. Nasty experience for beginners." Mr Weasley told him.

"Come on boys!" Mrs Weasley called, and they followed the adults through the castle gates into the castle.

"Ah, Molly." Headmaster Dumbledore greeted them with twinkling eyes. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Harry and Ron weren't able to get through the barrier, so we brought them here." she said. "Thank god they didn't try anything foolish like flying the car here."

Harry gave Ron a hidden grin and Ron grinned back.

"Well, I suppose you boys can stay for lunch and get yourselves settled in the common room." he told them.

Harry and Ron got to eat lunch at the Heads Table with Mr and Mrs Weasley. It was a disconcerting experience to be looking out at the Great Hall from above instead of looking up at the teachers. He was glad that he didn't have to be next to Snape though. Ron was, and Snape glared at him the entire time. Harry had the good luck of being next to Dumbledore.

"Headmaster." Harry asked. "Why is the Forbidden Forest forbidden?"

"It used to be called the Darkling Woods Harry, but after an incident involving your father, three of his friends, a tea party, a group of centaurs, Giant Spiders, and the Whomping Willow, it was forbidden. Of course that never stopped them, but it did help."

"My dad is the reason it's forbidden?" Harry asked with wide eyes.

"Oh yes." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "He and his friends were called the Marauders, and were the worst pranksters to hit Hogwarts. They would give Mr and Mr Weasley a run for their money."

"What was their worst prank?" Harry asked curiously.

This was so cool! Maybe he could be like his dad and pull some pranks.

"I wish not to go into details, but it involved snakes, colored hair, and the teachers in very revealing muggle swimwear." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

Harry spewed pumpkin juice from his mouth at the image of Dumbledore in a Speedo.

"Come on." Harry laughed after lunch, as they trudged up to Gryffindor tower. "McGonagall told me the password. It's wattlebird."

"We get first pick at beds mate!" Ron said with vigour.

"I call the one near the window and away from the bathroom." Harry said immediately.

Everyone knew that at night, being near the bathroom or Seamus would mean death by stench. Ron grinned as they entered the common room, and set up their beds.

"Chess?" Ron asked him, and they set up to play chess.

As they played, the conversation turned to the incident in the bookshop.

"Can you believe Malfoy?" Ron asked as his knight took Harry's bishop. "Strutting in but a few words from his sister and he backs down. I bet she's just as bad as him."

"She didn't seem too bad." Harry said quietly.

Ron looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "She's a Malfoy Harry, and a Slytherin to boot! They're all bad!"

Harry stayed quiet and didn't argue, but the feeling in his gut told him that Ron was wrong. Soon it was time to go to the Great Hall. The boys stayed in a corner and joined the crowd of students entering so nobody noticed them.

"Where were you?" Hermione Granger, they're best friend, asked as soon as she found them.

Harry gave a grin at seeing her again.

"We got locked out of the platform so we were apparated here." Ron told her in a quiet voice. "Ate lunch with the teachers."

"Really?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes sparkling in fascination. "What was it like?"

"Amazing." Harry told her. "We were above the entire hall."

"They've started the sorting!" Hermione moaned. "Oh, we missed the song!"

"Forget that." Ron muttered.

Harry payed attention to only a few students. Luna Lovegood was put in Ravenclaw. Colin Creevy and Ginny Weasley in Gryffindor. Astoria Greengrass in Slytherin. Then, at the end of the Sorting Dumbledore stood up.

"Before we start our sumptuous feast, I have a last student to be sorted. She is a transfer students from Beauxbatons Academy for Magic. Please welcome Miss Lyra Malfoy!"

The pretty blonde entered the hall and sat on the stool. Harry saw her scan the hall with her grey eyes before they were blocked out by the hat. After a few minutes it called "SLYTHERIN!"

"Obviously." Ron muttered. "Where else would a Malfoy go?"

Harry stayed silent as she shot him a small smile and took a seat next to her brother. He saw Malfoy give her a smile, not a smirk or a mean grin, but a genuine smile. It was an abnormal expression to see on Malfoy's face.

"Let the feast, begin!" Dumbledore announced, and food piled up on the tables.

The mystery that was Lyra Malfoy flew from Harry's mind as he attacked the food with nearly as much vigour as Ron, albeit with more manners.

"Really, you boys eat like starved animals." Hermione rolled her eyes at them.

"Now that our feasts are done, let us all remember that the Forbidden Forest is, as it's name implies, Forbidden." Harry gave a grin as he remembered his dad.

"Now pip pip! Off to bed!"

Harry went to bed and closed his hangings. As he lay in bed, he fell asleep to dreams of pranks, green lights, flying cars, giant spiders, and Malfoys.

Chapter 2: Luna Lovegoood

The next day, however, Harry barely grinned once. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy gray). Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione, who had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug. There was a slight stiffness in the way she said "Morning," which told Harry that she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully. Neville was a round-faced and accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone Harry had ever met.

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

Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and 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 them all with milk and feathers.

"It's mum!" Ron brightened up. "She says that Dad has fixed the car and it's invisibility booster, so she might be more open to using it."

But he had no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out course schedules. Harry took his and saw that they had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.

Since he was already done eating he got up, and started wandering towards the Herbology area.

"Hello." said a girl's voice.

Harry looked around to see Lyra Malfoy sauntering next to him, her long hair pulled carelessly back into a ponytail.

"Malfoy." he said, trying not to sound to mean.

"Why do you dislike me so much?" she asked him, catching him off guard.

"Well- you see-" he stumbled over his words.

"It's because of my brother." she deduced.

Harry did his best not to gape. "How did you know?"

She sighed. "Hogwarts is different than Beauxbatons. Here blood purity matters much more. Besides, you'll find that Draco is a good person if you get to know him. He just acts rude because he doesn't want people to get close to him."

"Why are you so nice to me?" Harry asked.

She looked amused. "Why would I be mean?" she asked, before she swung her ponytail of hair over her shoulder and sauntered off.

Feeling thoroughly confused Harry quickened up to Herbology. Meeting up with Ron and Hermione, they left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept.

As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Lockhart seemed to be talking about something while Sprout seemed to be ignoring him.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails would have made Aunt Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.

"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at the assembled students. "Just been telling Professor Sprout about my encounters with many exotic plants, and seeing if she needs help! I don't want you getting the idea that I know more about her of course!"

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.

There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before - greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He followed Ron and Hermione inside.

Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored ear muffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place between Ron and Hermione, she said, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air.

"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook. "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.

"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. They looked quite unremarkable to Harry, who didn't have the slightest idea what Hermione meant by the "cry" of the Mandrake.

"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 ."

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his 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.

Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

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. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "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.

"Four to a tray - there is a large supply of pots here - compost in the sacks over there - and be careful of the Venemous 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.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy Harry knew by sight but 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. "

"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said Justin happily as they began filling their plant pots with dragon dung compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if Id 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..."

After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot.

By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. Everything Harry had learned last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer. He was supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding his wand.

Ron was having worse problems. He mispronounced the spell and thick grey smoke started coming out of his wand, causing him to accidentally squash his beetle.

Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like a wrung sponge. Everyone filed out of the classroom except him and Ron, who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.

"Stupid - useless - thing-"

"You just need to pronounce it properly." Harry told him.

"I know mate!" Ron snapped.

They went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was not improved by Hermione's showing them the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration.

"What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily changing the subject.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

"Why , "demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously. Harry bit back a snigger.

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in Voyages with Vampires again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely watched. Looking up, he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he'd seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night staring at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

"All right, Harry? I'm - I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think - would it be all right if - can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead" (his eyes raked Harry's hairline) "and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll move ." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you" - he looked imploringly at Harry - "maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos , Potter?"

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"

"No, I'm not," said Harry angrily, his fists clenching. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.

"Jealous?" said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore: half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.

"Don't be mean Draco." his sister Lyra said idly next to him. Her nose was buried in a book instead. "Honestly, the way you go on and on about him at home I would think you have a crush on him. You sure you don't want a signed photo?"

Malfoy gave her a small scowl. "I'm fine Ly."

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signed photos?"

"Nobody." Harry said quickly.

They hurried off to his class, and Harry headed for a seat at the very back of the class, where he busied himself with piling all seven of Lockhart's books in front of him, so that he could avoid looking at the real thing.

The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron and Hermione sat down on either side of Harry.

"You could've fried an egg on your face" said Ron. "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

"Shut up," snapped Harry. The last thing he needed was for Lockhart to hear the phrase "Harry Potter fan club"

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls , and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books - well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about - just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in-"

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes - start - now!"

Harry looked down at his paper and read:

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart s favorite color?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti . And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully - I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples - though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"

He gave them another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

"... but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions - good girl! In fact" - he flipped her paper over - "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand. Harry rolled his eyes at her crush.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so - to business-"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now - be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front row seat.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not - they're not very - dangerous , are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"My wand!" Ron bellowed as a pixie grabbed the wand, swinging it around before it hit the chandelier.

The piece of wood fell to the ground, cracked in the middle, held together by a few splinters of wood and unicorn hair. Harry winced; a wand was the most precious thing a wizard could have and his just broke.

"My wand." Ron moaned.

"You can buy a new one." Hermione reasoned.

"We can't!" Ron yelped, yanking his broken one away from a pixie. "Dad and Mum spent most of the money on books this year."

"Come on now - round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, " Peskipiksi Pesternomi! "

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at the door, and said, "Well, "I'll ask you tree to just nip the rest of them back into their cage." He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.

"Can you believe him?" roared Ron as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

"I'm out." Harry grumbled, stuffing his books in his bag and walking out. "If he's as good as his books say, he can do it himself."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded him reproachfully.

"What Mione?" Harry asked. "I don't like him."

"That doesn't mean you can abandon him."

"Well that's too bad." Harry retorted, sweeping away with Ron.

Hermione caught up with him after a moment.

"Guys, I have to go. I'm meeting some people later." he said.

"Can we come?" Ron asked.

"A private meeting." Harry gave him a pointed look.

"Oh." Ron replied. "Well, go."

Harry went to meet the Weasley Twins,

"To"

"What"

"Do"

"We"

"Owe"

"This"

"Pleasure?"

The Twins asked, alternating words.

"I want you to teach me how to prank people." Harry said.

The Twins raised their eyebrows. Harry sometimes wondered if they were one person instead of two.

"And what brought on"

"This change of mind?"

"Dumbledore told me a little about my parents. He said that my father was a prankster, and he and his friends called themselves the Marauders. Apparently they're the reason the Forbidden Forest is forbidden. He thinks that they could give you a run for your money."

The Twins were silent.

"Marauders you say?" they asked.

"One second." one said, and they rushed up to the dormitories, coming back with a blank piece of parchment.

"What's that?" he asked.

"This, youngling, is our secret to success." he said, giving his twin a wicked grin.

Harry looked at them like they were crazy. "It's a piece of parchment."

"Not just any piece of parchment." a twin said, an offended look on his face. "This is a map of Hogwarts, that details where everyone is, all the secret passages, and every way in and out of the school."

Harry gaped at the map. That thing was gold!

"But if you want to take it, you must pass a test. If you're truly the son of a marauder, the map will recognize you."

"Ok." Harry said uncertainly.

"Just wave you wand over the map and saw REVEAL!"

"REVEAL!" Harry said, waving his wand over the map.

To his amazement, words started forming on the parchment.

Mr Moony would like to know who is trying to access the map.

Mr Wormtail would like to know the same thing

Mr Padfoot would like them to bugger off

Mr Prongs says ditto to Mr Moony, if only to spite Mr Padfoot

"Uh, my name is Harry James Potter." Harry told the map.

Mr Moony is shocked at your last name

Mr Wormtail would like to know who your parents are

Mr Padfoot can't believe anyone would have a child with Mr Prongs

Mr Prongs is hoping that the mother of said child is the wonderful Lily Evans

"My parents names were James and Lily Potter." he said.

Mr Moony believes that Hogwarts will now be besieged with pranks

Mr Wormtail thinks that Mr Prongs finally got what he wanted

Mr Padfoot would like to know if he was godfather

Mr Prongs wants to know if he was a good parent

"Um, I don't know who my godfather is. I don't know if you would have been a good parent either, because both my mum and dad died when I was one. I live with my aunt and uncle."

Mr Moony wants to let you in, and offers condolences

Mr Wormtail can't believe that you're an orphan

Mr Padfoot is sobbing.

Mr Prongs is also sobbing, but will grant you access to the map in the name of Prongslet

Then the ink across the map spread to form a map.

"The password in general is 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good'" one of the twins said.

"To close it, say 'Mischief Managed'"

"Wow." Harry said, staring at the map. "This is amazing."

"Excellent Harry!" one said. "Now, as a proper prankster you must learn our names. I'm Fred, this is George."

"No I'm Fred, you're George!"

"I thought you were Gred, and I Forge?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, who bloody cares?" Harry asked. "It won't matter anyway, I'm not sure you two even know you're true names."

"Right you are Harry. Now, for your first prank."

"Already?" Harry looked alarmed.

"Yes. We'll give you a simple task. Just turn people's hair different colors. It's a Colovaria Potion that you'll brew. Takes maybe half and hour. After, you go to the house elves and tell them to slip it in his drink."

"But everyone will think it was you." Harry said.

"Right you are, which is why we'll teach you a calling card. Once everyone has colored hair, you have to use a charm to leach some color out of all of their hair, though not all, and form it into words with another charm. We'll teach you those. What do you want your calling card to be?"

"The Marauders are Back, Second Generation." Harry told them with a grin.

"We like it." they grinned.

"You sure you don't want to keep Ron and Hermione in the loop?" one of them asked.

"No." Harry said. "Hermione would never let me, and Ron isn't able to keep secrets from her." Harry shook his head, giving a rueful grin.

"Well then. We Expect the prank by tomorrow." They told them, before they scampered off.

Tomorrow. That was a quick deadline. Harry could do this though. He could. He had to. After brewing the potion, a task made much easier without Snape over his shoulder, he used the charms Fred and George gave him.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good." he murmured, watching as the map unfolded.

The Kitchens, where were the kitchens? Ah. He found them. Harry folded the map up and walked to the third floor, locating the picture of a bowl of fruit. Now what? Harry opened the map again and in front of the dot labelled Harry Potter, three words came floating in front of the painting.

Tickle the Pear

Harry tickled the pear, and to his amazement a doorknob appeared. He took it and swung the painting open, stepping through. He looked around, and the first thing he saw were small people.

"Are you house elves?" Harry asked.

Most of them looked like Dobby, though with different colored eyes and neater uniforms. Dobby was a house elf he met earlier that summer.

"Harry Potter!" a house elf squeaked, shoving to the front. "Such an honor, and honor! I is being Tilly! I is head House Elf! Is Harry Potter wanting food?"

"How many of you are there?" Harry asked in awe.

"One hundred Harry Potter sir." Tilly squeaked.

"Please, don't call me sir." Harry told her. "Just Harry is fine."

"Harry Potter is a great wizard! He is treating us house elves like equals!" she squeaked.

"I like your uniforms." he told her.

"Hogwarts House Elves are proud of their uniforms Harry Potter! We is making them ourselves!"

"Would I be allowed to give you them?" he asked, remembering Dobby and clothes.

"Yes sir! Harry is not being our master so we may get clothes!"

Harry vowed to get them all shoes. Most of them were barefoot and he saw dirt and other muck in their feet.

"Well it was a pleasure to meet you Tilly. I had a favor I was hoping you could help me with?"

"Anything for Harry Potter!"

"I need you to put this potion in everyone's drinks tomorrow morning at breakfast." he said.

"You will have to talk to other house elves for this! I is bringing Twinky, Socks, and Mopsy!" she squeaked, before rushing off.

Harry thought that they looked cute, so small, rushing around to cook.

"Hello Twinky, Socks, and Mopsy." he said to two male and one female house elf. "My name's Harry!"

"You is being a kind master sir, treating us like equals!" Socks exclaimed.

Harry wondered if all house elves talked in exclamations.

"I need you to put this potion in everyone's drinks tomorrow." he said. "Not the teachers though."

"Mopsy will do as Harry Potter says."

"Thanks Mopsy. I'll try to get you some new fabric for clothes if this works out." he grinned.

"Harry Potter is kind and generous!" he squeaked. "Let Mopsy repay him!"

Harry left with a flagon of a drink called butterbeer, an entire chicken, a pie, and some apples. Harry decided to keep the food and share it with them later.

The next day Harry sat at breakfast, eager for how his prank would turn out. It would activate at 8:30, the time when most students were in the hall for breakfast. As today was a Saturday, it wouldn't affect the classes.

Fred and George waved at him from the other side of the table. He gave them large grins, and a thumbs up. At 8:30, the prank activated. People's hair were any color. Ron's hair was platinum blonde like Lyra and Malfoy's. Hermione had Weasley red hair. He noticed that Lyra had bright pink hair.

There were murmurs in the hall, and McGonagall looked accusingly at the Twins.

"Wasn't us!" they grinned. "Have you ever known us to do something less offensive than this?" they asked.

Then the smoke formed, a little color leaching out of everyone's hair. Harry's own hair, a bright green, turned a duller shade. The smoke formed the words of the calling card he wanted.

Harry looked at the teachers reactions. Professor McGonagall had pursed her lips and was shaking her head. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling at Harry. The man had to use a charm! Professor Snape, on the other hand, was glaring at him, and Harry had a feeling he was in trouble.

He was right. After he left the hall to go read or do something he was pulled by Snape into his classroom.

"You did it Potter." he hissed, his black eyes alight with fury. "I know you did."

"I didn't do anything." Harry told him, wrenching his arm out of Snape's grasp.

"Don't lie to me boy." he sneered. "The Marauders were your parents. All of Hogwarts teachers know that. Your father was one of them, and took particular pleasure in torturing me."

"He bullied you?" Harry asked, suddenly not wanting to hear about this side of his dad.

"Your father and his friends were nothing more than arrogant fools you took great pleasure in harming others." Snape sneered. "And you've turned out just like them."

Harry usually liked being compared to his father, but hearing that his father was a bully changed his view.

"I'm not a bully!" Harry exclaimed, drawing back. "I would never be like Dudley!"

"Who is Dudley? Someone you tormented?" Snape asked with a sneer.

Harry gave a short laugh. He couldn't believe Snape thought that. "Yeah right. More like my tormentor."

"As if I'm supposed to believe any harm came to precious pampered Potter."

Harry gave another short laugh before making to leave. "Professor?" he asked, looking back in the doorway. "My first Hogwarts letter was addressed to the Cupboard Under the Stairs."

And with that he left, not believing that he told Snape that.

Severus Snape was a man with set beliefs. He believed that Harry Potter was an arrogant bully who was pampered his entire life like James Potter. Yet Potter's words had set a curiosity in him. The Cupboard Under the Stairs? Surely he was exaggerating.

Yet Snape couldn't help but be curious. As a victim of child abuse himself by his father Tobias Snape, he knew the fear that one felt.

Just in Case he told himself as he went to check on the Hogwarts Directory for Hogwarts letters.

Harry couldn't believe he told Snape about his childhood. Now he would be blackmailed for sure. Oh gods, the entire school was going to think he was weak.

"You look like you have something on your mind." said the voice of a girl he didn't know.

He turned around to see a Ravenclaw first year. She had long pale blonde hair. Instead of school clothes she wore a casual blue skirt and white top. Harry ran a hand through his green hair.

"It's nothing." he muttered.

"I know there's something wrong. The Nargles told me."

"What's a Nargle?" he asked, stopping to give her an odd look.

"They're floating creatures that are made from people's thoughts. They tell me what you're thinking."

Harry gave a sigh. "I told Professor Snape about my childhood, and it wasn't a nice thing. I'm afraid he'll use it against me."

The girl turned her silver eyes on him, before cocking her head to the side. "You were abused."

It was a statement, and Harry wondered how she found out. He stayed silent, and she gave him an inscrutable look.

"It's not something to be ashamed of. People won't think you weaker for it, they'll think you stronger."

"I still don't want people to know."

"Well if you want to talk just come to the Ravenclaw Common Room. You map will tell you where it is, and nobody will notice you while you are hidden under Death's Cloak."

"Wait!" Harry called at the odd girl.

He wasn't sure why, but he liked her bluntness. She spoke in riddles, and was willing to talk to him. "What's your name?"

"Luna Lovegood." she said serenely, before floating down the hall.

Chapter 3: Mrs Norris

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry's schedule. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however exasperated Harry sounded when he said it.

Ron's wand was malfunctioning now that it was broken, and Ron didn't want to have to waste the sparse money his parents earned. Harry vowed to get him a new wand once the year was over. The worst malfunction surpassed itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. So with one thing and another, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. 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.

Harry groaned at his fanaticism. Half awake he rolled out of bed and stumbled onto the pitch, still buttoning his robes while his broom sat on his shoulder. While Oliver went over formations he slept in Fred's lap, while George leaned on Harry's shoulder and Fred slept on George.

"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?"

"Can we go for a fly now?" Harry grumbled, stretching himself in a catlike manner with a yawn.

"Yes." Wood said after a while, and grabbing his Nimbus 2000 Harry sped out, taking to the air.

The feeling was glorious! Harry spun around before righting himself and hovering above the ground. The rest of the team took to the air.

"What the hell are the Slytherin's doing here?" Oliver asked while the rest of the team completed their warm up laps.

"You tell me." Alicia Spinnet snorted.

They all flew down and got off their brooms.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. Girls on the Slytherin team were very rare, though there was one last year.

"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker and Chaser'. "

"You've got a new Seeker? And Chaser?" 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. Next to him was his sister Lyra Malfoy. She wore a feminine version of the Slytherin uniform, and her hair was pulled into a tight braid.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son? And daughter" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

"Why should that matter?" Lyra asked coldly.

"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 gleamed under the Gryffindors Noses in the early morning sun.

"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."

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits. Then the silence was broken by Lyra.

"Look, I didn't join to fight with Gryffindors, I joined to fly. So can we work something out?"

Everyone looked at her oddly.

"What would you have us do?" Angelina asked. "We booked the pitch, but Flint wants it. Clearly it should be given to us."

"Share it." she replied with a roll of her eyes. "We can have an informal pickup game of Gryffindor v Slytherin."

"That's a good idea." Harry spoke up, trying to ignore the stares.

Lyra's large smile to him was worth it though.

"I'm willing." Oliver said cautiously.

"I am too. But we'll need a referee." Flint grunted.

"I know someone." Harry said.

Half an hour later they were floating in the air, while Luna Lovegood sat in the commentators stand. Word had caught the Hogwarts Gossip Express, and half the school was there now. Lee Jordan had joined Luna in the commentators box.

"HELLO, AND WELCOME TO THE FIRST HOGWARTS INFORMAL PICK UP GAME. TODAY WILL BE SLYTHERIN V GRYFFINDOR!" Lee yelled.

Cheers and boos sounded in the stands.

"Let the game begin!" Luna shouted, surprisingly loud for such a slip of a girl.

She released the balls from the box that Fred and George had taken from Madame Hooch's office, and immediately Katie Bell swerved forward, caught the Quaffle, and started flying. It had been agreed by both teams that they would use no formal plays, and that there would be no solid rules except for banning foul play.

Katie swerved, dodged the beaters, and swung around the hoops to toss the ball into the right hoop, dodging the Keeper.

"TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!" Lee yelled, as Luna marked it on a piece of paper.

"You'll notice that while Gryffindor relies heavily on teamwork tactics, Slytherin Chasers prefer to work alone. Sometimes Gryffindor needs to work alone, and sometimes Slytherin needs to work as a team. They should try it." Luna said dreamily.

Harry grinned at her, before flying up to look for the Snitch again. It was a sunny day, so he kept mistaking sun rays for the snitch. Slytherin and Gryffindor paused the game, and then resumed using different tactics. Lyra started passing more heavily to the Chasers, and Angelina started flying solo in the clouds. Both teams scored more goals.

The points racked up quickly, with dirty and quick plays being made against both Keepers. Soon the score was at a tie, 130 apiece. Then Harry saw it. A flutter near the Slytherin part of the stands. Immediately he zipped down, flying low to the area where they were. With a ripple of fear the Slytherins dodged out of the way, and Harry caught the Snitch in the nick of time, before flying up. Malfoy, on the other hand, didn't dodge up, and plowed straight into the stands.

Harry felt a moment of alarm for him.

"AND HARRY POTTER PERFORMS A PROFESSIONAL LEVEL WRONSKI FEINT! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

As the teams dismounted, Malfoy sported a heavily bleeding nose, Harry was the first to break the silence.

"This was fun. We all improved our teams. We should do it again."

Flint glared at them, before looking down. "I have contacts in Ravenclaw that could help."

"We know some Hufflepuffs." Alicia volunteered.

"Lee and I can commentate again." Luna told them in a floaty voice. "I had fun. It was like having friends."

"You do have friends." Harry told her earnestly. "I'm your friend."

And so was the beginning of the Informal Hogwarts pickup games. Two teams would simply book the pitch at the same time and play a game with no tactics or formations. Harry found out that the best seeker in the school was Cedric Diggory, and befriended the handsome fifth year after a Hufflepuff Gryffindor game.

The two had started going to the pitch weekly to have Seeker competitions with each other. Harry won 75% of the time, but Cedric was catching up.

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy practice session. As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor he came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, "...don't fulfill their requirements... half an inch, if that..."

"Hello, Nick," said Harry.

"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

"You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

"So do you," said Harry.

"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance... It's not as though I really wanted to join... Thought I'd apply, but apparently I don't fulfill requirements'-"

In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.

"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"

"Oh - yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However -" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:

"We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'"

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.

"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."

Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So - what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"

"No," said Harry. "Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly-"

The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.

"You'd better get out of here, Harry," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood - he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place-"

"Right," said Harry, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.

"Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!"

So Harry waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor. Harry had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.

"Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies... frog brains... rat intestines... I've had enough of it... make an example... where's the form... yes..."

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.

"Name... Harry Potter. Crime..."

"It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry.

"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. " Crime... befouling the castle... suggested sentence..."

Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall.

But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"

And without a backward glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.

Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harry didn't much like Peeves, but couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from Harry.

Thinking that he should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing on it apart from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn't on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and read:

Kwikspell

A Correspondence Course in Beginners Magic.

Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:

Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork?

There is an answer!

Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!

Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:

"I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!"

Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says:

"My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!"

Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard? Harry was just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told him Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.

Filch was looking triumphant.

"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet-"

His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, Harry realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.

Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer.

"Have you - did you read -?" he sputtered.

"No," Harry lied quickly.

Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together.

"If I thought you'd read my private -not that it's mine - for a friend - be that as it may - however-"

Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help.

"Very well - go - and don't breathe a word - not that - however, if you didn't read - go now, I have to write up Peeves Report - go-"

Amazed at his luck, Harry sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.

"Harry! Harry! Did it work?"

Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

"I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nick eagerly. "Thought it might distract him-"

"Was that you?" said Harry gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!"

They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter...

"I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harry said. Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him. He wished he hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower.

"But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry - would I be asking too much - but no, you wouldn't want-"

Harry immediately knew that he was being manipulated. Nick wanted something. Screw it, he wanted to know what.

"What is it?" said Harry. "Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

"Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this. "Right."

"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Any of your friends would be most welcome, too, of course - but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry on tenterhooks.

"No," said Harry quickly, "I'll come-"

"My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And -" he hesitated, looking excited "- do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"

"Of - of course," said Harry.

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him.

"I don't know Harry, I really wanted to attend the feast." Hermione told him. "Last Halloween with the troll and all…"

"Yeah mate. Just tell Nick you forgot. He's a ghost anyway."

Harry gave them small nods before wandering off. He actually wanted to attend, see what it was like.

"Hello Harry Potter." Luna Lovegood stepped out from behind a corner.

"Hey Luna." he nodded.

"I would be honored to attend the deathday party with you, as would Lyra." she said.

Harry looked at her in surprise. How the hell did she know these things?

"The Nargles told me." she stated.

Harry provided the odd girl a grin. "Thanks Luna. It means a lot."

He headed off to the common room.

Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

Harry was at the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from Harry's mind.

By the time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday party."

So at seven o'clock, Harry walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons. Luna met up with him a few floors later, and Lyra met them in the dungeons.

"Hello Harry." she told him.

Today her hair was loose.

"Hey Lyra." he replied.

"So a Deathday party?" she asked.

"Yeah. It's Nearly Headless Nick. He's the Gryffindor ghost."

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

"Is that supposed to be music?" Lyra whispered. Harry snickered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome... so pleased you could come..."

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his feet.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Luna brightly, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

"Oh, no," said Lyra, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle-"

"Who?" said Harry as they backtracked quickly.

"She haunts one of the toilets in the girl's bathroom on the first floor," said Lyra.

"She haunts a toilet?"

"Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you-"

"Myrtle just has a case of the pidwidgers. They make you feel sad." Luna stated, her bright blue eyes sparkling.

"Is that supposed to be food?" Harry asked in disgust/

On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,

SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON

DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492

Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Harry asked him.

"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor," Lyra stated, scrunching up her nose.

They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.

"Hello, Peeves," said Harry cautiously.

Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

"No thanks," said Lyra.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. " Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and was about to bellow something before Lyra slapped a hand over his mouth.

"If you do that I will get the Baron to ruin all your pranks." she hissed.

"And if I don't?" Peeves asked slyly.

"I'll talk to Fred and George about a pranking partnership." Harry brought up.

"Deal!" Peeves exclaimed, bouncing away.

The moment he was gone Lyra slumped down. "Thank Merlin!"

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Oh, yes," they lied.

"Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent... It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra..."

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

"Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face and Lyra's elbow in his stomach.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"

He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder. Harry frowned. This didn't seem like a nice ghost.

"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.

"Live uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Lyra, and Luna, and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).

"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.

"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow-"

"I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very - frightening and - er-"

"Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head.

"Bet he asked you to say that!"

"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight.

"My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow..."

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

Harry was very cold by now, not to mention hungry.

"I can't stand much more of this," Lyra muttered, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.

"Let's go," Harry agreed.

They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Sir Patrick wasn't a very nice ghost." Luna frowned.

And then Harry heard it.

"... rip... tear... kill..."

It was a cold murderous voice.

He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

"Harry, what're you -?"

"It's that voice again - shut up a minute-"

"... soo hungry... for so long..."

"Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Luna and Lyra froze, watching him.

"I hear it now!" Luna said all of a sudden. "The Nargles just had to unblock my ears. That's a snake speaking to you Harry."

"You're a Parselmouth?" Lyra looked shocked.

"What's a Parselmouth?" Harry asked.

"You can speak to snakes." Luna said. "People view it as a dark skill."

"... kill... time to kill..."

The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away - moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter?

"This way," he shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Luna and Lyra clattering behind him.

"Harry, what're we-"

"SHH!"

Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: "... I smell blood... I SMELL BLOOD!"

His stomach lurched-

"It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and ignoring Luna and Lyra's bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps - Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Lyra and Luna panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"Harry, what was that all about?" Lyra asked.

But Luna gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

"Look! "

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

"This is creepy." Lyra said.

As they edged nearer, Harry nearly slipped, barely catching himself. They inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

"Harry we need to go, we need to go now." Lyra said, tugging at his hand.

"Why?" Harry asked.

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Lyra, and Luna stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

It was a weedy Slytherin named Theodore Nott. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat. Nott was a short boy with messy brown hair and brown eyes. Harry saw Malfoy in the back of the crowd, looking at this sister worriedly.

What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted no doubt by Nott's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Harry suppressed a groan. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked.

And his popping eyes fell on Harry.

"You!"he screeched. " You ! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll-"

Harry backed away fearing for his life from the mad keeper.

"Argus!"

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Luna, and Lyra and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Miss Lovegood, Miss Malfoy."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free-"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Lyra, and Luna exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

Finally after a long meeting they went free, and Harry stumbled back to his common room.

"What the hell mate?" Ron asked as soon as he came in. "Where were you?"

"I went to the Deathday Party with Luna and Lyra." Harry told them.

"Lyra?" Hermione gave him a skeptical look. "She's a Malfoy Harry. She probably petrified the cat in the first place, and used some dark spell to make you forget about it."

"She wouldn't do that!" Harry argued.

"And Lovegood. You know they call her Loony right?" Ron brought up.

"Whatever." Harry grumbled. "I'm going to bed."

He couldn't believe his best friends would suggest something like that!

Neville was worried. He had seen Harry hanging out more and more with the female Malfoy, and everyone knew their family was dark. He had a particular loathing for them because they were related to Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Harry." he tried talking to his friend before bed. "Are you sure she didn't do anything?"

Harry just glared at him. "Not you too Neville."

Neville was hurt. He thought they were friends, but Harry didn't even listen to him! Merlin, he should be used to it by now. Being overlooked and teased. It hurt. It really did, and now even Harry was doing it. He wanted it to stop.