Chapter 1: The First Book
Notes:
This chapter uses passages from the First Book of the Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling.
Chapter Text
It was a simple day for the Weasley family at the Burrow. Well, not so simple, Mrs. Weasley was busy making the house seem as normal as she could to welcome the Allen family from down the road into her home, bickering with her husband. It was a normal occurrence. Once in a while, the family would come over to the Burrow. It was easier when they'd only send their daughter to play, since if they were found out by a child, who believed a kid when they said that magic was real? But Molly couldn't be upset; she and Arthur enjoyed spending time with the neighbors, even if they were muggles. Especially Arthur, who got to ask all sorts of questions.
And the twins? The twins had taken a liking to the daughter of the family since their son, Adam, was already rather grown and liked spending time with the Weasley older sons instead, being the oldest out of all the children. Thanks to all of their trouble-making tendencies, it was indeed quite a challenge. The Allen family was your typical diverse family, the father being Jamaican and the mother Mexican. The mother had recently settled in Britain, but the father’s family had been here for some generations now. But little Jules was enjoying life to the fullest.
Jules was a dark-skinned girl, her hair was curly, and with years it would grow for her to have it in an afro, though she did enjoy styling it from time to time. Until then, however, buns and braids were her choices for hairstyles. She had hazel eyes and dark hair, with a big, cheeky smile that showed her dimples.
Since the family lived so close to the Burrow, as years went by, it just became a tendency for Jules to come over and visit or vice versa. The Allens had first visited when they had moved into their home a few years back, and since Jules was the same age as the twins, the three became inseparable. It also became a tendency for the two twins not to be at home, either going over to Jules’ house to play or out in the village nearby with Jules and her parents.
It was normal to get the group of three returned by homeowners in the village due to some sort of shenanigans or prank they pulled; from vandalizing a fence with paint and having to scrub it off to ending up setting loose a snake in a pond, Fred, George, and Jules must have done it all.
And it only got worse once Jules had enrolled at a Muggle primary school for a few years, because Jules was introduced to the world of pyrotechnics, which only meant she was exposing Fred and George to it as well.
The three were always together; if there was a moment they were apart, it must have been a good reason for it, like Jules getting chicken pox, which did not stop Fred and George from trying to visit her while she was sick. (They got sick only a day after)
Years would fly by in a blur, through the time passing, many things would happen, Ron becomes an addition to the Weasley family, Ginny as well two years after, Charlie leaves home, and Jules soon turns eleven, which changes the lives of the Weasleys and the Allens. No more did they have to hide from the twins' best friend and her parents about their magical origins, and Jules developed magic herself. Arthur theorized it may be from how much she had hung out with the Weasleys (it truly was irrelevant). However, it set the poor Allen family in a crisis as they tried to wrap their heads around the fact that magic existed, but they slowly accepted it. It was hard to do so, of course, being Muggles and all, but they slowly managed, learning bit by bit and getting accustomed to this new side of life, all while Jules received that familiar letter of enrolment at Hogwarts at the same time as Fred and George.
The twins and Jules were heartbroken in their first year when Jules was sorted into Hufflepuff. The twins were sorted in Gryffindor, just like the rest of their family, but that never meant the three wouldn't try and stick together as much as they could. They would still be up to their usual pranks and jokes, and since Jules packed quite the punch, the three were a great team together when it came to mischief. Her brother had also taught her a few basic tricks, mostly to make sure Jules knew self-defense that didn’t rely on magic. She was, after all, his baby sister.
The trio’s first two years would move by in a blur at Hogwarts, with happy moments like the three being so good at Quidditch, they got in as beaters for their respective teams in their second year, and they had found the Marauder's map together in their first year. Fred was the instigator, the one who acted first, more cunning and straightforward. George was more level-headed but just as intelligent and cunning as his brother, and Jules? She was just as mischievous as her best friends, the only difference being that she was a better liar, and she had a bit more tact in certain situations. Her father and brother both had taught Jules not to take any disrespect lying down, either, and she made sure to follow that advice with a sharp tongue and even a sharper punch.
At the start of their third year, Jules was walking with the Weasley family. It was just easier to have her dropped off by them than to make her parents take the trip and waste gas. Mrs. Weasley was always more than happy to have Jules tag along with them; she was practically an honorary Weasley, just as Fred and George were honorary Allens.
Jules was leaning on her cart, which had her luggage neatly held together by straps to the cart so it wouldn't fall, lazily following Mrs. Weasley's brisk steps around the crowded King's Cross. The twins were walking in step with her, all three begrudgingly listening to the twins' mother's rant about Muggles while the train station became a blur passing by.
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"It's the same year after year. Always packed with Muggles, of course." Harry swung around. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair, and a dark-skinned girl with a bored expression. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry's in front of him -- and they had an owl.
Heart hammering, Harry pushed his cart after them. They stopped, and so did he, just near enough to hear what they were saying.
"Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother.
"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand, "Mom, can't I go... "
"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."
What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it -- but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him, and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.
"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.
"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"
"Sorry, George, dear."
"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so because a second later, he had gone -- but how had he done it?
Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier; he was almost there -- and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere. There was nothing else for it. The dark-skinned girl was going to go.
"Excuse me," Harry said to the plump woman, making the girl about to go pause and turn, curious.
"Hello, dear," The woman said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too." She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.
"Yes," said Harry. "The thing is– the thing is, I don't know how to–"
"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Harry nodded. "Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared, you'll crash into it, that's very important. You'd best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous."
"*Real* tricky to get through the wall, I’m afraid. Oh yeah. My first time, I ended up turning the cart and toppling over. We can hope it won't happen to you as well!" The dark-skinned girl said with a mischievous glint in her eyes, and the woman shot her a look which caused the girl to turn away with an innocent face, whistling.
“Jules!” The woman chidded indignantly.
“I’m just joking, Mrs. Weasley. Don’t take it to heart, yeah? It was just a joke. See ya on the other side.” The girl offered, and then she took a run for it, disappearing into the wall alongside her cart. She vanished.
"Don't mind Jules, dear. Go on, go now before Ron." The woman offered.
"Er -- okay," said Harry.
He pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.
He started to walk toward it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that barrier, and then he'd be in trouble -- leaning forward on his cart, he broke into a heavy run -- the barrier was coming nearer and nearer -- he wouldn't be able to stop -- the cart was out of control -- he was a foot away -- he closed his eyes, ready for the crash --
It didn't come... he kept on running... he opened his eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven O'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it; he had done it.
Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.
The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."
"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.
A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.
"Give us a look, Lee, go on."
The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.
Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk toward the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end, and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot.
"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins he'd followed through the barrier.
"Yes, please," Harry panted.
"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!" The other twin turned around from his conversation with none other than the girl from earlier, as she was now peeking over the twin’s shoulder. Her brows rose in recognition.
"Ah! You’re the platform boy. Move weasels, I’ll handle this!" She said to the twins, going ahead and helping him instead of the two boys who had offered. The twins grumbled and sighed, giving seemingly dirty looks, but the smiles tugging at their mouths gave their true feelings away; they were clearly amused. The girl was stronger than she looked, managing to lift the trunk by herself as Harry stared in surprise at her.
"Thanks," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. The girl chuckled, shaking her head in a 'no need' gesture.
“No problem. And sorry about the joke on the platform. No hard feelings, yeah?” She offered, and Harry nodded.
“No hard feelings,” Harry confirmed.
"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightning scar.
"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you--"
"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Harry.
"What?" said Harry.
"Stop speaking in riddles, you two. The poor guy is confused." The girl added, swatting the twins over their shoulders, her expression also turning curious.
"Harry Potter," chorused the three in unison.
"Oh, him," said Harry. "I mean, yes, I am."
The three gawked at him, and Harry felt himself turning red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.
"Fred? George? Jules? Are you there?"
"Coming, Mom." The twins chorused. With a last look at Harry, the twins, and the girl hopped off the train.
Harry sat down next to the window, where, half hidden, he could watch the red-haired family and the girl on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.
"Ron, you've got something on your nose." The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.
"Mom -- geroff." He wriggled free.
"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins. The girl pretended to sneeze, rubbing her nose.
"Gesundheit." The other twin said to the girl, and the three began to snicker at their own joke.
"Shut up," said Ron.
"Where's Percy?" said their mother.
"He's coming now." The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it.
"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm upfront, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves --"
"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise.
"You should have said something; we had no idea."
"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once --"
"Or twice --"
"A minute --"
"All summer --"
"What did he say his position was again?" The dark-skinned girl said, squinting as if trying to remember something she had forgotten, causing the twins to snicker alongside her.
"Oh, shut up the three of you," said Percy the Prefect.
"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.
"Because he's a prefect," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term– send me an owl when you get there." She kissed Percy on the cheek, and he left. Then she turned to the twins.
"Now, you two– this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've– you've blown up a toilet or– "
"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."
"Great idea though, thanks, Mom."
"Jules, write that down for us ." The twins had finished, and Jules tapped her temple, as if making a show that she would remember the ‘brilliant suggestion’ coming from the boys’ mother.
"It's not funny. And look after Ron."
"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."
"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already, and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.
"And Jules, I may not be your mother, but I will make sure to give you another scolding too if I catch wind you have not behaved." The woman said, turning towards Jules, and the girl put her hands up.
"Mrs. Weasley, mercy...My mom is already a force to be reckoned with; I don't need my head chewed off twice." Jules said, and the twins snickered.
"Like when she pulls on Jules’ ear– " Tried one of the twins, but Jules already elbowed him, shutting him up with a scowl, which soon escalated into a small chase between the two, going around the still talking group of people.
"Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?" Harry leaned back quickly so they couldn't see him looking.
"You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?" said the other twin, still busy chasing around with Jules.
"Who?"
"Harry Potter!" Harry heard the little girl's voice. "Oh, Mom, can I go on the train and see him, Mom, eh, please...."
"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?"
"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there– like lightning."
"Poor dear– no wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform."
"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?" Their mother suddenly became very stern.
"I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day at school."
"All right, keep your hair on." A whistle sounded, and taking advantage of that distraction, Jules hooked her foot on Fred’s ankle and pulled, making him stumble and scowl at her ever so slightly.
"Hurry up!" their mother said, and the three brothers alongside their friend clambered onto the train. The boys leaned out the window for her to kiss them goodbye, and their younger sister began to cry.
"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."
"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."
"George!"
"Only joking, Mom."
The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved. Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn't know what he was going to but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind.
The compartment door slid open, and the youngest redheaded boy came in.
"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry.
"Everywhere else is full."Harry shook his head, and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and looked quickly out the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry saw he still had a black mark on his nose.
"Hey, Ron." The twins and the girl were back.
"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train– Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."
"Right," mumbled Ron.
The girl smacked the twins over their heads, huffing, causing Harry to flinch. “Morons. Causing trouble in the first five minutes?” she chided, gesturing towards Ron while the twins groaned in unison, rubbing the back of their heads. Ron seemed relieved.
“At least wait until we get there,” Jules added, and Ron’s smile faded.
“Okay, okay, we got it…” uttered the first twin.
"Harry," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley."
"And I'm Jules. Jules Allen. I am their friend." The girl said with a kind and gentle wave towards Harry, despite the display she had just given earlier.
"And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then." The twins finished, going on ahead. Jules gave one last wave as she followed behind the twins.
"Bye," said Harry and Ron. Jules slid the compartment door shut behind the three of them.
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Feeling odd as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."
It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open onto the heavens. Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched, frayed, and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house. Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing -- noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened like a mouth -- and the hat began to sing:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find a smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in you
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffis are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you have a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.
Harry looked around and he spotted the twins, Percy the prefect...But Jules was not at the Gryffindor table.
His eyes scanned the hall, and he found Jules close by. She was sitting right behind Fred and George, at the Hufflepuff table.
"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll…Jules had even chimed in. I should have never trusted her."
Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.
Multiple first years went by. Shouts from different houses are heard from the old dirty hat.
There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne" and then, at last -- "Potter, Harry!"
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.
The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. The next second, he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.
"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes -- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting.... So where shall I put you?"
Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.
"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that -- no? Well, if you're sure -- better be GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin that he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.
Fred and George were both grinning, turning around and patting Jules on the shoulder, leaning across the gap between tables.
"Pay up, Jules," Fred said with a smirk.
"Sickle' due." George sing-sang after, and Jules sighed as she stretched her hand behind herself, coins in her palm. The twins both chuckled proudly, snatching the coins and counting. They shook the coins, listening to the sound they made as they jingled, and grinning once more
"Always a pleasure."
"An amazing business partner!"
"You both sod off..." Jules said with a roll of her eyes, but no real bite in her words, after all, all three were sniggering right after Jules had given them the money.
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Jules was sitting on one of the pony walls forming the outdoor corridors framing the courtyard of Hogwarts, sitting perched and leaning against a pillar, eating an apple as she was listening to the unbelievable tale Fred and George had heard from Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.
"I'm telling you! McGonagal saw Harry dive into a huge drop with his broom, save Longbottom's Remembrall, and then shoot back up in the air seconds before he'd crash as if it was nothing! McGonagall immediately grabbed him and brought him to the team. Wood was doing twirls when he told us." Fred said.
"He was looking like a madman! Giggling like a little girl and everything." George continued, painting a vivid image, both twins nodding to emphasize their points. Jules was listening to their tale with surprise on her face, almost dropping her apple mid-bite.
"Don't take the mickey…You’re real serious? This is brilliant, isn't it? It's been ages since Gryffindor won any sort of cup!" Jules added, finishing her apple and throwing the core away. The three continued walking down the hall.
"It is! The Cup is like ours. I can taste the victory!" Fred said as he slung his arm around Jules's shoulders, waving his other hand in the air as if showing the future.
"That is, of course, Wood wants to keep it a secret for a while. Don't go blabbermouthing to your team, will ya?" George said, and Jules snorted, amused.
"Wood should have thought of all of that before telling you two the secret out of all people." Jules joked, and both twins nudged her with their elbows.
"Hey now! You wound us!"
"Yeah. We have been nothing but angels this year…So far at least."
"Except that one exploding ink bottle, I suppose…Though we haven't exploded that toilet yet."
"We should make Mum proud real soon. Whaddya say?" The twins concluded, turning to their best friend expectantly as they all walked. Jules simply shrugged.
"If you say we're blowing up a toilet, so be it. Your wish is my command." Jules said, jokingly, as the three continued making their way towards the Great Hall.
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It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.
"Seeker?" he said. "But first years never-- you must be the youngest house player in about a century," said Ron, shoveling pie into his mouth. Harry now felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon, eating some pie as well. "Wood told me."
Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.
"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, with Jules Allen in tow, spotted Harry, and hurried over.
"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too -- Beaters."
"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry. Wood was almost skipping when he told us."
"It's impressive. You must have done well." Jules added from next to the twins.
Harry's brows raised. “Do you play Quidditch too, Jules?”
Jules snorted. “You think I would give up the opportunity to swing a bat at people for absolutely no reason? I'm a Beater myself.”
“Don’t underestimate her on the pitch, Harry. She may be a girl, but she packs quite the punch.” Fred said.
“And she has a mean left hook.” Added George as Jules swatted the twins, making them both hiss.
“Bloody hell, woman…It was a compliment.” Fred muttered, rubbing his shoulder, where he had been hit.
"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school," George said, turning towards Fred and Jules.
"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week," Fred spoke.
"I will raise you a better one and say it's the one near the Bell Tower Courtyard," Jules said, and Fred and George hummed.
"Shake on it? One sickle." Fred said with a grin, and Jules took Fred’s hand, shaking it, while George took her other, causing Jules to comically cross her arms across her body as she shook the twins’ hands.
"Well. See ya!" George concluded, the three rushing away, all laughs and sniggers. Harry turned to Ron.
"Do they do that often?" Harry asked, and Ron hummed between mouthfuls of pie.
"Betting? Oh yeah. Fred, George, and Jules have known each other since they were up to Mom's knee. Mum says they started with desserts and candy back then. It may sound like they're wasting sickles...but my Mum and I have a theory that it's the same sickles getting passed around. It's just normal at this point, really…"
Fred, George, and Jules had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry sighed.
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That morning, Jules was walking with the twins after breakfast to get to the Quidditch match for Gryffindor against Slytherin.
"You two won't end up losing an arm, will you? The first game of a Quidditch season is always the worst. It sets the tone for the whole thing." Jules taunted, chuckling. Fred and George rolled their eyes.
"You wound us, Jules," Fred said.
"We have known each other for so long, yet you still doubt our abilities?" George asked. Jules snapped her fingers like she had just had an 'Eureka' moment.
"That is exactly why I doubt your abilities!" Jules sarcastically offered a smile, and Fred and George both elbowed her.
"Oi. Knock it off, will you?" Fred chuckled.
"Mum will kill us if we get any life-threatening injury while doing Quidditch. She’d flip and forbid us from playing. And that from a family who loves Quidditch is brutal." George added with a sigh. When Jules sensed that the moment was calling for it, she dropped the jokes, patting them both on their shoulders.
"You'll do great. You'll knock them all dead, yeah? No scratch at all." Jules offered, and the twins perked up, their eyes softening for a split second as they paused in their walk down the hall and outside the castle, towards the pitch. Then they both pretended to grimace at her words, though in reality they did appreciate the effort to make them feel better.
"Ew, Jules."
"Ugh, when do you ever talk like this?"
"Are you possessed?"
"Maybe she's delirious. Do you have a fever?" The twins said, giving cheeky smiles as they both put their hands on her forehead. Jules' smile dropped, her eye twitched in annoyance, and she smacked both of their hands off her face.
"I take all my words back. I hope you two break your necks. Or worse…You wake up with your rooms covered in Chuddley Cannons posters like Ron’s!" Jules commented as she crossed her arms, then she started walking faster. The twins laughed heartily, rushing to catch up to her, apologising with smiles on their faces. They'd part ways once they arrived at the edge of the playing field. Fred and George joined their team while Jules made her way to the bleachers.
This is how Jules, together with her three close friends in Hufflepuff, Chelsea Davies, Cedric Diggory, and Alastair Roberts, was sitting in the bleachers, watching the match. Chelsea, Cedric, and Alastair were all purebloods. If people didn't know any better, they could almost mistake Chelsea for a Weasley, though she was tanner and her red hair wasn't as vibrant; her hair, however, was chopped short. Alastair was a blonde boy with blue eyes, his skin pale and his hair somewhat long. And there was Cedric, who was tall and good-looking even from this age (according to others, that is), with dark hair and bright grey eyes. Even for his age, he was a pretty big teen, and he was also considered to be the pride of Hufflepuff, an almost perfect guy.
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By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes. Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean in the West Bleachers up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.
Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).
Wood cleared his throat for silence.
"Okay, men," he said.
"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.
"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."
"The big one," said Fred Weasley.
"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.
"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry, "we were on the team last year," George added.
"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."
He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."
"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."
Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.
Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.
"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.
"Mount your brooms, please."
Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.
Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—"
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry, Professor."
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When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it, and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.
"All right there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.
"This is why I hate Quidditch at Hogwarts–" Chelsea muttered while Alastair took his binoculars to watch better. Jules leaned forward, trying to see better, and Cedric hummed in thought, analysing the match.
"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the -- wait a moment -- was that the Snitch?"
Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement, he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck, they hurtled toward the Snitch -all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.
Harry was faster than Higgs– he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead– he put on an extra spurt of speed– WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below– Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.
"That has to be a--" Jules muttered from next to her friends, but she was cut off.
"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.
Chelsea leaned forth over the railing while Alastair was watching with a disappointed look, taking the binoculars he had brought along and holding them up to see what was happening on the field better. Cedric leaned forward ever so slightly as well.
Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared again.
"They're playing dirty again..." Jules muttered, her eyes narrowing, and Alastair sighed, shaking his head.
“But isn’t that supposed to be punished?” Alastair asked. Cedric offered Alastair a soft pat on the shoulder.
"There is a reason that Slytherins tend to win...The professors don’t tend to intervene." Cedric explained, looking just as displeased.
"But the Gryffindors are still neck in neck...maybe the tables will turn?" Chelsea added.
"They better. I have five sickles on the line..." Jules said, and Cedric, Alastair, and Chelsea turned to their friend with disappointed looks. Alastair hung his head, Chelsea face-palmed, and Cedric simply crossed his arms while the other two groaned in unison. Jules gave a confused look, not getting the exasperated reaction she received from her friends at the expected news she had delivered.
"What? What did I do?" Jules asked, but before she could be answered, she was interrupted.
In his booth, however, Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.
"So– after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating–"
"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul–"
"Jordan, I'm warning you–"
"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession." Jordan spoke.
In the Hufflepuff stands, there was an uproar building up. The Muggle-borns decided to show their disdain for Slytherins constantly winning by using soccer chants from the Muggle world to raise the morale of the Gryffindors.
"HIS EYES ARE OFFSIDE! HIS EYES ARE OFFSIDE! MARCUS FLINT, HIS EYES ARE OFFSIDE!"
"LOST THE SNITCH TWICE! LOST THE SNITCH TWICE! HOW SHIT IS HIGGS? HE LOST THE SNITCH TWICE!"
"LET'S PRETEND! LET'S PRETEND! LET'S PRETEND GRYFFINDOR SCORED! HU-RAY!" The muggle-borns chanted, some students from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor joining into the chorus of voices as well in order to show their support. The hate for Slytherin and their ‘pureblooded’ ways has been building up for almost seven years now during which the house kept on winning every cup. Of course, the instigator to this whole charade was none other than Jules. Her father was a rather big fan of soccer, same with her older brother, big fans of Plymouth Argyle, more specifically, since it was a popular football club from the region they lived in, and she knew that this would lift the spirits of those in the Gryffindor team. She could practically see Fred and George grinning and chortling as they were zooming past the bleachers, finding the chants absolutely hilarious.
Cedric, Chelsea, and Alastair had joined somewhat reluctantly.
“Was this rehearsed?” Cedric asked, somewhat amused by what was happening around him. Jules snorted at the idea.
“What? No? These are soccer chants, of course!” She said with a laugh.
“Soccer…Isn’t that a Muggle sport?” Cedric asked, and Jules rolled her eyes with a groan.
“I heard soccer is scary,” Alastair complained. “Especially when the ‘ref’ intervenes and he uses a whistle–-”
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"Send him off, ref! Red card!" Dean would say in the Gryffindor stands, whistling as he put two fingers to his lips.
"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron, perplexed.
"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In soccer, you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"
"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.
"Considering the chants going on, I'd say it bloody well might be! HIS EYES ARE OFFSIDE—" Dean began to shout along, and Hermione covered her ears.
"Do warn me next time you scream into my eardrum–..." Hermione said with a disappointed look and a wince.
It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.
It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal-posts-- he had half a mind to ask Wood to call a time-out -- and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.
Lee was still commenting. "Slytherin in possession —Flint with the Quaffle—passes Spinnet—passes Bell—hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose—only joking, Professor—Slytherins score—A no..."
The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.
Jules looked at Alastair, Cedric, and Chelsea, frowning.
"What the hell is he doing? Is his broom malfunctioning or something?" Jules muttered.
"Oh, that looks bad. You reckon he'll fall?" Alastair asked, and Chelsea glared daggers at him.
"Jeez...Sorry..." Alastair said with a grumble and a roll of his eyes. Chelsea, however, took Alastair's binoculars, pulling them closer, and looking through them, making Alastair choke for a split second as he was pulled as well by the strap still around his neck. Cedric frowned.
“That must be foul play…It’s way too convenient—” Cedric wanted to speak, but he was interrupted by loud gasps.
Harry's broom had given a wild jerk, and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.
"Oh Merlin’s! I can’t watch! Tell me when it’s over!" Alastair cried out, covering his eyes, while Jules leaned forth even more, almost falling on top of the people in front of her row in the bleachers.
The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good— every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.
"Come on...come on..." Jules muttered, brows furrowing, Cedric standing just as on edge as she as the moments passed.
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Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes. It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row -- Snape would never know what had happened.
It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back onto his broom.
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Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick -- he hit the field on all fours -- coughed -- and something gold fell into his hand.
"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.
"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference -- Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results -- Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.
Fred and George were howling in delight with the rest of the team, Harry missing as he had left with Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid.
Jules had caught up with Fred and George once they were ready to make their way to the locker rooms, almost tackling them to the ground.
"You two did it, you brilliant fools!" Jules congratulated them.
"Did you really doubt us?" Fred said with faux annoyance.
"Plus, it was more so Harry's merit," George added.
"But we could have saved him if he had fallen."
"Nobody acted but us. I say we were pretty heroic, don't you think?" They both boasted, and Jules sighed, punching them both in the shoulders.
"Take the bloody compliment," Jules told them as both Weasleys groaned, rubbing their shoulders.
"She hits like a bloody Bludger..."
"Madwoman..."
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“God, I'm freezing… I’ll become a Jules-shaped icicle… “ Jules hisses, teeth chattering, her hands freezing on the snowballs as she worked on. She set a snowball down and began to blow warm air over her freezing fingers. Winter had set in on Hogwarts and the whole ground was now covered in a thick layer of snow, which is why the twins and their friend were trying to profit from the snow.
“We told you to take your gloves.” George chided, almost grimacing at how much he sounded like his mother, and Fred laughed at him.
“Give me yours then,” Jules said, putting out her hands expectantly. Fred and George both stared at her as if she had grown a second head.
“You're bloody mad if you think we're actually giving you our gloves,” Fred said, shaking his head.
“I didn't ask, did I? You both make crap snowballs anyway, look at them! They're practically falling apart!” Jules pointed, and Fred huffed, continuing his work and ignoring the comment addressed to his snowballs.
“They just need a bit of work…?” George said, trying to sound confident, but Fred's current snowball crumpled in his hands right that second. The twins paused and debated.
So that’s how Jules ended up happily humming as she worked on more snowballs, while the twins grumbled as each of them was left with only one glove on their hands.
“You are awful.”
“Evil.”
“A tyrant–”
“A dementor–”
“You both shut up or I’m shoving your faces in the snow.” Jules cut them off, and they both sighed, defeated.
“Yes, ma’am.” They spoke in unison, mockingly, pretending to sulk, but they were snickering under their breaths.
So Jules, Fred, and George finally took their positions once their ammunition was finished.
“Ready?” Jules called out, and the twins nodded.
“Born ready,” Fred answered.
“At 1 yeah? 3…2…1—” George called out, and the three lunged forth, grabbing snowballs and beginning their fight. They played for a good while, at some point getting bored and deciding to also be a nuisance, throwing some snowballs at the Hogwarts windows just for giggles.
But at some point, Jules wound her arm back, and just as she was about to throw her snowball, suddenly her hand was empty. She blinked, confused, and a snowball hit her in the face, sent flying her way by Fred. That caused her to turn her head to sputter out the snow, and she noticed Quirrell raising his wand and pointing it at Jules. He must have been the culprit for the disappearing snowball.
“T-this i-is highly inap-p-propriate behaviour,” Quirrell said, and Fred, George, and Jules exchanged glances.
“Playing with snowballs is inappropriate?” Jules asked, blinking up and giving Quirrell an innocent look that made Fred and George almost snicker.
“D-Do n-not try and f-fool m-me…You w-were disr-r-rupting the lessons.” Quirrel said, trying to sound stern, but he almost sounded like a whimpering hamster. Quirrell flicked his wand, and suddenly all of Fred, George, and Jules' hard work had vanished. Fred, George, and Jules stared at the empty spot that used to be filled with snowballs in disbelief.
“I-I-I am w-warning y-you…” He squeaked out before he turned around with a soft ‘Oh, dear’ and began to walk away. Jules scrunched her nose up, pinching her nose shut at the strong smell of garlic coming from inside the Quirrell’s turban.
“Ugh…Considering we could have been doing this was rather tame.” Jules grumbled, kicking the snow. Fred sighed, scratching his head.
“I swear he stuffs that turban with garlic too…It absolutely stinks…” Fred said, sniffling.
“I can’t believe he just stuttered his way through our snowballs…” George added, still looking at the spot where their snowballs had been.
“It’s like he’s openly inviting us to cause trouble by acting this way…” Jules said, and the three paused, exchanging glances.
“...You don’t say…” Fred broke the silence first, grins spreading on all of their faces as they all reached for their wands.
It didn't take long for them to find their target, commuting from one class to the other through the courtyard just a short while later. The three found a hiding spot right behind a tree, and they raised their wands, casting the needed charms on some newly crafted snowballs. It was like all hell broke loose once it was done, and Quirrell got close enough.
It started out with one snowball shooting off, then two, then three. The twins and their best friend couldn't hold in their sniggering as Quirrell yelped and ran around the courtyard like a headless chicken, chased by the enchanted snowballs. Everything was going smoothly, the three friends high-fiving each other and knowing that soon they'd be able to make their escape while more and more passing students gathered to laugh and watch the hilarious scene.
Even Filch decided to try and intervene. By unanimous vote, it was decided that the snowballs would now have a second target, the grumpy caretaker who had an unusual obsession with his cat and enjoyed catching the three doing something wrong so he could punish them. As more snowballs flew around, Filch and Quirrell were trying to dodge the magical snowy missiles with funny side steps and stumbling feet. Everything was going amazingly, more than amazing even, and this was a huge win in their book, but the three had gotten cocky, staying to watch instead of leaving the scene of the crime.
Jules felt it first, an icy glare right in the back of her head, and she froze on the spot, stiffening, cringing, praying it would be a more laid-back teacher so that they could escape with fewer points being taken away. She turned around slowly in order to check who was standing behind them while Fred and George were still busy watching their master plan unfold, clueless to the danger lurking behind them.
Jules wanted to curse and cry as she was met face to face with a glaring and very displeased McGonagall, immediately moving to elbow the twins and get them to pay attention to their surroundings.
“Fred—George—-Bloody turn around you—....” Jules hissed.
“What? Can't you see we’re getting to the good bit, he's trying to get rid of the snowballs—...Ah, bugger.” Fred spoke too fast, his words dying in his throat as both he and George finally noticed who had caught them.
Professor McGonagall was standing there with an expression that could curdle milk. Their laughter died instantly, replaced by matching looks of horror and imminent doom.
“If we were to say that this was just an unfortunate accident and it is not as it seems, would you believe us, Professor?” George tried, after all hope dies last, but McGonagall didn't budge; if anything, she frowned even more..
“Detention, Mister and Mister Weasley. And I will redirect Miss Allen to Madam Sprout for punishment, accordingly. Forty points from Gryffindor. Twenty points from Hufflepuff.” The professor spoke her final verdict, all three students slumping while Quirrell continued to deal with the aftermath of the trio’s plan.
“Bloody brilliant…” Fred muttered as McGonagall waved for them to follow.
“When did she even get here…?” George grumbled, begrudgingly starting to follow along, all three walking behind their professor, the screams of Quirrell and the snowballs still bouncing off his turban ringing out behind them.
“I told you we should have ditched this spot sooner…” Jules whispered to the twins, all three dragging their feet in a walk of shame at being caught so easily, though their hidden grins said otherwise about their portrayed mood.
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On Christmas morning, Fred and George had already opened their gifts and were happily walking—rushing even—down the hall in order to give Jules the gifts they had prepared for her, meeting in the hallway in front of the Great Hall, just like they had done years prior.
Jules came into view, wearing the familiar Weasley sweater their mother sent her, which had practically become a tradition for her to receive, and she beamed at the twins’ way.
“Merry Christmas to my favorite blokes!” She said with a laugh.
Fred and George couldn't help but grin at her.
“Merry Christmas to our favorite dementor.” They chimed in, pulling out their packages.
And Jules pulled out two packages, giving them a package each.
They weren't packaged the same way. As always, Jules had chosen specific wrapping paper, seeing them as individuals, as both Fred AND George.
Fred and George practically tore their presents open, the wrapper mutilated in the hasty process to get their gifts faster.
Portable CD players and some CDs as well. Queen and Guns N’ Roses. Jules had begun showing them Muggle music bands using her own Portable CD Player she had gotten around last summer, and the two have been obsessed with the Muggle device ever since. They knew that these usually cost a lot, so Jules’ father must have gotten them at a discount thanks to the fact that he worked at a Tandy’s, which was near the Radio Rental down in the village near where the Weasleys’ and Jules' family lived.
The twins were stunned.
“Jules…” George began, staring at the device with eyes wide as saucers, turning it all over to look at it and make sure it was real. They didn't know how to thank her.
“Bloody hell, woman…” Fred continued, shaking his head.
Jules laughed. “I'm happy you like them.” She said, puffing her chest out with pride.
“Give our gifts back. They're crap compared to this.” Fred said, and George sighed.
“Did you really have to outdo us?” George added.
Jules shook her head, opening the two packages, she couldn’t care less if the gift was a hand-me-down, money was hard to come by. If not for her father’s job, she wouldn’t have been able to get them a good gift either. As soon as the package was opened, she laughed. Inside the boxes were two handmade bracelets and some pictures they had taken with their father’s camera.
“These are so sweet…” She said with a smile, putting the bracelets on and actually taking the time to look through the photos they had decorated. Fred and George, on the other hand, seemed rather embarrassed.
“Oh God, take those off…” Fred pleaded while George’s ears turned red. The gift was a complete failure compared to what Jules had given them, in their opinion.
Jules, however, did not think so, so she raised a brow, looking at the bracelets made of cheap, colorful thread and beads, then back at the twins.
“No way. I love these! You two actually learned how to make these for me? That's so sweet!” Jules said with a laugh, grinning as she looked at the bracelets. She used to make bracelets like these back in primary school alongside the girls in her class. Fred and George used to always call them a bore and laugh in her face.
“I'm telling everyone!” She added, just to mess with them.
“Please do NOT.” George pleaded.
“You are pure evil!” Fred groaned out.
And Jules couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking her head. “Merry Christmas, you two.”
They may bicker, but they were like glue, so just for a split second, their eyes softened as they looked at their best friend, the girl they had known since—well, practically diapers.
“Merry Christmas, Jules.”
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‘A Very Merry Christmas to you.’
That was the note attached to the Christmas gift that came from an anonymous sender, which held the cloak of invisibility.
Harry and Ron were just opening gifts when they found it right next to a second gift, which was a Weasley sweater from Mrs. Weasley.
Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in, sneaking Jules Allen in as well.
They had gotten in trouble for their magical snowballs, which had followed Quirrell around. And they were finally free from detention.
Harry stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.
"Merry Christmas!"
"Hey, look -- Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"
Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G. Even Jules had one with a J, which was green.
"Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family.”
“Oh, I know.” Jules jokes, puffing her afro, looking smug. Fred and George looked at her unimpressed, but it was written all over their faces that they found Jules’ antics funny.
"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."
"I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.
"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid -- we know we're called Gred and Forge."
Jules snorted at their joke. “I say you should tattoo it on your foreheads next. Gred and Forge. People will be able to tell you apart easier. I’d pay to see it.” Jules said, before stepping forth and ruffling Ron’s hair, giving him a small package.
Ron lit up immediately at the belated gift, opening it to reveal what he excitedly calls ‘Muggle candy’ as well as a card from Mexico with a lovely image of a beachside scene.
Jules then walked over to Harry, giving him a small present too. “Merry Christmas.”
Harry smiled, slightly embarrassed, but excited. This is the most gifts he'd ever received on Christmas. He opened the package, revealing candy and another card, this one of a colorful street with stone pavement, the sun shining bright in the background.
“Thank you,” Harry said, smiling. And Jules chuckled. Fred and George cooed at her.
“Look at our little Jules. So giving. So kind.”
“They grow up so fast. Only yesterday was she as tall as a mandrake, crying out bloody murder–” But their joke was cut off by a sharp jab of her elbows in their sides, making them groan and hunch forth.
“Evil witch…” They both wheezed.
"What's all this noise? And why is a Hufflepuff in our common room?”
Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.
“Just ‘a Hufflepuff’…? Gee, thanks a bunch, Perce,” Jules said, pouting, faking offense as she clutched her chest. Percy looked slightly guilty over his harshness, but Jules smiled, handing him a wrapped box as well, telling him ‘Merry Christmas’. Fred and George, however, were still busy eyeing the sweater in Percy’s arms.
"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry got one."
"I -- don't -- want–” said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.
"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family.”
They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.
Ron looked at Jules and shook his head.
“How do you keep up with them?” Ron asked, and Jules snorted.
“If this were a full-time job, I'd be paid in thousands of galleons.” Jules offered, giving them a kind wave as she rushed out to catch up to the twins.
And she did. Ron and Harry could hear her whistle and yell for the twins to stop, even after the common room door was closed.
Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce -- and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred, and it didn't just bang; it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.
Not to mention, Jules had joined their table, the teachers were ather unbothered by students mixing and mingling from different houses at different tables since a lot of the students had left to go back home for the holidays. Not that the teachers’ scolding ever stopped Jules from sneaking to the Gryffindor table during breaks or lunch from time to time, even before Christmas.
Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.
When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set.
The white mice had disappeared, and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.
Harry and the Weasleys, Jules being an honorary Weasley, he supposed, spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds.
And Harry witnessed first-hand the force to be reckoned with that Jules was when it came to snowball fights. He hadn't understood why the twins wished to team up with her. But she was brutal. The twins didn't escape unscathed either. At some point, they had made a lapse in judgment and broken her snow wall, which she had built to protect herself from snowballs coming her way. She didn't hesitate to shove Fred and George headfirst into the crumpled snow architecture once her work was ruined.
Cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.
After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.
Though it was Percy’s fault. He doubted the ‘new upgraded skill of sleight of hand’ they had trained together with Jules.
It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed was he free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had sent it.
--------------------
The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.
They didn’t tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn’t understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn’t be.
He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor and taking off the cloak, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting-looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open. A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence — the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note.
That’s when a pair of hands grabbed the book, and the familiar face of Jules came into view, pointing her wand to silence the book. “Watch it, Harry! One more sound and—”
But Jules didn’t get to finish her sentence, Harry had been so startled he stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Jules cringed, the sound sharp, while she put the book away. Panicking, Harry heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside.
“Damn it— Harry! Run!” Jules said, and Harry did not have to be told twice.
But just as they were about to get to the door, Jules skidded to a halt and ducked behind some shelves. Harry barely registered what was happening as he almost collided with Filch in the doorway; Filch’s pale, wild eyes looked straight through him.
Harry slowly tiptoed to where Jules was, watching as Filch began to slowly make his way into the library. Jules was crouched down in the shadows, standing there with practiced ease even as Filch passed them.
“Harry, are you still here…?” Jules whispered.
“Yeah….” Harry whispered back.
“Go out at the same time as me. Got it?”
“Okay…”
Finally, she signaled for them to go. Harry streaked off up the corridor with Jules in tow, the book’s shrieks still ringing in his ears.
He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn’t recognize where he was at all.
There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there. Jules, however, who was panting next to him from the run, frowned.
“Shit…This is—” Jules muttered.
“You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody’s been in the library — Restricted Section.” Jules ducked behind a pillar immediately as Filch’s voice came through.
“Stupid Hogwarts tunnels…” She hissed through gritted teeth. “Harry, don’t move…”
Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, “The Restricted Section? Well, they can’t be far; we’ll catch them.”
Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn’t see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they’d knock right into him — the Cloak didn’t stop him from being solid.
He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief, he managed to get inside the room without them noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.
“Harry? Harry, you in here?” Came a familiar whisper as Jules peeked her head through inside of the classroom door.
“Here…” Harry said as he took off the cloak.
The room looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket — but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn’t look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.
It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
Jules walked closer, her brows rising as she looked at the mirror.
“This wasn’t here before, I know that for a fact.” She muttered as she scratched the back of her head.
His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again.
“Hold on, before we go admiring ourselves in a mirror, what do you think you were doing in the Restricted Section? And in the middle of the night, too?” Jules asked, and Harry turned to look at her.
He got to take a good look at her, dressed in a yellow jumper and some comfortable pants, arms crossed, and her hair looking almost…damp? Was that oil perhaps? He has heard about some of the Gryffindor girls while passing by in the Common Room that using oil for hair was a good thing, and it does help.
“What about you? Why were you out in the Restricted Section?” Harry asked, and Jules shrugged.
“I needed some information on some Magical Creatures. Though that information was labeled as ‘restricted’, I suppose…” She said with a sigh, shaking her head, resting her hands on her hips. She was purposefully keeping her answers vague.
“You know what? It’s no biggie…I won’t ask about your issue if you won’t ask about mine. How does that sound like a deal?” Jules suggested, walking to the door and peeking out in the hallway.
“Whatever that mirror is, it smells like bad news all the way from here. I’m going to bed. Have fun on your little ‘adventure’ and stay off Mrs. Norris' radar. She’s a pain to shake off.” She said with a wink and a cheeky grin, then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
--------------------
Jules gaped like a fish at the news Fred and George gave her, brows raising. She was busy stuffing her mouth with snacks, and she paused mid-motion, even forgetting to chew and swallow. Snape would be responsible for the upcoming Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor?
“Snape? As in horrendous, grumpy, always angry, Snape? Dressed in all black, mean, and who absolutely hates Gryffindor—” Jules spoke, and Fred groaned.
“For Merlin’s sake, woman— Don't make it worse!” Fred hissed out.
“Not to mention you will be on the field too, dealing with ‘mean ol’’ Snape,” George said, mocking her words, and Jules paled as the reality hit her like a cold shower.
“I'll lie and say I'm sick. How come the Hufflepuffs find out last again? There is no way in hell I'm playing with him on the field—” Jules began, huffing, while Fred and George both stared, appalled by the suggestion she just gave them, refusing to even entertain the thought of not facing Jules in the upcoming match.
“What? No! You can't do that! Come on!”
“You can't back out! We were finally going to play against each other this year!”
“You can't do us dirty like that!” The twins pleaded, and Jules frowned.
“Are you kidding me? With Snape on the field?” Jules said, shuddering.
“He's going to favour Hufflepuff anyway. He hates us…“ Fred said, and George nodded along.
“You really don't have much to worry about, unlike us,” George said, trying to help, while Jules frowned, debating. And the twins knew the look in her eyes; Jules was doubting her skills again.
“They have no chance against us, even with a favour if you don't play, Jules. And even when you do, chances are pretty slim.” Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows, getting a smack across his arm and an annoyed “What's that supposed to mean?” from Jules.
“What he meant to say was: Come on…You’re going to chicken out? You’re one of the best Beaters at Hogwarts, second to us, of course.” George pleaded.
Jules quirked a brow, a small smile spreading on her face. She knew she had helped the two out, but they were being far-fetched, and the compliment was just a method to butter her up.
Though she understood why they wanted to play against her, and so did she. She would play and train with them using an old baseball bat from her father's garage, thinking this ‘Quidditch’ they describe was just a made-up game of the Weasleys, before she knew magic existed, that is. Jules did not look as violent as she actually was and that was a known fact all around. She enjoyed dressing up and accessorising, wearing different hairstyles when she had the time to style her hair, and she had even started experimenting with gloss and just a tiny bit of make-up. Her mum had promised her she’d be able to do more make-up soon, even if it was barely noticeable at the moment (unless you were the Weasley twins, who always liked to scream and tell Jules to “Take it off! We can barely recognize you!”)
Fred and George grinned as they noticed their tactic was working, crouching down in front of Jules' seat, giving exaggerated pleading looks.
“Look at that, Georgie. She's smiling. We're that good of spokesmen! Now come on, what do you say?” Fred said while he and George chuckled, looking at Jules expectantly. Jules simply smirked.
“I think you two can still beat me… Even with Snape’s favour not being Gryffindor’s…I think Gryffindor can win.” Jules offered, and George and Fred puffed their chests proudly.
“We are pretty awesome Beaters. Our skills are rather good if I do say so myself.” Fred began, looking rather smug.
“And we do have Harry Potter on our team too…” George continued. Jules, however, regretted her choice as she watched their egos inflate, by themselves of all things.
“I will never compliment you again in my life.” Jules declared, standing up and beginning to walk away first. Fred and George watched her go triumphantly, since pushing her buttons down was their favorite pastime, before rushing off to catch up to her, the three falling in step together for a while as they were trying to get to their respective classes, getting into a heated debate about the results of the upcoming match.
--------------------
"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.
"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."
Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Harry aside.
"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch, it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."
"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out of the door. "Even -- blimey -- Dumbledore's come to watch!"
Harry's heart did a somersault. "Dumbledore?" he said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right.
There was no mistaking that silver beard. Harry could have laughed out loud with relief. He was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try to hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.
Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.
"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione. "Look -they're off– Ouch!"
Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.
"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."
Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.
"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?" Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty from Gryffindor because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him.
Jules had paused to give a funny look at Snape, despite being on the team that had just gotten points awarded to them.
Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.
"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money -- you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."
Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.
"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville.”
"Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."
Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry.
"I'm warning you, Malfoy—one more word—”
"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly, "Harry—"
"What? Where?”
Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.
"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.
Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.
"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape -- she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.
Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches -- the next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand. The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.
"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.
Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it—the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped—then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.
"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror... been keeping busy... excellent..."
Snape spat bitterly on the ground.
When Harry turned his head, he noticed the Weasley twins waiting for Jules Allen with smug grins.
First, Jules smacked Fred and George upside the head. But then she hugged them both tightly, the three laughing together while she was patting their shoulders and congratulating them.
Jules walked over to Harry, grinning, still slightly out of breath from the match. She put up her fist. She was slightly taller at the moment, probably as tall, if not slightly taller, than Fred and George, so she hunched only a bit. “You showed us real nice. Good job.”
Harry didn't hesitate to fist-bump Jules; she patted his shoulder in a congratulatory manner before rushing back to her own team…or at least so Harry thought, but Harry was swept away by the crowd, coming to congratulate him before he could think about it some more.
--------------------
When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper’s hut an hour later, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called, “Who is it?” before he let them in, and then shut the door quickly behind them.
It was stiflingly hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused.
“So — yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?”
“Yes,” said Harry. There was no point beating around the bush. “We were wondering if you could tell us what’s guarding the Sorcerer’s Stone apart from Fluffy.”
Hagrid frowned at him.
“O’ course I can’t,” he said. “Number one, I don’ know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn’ tell yeh if I could. That Stone’s here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts — I s’ppose yeh’ve worked that out an’ all? Beats me how yeh even know abou’ Fluffy.”
Hagrid paused and glanced at the corner of the hut where Jules was staying on a chair, her boots on the table. She was sipping from a mug of tea. Harry, Ron, and Hermione froze, and Jules smirked, looking amused, giving a little wave.
“What? Don’t give me that look. I already know about Fluffy and the Stone.” Jules said as she put her feet down and leaned her elbows on the table.
“What?!” Ron asked, bewildered.
“I like to hang out with Hagrid sometimes.” She said with a shrug, taking a long sip with a loud slurp, enjoying herself as she watched the three younger students get annoyed.
“She knew ?!” Harry hissed out, turning towards Hagrid, looking incredulous.
“It’s pretty hard to keep any secret for ‘er, I say. She ain’ easy to fool, she is very skilled at gettin’ yeh to talk, I tell yeh. She finds out one way or th’ other.” Hagrid confirmed with a nod, making the three young Gryffindors deflate while Jules sniggered.
“And Fred and George don’t know?” Ron asked, surprised to see she was away.
“Oh no. Hagrid asked me to keep it secret. How evil do you take me for? They’ll survive not knowing this much. Plus, I came over to help with some pesticide for Hagrid’s pumpkin patch, really. It’s filled with Flobberworms again.” Jules explained, Ron still staring her down, as if not believing one bit.
“Don’t let her fool you, Harry. Between her, Fred, and George, she has the sharpest tongue. Lying is second nature to her.” Ron whispered really loudly towards Harry, and Jules laughed as she easily heard him.
“You’re not wrong, but I do genuinely enjoy Care for Magical Creatures, so Hagrid lets me help out sometimes.”
“This doesn’t answer my question about what else is guarding the Sorcerer’s Stone.” Harry interrupted, somewhat frustrated that Jules had beat them to the punch on Fluffy, though she had no way of knowing what Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been researching and finding out.
“Well, I don’ s’pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that . . . let’s see . . . he borrowed Fluffy from me . . . then some o’ the teachers did enchantments . . .Professor Sprout — Professor Flitwick — Professor McGonagall —” he ticked them off on his fingers, “Professor Quirrell — an’ Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course. Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape.”
“Snape?”
“Yeah — yer not still on abou’ that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he’s not about ter steal it.”
Harry knew Ron and Hermione were thinking the same as he was. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything — except, it seemed, Quirrell’s spell and how to get past Fluffy.
“You’re the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren’t you, Hagrid?” said Harry anxiously. “And you wouldn’t tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?”
“Not a soul knows except me an’ Dumbledore,” said Hagrid proudly, then paused, squinting. “Jules hasn’ found out either.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at Hagrid with questioning looks.
“I don’ mean I’d tell ‘er. I mean Jules ‘ere has a knack for ‘em magical creatures, believe me. She helps me out when she’s got free time. Should see ‘er grades in Creature Care. Mighty impressive.” Hagrid praised, and Jules pretended to blush at the praise.
“Why, thank you! Hagrid sometimes lets me accompany him a little in the Forbidden Forest as well, or when he’s doing a sweep of the grounds. But don’t tell Professor Sprout, she’ll be furious if she finds out.” She admitted, puffing her chest out with pride and smirking. That was something new entirely. He hadn’t expected that Jules actually had a subject she enjoyed and liked to learn, but it was easy to tell from her tone that Care for Magical Creatures had actually struck a chord in the rebellious Jules Allen.
“Well, that’s unexpected,” Harry muttered to the others. “Hagrid, can we have a window open? I’m boiling.”
“Can’t, Harry, sorry,” said Hagrid. Harry noticed him glancing at the fire. Harry looked at it, too. “Hagrid — what’s that?” But he already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg. Jules immediately looked away, pretending she didn’t see it.
“Ah,” said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, “That’s — er . . .”
“Where did you get it, Hagrid?” said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. “It must’ve cost you a fortune.”
“Won it,” said Hagrid. “Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.”
Ron shot Jules an incredulous look. “ And you’re helping?! ”
Jules pursed her lips together, coughing and looking away. “It’s really hot in here, huh? What nice weather outside though——” She said, fanning herself with her hand, dodging the question.
“But what are you going to do with it when it’s hatched?” said Hermione.
“Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’,” said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. “Got this outta the library — Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit — it’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, ’cause their mothers breathe on ’em, see, an’ when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ see here— how ter recognize diff’rent eggs — what I got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.”
“It resembles the Hungarian Horntail, except for the black ridges on its back, the browner texture in its scales, and its less hostile attitude,” Jules explained, tracing the handle of her mug with her finger.
“It also has venomous fangs. Not to mention the food of choice was large mammals, including aquatic mammals, which is unusual for a dragon. Young Ridgebacks developed the ability to shoot flame earlier than any other breeds. One month and this whole place will be set ablaze like marshmallows over a pit.” Jules added matter-of-factly, mostly making the situation worse.
Hagrid looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn’t.
“Hagrid, you live in a wooden house!” she said.
But Hagrid wasn’t listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire. So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.
“Jules!” Hermione called out, turning towards the older Hufflepuff girl. Jules sighed, shaking her head and putting her hands up in surrender.
“Don’t look at me! I’ve been trying to convince him to send it away to a place where they have proper conditions so that he won’t get arrested or burnt to a crisp, but he will not listen…So now it’s your turn to talk to him! I’m sure you’ll have better luck convincing him! Good luck, mates! Cheers!” Jules told the three, waving quickly and talking just as fast as she left the hut in a beeline straight for the castle, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Ron to struggle with this mess without even a single glance back.
--------------------
A hundred and fifty points were lost. That put Gryffindor in last place. In one night, they'd ruined any chance Gryffindor had had for the house cup. Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. How could they ever make up for this?
Harry didn't sleep all night. He could hear Neville sobbing into his pillow for what seemed like hours. Harry couldn't think of anything to say to comfort him. He knew Neville, like himself, was dreading the dawn. What would happen when the rest of Gryffindor found out what they'd done?
At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the house points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly have a hundred and fifty points fewer than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points, he and a couple of other stupid first years.
From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Harry was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the house cup. Everywhere Harry went, people pointed and didn't trouble to lower their voices as they insulted him. Slytherins, on the other hand, clapped as he walked past them, whistling and cheering, "Thanks, Potter, we owe you one!"
Only Ron and Hermione stood by him.
"They'll all forget this in a few weeks. Fred and George have lost loads of points in all the time they've been here, and people still like them."
"They've never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, though, have they?" said Harry miserably.
"Well—no," Ron admitted.
It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Harry swore to himself not to meddle in things that weren't his business from now on. He'd had it with sneaking around and spying. He felt so ashamed of himself that he went to Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team.
"Resign?" Wood thundered. "What good'll that do? How are we going to get any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?"
But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn't speak to Harry during practice, and if they had to speak about him, they called him "the Seeker."
Hermione and Neville were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time as Harry, because they weren't as well-known, but nobody would speak to them, either. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to herself in class, keeping her head down and working in silence.
.
.
.
.
.
Jules hummed while looking down at her cards, sitting with the twins further at the table, tutting as she looked at the sight of Harry, Hermione, and Ron suffering.
“It’s a pity, really. The world is rather cruel.” Jules said melodramatically before turning back to take a card out of the deck.
“You’re a chinwagger, aren’t you, Jules?” Fred asked.
“I know those blokes ended up losing points, but how did they even lose that many points in one go?” George added, and Jules smirked.
“Well—Let’s just say Hagrid was busy with the whole dragon thing I told you about, right? And I heard from Katie—”
“Katie Bell?” George interrupted, and Jules clicked her tongue.
“No. Katie Smith. The Ravenclaw? Fifth year?” Jules said, tapping her finger against the table.
“What? Who?” Fred said, both twins looking just as confused.
“The bloody girl who was snogging with Tommy Brown? The Hufflepuff Prefect?” Jules said, crossing her arms.
“Aha…Right. Forgot about those two…Relevance?” Fred said, gesturing for Jules to go on.
“I heard from Katie, who found out from the Ravenclaw Prefect, Archie Wilson, that Filch took Harry and Hermione, who had been found out of their beds, to Professor McGonagall’s office late at night— I am also pretty sure Draco blabbermouthed about Hagrid’s dragon— Hagrid wasn’t happy about that. And they managed to even drag Neville into this, the poor boy. Nonetheless, they were accused of apparently ‘purposefully’ keeping Draco up while also breaking the rules themselves. Four shots, each worth 50 points. I also heard from Hagrid that he was put in charge of Harry’s and Draco’s detention.” Jules said, moving her hands on the table as if linking imaginary photos on a theory board, trying to explain all the connections, while Fred and George looked like buffer icons on a slow computer screen, trying to compute everything Jules was saying. Jules sighed, deciding to shorten it.
“Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Draco were caught being awake at night by McGonagall and faced complications.” She summarized with a roll of her eyes. Fred and George lit up, finally understanding what Jules was saying.
“That’s brutal,” Fred commented, finally looking back down at his cards, while George hummed, putting down a set of cards from the ones in his hands.
“Yeah. We could have finally beat Slytherin. Couldn’t they sneak around better or something?” George added, frowning, and Jules grinned.
“In my opinion, it’s rather nice to not be in last place for once. Pity for those three, I suppose—…Oh, and I win.” Jules said, and she dropped her cards. Fred and George paused, looking at each other, then down at their cards.
“Wait, wait— Hold on—” Fred said, frowning at Jules’ cards.
“When did you get the dragon card?! Cheater!” George accused, and Jules huffed, almost looking offended.
“Excuse you, I got it last round! I go after your turn! So you couldn't get it from me! This time you didn’t even ask—” Jules said, which started a rather heated debate between the two, down in their corner. Fred soon joined in as well, finding out his brother had a card he had needed as well, and the three just continued bickering. At least the commotion caused people to turn to them instead of Harry and his group.
--------------------
He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down ... down... down...
Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy.
He blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.
He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.
"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore. Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick --"
"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."
"Then who does? Sir, I --"
"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.”
Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.
"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends, Mr. Fred and George Weasley, alongside Miss Allen, were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."
--------------------
"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were... You have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts....”
"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six, and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy- two."
A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.
Jules rolled her eyes behind Fred and George, making a face. That caused Harry to chuckle ever so slightly. The twins glanced over their shoulder, and they joined in as well, mocking the Slytherins.
"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."
The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.
"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes...First—to Mr. Ronald Weasley..."
Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.
"...for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."
Gryffindor's cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"
Fred and George stared in surprise, and Jules pinched them to snap them out.
“Well-bloody-done, Ronniekins!” Said Fred first, as George laughed, clapping loudly and whooping.
At last, there was silence again.
"Second—to Miss Hermione Granger... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."
Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves -- they were a hundred points up. "Third—to Mr. Harry Potter..." said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. “For pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."
The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points—the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup —if only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point.
Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.
"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."
At first, it was silent. Then Jules, comically enough, was first to yell out, mostly in shock and wishing for confirmation.
“GRYFFINDOR WON?!” She exclaimed, triggering the reality to set in for her fellow students.
Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before. Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him.
“This means,” Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "We need a little change of decoration."
He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry's eye, and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings toward him hadn't changed one jot. This didn't worry Harry. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.
It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls... he would never, ever forget tonight.
Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both he and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, had the best grades of the first years. Even Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.
And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays
"I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred Weasley sadly. Jules Allen fanned herself with hers.
“What a waste of paper…” Jules said as she sighed.
“I say we stick them on the toilet seat we got.” George Weasley added as the three snickered together, going ahead in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
“Please tell me they do not mean a genuine toilet seat…” Hermione muttered, and Ron groaned.
“I think they might…”
Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.
It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.
Chapter 2: Second Book
Notes:
This chapter uses passages from the Second Book of the Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling.
Chapter Text
The Burrow was the family home of the Weasley family. It was situated in Devon in a hamlet called Ottery St Catchpole. The twins' bedroom was on the second floor, above Ginny's bedroom, and below Ron's bedroom. Fred’s bed is at one end of the room, it is actually made and surprisingly tidy for him, whilst George's bed is at the other end.
Underneath his bed, Fred has a crate full of magical books as well as the latest copy of “The Quibbler”. Above the bed is a poster of the Chudley Cannons, the family’s favourite Quidditch team. A flickering oil lamp and candle give enough light for Fred to read a book or two from the bookshelf next to his bed, for future prank ideas, really, rather than anything else, though one or two books about Magical Creatures have made their way between the twins’ book collections. Adorning the bottom bedstead is Fred’s hand-knit jumper, just left to hang there.
George has two oil lamps, one hanging from the ceiling above his head, put in the room by their parents, and the other one that he had brought and set on his half of the shared desk with his brother. George’s jumper, like his twin brother Fred’s, is hand-knit from fine wool, and just like Fred’s, it is hanging on the bedstead at the bottom of his bed.
The floor of the room had some scorch marks from failed ‘pyrotechnical experiments’ as Jules had flawlessly called them, before getting scolded by Mrs. Weasley alongside the twins for damaging the floors. The room had two wardrobes and bedside tables as well as the twins’ shared desk.
Their desk was a mess, littered with unfinished papers, random knick-knacks, and some they had gotten from Jules, her forgotten sweater left on one of their desk chairs. The three couldn’t be bothered to care about the mess on the desk. Fred and George were sitting on the floor, face to face with each other, while Jules was sitting on George’s bed, busy finishing braiding her hair in small box braids, which she had been working on for hours at this point. The twins could laugh all they wanted, but Jules had done her hair with them present so many times, they had slowly come to respect the work she put in it, as taxing and time-consuming as they thought it was. And perhaps unnecessary, but saying that out loud will earn them each a smack across the face.
But there was no time for such thoughts, for there on the floor an intense card match was taking place… Jules was peering at George’s cards, scrunching her nose up, as she watched Fred and George ‘duel’.
“That is NOT how you play Go Fish…You put the pairs you made down…” Jules said with a chuckle. Fred huffed out while George groaned.
“This is so bloody stupid. Why are we playing this?” George muttered as he started putting down his pairs.
“Okay, Miss Smart Knickers. No need to nag us, we get it.” Fred said with a roll of his eyes, reaching to do the same with his own cards. Jules’ eye twitched, making George snicker.
“I will shove my foot where it cannot see the daylight—” But Jules was interrupted by a melodramatic sigh coming through the ceiling. She opened her mouth to speak again, only for another sigh to sound out again. The trio paused and stayed still and silent for a while, making sure the sighs were over.
“Who’s the one sounding like a damsel in distress waiting for her Romeo?” Jules asked, reaching out to rearrange George’s cards to make it easier for him to win the game of cards, and Fred snorted.
“Oh, it must be Ronniekins!” Fred called out loudly, making his intention to march to his younger sibling’s room well known. Fred said as he threw his cards down, getting up. Jules watched as George rose as well, and she sighed.
“Yeah—No—Ok—There goes the game, but no—Sure—” Jules grumbled as she got up as well, finishing her last braid as she stood up and finally tied it too.
All three older kids began to make their way towards Ron’s room upstairs, all the way up to the fifth floor.
“Wickle Ronniekins, what happened?” Fred called out as the door swung open and the trio leaned in the doorway. They peered inside Ron’s room, walking in, watching Ron sulk on his bed, right on top of his orange bedspreads. Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the curtains, the walls, even the ceiling. Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically. The Chudley Cannons, with their bright orange robes and their familiar logo, two black Cs and a speeding cannonball. They won the League Cup twenty-one times, the last time in 1892; many considered their glory days to be over. The Weasley family may have been fans, but Ron’s room on its own was a Chudley Cannons Fan Club.
“Harry didn’t answer my letters again…And Dad said he got a warning for using magic in front of Muggles.” Fred, George, and Jules all frowned. This was news to them. All three could still remember the sour face of the man Harry called uncle on their last day of school, when they had arrived at King’s Cross, as well as the man’s apparent distaste for— well…everyone really.
“You think he hates you now or what?” Fred asked rather bluntly, and Ron turned, frowning. Jules elbowed Fred in the ribs.
“We don’t mean he does. There’s no reason for him to.” George tried to smooth the blunder over, under Jules’ narrowed gaze. Ron appreciated that a bit, but he still frowned.
“What if his uncle did something…?” Ron asked, and Fred, George, and Jules exchanged glances, stiffening at the horrible thought. It could be…
“So you want to go and check?” Fred said, the gears turning in his head.
“You’re in luck then,” George added, glancing at his twin and best friend, ideas beginning to form. Jules grinned, the idea having now been planted.
“I can drive,” Jules concluded, and Ron looked confused.
“Drive…? Drive what—-”
.
.
.
.
Harry opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the window. And someone was goggling through the bars at him: a freckle-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.
Ron Weasley was outside Harry’s window.
“Ron!” breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. “Ron, how did you – what the –?” Harry’s mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in mid-air. Grinning at Harry from two other seats were Fred and George, Ron’s elder twin brothers, as well as Jules Allen, best friends with the twins, as well as one of Harry’s friends. Jules was in the driver's seat, arms resting on the wheel; she had box braids instead of an afro, unlike last time he had seen her.
“All right, Harry?”
“What’s been going on?” said Ron. “Why haven’t you been answering my letters? I’ve asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you’d got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles …”
“It wasn’t me – and how did he know?”
“He works for the Ministry,’ said Ron. ‘You know we’re not supposed to do spells outside school –”
“Bit rich coming from you,” said Harry, staring at the floating car.
“Oh, this doesn’t count,” said Ron. “We’re only borrowing this; it’s Dad’s, we didn’t enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with …”
Jules reached towards the back seat and smacked Ron over the head, causing him to hiss. Fred and George snickered, and Harry continued.
“I told you, I didn’t – but it’ll take too long to explain now. Look, can you explain to them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won’t let me come back, and obviously I can’t magic myself out, because the Ministry’ll think that’s the second spell I’ve done in three days, so –”
“‘Stop gibbering," said Ron, "we’ve come to take you home with us.”
“But you can’t magic me out either –”
“We don’t need to,” said Ron, jerking his head towards the front seats and grinning. “You forget who I’ve got with me.”
“Tie that round the bars,” said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Harry from the front seat.
“If the Dursleys wake up, I’m dead,” said Harry, as he tied the rope tightly around a bar and Jules revved up the car.
“‘Don’t worry,” said Fred, “and stand back.”
“Go, Jules, go!” George encouraged as Jules grinned, stomping the pedal. Ron immediately latched onto the handle to hold on.
Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car turned and revved louder and louder, and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Jules drove straight up in the air– Harry ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys’ bedroom.
When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Jules reversed as close as possible to Harry’s window.
“Get in,” Ron said.
“But all my Hogwarts stuff — my wand — my broomstick —”
“Where is it?”
“Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can’t get out of this room —”
“No problem,” said George from the front passenger seat. “Out of the way, Harry.”
Fred, George, and Jules climbed catlike through the window into Harry’s room. You had to hand it to them, thought Harry, as George waved to Jules expectantly and she took out one of the hairpins, handing it to George. He started to pick the lock.
“A lot of wizards think it’s a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick,” said Fred, “but we feel they’re skills are worth learning, even if they are a bit slow.” Jules quirked a brow at his words. Fred rolled his eyes, gently elbowing Jules.
“And we have a skilled teacher.”
There was a small click, and the door swung open.
“So — we’ll get your trunk — you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron,” whispered George.
“Watch out for the bottom stair — it creaks,” Harry whispered back as the older kids disappeared onto the dark landing.
Harry dashed around his room, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs. Only to instead let Jules and the twins do it. Jules was far stronger than she looked. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cough.
At last, panting (at least the twins were), they reached the landing and then carried the trunk through Harry’s room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from the bedroom side. Jules would try and angle the car to help out. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window.
Uncle Vernon coughed again.
“A bit more,” panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. “One good push —” Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk, and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car. Jules hissed as she had to keep a tight hold of the steering wheel.
“Okay, let’s go,” George whispered.
But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill, there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Uncle Vernon’s voice.
“THAT RUDDY OWL!”
“I’ve forgotten Hedwig!” Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on — he snatched Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door — and it crashed open.
For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.
Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry’s arms and pulled as hard as they could.
“Petunia!” roared Uncle Vernon. “He’s getting away! HE’S GETTING AWAY!”
“Hold him tight, I'm about to do something real stupid!”
Jules backed the car up, almost slamming into the window, causing Uncle Vernon’s grasp to soften. Then she went forward again. When the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry’s leg slid out of Uncle Vernon’s grasp— Harry was in the car— he’d slammed the door shut—
“Put your foot down, woman!” yelled Ron. Jules didn’t have to be told twice, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon.
Harry couldn’t believe it — he was free. He rolled down the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry’s window.
“See you next summer!” Harry yelled. The Weasleys and Jules roared with laughter, and Harry settled back in his seat, grinning from ear to ear.
“Let Hedwig out,” he told Ron. “She can fly behind us. She hasn’t had a chance to stretch her wings for ages.”
George handed Jules’ hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost.
“So — what’s the story, Harry?” said Ron impatiently. “What’s been happening?”
Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he’d given Harry, and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished.
“Very fishy,” said Fred finally.
“Definitely dodgy,” agreed George.
“And definitely creepy. ‘Fo’ shizzle’.” Jules said with a shudder.
“Jules, stop using weird words you’ve gotten from your T and V,” George asked Jules.
“It’s called a TV, you prat.” Jules countered with a roll of her eyes.
“So he wouldn’t even tell you who’s supposed to be plotting all this stuff?” Fred asked.
“I don’t think he could,” said Harry. “I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall.”
He saw Fred, George, and Jules look at each other.
“What, you think he was lying to me?” said Harry.
“Well,” said Fred, “put it this way — house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can’t usually use it without their master’s permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone’s idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?”
“Yes,” said Harry and Ron together, instantly.
“Draco Malfoy,” Harry explained. “He hates me.”
“Draco Malfoy?” said George, turning around. “Not Lucius Malfoy’s son?”
“I’ve seen the little git. A prick and a half.” Jules said, her eyes focused on driving even as she spoke, glancing back at Ron and Harry for a second.
“I’ve heard Dad talking about him,” said George. “He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who.”
“And when You-Know-Who disappeared,” said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, “Lucius Malfoy came back saying he’d never meant any of it. Load of dung — Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who’s inner circle.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me from what I’ve heard from your dad,” Jules added.
Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy’s family before, and they didn’t surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy…
“I don’t know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf…” said Harry.
“Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they’ll be rich,” said Fred.
“Yeah, Mum’s always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing,” said George. “But all we’ve got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn’t catch one in our house…”
Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry been stupid to take Dobby seriously?
“Now now, George. Mum has Jules coming around to do the ironing.” Fred joked.
“And she even helps with the washing if she has a good day,” George added, and Jules slammed on the brakes, making Fred and George hit their foreheads on purpose. Harry blinked, while Ron snickered. The car soon started again.
“Wicked woman…”
“Vile and evil…”
“I’m glad we came to get you, anyway,” said Ron. “I was getting really worried when you didn’t answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol’s fault at first —”
“Who’s Errol?”
“Our owl. He’s ancient. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes —”
“Who?”
“The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect,” said Fred from the front.
“But Percy wouldn’t lend him to me,” said Ron. “Said he needed him.”
“Percy’s been acting very oddly this summer,” said George, frowning. “And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a lot of time shut up in his room… I mean, there’s only so many times you can polish a prefect badge… You’re driving too far west, Jules,” he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Jules twiddled the steering wheel.
“So, does your dad know you’ve got the car?” said Harry, guessing the answer.
“Er, no,” said Ron, “he had to work tonight. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it.”
“What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?”
“He works in the most boring department,” said Ron. “The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”
“The what?”
“It’s all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antique shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare — Dad was working overtime for weeks.”
“What happened?”
“The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place, and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic —it’s only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office — and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up —”
“But your dad — this car —”
Fred laughed. “Yeah, Dad’s crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed’s full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house, he’d have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad.”
“Wait…Muggle stuff…Jules—” Harry began, but she shook her head.
“Believe me, he has been questioning me on the most mundane things…Unfortunately, he also used to question me a lot when I was a kid. So I am sorry if he says something absurd, but I had no clue where money came from, so I said the Tooth Fairy.” Jules said.
“Oh yeah! I remember that…We were so confused…We’ve heard about pixies and all, but never about any fairies leaving coins.” Fred said.
“And in exchange for teeth out of all things. Gross. We did try it ourselves, but it never really worked when we left them under the pillo. That’s the main road,” said George, peering down through the windshield. “We’ll be there in ten minutes… Just as well, it’s getting light…”
Jules brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees. “We’re a little way outside the village,” said George. “Ottery St. Catchpole.”
Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees. “Touchdown!” said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Harry looked out for the first time at Ron’s house.
It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.
“It’s not much,” said Ron.
“It’s wonderful,” said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive. They got out of the car.
“Now, we’ll go upstairs really quietly,” said Fred, “and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, ‘Mum, look who turned up in the night!’ and she’ll be all pleased to see Harry, and no one needs ever know we flew the car.”
“Right,” said Ron. “Come on, Harry, I sleep at the — at the top —”
Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The other three wheeled around.
Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger. And behind Mrs. Weasley was another woman. Slightly taller than Mrs. Weasley, and tanned skin. Her face resembled Jules’. Most likely Jules’ mother.
“Ah, “said Fred.
“Oh, dear,” said George.
Jules took a step back while her mother sped up her steps.
“Oh, mama! Wait, wait— I’m sorry!” Jules called out, ready to take out in a sprint as the woman was advancing quickly towards Jules. Harry blinked, and the twins watched Jules run, and her mother grabbed her and began to scold her.
“May God rest her soul.” Fred tutted as he shook his head, almost making himself and George snicker, until they remembered their own angry mother.
Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.
“So,” she said.
“Morning, Mum,” said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.
“Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?” said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper.
“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to —”
All three of Mrs. Weasley’s sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.
“Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — never, as long as I’ve lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —”
“Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred.
“YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred’s chest. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —”
It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away.
“I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,” she said. “Come in and have some breakfast.”
She turned and walked back into the house, and Harry, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her. Harry glanced back.
“Where’s Jules?” Harry whispered to the twins.
“Give her a minute…” George whispered.
“Oh, mama, I’m sorry! Never again, I swear! Ow! Ow—Easy on the merchandise—I can actually rip, ya know—Ah—I'm joking, please—” Came Jules’ voice, while Jules’ mother was dragging Jules back towards the Borrow by her ear. But Jules’ mother stopped next to the four boys and smiled. Up close, it was even easier to see the resemblance between Jules’ mother and her daughter.
“I’m so sorry you had to see this…I hope you had a good trip. Ah, where are my manners? I'm Gabriela Allen, Jules’ mother.” Mrs. Allen offered, and Harry nodded.
“Harry. Harry Potter.” Harry answered, and Mrs Allen smiled.
“Now, make sure to go and get some breakfast. I will just talk with my daughter real quick. Excuse us.” The woman turned, beginning a fast-paced speech in Spanish while dragging Jules by the ear some more, making Jules plead for mercy with her mother as they entered what could be called the 'living room' of the Burrow. Harry’s brows raised in surprise. He hadn’t known Jules spoke Spanish. Most likely, she only spoke it at home with her mother and family only, perhaps as a way of passing down heritage, or perhaps Jules’ mother, even after years of speaking English, felt more comfortable speaking a language she had grown up with, which was understandable. It simply caught Harry off guard to hear another language spoken here.
“Is…is it always like this?”
“Yeah. Pretty much. If Mum’s scary, Jules’ mom is horrifying. And she’s not even a witch, that’s a Muggle right there ripping Jules a new one!” Fred whispered.
The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry sat down on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard's house before. The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, and You’re late. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts — It’s Magic! And unless Harry’s ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was “Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck.”
Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then, she muttered things like “don’t know what you were thinking of,” and “never would have believed it.”
“I don’t blame you, dear,” she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday. But really,”(she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate) “flying an illegal car halfway across the country — anyone could have seen you —”
Jules had finally entered the kitchen, rubbing her ear in a walk of shame as Mrs. Weasley moved to get her some food as well. She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.
“It was cloudy, Mum!” said Fred.
“You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped.
“They were starving him, Mum!” said George.
“And you!” said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.
“I’m telling you, Mrs. Weasley, he had bars on his window,” Jules added. Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth and paused, tutting.
“Oh, I won’t yell at you, dear. Your mother already did that enough for both of us.. Speaking of— I need to see Gabriela off——” Mrs. Weasley mutters, wiping her hands on her apron quickly and walking to the door.
At that moment, there had been a diversion created in the form of Jules’ mother leaving and in the form of a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again, vanishing from sight. Fred, George, and Jules shared glances and snickered above their plates.
“Ginny,” said Ron in an undertone to Harry. “My sister. She’s been talking about you all summer.”
“Yeah, she’ll be wanting your autograph, Harry,” Fred said with a grin, but he caught his mother’s eye and bent his face over his plate without another word.
As the five ate, Jules, Fred, and George, while Mrs. Weasley wasn’t looking, would steal food from each other’s plates. Which would make Ron and Harry snicker.
Mrs. Weasley would sometimes turn, making the five freeze and quiet, but as soon as she was back to talking at the door with Jules’ mother, they’d go back to their shenanigans.
Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.
“Blimey, I’m tired,” yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. “I think I’ll go to bed and—”
“You will not,” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “It’s your own fault you’ve been up all night. You’re going to de-gnome the garden for me; they’re getting completely out of hand again —”
“Oh, Mum—”
“And you two,” she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. “And Jules can help me with ironing and washing.” Fred and George snickered, and Jules sighed in defeat. Her mother must have agreed to this. Mrs. Weasley seemed rather close to Mrs. Allen.
“You can go up to bed, dear,” she added to Harry. “You didn’t ask them to fly that wretched car—”
But Harry, who felt wide awake, said quickly, “I’ll help Ron. I’ve never seen a de-gnoming—”
“That’s very sweet of you, dear, but it’s dull work,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Now, let’s see what Lockhart’s got to say on the subject—” And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned.
“Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden—”
Harry looked at the cover of Mrs. Weasley’s book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at them all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him.
“Oh, he is marvelous,” she said. “He knows his household pests, all right, it’s a wonderful book…”
“Mum fancies him,” said Fred, in a very audible whisper.
“Don’t be so ridiculous, Fred,” said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. “All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there’s a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it.”
Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with Harry behind them, while Jules was dragged by Mrs. Weasley. The garden was large, and in Harry’s eyes, exactly what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn’t have liked it— there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting— but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.
“Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know,” Harry told Ron as they crossed the lawn.
“Yeah, I’ve seen those things they think are gnomes,” said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, “like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods…Jules’ parents like them.”
There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up.
“This is a gnome,” he said grimly.
“Gerroff me! Gerroff me!” squealed the gnome.
It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery-looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm’s length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.
“This is what you have to do,” he said. He raised the gnome above his head (“Gerroff me!”) and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry’s face, Ron added, “It doesn’t hurt them —you’ve just got to make them really dizzy so they can’t find their way back to the gnome holes.”
He let go of the gnome’s ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.
“Pitiful,” said Fred. “I bet I can get mine beyond that stump.”
Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry’s finger, and he had a hard job shaking it off — until —
“Wow, Harry — that must’ve been fifty feet…”
“Almost beat Jules’ record!”
The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.
“See, they’re not too bright,” said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. “The moment they know the de-gnoming’s going on, they storm up to have a look. You’d think they’d have learned by now just to stay put.”
“Oh, I know how we can make this faster…” Fred said with a grin, looking at Jules, who was walking out to the clothing line with some sheets to put up.
“Jules! Throw one for me?” Fred called out, and Jules hummed, putting down her basket.
“Again? I’m busy with the sheets, though.” Jules answered, frowning.
“Come on, just one gnome!” George asked.
“No. You always say one gnome, and it turns into multiple. Then I have to do the whole thing. Do it yourselves.” Jules said as she turned back to putting the freshly washed sheets up on the clothing line while Fred and George scowled and made faces behind Jules’ back. When Jules would look over her shoulder, the twins would simply look away, pretending they were innocent, before finally accepting defeat once Jules started ignoring them and turning back to taking care of gnomes.
Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.
“They’ll be back,” said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. “They love it here… Dad’s too soft with them; he thinks they’re funny…”
Just then, the front door slammed.
“He’s back!” said George. “Dad’s home!”
They hurried through the garden and back into the house. Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children’s. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.
“What a night,” he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him. “Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned…”
Jules, who had been nearby, poured some for Mr. Weasley since Mrs. Weasley was still ironing.
“Thank you, Jules.” Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.
“Find anything, Dad?” said Fred eagerly.
“All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle,” yawned Mr. Weasley.“There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn’t my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that’s the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness…”
“Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?” said George.
“Just Muggle-baiting,” sighed Mr. Weasley. “Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it.. Of course, it’s very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking — they’ll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they’ll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it’s staring them in the face… But things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn’t believe —”
“LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?” Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley’s eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.
“C-cars, Molly, dear?”
“Yes, Arthur, cars,” said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. “Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly.”
Mr. Weasley blinked. “Well, dear, I think you’ll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if — er — he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth… There’s a loophole in the law, you’ll find… As long as he wasn’t intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn’t —”
“Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly!”
“Harry?” said Mr. Weasley blankly. “Harry who?”
He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped. “Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron’s told us so much about — ”
“Your sons and Jules flew that car to Harry’s house and back last night!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “What have you got to say about that, eh?”
“Did you really?” said Mr. Weasley eagerly. “Did it go all right? I — I mean,” he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley’s eyes, “that — that was very wrong, boys —”
“Jules was at the wheel,” Fred added.
“And…girl…” Mr. Weasley continued, and Jules shrugged. “Very wrong indeed…”
“Let’s leave them to it,” Ron muttered to Harry as Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. “Come on, I’ll show you my bedroom.”
They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house…
--------------------
Life at the Burrow was as different as possible from life on Privet Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys’ house burst with the strange and unexpected. Harry got a shock the first time he looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece, and it shouted, “Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!” The ghoul in the attic howled and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet, and small explosions from Fred and George’s bedroom were considered perfectly normal. Not to mention the fact that Jules coming in through windows and doors, usually in the mornings when her parents were at work, seemed to be a rather normal occurrence here at The Burrow. Mrs. Weasley was more than happy to serve Jules breakfast, even keeping a plate for her just in case.
What Harry found most unusual about life at Ron’s, however, wasn’t the talking mirror or the clanking ghoul: It was the fact that everybody there seemed to like him. Mrs. Weasley fussed over the state of his socks and tried to force him to eat fourth helpings at every meal.
How Jules’ parents would sometimes come in the evening and talk to the Weasleys like a family, despite not being related at all. Was this what neighbors were like? But considering how often Jules was around, or the twins were at her house, it was expected that the two families would be close to each other.
Mr. Weasley liked Harry to sit next to him at the dinner table so that he could bombard him with questions about life with Muggles, asking him to explain how things like plugs and the postal service worked.
“Fascinating,” he would say as Harry talked him through using a telephone. “Ingenious, really, how many ways Muggles have found of staying connected without magic…Then does that mean I can talk to Ajani on this ‘phone’? You have a ‘phone’ at home, don’t you, Jules?” Mr. Weasley asked, and Jules looked amused.
“Yes. I can give you the number. I’m sure Pops will be very happy if you give him a call.” Jules said with an amused look.
Harry heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week after he had arrived at the Burrow. He and Ron went down to breakfast to find Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny already sitting at the kitchen table. The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking things over whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face glowing like the setting sun. Pretending he hadn’t noticed this, Harry sat down and took the toast Mrs. Weasley offered him.
The door to the backyard was formed of two smaller doors, the upper part acting almost like a window. Jules, as always, soon jumped over the closed bottom half of the door, not even bothering to open it, right at the same time as Fred and George were rushing down the stairs.
“Dammit,” Fred muttered. Clearly, the three had been racing.
“Letters from school,” said Mr. Weasley, passing Harry and Ron identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink. “Dumbledore already knows you’re here, Harry — doesn’t miss a trick, that man. You two’ve got them, too, even Jules. But I’d be surprised if the letter would ever be owled at home, Jules.” he added, as Fred and George, still in their pajamas, reached for their envelopes.
“You can always kick me out the same door I jumped, Mr. Weasley,” Jules said as she took hers.
“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. You’d have no breakfast then!” Mrs. Weasley said, and Jules sat down, opening her own letter, Fred and George comparing letters with her.
For a few minutes, there was silence as they all read their letters. Harry’s told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King’s Cross station on September first. There was also a list of the new books he’d need for the coming year.
SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:
- The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2by Miranda Goshawk
- Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart
- Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart
- Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart
- 43 Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart
- Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart
- Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart
- Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart
Fred, who had finished his own list, peered over at Harry’s.“You’ve been told to get all Lockhart’s books, too!” he said. “The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan — bet it’s a witch.”
At this point, Fred caught his mother’s eye and quickly busied himself with the marmalade.
“That lot won’t come cheap,” said George, with a quick look at his parents. “Lockhart’s books are really expensive…”
Jules furrowed her brows as she counted the books, muttering to herself as she was doing the maths on how much this would all cost, especially since Jules would most likely have to convert pounds into the wizarding world currency.
“Well, we’ll manage,” said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. “I expect we’ll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny’s things secondhand.”
“Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?” Harry asked Ginny.
She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately, no one saw this except Harry, because just then Ron’s elder brother Percy walked in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest.
“Morning, all,” said Percy briskly. “Lovely day.”
He sat down in the only remaining chair but leaped up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a molting, gray feather duster — at least, that was what Harry thought it was until he saw that it was breathing.
“Errol!” said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing.
“Finally— he’s got Hermione’s answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys.”
He carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door and tried to stand him on it, but
Errol flopped straight off again, so Ron laid him on the draining board instead, muttering, “Pathetic.” Then he ripped open Hermione’s letter and read it out loud:
“`Dear Ron, and Harry, if you’re there,
`I hope everything went all right and that Harry is okay and that you didn’t do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I’ve been really worried and if Harry is all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl because I think another delivery might finish your one-off. I’m very busy with schoolwork, of course’— How can she be?” said Ron in horror. “We’re on vacation! —‘and we’re going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don’t we meet in Diagon Alley? Let me know what’s happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.’”
“Well, that fits in nicely; we can go and get all your things then, too,” said Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the table. “What’re you all up to today?”
Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Jules were planning to go up the hill to a small paddock the Weasleys owned. It was surrounded by trees that blocked it from view of the village below, meaning that they could practice Quidditch there, as long as they didn’t fly too high.
They couldn’t use real Quidditch balls, which would have been hard to explain if they had escaped and flown away over the village; instead, they threw apples for one another to catch. They took turns riding Harry’s Nimbus Two Thousand, which was easily the best broom; Ron’s old Shooting Star was often outstripped by passing butterflies.
Five minutes later, they were marching up the hill, broomsticks over their shoulders. They had asked Percy if he wanted to join them, but he had said he was busy. Harry had only seen Percy at mealtimes so far; he stayed shut in his room the rest of the time.
“Wish I knew what he was up to,” said Fred, frowning. “He’s not himself. His exam results came the day before you did; twelve O.W.L.s, and he hardly gloated at all.” Jules nodded along to Fred’s rant, twirling her bat.
“I would call those below average, but yes. Honestly, it was odd…I’m used to Percy gloating about exams…I remember how smug he was when I told him about my scores during our first year. He has memorized his perfectly and just— spouted them all out to show off! As if I didn’t know my grades were average.” Jules said with a snort, spinning her Beaters bat in hand. Or more so, a baseball bat that used to be her older brother’s, that she had repurposed for now.
“Ordinary Wizarding Levels,” George explained, seeing Harry’s puzzled look at what O.W.L.s were.. “Bill got twelve, too. If we’re not careful, we’ll have another Head Boy in the family. I don’t think I could stand the shame.”
“Happy I am not named Weasley then.” Jules joked, hitting the bat against the dirt, making it bounce back in her hand as it ricocheted off the ground. Fred snorted.
“You’re still like a sister to us.” Fred cooed mockingly, and Jules rolled her eyes, sweeping her bat at his feet.
“Aw, did whittle Julesy-Wulsey get annoyed now?” George continued, making Jules sweep at his feet with her bat as well, which started a chase going on between the three older kids. Ron scoffed at all of this.
“Sister, my foot…” Ron muttered, making Harry smile. It was true, sometimes the three would have a look in their eyes that Harry couldn’t quite place. But it was their fourth year, it happened to all teens, didn’t it? Hormons and all that.
Bill was the oldest Weasley brother. He and his next brother, Charlie, had already left Hogwarts. Harry had never met either of them, but knew that Charlie was in Romania studying dragons and Bill in Egypt working for the wizard’s bank, Gringotts.
“Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year,” said George after a while. “Five sets of Lockhart books! And Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything…”
“I will probably give my old stuff to Ginny…she is roughly the same size I was during first year. My mum talked to yours.” Jules said.
Harry said nothing. He felt a bit awkward. Stored in an underground vault at Gringotts in London was a small fortune that his parents had left him. Of course, it was only in the wizarding world that he had money; you couldn’t use Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts in Muggle shops. He had never mentioned his Gringotts bank account to the Dursleys; he didn’t think their horror of anything connected with magic would stretch to a large pile of gold.
That day, Harry, Ron, Jules, Fred, and George all played their makeshift Quidditch. Which soon became a game of using Jules’ brother’s baseball bat to play hit apples instead, a makeshift baseball of sorts. The harder part was for Jules and Harry to try and explain baseball from what they had seen on TV.
After the first missed apple, which was caught by Ron, putting Ron in time out, Jules stepped behind the players to catch the apples that would go past the one holding the bat, an oversimplified version of a catcher of sorts. When it was Jules’ turn to play, and Jules ended up hitting the apple hard enough that it split, Harry had to pause and do a double-take.
She was a girl like any other at first glance. She enjoyed makeup, fangirled over bands from what he’d heard the past week staying over at The Burrow, and enjoyed dressing up, the whole nine yards, but she was strong, and it was clear she had grown up roughhousing with the twins and with her older brother; it showed.
Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday. As always, Jules would arrive right at breakfast. After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.
“We’re running low, Arthur,” she sighed. “We’ll have to buy some more today… Ah, well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!”
And she offered him the flowerpot. Harry stared at them all watching him. “W-what am I supposed to do?” he stammered.
“Uhm, Mrs. Weasley…He most likely never used floo powder?” Jules offered to help Harry out.
“Never?” said Mr. Weasley. “But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?”
“I went on the Underground —”
“Really?” said Mr. Weasley eagerly. “Were there escapators? How exactly —”
“Not now, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley.
“Floo powder’s a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you’ve never used it before —”
“He’ll be all right, Mum,” said Fred. “Harry, watch us first.” He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames.
With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, “Diagon Alley!” and vanished.
“You must speak clearly, dear,” Mrs. Weasley told Harry as George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. “And be sure to get out at the right gate…”
“The right what?” said Harry nervously as the fire roared and whipped George out of sight, too.
“Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you’ve spoken clearly —”
“He’ll be fine, Molly, don’t fuss,” said Mr. Weasley, while Jules was helping herself to some floo powder.
“But, dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his aunt and uncle?” Mrs. Weasley said while the fire roared and Jules was out of sight.
“They wouldn’t mind,” Harry reassured her. “Dudley would think it was a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney, don’t worry about that —”
“Well… all right… You go,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Now, when you get into the fire, say where you’re going.”
“And keep your elbows tucked in,” Ron advised.
“And your eyes shut,” said Mrs. Weasley. “The soot —”
“Don’t fidget,” said Ron. “Or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace —”
“But don’t panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George.”
Trying hard to bear all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered the powder into the flames, and stepped forward; the fire felt like a warm breeze; he opened his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash.“D-Dia-gon Alley,” he coughed. It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed to be spinning very fast — the roaring in his ears was deafening — he tried to keep his eyes open a whirl of green flames made him feel sick —something hard knocked his elbow and he tucked it in tightly, still spinning and spinning — now it felt as though cold hands were slapping his face — squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond — his bacon sandwiches were churning inside him — he closed his eyes again wishing it would stop, and then…
He fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses snap.
--------------------
Harry and Hermione looked around: Sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Jules, and Mr. Weasley.
“Harry,” Mr. Weasley panted. “We hoped you’d only gone one grate too far…” He mopped his glistening bald patch. “Molly’s frantic — she’s coming now —”
“Where did you come out?” Ron asked.
“Knockturn Alley,” said Hagrid grimly.
“Excellent!” said Fred, George, and Jules together.
“We’ve never been allowed in,” said Ron enviously.
“I should ruddy well think not,” growled Hagrid. Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other.
“Oh, Harry — oh, my dear—you could have been anywhere —”
Gasping for breath, she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn’t managed to beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry’s glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new.
“Well, gotta be off,” said Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley (“Knockturn Alley! If you hadn’t found him, Hagrid!”). “See yer at Hogwarts!” And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.
“Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?” Harry asked Ron and Hermione as they climbed the Gringotts steps. “Malfoy and his father.”
“Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?” said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them.
“No, he was selling —”
“So he’s worried,” said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. “Oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something…”
“You be careful, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. “That family’s trouble. Don’t go biting off more than you can chew—”
“So you don’t think I’m a match for Lucius Malfoy?” said Mr. Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione’s parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them.
“But you’re Muggles!” said Mr. Weasley delightedly. “We must have a drink! What’s that you’ve got there? Oh, you’re changing Muggle money. Molly, look!” He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr. Granger’s hand.
Jules covered her face with her hand.
“I’m going to exchange my money too, Mrs. Weasley,” Jules informed, and the woman smiled, nodding.
“Meet you back here,” Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys and Harry were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.
The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank’s underground tunnels. Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys’ vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a leather bag.
Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred, George, and Jules had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully in Harry’s pocket was clamoring to be spent, so he bought three large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which they slurped happily as they wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, Jules, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called ‘Prefects Who Gained Power’.
“A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,” Ron read aloud off the back cover. “That sounds fascinating…”
“Go away,” Percy snapped.
“’Course, he’s very ambitious, Percy, he’s got it all planned out… He wants to be Minister of Magic…” Ron told Harry and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it.
An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:
GILDEROY LOCKHART
will be signing copies of his autobiography
MAGICAL ME
Today, 12:30 P.M.to 4:30 P.M.
“We can actually meet him!” Hermione squealed. “I mean, he’s written almost the whole book list!”
Jules groaned as she picked at her ear, as if trying to unclog it, right where Hermione had squealed. Fred and George snickered at her exaggerated gesture.
The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley’s age. A harassed looking wizard stood at the door, saying, “Calmly, please, ladies… Don’t push, there… mind the books, now…”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.
“Oh, there you are, good,” said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. “We’ll be able to see him in a minute…”
Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard’s hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.
A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around, taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.
“I’m going to puke…” Jules said as she scrunched up her nose.
“Do you think the hair is fake? It looks fake to m…” Fred asked.
“Do you think someone picked his clothes out for him?” George continued.
“Yeah, even you two wouldn’t dress like that,” Jules muttered, making the twins turn with scowls.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Fred asked, but Mrs. Weasley soon shushed them up.
“Out of the way, there,” The photographer snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. “This is for the Daily Prophet —”
“Big deal,” said Ron, rubbing his foot where the man had stepped on it. Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron — and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, “It can’t be Harry Potter?”
The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry’s arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry’s face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.
“Nice big smile, Harry,” said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. “Together, you and I are worth the front page.”
When he finally let go of Harry’s hand, Harry could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly to his side.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said loudly, waving for quiet. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time! When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography — which I shall be happy to present to him now, free of charge —” The crowd applauded again.
“He had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” The crowd cheered and clapped, and Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart.
“Please tell me this clown won’t be our professor…” Jules muttered, and Fred and George both hung their heads.
Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.
“You have these,” Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into the cauldron. “I’ll buy my own—”
“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,” said Malfoy. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”
“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!” said Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy.
“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” drawled Malfoy. Ginny went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart’s books.
“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, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.
“Ron!” said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred, George, and Jules. “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.
“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, then down to Hermione and Jules, who were watching apprehensively. “The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower.”
Jules’ eyes widened as Jules immediately gripped Hermione’s hand, both girls looking awfully flushed and embarrassed. Fred and George immediately shielded Jules, getting in front of her.
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, as well as a “Aim higher, Mr. Weasley” from Jules; 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 swept from the shop.
“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 from 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 —”
But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys, Jules, and all their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. They said good-bye 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.
.
.
.
.
Fred, George, and Jules were walking through the field that led to Jules’ house, being ‘gentlemen’ and getting her home for the night. But Jules was quiet, far too quiet for their liking.
“Hey. Jules.” Fred called out, but Jules didn’t answer. The twins glanced at each other, frowning, they knew their best friend better than this.
“Jules?” George tried as well. And Fred sighed, grabbing her shoulder.
“Jules!” Fred said firmly, and Jules blinked, turning around.
“I spaced out…I'm sorry—what did you say?” She asked, shaking her head slightly, and the two brothers frowned.
“Are you alright there…?” George asked, and Jules rubbed the back of her neck.
“I’m good, it’s just—...Nevermind. It’s stupid—…” Jules muttered, frowning and looking on at the orange-hued sky and scenery of the field, purposefully avoiding their gazes..
“It doesn’t matter. As stupid as it is, we will listen. You listen and help out with our crazy ideas. You let us complain constantly. Might as well return the favor for once.” Fred said, and Jules smiled before laughing softly, her eyes softening.
“I just feel guilty…Like I caused trouble to Mr. Weasley because I am Mugglebo—” Fred and George stopped her, both covering her mouth.
“We’ll stop you right there, missy.” George started.
“I don’t know what gave you that impression…but we all know Dad wouldn’t have started a fight for nothing,” Fred said and grinned, puffing his chest out in pride. “If he didn’t start that fight, we would have anyway. We would have slipped some Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks between Malfoy’s books and made sure to set them off. He has enough coins to buy the books again, right?”
“Imagine the face he would have made. Like father, like son.” George said with a chuckle. As their hands lowered, Jules was smiling, already feeling better thanks to their little lifter-upper. She put her arms around their shoulders as they walked, looking pleased and very much thankful for her best friends.
“Did you know you’re my favorite blokes in the world?” Jules said, and Fred and George looked at her with softened gazes. Only for Jules’ bags to be dumped in their arms to carry while their guard was off, almost making the two boys stumble forth and fall in the dirt.
“Alright, let’s keep going,” Jules said, stretching as she began to continue her walk back home through the field. The twins exchanged amused glances, and they quickly closed the distance between them, falling in step with her while they complained about carrying her things.
--------------------
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 the 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. And that was before Jules had shown up, dropped off by her parents to be driven by the Weasleys as well.
“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 fit easily.
When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, Jules, 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 —”
“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 with Jules.
“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.
.
.
.
.
Jules was lying back on one of the couches inside the compartment she was in, alongside Fred, George, Lee Jordan, Cedric Diggory, Chelsea Davies, and Alastair Roberts, the group of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors playing cards together.
“I don’t get why you insist on playing cards. You all suck at this. Macau.” Jules said as she put down another card, having only one left in her hand. Fred and George groaned while Cedric laughed. Alastair dropped his cards again, and Chelsea sighed, leaning to help him. Lee looked confused again, most likely still not understanding the rules yet.
“Wait, how did you stop someone’s turn again?” Lee asked, and Cedric put down a card.
“A four. Lee, sit a turn out,” Cedric said, and Lee groaned.
“That’s just playing dirty at this point!”
“Speaking of playing dirty, I feel like Jules is cheating again,” George said, and Fred scoffed.
“That’s it. Next round, I'm controlling you and your hand, Jules.” Fred warned, indignant, as he had to pull another card to the already growing hand he was holding.
And Jules won, grinning, much to everyone’s protests and despair. She leaned back lazily as Lee, who ended up having the most cards left, was supposed to start shuffling the deck, preparing it for their next round. As the train whistled while it ran along the tracks, she frowned, hearing a strange sound coming from somewhere outside, akin to yells of people and metal cracking.
She looked out the window, and she saw a flying car, almost eerily similar to the Weasleys' car. Then she glanced again, and the car was gone. She frowned, scratching at her head.
“I should have slept more last night…I think I’m delirious…” She muttered, turning back to the game Fred and George were still concentrating on.
--------------------
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.
“Errol!” said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.
“Oh, no —” Ron gasped.
“It’s all right, he’s still alive,” said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.
“It’s not that — it’s that.” Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Harry, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode.
“What’s the matter?” said Harry.
“She’s — she’s sent me a Howler,” said Ron faintly.
Jules, who had heard the faint sound while she was talking with Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, paused, snorting in her hand and turning to watch Ron with rapt attention. That had caused more attention to turn towards Ron and his Howler from Fred, George and their group.
“You’d better open it, Ron,” said Neville in a timid whisper. “It’ll be worse if you don’t. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and —” he gulped ”—it was horrible.”
Harry looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope.
“What’s a Howler?” he said. But Ron’s whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.
“Open it,” Neville urged. “It’ll all be over in a few minutes —” Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol’s beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, Harry knew why. He thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.
“—STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE —” Mrs. Weasley's yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.
“—LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED —” Harry had been wondering when his name was going to crop up. He tried very hard to look as though he couldn’t hear the voice that was making his eardrums throb.
“—ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT, AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.”
A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron’s hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few people laughed, especially Jules, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. Gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.
Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of Ron’s head.
“Well, I don’t know what you expected, Ron, but you —”
“Don’t tell me I deserved it,” snapped Ron. Harry pushed his porridge away. His insides were burning with guilt. Mr. Weasley was facing an inquiry at work. After all Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had done for him over the summer…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.
.
.
.
.
Double courses. That’s how Jules, Fred, and George got the amazing luck of having double Defense against the Dark Arts.
Jules was sitting between Fred and George, leaned back, and turned around to talk with Chelsea Davies, Alastair Roberts, and a well-known Hufflepuff friend of hers, Cedric Diggory. He was a rising prodigy academically. Fred and George leaned forward to talk with Lee Jordan and two other girls from Gryffindor sitting in front of them, such as Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. Lee Jordan was busy trying, and failing miserably, to impress Angelina with his origami skills.
And then the door swung open, and inside stepped Gilderoy Lockhart, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. The girls in the class almost squealed, Chelsea leaning on her hand and twirling her hair on her finger.
Jules scrunched her nose up in disdain. “We lost them, captain…” She joked with a sigh, making the group of people around her chuckle.
When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly, and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Lee Jordan’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!” Lockhart said. He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly, and Jules leaned towards the twins.
“How much do you want to bet he has all of this was rehearsed…” Jules muttered, and the twins snickered.
“You not liking Lockhart will forever be a mystery on how it’s possible to us,” Fred whispered back, and Jules hummed.
“I don’t like him either, really…” Angelina grumbled from in front of the three.
“Perhaps you’d fancy someone else then? Someone funnier? More good-looking? Devilish charmer?” Fred joked, winking, and Jules smacked him upside the head, making Fred groan and Angelina giggle; Angelina smiled behind her hand after that, making Fred wiggle his brows at an unimpressed Jules and a laughing George. Alicia, however, was indignant at the slight towards Lockhart.
“Speak for yourself. I think Professor Lockhart is funny. Don’t you think he’s funny, Jules? Isn’t he your type?” Alicia said with a giggle, wiggling her brows, making Fred and George reel back from the ‘girl’s talk’ happening right next to them.
“Absolutely not. He’s a clown! He’s not my type by a long shot. I can have a type of guy I like without it being…this.” Jules gestured, and Fred and George scrunched their noses up even further, pretending to gag as Jules smiled while she thought of the type of guy she liked. Angelina and Alicia giggled at Jules’ words.
Sometimes, the twins were just reminded of the fact that Jules was actually a girl in the worst ways possible, like a cold shower in the morning when you’re not awake just yet, like right now, as the twins were reminded she had a type of guy she liked, apparently. Gross.
“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!”
Jules looked over her paper, and her face fell in five seconds flat.
- What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?
- What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?
- 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:
- When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift
be?
She put her hand up immediately.
“Can I leave the paper empty?” Jules said in the most unimpressed tone, which made Jules’ friends snicker.
“No,” Lockhart said, and Jules did a double-take of the questions, grimacing.
“...Please, Professor…?” Jules tried again as she was skimming over the questions a third time just to try and find anything related to their actual class. Lockhart laughed, even his laugh sounding awfully…plastic and curated.
“Hahaha! No!” He replied with a smile, making some of the girls in the room swoon. Alastair yelped as Chelsea almost fell off her chair, and he quickly had to reach over to catch her before she hit the ground. Thankfully, Cedric had reached out to help as well.
Half an hour…half an hour of this torture-like quiz. The group of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs Jules was associated with was filled with complaints for the whole duration.
“How am I supposed to know what this clown wants for his birthday?” Fred groaned.
“Is there nothing on this quiz that had to do with—I don’t know…our class?” Cedric asked.
“I’d take Quirrell any day over this…” Lee grumbled.
“Alicia—Alicia, give me some of your answers—” Angelina asked as Alicia quietly slid her paper closer to her friend.
“Should I just write Firewhisky for this and hope it sounds genuine? All adults like it, right?” Jules debated as she scratched her head.
“How should I know when his birthday is…” Alastair complained, and Chelsea tutted.
“Have none of you read his books? It’s written in Wandering with Werewolves—” Chelsea began to chide, and Jules held her hand up.
“For all of our sanity combined…Please, Chelsea, shut up—”
Jules, at some point, leaned forth with Fred and George just to get Alicia to help them out with these ridiculous answers while Lockhart was too busy admiring himself in a random mirror. Jules had tried to get Chelsea’s help, too, but she was busy helping out Cedric and Alastair.
“Tut, tut — same mistakes like the second years on these…my favorite color is lilac. Clearly have not read ‘Year with the Yeti’. And some of you need to read ‘Wanderings with Werewolves’. My ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic people — though a large bottle of Ogdeds Old Firewhisky doesn’t sound so bad!” Lockhart explained as he was now looking through the quizzes, the papers had been handed in once the thirty minutes of torture had ended.
He gave Jules a roguish wink. Jules was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief and horror on her face, as if Lockhart had just threatened her whole family at gunpoint; Fred and George were shaking with silent laughter at the despair in her expression and the fact that Lockhart had picked one of the only girls least impressed by his awful forced charm. Chelsea, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention, sighing dreamily and latching onto his every word. Alicia was not any better.
“But…someone knew I wish to market my own range of hair-care potions — good girl!” — he flipped her paper over — “Full marks! Where is Miss Chelsea Davies?”
Chelsea raised her hand, standing up immediately, almost toppling her chair over. Cedric buried his face in his hand, holding his other hand under his armpit, almost embarrassed to be sitting next to Chelsea.
“Take ten points for Hufflepuff! Make that fifteen for that lovely smile.” Lockhart said with a smile, and Chelsea sank in her seat as her knees gave out. Jules made a face, turning towards the twins, the Hufflepuffs had won points…but at what cost? Their dignity? The two Weasleys were trying their hardest not to burst out laughing at the ridiculous scene unfolding before them. This class felt like a fever dream.
“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.”
Despite themselves, Jules, Fred, and George leaned forward, peeking around Angelina’s pile of books for a better look at the cage standing in front of the whole class.
Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Alastair and Cedric had stopped laughing at Chelsea’s reaction now, Alastair cowering while Chelsea was looking at Lockhart with the hope of seeing him in action.
As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.
“Yes,” he said dramatically. “Nifflers!”
Jules blinked, and she immediately began to pat herself and make sure all her valuables were still on her. The cage had a few Nifflers inside, long-snouted, with a coat of black, fluffy fur. Jules knew all about these innocent-looking fluffy animals, burrowing creatures native to Britain with a penchant for anything shiny, perhaps one that was far too big.
Fred 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.
“Well, they’re not very…dangerous, are they?” Fred said.
“They don't look like anything that could attack someone…” George continued.
“They're absolutely adorable.” Jules cooed as she was staring at the Nifflers, almost forgetting the dangers of a greedy little Niffler running loose, multiple beings, even more catastrophic. If there was one subject that Jules absolutely loved, it was anything related to different Magical Creatures. Sure, she may like to give off the impression of a tough gal, but Magical Creatures always did her in. It's why she actually got along quite well with Hagrid. But of course, she could indulge herself…It wasn’t like Lockhart would allow anyone to open the cage. He was a teacher after all!
“Don’t be so sure!” said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. “Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!”
“Right, then,” Lockhart said loudly. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And he opened the cage. Jules’ eyes widened. Oh Merlin’s beard, this man opened the cage.
“Oh bloody hell no—” And the Nifflers were already all on Lockhart, trying to steal all of his valuables, such as the shiny and well-polished buttons of his expensive robes. Everyone panicked at the sight of the furry creatures jumping their teacher, and that panic made the Nifflers panic, sending them into a frenzy around the room. Students would push each other to get away, trying to reach the door, trampling around, which in turn caused the Nifflers to want to rush to the door and get out. Letting that door open and allowing these guys to escape would be awful! Thankfully, Cedric also seemed to know this from his readings. Sometimes, Cedric really showed how much of a ‘star student’ for Hufflepuff he was.
“We can’t let them open that door,” Cedric told Jules, knowing that his friend must have caught onto the catastrophic consequences of letting these tiny menaces loose.
“Oh for the love of—” Jules muttered, and she put two fingers in her mouth, whistling loudly, catching the crowd’s attention, even causing the Nifflers to freeze from surprise. Cedric blinked.
“That will do,” Cedric muttered.
“Pops' a big soccer fan. Alright, you lot, listen here! Keep the doors shut!” Jules explained, “If these guys get out, it won’t be just others' valuables but everyone’s at Hogwarts that these guys will be stealing. Yours too!”
“...That’s one way to put it.” Cedric sighed at Jules’ decision to focus on the stealing rather than the mischief the creatures could cause with their little tricks.
Lockhart was still battling with a few greedy Nifflers, and when he tried to use a spell, one of the Nifflers stole his wand, since the handle had been decorated, wobbling away with its newest catch.
Jules crouched down, taking off one of her earrings, wiggling it, and clicking her tongue. “Come here. Come on. Look shiny!” She called to the Nifflers, which immediately wobbled forth, attracted by the shiny piece of jewelry.
Not only had Lockhart showed them something they had already learned in the Care of Magical Creatures class last year, a completely different subject than any Defense or any Dark Arts, but their teacher had been the ultimate coward, absolutely incompetent in dealing with such small creatures or keeping order in the classroom, and helped with absolutely nothing while the students were left to clean his mess.
The Nifflers were gathered back in the cage with the help of luring them with shiny things back inside. Fred and George were the first to offer to help Jules and Cedric out in their quest to lock the Nifflers up before more chaos ensued. After all, their teacher wasn’t doing anything. The twins seemed to have realized as well that letting a bunch of Nifflers loose inside of Hogwarts— as funny as it would be to watch— for a long period of time was pretty counterproductive since it could also lead to their loss if the creatures decided to steal their things.
Nonetheless, by the end of the class, everyone had a rather sour taste in their mouths when it came to Lockhart being their teacher for the remainder of the year. The students stepped out of the classroom, giving unimpressed glances to their teacher, who was now more busy styling his hair and fixing his suit than checking if the Nifflers were locked up properly.
“I wish this class weren’t mandatory…” Lee complained as everyone walked out of the classroom.
“You can say that again…” Cedric added, shaking his head.
“My dreams have all turned to dust…” Alicia whined as Angelina shook her head in disappointment, the students slowly filing out of the classroom.
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The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room. Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousled-haired, next to fourth-year Alicia Spinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Her fellow Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side opposite them.
“There you are, Harry, what kept you?” said Wood briskly. “Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference…”
Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in different colored inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley’s head drooped right onto Alicia Spinnet’s shoulder, and he began to snore.
The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. Harry sank into a stupor as Wood droned on and on.
“So,” said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from a wistful fantasy about what he could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up at the castle. “Is that clear? Any questions?”
“I’ve got a question, Oliver,” said George, who had woken with a start. “Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?” Wood wasn’t pleased.
“Now, listen here, you lot,” he said, glowering at them all. “We should have won the Quidditch Cup last year. We’re easily the best team. But unfortunately — owing to circumstances beyond our control —”
Harry shifted guiltily in his seat. He had been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years. Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Their last defeat was clearly still torturing him.
“So this year, we train harder than ever before… Okay, let’s go and put our new theories into practice!” Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stiff-legged and still yawning, his team followed.
They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands, as well as Jules.
Lucky them, Jules was handing Ron and Hermione some hot cocoa from a thermos. Which raised two questions for Harry: How did she even get that? And how did she get the hot cocoa?
“Aren’t you finished yet?” called Ron incredulously.
“Haven’t even started,” said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Jules, Ron, and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. “Wood’s been teaching us new moves.”
He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. The cool morning air whipped his face, waking him far more effectively than Wood’s long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.
Well, racing with some breaks, that is. Fred and George had noticed Jules, her hot cocoa, and especially her toast, so they immediately snuck around when Wood wasn't looking to beg her for some, and Jules would help out and feed them behind Wood’s back, letting them take some bites.
“I said one BITE, not the whole bloody thing, you pigs—” came Jules’ voice, and Harry realized that the twins must have helped themselves to more than they had been offered from the food.
“What’s that funny clicking noise?” called Fred as they hurtled around the corner once the twins were back in the air, wiping marmalade off his mouth.
Harry looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.
“Look this way, Harry! This way!” he cried shrilly.
“Who’s that?” said Fred.
“No idea,” Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin.
“What’s going on?” said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward them.
“Why’s that first year taking pictures? I don’t like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program.”
“He’s in Gryffindor,” said Harry quickly.
“And the Slytherins don’t need a spy, Oliver,” said George.
“What makes you say that?” said Wood testily.
“Because they’re here in person,” said George, pointing.
Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.
“I don’t believe it!” Wood hissed in outrage. “I booked the field for today! We’ll see about this!”
Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and George followed.
“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. There's even a Hufflepuff.” Marcus said as he pointed at Jules in the stands, and Jules crossed her arms, unimpressed, rushing closer and onto the field.
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.
“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’. ”
“You’ve got a new Seeker?” said Wood, distracted. “Where?”
And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.
“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.
“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”
All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun.
Jules’ jaw almost dropped in shock at the sight.
“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.
Jules gritted her teeth, and Fred and George had to put their arms in front of her to stop her from doing anything careless, which, considering how ticked off she was, was highly likely.
“Oh, look,” said Flint. “A field invasion.”
Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.
“What’s happening?” Ron asked Harry. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?”
He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.
“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” said Malfoy, smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.”
Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.
“Good, aren’t they?” said Malfoy smoothly. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”
The Slytherin team howled with laughter.
“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” said Hermione sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”
The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered.
“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.
Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to shield him from an angry Jules, alongside Fred and George, jumping him, though they were being stopped by Angelina and Wood, Alicia shrieked, “How dare you!” and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” and pointed it furiously under Flint’s arm at Malfoy's face.
A loud bang echoed around the stadium, and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron’s wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.
“Ron! Ron! Are you all right?” squealed Hermione.
Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave an almighty belch, and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.
The Slytherin team was paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist.
The Gryffindors and Jules were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.
“We’d better get him to Hagrid’s, it’s nearest,” said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.
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Jules was still seething, while the Slytherins were still laughing. Fred and George were glaring daggers over at the boys dressed in green robes, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie looking at the Slytherins with disgusted looks.
Draco tried to open his mouth, but Jules immediately pointed at him, livid with anger.
“Man got me bare vexed if he thinks he can talk like that, cos if you open your mouth one more time, blud, I’ll bash your teeth in, ya hear? Is you mad, bruv? Are you disillusioned, fam?” Jules spat out, getting so angry her father’s accent was peeking through, and Draco scoffed, trying to seem taller even as he took a step back at the threat. He couldn’t let those around him know he was intimidated by a girl.
“You don’t scare me.” Draco challenged, and Jules did something unexpected. She took off one of her shoes. Fred and George stared at each other with wide eyes, but before they could stop her, Jules raised the shoe high and flung it, hitting Draco right in the face, hitting him dead center, right in the nose and forehead with a loud smack. The Gryffindors pulled Jules back, gasping and gaping in shock at what she had done.
“She hit me with a shoe!” Malfoy cried out in outrage, cradling his nose as if mortally wounded, but Jules only scoffed at his whining. “Want me to hit you again? I have another shoe!” She warned him, the Gryffindors had to hold onto Jules tighter.
Marcus intervened, standing between Jules and Malfoy. “I could easily report this.” Flint hissed out, and Jules looked unfazed by Flint’s threat.
“And I can easily report you for the misconduct on the team, considering the Seeker is under your responsibility, and he’s going around spitting out insults left and right! Unless you'd like to warm the bench alongside Jules, go on ahead! I would love to see the next Slytherin match without a Captain, Flint.” Oliver decided to speak up, not backing down now that he and the other Gryffindors were given courage. The Slytherins indeed backed up since Jules was now trying to take off her other shoe as a threat.
“That girl is rabid! She's absolutely mental—” Malfoy hissed out, his voice cracking in outrage. The Weasley twins both frowned at those words.
“Watch your bloody tone, mate, I won’t just throw a shoe,” George warned, not appreciating someone talking that way about Jules, while Fred stepped forth just in case.
“I don’t think you heard what Wood said. Let me rephrase it. Back off. We booked the field.” Fred added.
“Talk it out with Snape instead since he gave you the approval!” Angelina chimed in, the Gryffindors slowly finding their footing to stand once more.
Finally, the Slytherins had left the field when Jules burst out into more profanities after Draco had tried to call her a Mudblood as well. She almost broke free from Gryffindor's holding her back, and Flint had to actually tell Draco to shut up, causing the younger boy to turn red with anger.
The Gryffindor team cheered happily as the Slytherins finally retreated, even as they cursed and complained, sending empty threats towards the Gryffindors and Jules, shallow promises of regret and punishment, (“My father will hear about this!” was the one that caused Fred, George and Jules to burst out laughing, remembering the time when Mr. Weasley started a fight with Lucius Malfoy inside the bookshop on Diagon Alley), grumbling all the way off the field. Wood patted Jules on the back once the intruders were gone, looking somewhat smug that the Gryffindors could continue their training.
“Thank you, Jules,” Wood said with a relieved sigh.
“If they start cutting in line for booking fields, then Hufflepuff stands no chance of getting any training done. Some order must be kept, right?” Jules offered with a smile, and Oliver laughed.
Fred and George then both slung their arms over Jules’ shoulders. “Thank you, Jules!” They sing-sang, mocking her jokingly, making Jules roll her eyes at their antics. But then she took out some chocolate while Wood had turned his back and handed it to Fred and George.
“Eat quickly before Wood turns back and sees us.” She whispered, and the two did as told quickly, wiping chocolate off to hide any traces of their ‘crime’.
“Alright, ladies and gents! Even if Harry is off to help his friend, we can’t afford to just sit still! Let’s warm up until he returns!” Oliver said loudly, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention, and the training resumed once more, much to the Gryffindors' dismay.
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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. Fred and George, dragging Jules along as a ‘collateral victim’ as she called herself, had been spying on the Slytherin team and had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles.
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“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 goodbye 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, alongside Jules Allen, had two entire drawers to themselves, all three of them.
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.
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Jules was walking down the hallway on the second floor, alongside Chelsea Davies, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet. She was talking with them about hair at the moment as they were making their way down the hall until they’d have to separate and get to different parts of the school.
That’s when, walking briskly down the hall, appeared none other than Ginny Weasley, who was crying at the moment, some of Madam Pomfrey’s pepperup potion visible. Jules had immediately paused her talking, her conversation about showing off her box braids immediately forgotten as Ginny had bumped into her, and Jules got a good look at Ginny’s face, which had tears streaming down it.
The whole group of girls was stunned for a split second while Ginny was reaching for the books she had dropped in the ‘crash’, more specifically an old-looking diary, the cover made of leather, which Ginny immediately latched onto.
“Oh—Chelsea, you go on ahead. Oh—” Jules explained hastily as she immediately turned Ginny around and away from the other girls so they wouldn’t stare at Ginny’s crying face.
“Come on, Gin, let’s find a bathroom, yeah, luv?” Jules said, grabbing Ginny by the shoulders and gently steering her in the direction of any nearby bathroom. Unfortunately, that happened to be Myrtle’s bathroom.
“Come on, wash your face, your eyes will be puffy…” Jules said as she turned the only functional sink in the bathroom on, which functioned with breaks and stutters, but at least functioned. It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom, under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror was a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched, and one of them was dangling off its hinges.
Ginny sniffled as Jules splashed water on her face.
“What’s got you crying, luv?” Jules asked, and Ginny shook her head.
“I’m worried…I don’t even know where to start…” Ginny hesitated, and Jules sighed, crouching down in front of her to hold her hands.
“Worried?” She asked, and Ginny nodded.
“I keep making a fool of myself…and I can’t talk about this sort of stuff with Percy…Or Fred and George…Or Ron…” Ginny explained. “And you’re in another house than me…I barely see you around…” Ginny said, and Jules’ eyes softened.
“Ah, Gin…” Jules sighed as she got up and hugged Ginny. “First year at Hogwarts is always the hardest…” Jules explained, patting the younger girl on the head.
“Fred and George said you got accustomed just fine…” Ginny explained, and Jules snorted.
“Fred and George are both morons sometimes. They barely realize I’m a girl— They’d have thought my worrying was in vain.” Jules explained. “And so is yours. I get it. Percy, Fred, George, and Ron all have the emotional capacity of a brick wall.”
Ginny laughed ever so slightly at Jules’ joke.
“If you can’t find me…try writing some more in your journal, yeah? I kept a journal too until last summer.” Jules offered, then pointed at the journal in Ginny’s hands.
“Just get Fred and George to fetch me…Or Perce…and I’ll come chat with you, okay?” Jules said with a smile, and Ginny nodded.
“Will you also braid my hair? I don’t feel like talking now…” Ginny asked, and Jules nodded.
“Mhm. Just like at the Burrow. Promise.” She said as she ruffled Ginny’s hair before some loud wailing rang through the bathroom, and Jules grimaced.
“Hi, Myrtle…” Jules said with somewhat of a forced smile. Jules had nothing against Myrtle…It’s just that Myrtle tended to say the wrong things at the wrong time. Ginny, however, stiffened as she looked at the floating ghost of moaning Myrtle, who was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.
The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face anyone had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles. She sniffled.
“Oh, someone came to use the bathroom…” she said sulkily. “You’ve come to make fun of me?” she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.
Ginny glanced at Jules as Jules sighed. “No. No— Ah, Ginny, this is Myrtle. She likes to hang around here—”
“I don’t like to hang around here! I died here! And I’m avoiding people! D’you think I don’t know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!”
Jules cringed immediately at those words. Ginny hesitated, but she decided to speak up, hoping to ease Myrtle’s distress. “I think you’re lovely—”
“Lovely?! That’s a lie! Lies! Lies!” Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled into one of the toilets, disappearing from sight. Jules reacted just in time to pull Ginny back to avoid being splashed by the toilet water that erupted thanks to Myrtle’s dive. Ginny snickered, finally smiling thanks to the silly display of a crying ghost inside a bathroom, causing the toilet to erupt, splashing water everywhere.
“I didn’t know we had a haunted bathroom…” Ginny said, feeling somewhat better. Jules smiled as she saw Ginny looking far more relaxed. She figured her older brothers didn't necessarily know how to handle a girl; hell, the twins could barely handle Jules. Percy was not a good help either, with how uptight he was, while Ron was busy doing-...something?
“Yeah? Do you want me to show you some of the secret passages in here?” Jules offered. Ginny was like a little sister to Jules; she had seen Ginny since she was still in diapers, so she did feel somewhat protective of Ginny. The young Weasley perked up at the prospect of being shown around the famous passages that Fred, George, and Jules would keep talking about.
“Oh, please!”
The two girls exited the bathroom, smiling and chatting happily, the earlier tears forgotten as Jules seemed to help ease Ginny’s worries. Even if just for a short while.
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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 smoldering 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.
It was even funnier seeing Fred and George sweating, realizing they needed Jules’ help with the salamander and going to fetch her. This was the one time Percy didn't yell at Jules for coming into the Gryffindor common room, as she got up on a chair with her feet on it, put on some gloves, and managed to catch the firework-spouting salamander, working above the fireplace to make it spit out the remaining fireworks with gentleness.
People snickered and hissed as Jules smacked Fred and George over their heads once she was done. She was fine with pranks, Filch’s drawer proved it, but she didn't like the ones in which magical creatures could get harmed. Which was ridiculous considering the pranks she pulled on people.
Right as the twins were about to protest, she instead showed the safe way for a salamander to absorb the fireworks, the three running out of the room with Percy chasing them hot on their heels down the hall as a happy firework-spitting salamander pranced around the common room, making the Gryffindor students laugh.
--------------------
“Harry, what was that all about?” said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. “I couldn’t hear anything…”
But Hermione 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
“What’s that thing — hanging underneath?” said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.
As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped — there was a large puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and 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.
For a few seconds, they didn’t move. Then Ron said, “Let’s get out of here.”
“Shouldn’t we try and help —” Harry began awkwardly.
“Trust me,” said Ron. “We don’t want to be found here.”
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, Ron, and Hermione 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 Draco Malfoy. 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.
.
.
.
.
Once Harry and his friends were said to be innocent, and everyone was going towards their common rooms, Jules glanced at the twins as the three walked back together. She didn't like this whole situation one bit. Especially because she was a Muggle-born, and she had a bad feeling about Draco’s warning.
“Hey, don't let what Malfoy said bother you…” Fred began, and George nodded.
“No one will touch even one hair on your head with us around.” George offered, and Jules snorted, finally smiling.
“I'll remember that… I'll blame you for any harm…” Jules joked, and both twins grinned at the fact that their friend was back to her usual joking nature.
“But us doing any of our tricks doesn't count, we'll have you know,” Fred said, and George added. “Like, for example, setting fire to something…Or if perhaps something goes missing…”
“You two are awful!” Jules said with a small chuckle, and the Weasley twins high-fived each other behind their backs, relieved that Jules was smiling again.
--------------------
Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said,
“Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle… Come on, let’s go.”
Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle’s gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all three of them jump.
“RON!”
Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, Prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.
“That’s a girls’ bathroom!” he gasped. “What were you —?”
“Just having a look around,” Ron shrugged. “Clues, you know —”
Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of Mrs. Weasley.
“Get— away—from— there—” Perry said, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. “Don’t you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone’s at dinner —”
“Why shouldn’t we be here?” said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy.
“Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!”
“That’s what I told Ginny,” said Percy fiercely, “but she still seems to think you’re going to be expelled. I’ve never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business —”
“You don’t care about Ginny,” said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. “You’re just worried I’m going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy —”
“Whoa, easy now. Oh, did you finally find my bracelet, you three?” Came the familiar voice of Jules Allen, walking over to Ron and shaking his hand, next thing he knew, she was holding up a bracelet that wasn't in Ron’s hand before, and even Ron almost looked confused.
“Ah, thank goodness, I knew I could count on you three,” Jules said with a smile, patting Ron on his shoulder.
“And what are you doing here, Jules?” Percy asked, almost exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Who? Me? Well, I had lost my bracelet when I rushed to the bathroom.” She stated matter of factly as she shrugged, then slowly, drawing out her words almost like an adult talking to a child, she continued “You see when the time of the month comes, Perce, and you do sneeze, sometimes you suddenly feel like you need to really—” Jules began and Percy’s whole face went red with anger and especially embarrassment.
“Stop—stop—stop—I got it…You lost your bracelet here? And you asked them to get it for you? Isn’t that highly irresponsible? Why not do it yourself?” Percy asked, incredulous. Jules nodded, giving a thumbs-up.
“Well, yeah, I had realized I had no tampons left, so I was in a rush against gravity while they searched for it! Duh! Now you can’t exactly take points for a bit of blood, can you? You’re just so cruel, Perce, sheesh! That badge must have gotten to your head.” Jules said, almost mockingly, shaking her head and leaving Percy gaping in disgust and embarrassment at her words, almost reeling back as if burnt while she was busy turning the three younger Gryffindors the other way around to make their escape.
“Sorry, Percy. It was all my fault. It will never happen again! Cross my heart! Don’t be so mean to family, ‘kay ‘kay? Smell you later—Oh, my bad—” Jules called behind her, over her shoulder, snickering, enjoying the torment she was causing Percy, while she began ushering Harry, Ron and Hermione away from the ‘scene of the crime’ as Percy stammered, unable to mutter the words that he'd take out any sort of points from Gryffindor after that display, he was more focused on Jules.
“Fifteen points to Hufflepuff—Get out of here, all of you!” Percy said, furious, turning around sharply and leaving.
“Sheesh…Can’t even take a joke…” Jules grumbled beneath her breath.
The three young Gryffindors sighed in relief as Percy’s form faded down the hall.
“Thank you, Jules,” Ron said first, and Jules gave them all an amused look.
“Don't mention it. I don't know what you three are up to, but Percy doesn’t play when it comes to taking points. Fred, George, and I would know; he’s been targeting us all week. So be careful, alright? And the girl’s bathroom, Ronald? Tsk tsk tsk. Fred and George will have a field day with this.” Jules said as she put her bracelet back on, tugged at it to make sure it wasn't slipping off, and turned the corner, leaving the three with a wave before they could even process all she said.
Ron’s face fell as her words finally settled in. “I’m doomed…” Ron squeaked out, despair settling in at the idea that the twins would find out he went into a girl’s bathroom.
--------------------
As eleven o’clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and
Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry good luck as he entered the locker rooms.
The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood’s usual pre-match pep talk.
“Slytherin has better brooms than us,” he began. “No point denying it. But we’ve got better people on our brooms. We’ve trained harder than they have, we’ve been flying in all weathers — ”(“Too true,” muttered George Weasley. “I haven’t been properly dry since August”) “— and we’re going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team.”
Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry.
“It’ll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we've got to win today, we’ve got to.”
“So no pressure, Harry,” said Fred, winking at him.
As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.
“On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch. “Three… two… one…”
With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.
“All right there, Scarhead?” yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as though to show off the speed of his broom.
Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.
“Close one, Harry!” said George, streaking past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Harry saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again.
Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy.
Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry’s head.
Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible.
Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course.
“Gotcha!” Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though it was magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once more, and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed.
It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto his glasses. He didn’t have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, “Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero”.
The Slytherins’ superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and meanwhile, the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air. Fred and George were now flying so close to him on either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their flailing arms and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.
“Someone’s — tampered — with — this — Bludger —” Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on Harry.
“We need time out,” said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Harry’s nose at the same time.
Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch’s whistle rang out, and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.
“What’s going on?” said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. “We’re being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?”
“We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry, Oliver,” said George angrily. “Someone’s fixed it — it won’t leave Harry alone. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it.”
“But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch’s office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then…” said Wood, anxiously. Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Harry could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in his direction.
“Listen,” said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, “with you two flying around me all the time, the only way I’m going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one.”
“Don’t be thick,” said Fred. “It’ll take your head off.”
Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys.
“Oliver, this is insane,” said Alicia Spinner angrily. “You can’t let Harry deal with that thing on his own. Let’s ask for an inquiry…”
“If we stop now, we’ll have to forfeit the match!” said Harry. “And we’re not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!”
“This is all your fault,” George said angrily to Wood. “‘Get the Snitch or die trying,’ what a stupid thing to tell him —”
Fred and George turned, looking in the Hufflepuff bleachers, getting closer to the edge of the field. Jules Allen, alongside Cedric Diggory, Alastair Roberts, and Chelsea Davies, rushed to the edge of the stands.
“What’s happening?” Jules asked from over the railing separating them from the field.
“Someone’s tempered with the Bludgers, but Harry’s too daft to stop the match,” George explained, and Fred continued.
“Can you guys help us? If we tell Ron, Ginny, or Hermione, they’d immediately stop the match and Harry’d have our hide…Or Wood for that matter.” Fred asked, and the group of Hufflepuffs looked at each other.
“Scout the place to make sure no one is interfering? We can do that…But wouldn’t telling a teacher be–well…safer?” Cedric asked.
“I don’t like this idea one bit…” Alastair said, and Chelsea and Jules swatted Cedric and Alastair to stop their whining.
“If Harry wants to keep playing so the Gryffindors don’t forfeit the match, we can’t say no. We’ll see if anyone is interfering, but if the Bludger was tampered with before, it’s on you two to protect him.” Jules explained as she pointed at Fred and George, and Chelsea nodded along.
“Those bloody snakes…They always seem to find new ways to sink lower…” Chelsea snarled, and Cedric gave an awkward chuckle.
“Let’s not loop them all in…” Cedric tried, and the whole group of students sighed.
“Ced…You really need more backbone…Alright losers—”
“Why are we losers?” Alastair protested.
“Because. Split up!” Jules finished with a clap of her hands as the group of Hufflepuffs rushed off, all complaints forgotten.
The twins returned to the Gryffindor group just as Madam Hooch had joined them. “Ready to resume play?” she asked Wood. Wood looked at the determined look on Harry’s face.
“All right,” he said. “Fred, George, you heard Harry — leave him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on his own.”
The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch’s whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open, rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn’t change direction as quickly as Harry could; he began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goalposts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood —
A whistling in Harry’s ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.
“Training for the ballet, Potter?” yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, glaring back at Malfoy in hatred, he saw it — the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above Malfoy’s left ear — and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry, hadn’t seen it.
For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to speed toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.
WHAM.
He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side — the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face — Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy.
Through a haze of rain and pain, he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him.
“What the —” he gasped, careening out of Harry’s way.
Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch, but was now only gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out. With a splattering thu,d he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.
“Aha,” he said vaguely. “We’ve won.”
And he fainted.
He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field, with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.
“Oh, no, not you,” he moaned.
“Doesn’t know what he’s saying,” said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. “Not to worry, Harry. I’m about to fix your arm.”
“No!” said Harry. “I’ll keep it like this, thanks. . . .”
He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.“I don’t want a photo of this, Colin,” he said loudly.
“Lie back, Harry,” said Lockhart soothingly. “It’s a simple charm I’ve used countless times —”
“Why can’t I just go to the hospital wing?” said Harry through clenched teeth.
“He should really, Professor,” said a muddy Wood, who couldn’t help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. “Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I’d say —”
Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and George Weasley—only to get helped by Jules Allen instead—wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box while the twins moved to sit on the box in order to close it. It was still putting up a terrific fight even with all three forcing it down.
“Stand back,” said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.
“No — don’t —” said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry’s arm. A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry’s shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn’t dare look at what was happening. He had shut his eyes, his face turned away from his arm, but his worst fears were realized as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt anymore — nor did it feel remotely like an arm.
“Ah,” said Lockhart. “Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That’s the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing — ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort him? — and Madam Pomfrey will be able to — er — tidy you up a bit.”
As Harry got to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him pass out again.
Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh- colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.
Lockhart hadn’t mended Harry’s bones. He had removed them. Madam Pomfrey wasn’t at all pleased.
--------------------
The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.
Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.
At least Jules was rather quick to comfort Ginny. She was like a big sister to Ginny after all. Sure, she joined in the pranks and helped the twins, but when she found out about the nightmares, Jules had taken it upon herself to talk with Ginny and help her out the best she could. Ginny was thankful. Percy kept mumbling something about ‘acting like a competent person for once’ when Jules would sneak into the common room to help him out with comforting Ginny… That was until Jules decided to play a prank on him, and she was not given a pardon to enter the Gryffindor common room anymore.
--------------------
“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” said Seamus.
“First meeting tonight! I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days. . . .”
“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest.
“Could be useful,” he said to Harry and Hermione as they went into dinner.“Shall we go?”
Harry and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o’clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished, and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more, and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.
“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd.
“Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young — maybe it’ll be him.”
“As long as it’s not —” Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.
Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, “Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!”
“Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works. Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile.
“He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry — you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!”
“Wouldn’t it be good if they finished each other off?” Ron muttered in Harry’s ear.
Snape’s upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that, he’d have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.
Harry heard the familiar sound of jingling behind him, and he turned to see Jules Allen with Fred and George Weasley, placing bets. They were sitting further away alongside their group of friends, Hufflepuffs Chelsea Davies, Alastair Roberts, and Cedric Diggory, and Gryffindors Lee Jordan, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson.
“One sickle for Lockhart losing.” George began.
“One sickle that Lockhart forfeits,” Jules said with a hum.
“One sickle for Lockhart winning,” Fred said, and both Jules and George paused, scrunching their faces up in disbelief.
“What are you doing? Losing on purpose? You’re such a prat!” Jules hissed out, shaking the boy, and Fred swatted at her, looking rather smug and pleased with himself that he was able to ragebait Jules and George so badly.
“Gerroff! Gerroff me, woman!” Fred hissed.
“You bloody well deserve it,” George added, shaking his head in disappointment.
“Hush, you lot, you’re all being loud as hell. It’s like listening to Jordan in his booth.” Angelina said, and Lee scowled.
“And what is wrong with my commenting?” He asked.
“Nothing…” Angelina said as she looked away, making everyone chuckle.
“Oh God, what is this man doing—” Cedric snapped everyone out of their conversation as Lockhart was now getting ready for his duel.
“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart told the now silent crowd. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth.
“One — two — three —”
Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: “Expelliarmus!” There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light, and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.
Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. “Do you think he’s all right?” she squealed through her fingers.
Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off, and his wavy hair was standing on end.
“Well, there you have it!” he said, tottering back onto the platform. “That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I’ve lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…”
Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, “Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me —”
They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, then Jules and Lee got partnered together, while Fred was partnered with Cedric, and George was partnered with Alastair, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.
“Time to split up the dream team, I think,” he sneered. “Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter —”
Harry moved automatically toward Hermione.
“I don’t think so,” said Snape, smiling coldly. “Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let’s see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger — you can partner Miss Bulstrode.”
Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a Slytherin girl who reminded Harry of a picture he’d seen in Holidays with Hags. She was large and square, and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that she did not return.
“Face your partners!” called Lockhart, back on the platform. “And bow!”
Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.
“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents — only to disarm them — we don’t want any accidents — one… two… three —”
Harry swung his wand high, but Malfoy had already started on “two”: His spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he’d been hit over the head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but everything still seemed to be working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, “Rictusempra!”
A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach, and he doubled up, wheezing.
“I said disarm only!” Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing. Harry hung back, with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the floor, but this was a mistake; gasping for breath, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry’s knees, choked, “Tarantallegra!” and the next second Harry’s legs began to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quickstep.
“Stop! Stop!” screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge. “Finite Incantatem!” he shouted; Harry’s feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing, and they were able to look up.
A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done, but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Many more groups had ended up in a state of disarray, Jules was on the floor, clutching her ribs, while Fred and George, with Fred having soot all over his face and George being wet as if he took a stroll in the lake, had both rushed to her, Lee Jordan was apologising from next to the twins as they were trying to lift her up. Harry leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger than he was.
“Dear, dear,” said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels.
“Up you go, Macmillan…”
“Careful there, Miss Fawcett… Pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second,”
“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. “Let’s have a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you —”
“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat.
“Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of FinchFletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.” Neville’s round, pink face went pinker. “How about Malfoy and Potter?” said Snape with a twisted smile.
“Excellent idea!” said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.
“Now, Harry,” said Lockhart. “When Draco points his wand at you, you do this.”
He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, “Whoops— my wand is a little overexcited—”
Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart and said, “Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?”
“Scared?” muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn’t hear him.
“You wish,” said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.
Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. “Just do what I did, Harry!”
“What, drop my wand?” But Lockhart wasn’t listening.
“Three — two — one — go!” he shouted.
Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, “Serpensortia!”
The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.
“Don’t move, Potter,” said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. “I’ll get rid of it…”
“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake, and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.
Harry wasn’t sure what made him do it. He wasn’t even aware of deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him forward as though he was on casters and that he had shouted stupidly at the snake, “Leave him alone!” And miraculously — inexplicably — the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn’t attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn’t have explained.
He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful — but certainly not angry and scared.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall. Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry didn’t like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.
“Come on,” said Ron’s voice in his ear. “Move — come on —”
Ron steered him out of the hall, Hermione hurrying alongside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something.
Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on, and neither Ron nor Hermione explained anything until they had dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room.
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A group of the Hufflepuffs who should have been in Herbology were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they didn’t seem to be working.
Between the long lines of high bookshelves, Harry could see that their heads were close together and they were having what looked like an absorbing conversation. He couldn’t see whether Justin was among them. He was walking toward them when something of what they were saying met his ears, and he paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section.
“So anyway,” a stout boy was saying, “I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter’s marked him down as his next victim, it’s best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter that he was Muggleborn. Justin actually told him he’d been down for Eton. That’s not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin’s heir on the loose, is it?”
“You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?” said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.
“Hannah,” said the stout boy solemnly, “he’s a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that’s the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue.”
There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, “Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware. Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Filch’s cat's attacked. That first year, Creevey, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know — Creevey’s been attacked.”
“He always seems so nice, though,” said Hannah uncertainly, “and, well, he’s the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can’t be all bad, can he?”
Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie’s words.
“No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that.” He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, “That’s probably why You- Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter’s been hiding?”
Harry couldn’t take any more. Clearing his throat loudly, he stepped out from behind the bookshelves. If he hadn’t been feeling so angry, he would have found the sight that greeted him funny: Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been Petrified by the sight of him, and the color was draining out of Ernie’s face.
“Hello,” said Harry. “I’m looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley.”
The Hufflepuffs’ worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie. “What do you want with him?” said Ernie in a quavering voice.
“I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Dueling Club,” said Harry.
Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, “We were all there. We saw what happened.”
“Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?” said Harry.
“All I saw,” said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, “was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin.”
“I didn’t chase it at him!” Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. “It didn’t even touch him!”
“It was a very near miss,” said Ernie. “And in case you’re getting ideas,” he added hastily, “I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood’s as pure as anyone’s, so —”
“- I don’t care what sort of blood you’ve got!” said Harry fiercely. “Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?”
“I’ve heard you hate those Muggles you live with,” said Ernie swiftly.
“It’s not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them,” said Harry. “I’d like to see you try it.”
He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.
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As Harry stormed out, Jules and Ginny were just passing by the library table, and Hermione was walking into the library. Jules, seeing the younger Hufflepuffs and recognizing them immediately, frowned. Ginny, however, looked saddened at the awful insults that had been thrown Harry’s way.
Hermione, having heard the last bit of the conversation, was just as displeased, but before she could turn around and leave, Jules took the book that she had just helped Ginny find—whole reason she was in the library considering she wouldn’t willingly set foot here often—closed it, and walked closer to the table where the young Hufflepuffs were sitting, hitting Ernie upside the head since he had been the most vocal.
Ernie hissed while his friends immediately shrank in their seats. Jules was known among Hufflepuffs, and crossing her was always a bad idea.
“Ow—Who just—” Ernie grumbled and froze as he was now face-to-face with a very displeased-looking Jules.
“It’s all fun and games to gossip until you actually spout a loud of—bollocks—” She accentuated her last word, hitting Ernie upside the head again with her book, making the younger Hufflepuff cover the back of his head.
“But he was the one who attacked the Muggleborns—And with the snake too, he—” Ernie tried to protest, and Jules scoffed.
“Are you mad in your London head, rudeboy? He has a Muggleborn best friend, and you’re talking shite? Don’t chat to me, bruv. Shut up, the lot of you. I hear one more ‘Harry this, Harry that’ I won't play, you hear me? "Cos I’ll personally put your knickers out as flags by the window. Caught that?” Jules told the young years off, waving the book she had taken from Ginny around. Ginny covered her mouth, trying not to laugh out loud as Jules was telling the group off, especially as her accent had slipped, while the second years were sitting there with their faces ablaze in shame.
Hermione watched from her hiding spot, her eyes wide, as Jules and Ginny walked away, and the group that was missing Herbology went back to their work quietly. Hermione rushed after Ginny and Jules, wanting to catch up to them.
“Ah, Jules,” Hermione called out, and Jules and Ginny paused, both turning around.
“Oh, hiya Granger.” Jules said with a smile, and Hermione looked back.
“Thank you,” Hermione said, and Jules snorted.
“For what? that? Oh. Don’t mind the lot, they’re chinwaggers. I wouldn’t say I’m any better, but I don’t go around and insult people to their face unless they earned it. In my book, Harry’s innocent.” Jules explained, and Hermione nodded, relieved to know some people were on Harry’s side. Ginny looked between Hermione and Jules and finally turned to Hermione.
“Do you want to sit with us?” Ginny asked, and Hermione’s eyes widened. Sure, she sometimes sat around with the Parvati twins, but it wasn’t often, and it didn’t seem like they particularly enjoyed her company. She never got the whole thing about having ‘girlfriends’ and gossiping with them. Jules looked at Hermione and Ginny, and her eyes somewhat softened.
“Come on, Granger. I’ll show you some proper chinwagging then. Say, have you ever tried any products for your hair? Those are some lovely curls, but that is not the right texture...” Jules said, and Hermione clutched her books tighter.
“Give me a second to return these and I’ll be right back!” Hermione said, perhaps more excitedly than she wanted to show she was, before rushing to return her books to Madam Pince as quickly as she could. She was finally making a ‘girlfriend’.
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The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick’s fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? People asked each other, What terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas.
“At this rate, we’ll be the only ones left,” Ron told Harry and Hermione. “Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it’s going to be.”
Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too. But Harry was glad that most people were leaving. He was tired of people skirting around him in the corridors, as though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed.
Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, “Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through…”
Jules, behind him, would make trumpet noises, like a fanfare.
“Oi! Those trumpets are shite! Be alive, we serve the Heir of Slytherin!” Fred called out to Jules, and she huffed, marching forth and smacking Fred over the head, making George laugh.
“Then you bloody do it if it’s easy! Shoo! To the back! Making me do the trumpets and still being pretentious.” Jules said, and George snickered while Fred switched places with Jules, jokingly glaring at her..
“What a nice lady you are,” George said sarcastically.
“I’ll send you to the back as well if you don’t zip it.” Jules joked, making George snicker while Fred was busy bursting their eardrums with an even worse imitation of a trumpet than Jules’.
“Hear ye, hear ye, thy saviour has cometh. The heir of Slytherin.” Jules loudly proclaimed, putting on her most posh accent as the group marched on.
Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior, not to mention that Jules wasn't even in his care.
“It is not a laughing matter,” he said coldly.
“Oh, get out of the way, Percy,” said Fred. “Harry’s in a hurry.”
“Yeah, he’s off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant,” said George, chortling.
“He might have left his crumpets in the oven! You don't want Hogwarts to burn down next because he burnt his crumpets, do you? You’d be responsible if it did.” Added Jules, laughing loudly.
Ginny didn’t find it amusing either.
“Oh, don’t,” she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met. Ginny also hated when Jules pulled out a bottle of something Jules labeled as ‘Holy Water’, and began to ‘purify’ Harry. It was just water with lemon, but who would ever find out? Well, unless you watched Jules drink it when she was thirsty.
Harry didn’t mind; it made him feel better that Jules, Fred, and George, at least, thought the idea of him being Slytherin’s heir was quite ludicrous. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.
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The rest of Harry’s Christmas presents were far more satisfactory. Hagrid had sent him a large tin of treacle fudge, which Harry decided to soften by the fire before eating; Ron had given him a book called Flying with the Cannons, a book of interesting facts about his favorite Quidditch team, and Hermione had bought him a luxurious eagle-feather quill. Harry opened the last present to find a new, hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a large plum cake. He read her card with a fresh surge of guilt, thinking about Mr. Weasley’s car (which hadn’t been seen since its crash with the Whomping Willow), and the bout of rule-breaking he and Ron were planning next.
No one, not even someone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later, could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts
The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Jules had joined their Christmas table just like last year, wearing matching sweaters with Fred and George. Percy, who hadn’t noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read “Pinhead,” kept asking them all what they were sniggering at. Harry didn’t even care that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remark about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit of luck, Malfoy would be getting his comeuppance in a few hours’ time.
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Lockhart’s idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February fourteenth. Harry hadn’t had much sleep because of a late-running Quidditch practice the night before, and he hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. He thought, for a moment, that he’d walked through the wrong doors.
The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Harry went over to the Gryffindor table,
where Ron was sitting, looking sickened, and Hermione seemed to have been overcome with giggles.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off his bacon.
Ron pointed to the teachers’ table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where he sat, Harry could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall’s cheek. Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of SkeleGro.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted. “And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all — and it doesn’t end here!”
Lockhart clapped his hands, and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly looking dwarves. Not just any dwarves, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.
Jules, Fred, and George were toppled over, all trying not to burst out into laughter. George had almost fallen off his seat as he listened to Lockhart.
“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!”
Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.
“Please, Hermione, tell me you weren’t one of the forty-six,” said Ron as they left the Great Hall for their first lesson. Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her schedule and didn’t answer.
All day long, the dwarves kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers. Fred and George Weasley also got their own dwarves around lunch, causing the twins to sputter and freeze in shock in the hallway as Lee Jordan and Jules Allen were loudly chortling and high-fiving each other at the silly poems the dwarves were reciting. Fred and George glared daggers at their friends, who obviously seemed to be the perpetrators of this prank, but despite it all, they were grinning at how brilliant the joke was; their whole group of friends, formed of both Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, had a good laugh.
Late that afternoon, as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarves caught up with Harry.
“Oy, you! ‘Arry Potter!” shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.
Hot all over at the thought of being given a Valentine in front of a line of first years, which happened to include Ginny Weasley, Harry tried to escape. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people’s shins and reached him before he'd gone two paces.
“I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ‘Arry Potter in person,” he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.
“Not here,” Harry hissed, trying to escape.
“Stay still!” grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry’s bag and pulling him back.
“Let me go!” Harry snarled, tugging.
With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor, and his ink bottle smashed over everything.
Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor.
“What’s going on here?” came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical valentine.
“What’s all this commotion?” said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived.
Jules, Fred, George, and Lee were just arriving in that direction as well, the twins looking confused, but Jules and Lee caught on to what was happening quickly, as they elbowed the two and pointed at the dwarf. They all immediately began to snicker, watching with anticipation.
Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor.
“Right,” he said, sitting on Harry’s ankles. “Here is your singing valentine:”
“His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard,
I wish he was mine,
He’s really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”
Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth, especially Jules Allen and Fred and George Weasley.
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Harry went to bed before anyone else in his dormitory that night. This was partly because he didn’t think he could stand Fred and George singing, “His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad” one more time, especially not after they sang it down the halls alongside Jules while following him around, and partly because he wanted to examine Riddle’s diary again, and knew that Ron thought he was wasting his time.
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“Perfect Quidditch conditions!” said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team’s plates with scrambled eggs. “Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast.”
Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of Riddle’s diary was right in front of his eyes. Hermione had been urging him to report the robbery, but Harry didn’t like the idea. He’d have to tell a teacher all about the diary, and how many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? He didn’t want to be the one who brought it all up again.
As he left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and collect his Quidditch things, another very serious worry was added to Harry’s growing list. He had just set foot on the marble staircase when he heard it yet again.
“Kill this time… let me rip… tear…”
He shouted aloud, and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from him in alarm.
“The voice!” said Harry, -looking over his shoulder. “I just heard it again — didn’t you?” Ron shook his head, wide-eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.
“Harry — I think I’ve just understood something! I’ve got to go to the library!” And she sprinted away, up the stairs.
“What does she understand?” said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.
“Loads more than I do,” said Ron, shaking his head.
“But why’s she got to go to the library?”
“Because that’s what Hermione does,” said Ron, shrugging. “When in doubt, go to the library.”
Harry stood, irresolute, trying to catch the voice again, but people were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch.
“You’d better get moving,” said Ron. “It’s nearly eleven — the match —”
Harry raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected his Nimbus Two Thousand, and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds, but his mind was still in the castle along with the bodiless voice, and as he pulled on his scarlet robes in the locker room, his only comfort was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.
The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goal posts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics.
But one player was missing.
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Jules was just exiting the bathroom, hissing loudly as she knew she was going to be late for the match if she didn’t get a move on soon, but it wasn’t like she could control her bladder on demand. As she was rushing down the hall, passing by the library to get to the nearest exit to the Quidditch Field, she bumped into someone, causing both her and the person she bumped into to fall to the ground.
Jules and the person she bumped into both groaned, and Jules glanced to see who she accidentally toppled over.
“Oh! Hiya, Hermione.” Jules said, dusting herself off and giving an apologetic smile. “Come on, let’s get you up.” Jules offered her hand, helping Hermione up.
“Not going to watch the match? I might get some actual action this time.” Jules asked, quirking a brow, and Hermione looked down at the book she was holding, then at the mirror she had bent to pick up from off the floor.
“No, no, I am going to be making my way there soon…I just needed to fetch some things.” Hermione explained, and Jules nodded, glancing down at the mirror as well.
“What’s this for? Don’t tell me insecurities already hit?” Jules joked, pointing to the mirror.
“Well…To be honest, do you remember Penelope Clearwater?”Hermione explained, and Jules nodded.
“Well, yes. Ravenclaw, right? Prefect?” Jules said, and Hermione nodded.
“Yes. Well…I heard when she was petrified last week, and so I did some digging…I heard she was holding a mirror.” Hermione explained, and Jules immediately scowled.
“Absolutely not. Are you mental? Are you going to go hunting for whatever is causing this chaos? You’re taking the mickey.” Jules said, shaking her head at the absurd idea. Hermione, however, looked down at her mirror.
“I’m not going to go hunting for it per se…I just wanted to do some research—” Hermione tried to explain, and she looked down at Hermione’s mirror as well.
“That’s pure mental. It’s dangerous as hell! I can’t let you do that. Sorry, Hermione, but absolutely not, this sort of research should come from books only, you hear?” Jules said, wanting to snatch the mirror away, but as the two of them stared in the small mirror Hermione was holding, the sound of something akin to a slither across the stone floors could be heard. They both paused, glancing at each other, stiffening immediately as a sense of dread seemed to fill them both. Whatever that was sounded—well…big.
“Don’t look up. Keep looking at the mirror.” Jules hissed out, gripping her broom tighter. She was already debating ways to get herself and her younger friend out of this situation. Hermione wanted to speak, assure Jules it must have been nothing, and they’re being paranoid because of their conversation... She did not get the chance to.
The last thing they both remember is looking down in the mirror, a dark creature looming behind them, its eyes the last thing they had seen before it all went to black. They have been petrified.
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It was already getting late, the match was going to be postponed at this rate if Jules Allen did not show up..
Fred and George were still on the ground, frowning and looking around. Harry was just about to mount his broom.
“Where's Jules…” George muttered with worry, and Fred frowned even further.
“She's not usually late to a match… The Hufflepuffs can't play without her…They have no Beater to replace her…” Fred added, and Harry felt dread starting to build up inside.
Harry was just about to take off on his broom when Professor McGonagall came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone. Harry’s heart dropped like a stone.
“This match has been cancelled,” Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.
“But, Professor!” he shouted. “We’ve got to play — the cup —Gryffindor —”
Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone:
“All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!” Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Harry over to her.
“Potter, I think you’d better come with me…”
Wondering how she could possibly suspect him this time, Harry saw Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd; he came running up to them as they set off toward the castle. To Harry’s surprise, Professor McGonagall didn’t object.
“Yes, perhaps you’d better come, too, Weasley… And of course, Mister and Mister Weasley.” McGonagall called out, making Fred and George look at each other, confused. And Harry was even more confused.
Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about the match being canceled; others looked worried. Harry, Ron, Fred, and George followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the marble staircase. But they weren’t taken to anybody’s office this time.
“If it's about the drawer, we were not responsible.” Fred began.
“And even if we were, Professor, Harry and Ron weren't involved.“ George added.
“Plus, why are we going to the infirmary— It was a harmless prank unless you’d try and shove your head in the drawers—”
“Drawers—? Not the time now…This will be a bit of a shock,” said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the infirmary. “There has been another attack… a double attack this time.”
Harry’s insides did a horrible somersault while Ron, Fred, and George paled. Professor McGonagall pushed the door open, and he and Ron entered… Madam Pomfrey was bending over a fourth-year girl with curly hair styled in an afro, dark skin, and the familiar canary yellow Quidditch equipment on her. None other than Jules Allen, the twins’ best friend.
Fred and George looked like they were going to throw up right then and there at the sight.
“This is a prank…” Fred muttered while George was locked in place.
And on the bed next to Jules was—
“Hermione!” Ron groaned, though his eyes kept traveling between Jules and Hermione. Of course, Ron would also be affected when seeing Jules looking like a statue; she had been a friend of the Weasleys’ for such a long time, she might as well have been family.
Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy.
“They were found near the library,” said Professor McGonagall. “I don’t suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them…”
She was holding up a small, circular mirror. Harry and Ron shook their heads, both staring at Hermione.
Fred and George finally sprang from their frozen state to rush to Jules’ bed, their brooms clattering on the ground, left forgotten. They both reached out, almost too scared to touch a petrified Jules, until they finally grabbed her hands. She was so cold, the twins were pale, and any sort of smile was wiped right off their faces.
“I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower,” said Professor McGonagall heavily. “I need to address the students in any case.”
“All students will return to their House common rooms by six o’clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities.”
The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, “I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward.”
She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately.
“That’s two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, and two Hufflepuffs, “ said the Weasley twins’ friend Lee Jordan, who was also a friend of Jules, counting on his fingers. “Haven't any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn’t it obvious all this stuff’s coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin — why don’t they just chuck all the Slytherins out?” he roared, to nods and scattered applause.
“If they had noticed, Jules could—... “ Lee muttered, glancing at the twins. Fred and George had both stiffened at the mutter. Alicia stifled a sound akin to a sob while Angelina pulled Alicia closer. Lee, Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia were close to Jules; the five Gryffindors were often seen as they hung out with Jules and her Hufflepuff friends.
Percy Weasley was sitting in a chair behind Lee, but for once, he didn’t seem keen to make his views heard. He was looking pale and stunned as Ginny sobbed into his shoulder. Percy had been somewhat distant since the attack on the Ravenclaw Prefect from last week, Penelope Clearwater. The news of today’s attack had only worsened his mood.
“Percy’s in shock,” Fred told Harry quietly, far too weakly and reluctantly for his usual manner. George didn't speak up yet.
But Harry was only half-listening. He didn’t seem to be able to get rid of the picture of Hermione, lying on the hospital bed as though carved out of stone. And if the culprit wasn’t caught soon, he was looking at a lifetime back with the Dursleys. Tom Riddle had turned Hagrid in because he was faced with the prospect of a Muggle orphanage if the school closed.
Harry now knew exactly how he had felt.
“What’re we going to do?” said Ron quietly in Harry’s ear. “D’you think they suspect Hagrid?”
“We’ve got to go and talk to him,” said Harry, making up his mind. “I can’t believe it’s him this time, but if he set the monster loose last time, he’ll know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that’s a start.”
“But McGonagall said we’ve got to stay in our tower unless we’re in class —”
“I think,” said Harry, more quietly still, “it’s time to get my dad’s old cloak out again.”
.
.
.
.
Fred and George weren't good with feelings or expressing them. That was Jules’ job.
It was Jules’ job to smack sense into them when they went too far with Ron, or join in their pranks, or begin to bicker with them. Or tell them off when they try showing off to Angelina Johnson or Katie Bell. They had known something was wrong from the moment she hadn’t stepped on the Quidditch field at the proper time and ended up running late. They felt like utter garbage after the news. They had promised her they’d protect her back when the first message about the Chamber of Secrets and Heir of Slytherin had appeared. Seeing her lying in that bed, pale, cold, and motionless, was like a wake-up call to reality…Jules could have been a target at any point during the year, and they would have been powerless to protect her.
Jules was supposed to play that day, she was supposed to congratulate them when they won and then whine about her loss, not lie in a bed looking like a statue, like she was—they did not dare finish that horrifying thought. Fred and George didn’t know who was responsible, but they swore they’d hunt that person down and make them pay.
Lee Jordan, their friend, glanced at the twins, who were the last ones left inside the common room as Alicia ran out crying and Angelina rushed after her, holding back her own tears. Fred’s leg was bouncing, while George just looked like he didn’t know what to do.
Lee was also a friend of Jules’ and even he was devastated by the news. He couldn’t imagine what the twins must be feeling; however, Jules had been their friend since they were kids.
“How are you holding up?” Lee asked as he sat down across from the twins. Fred looked up and sighed.
“I feel like real bloody shite…I don’t know what to do to—” Fred said, not even sure how to finish his sentence, while George shook his head, trying to find his words.
“Honestly, it doesn’t feel real…” George added, and Lee nodded.
“Yeah…If the teachers could realize sooner that the Slytherins are behind this, maybe she—” Lee tried, and Fred groaned in frustration. Both twins hated the situation, and they were worried sick for Jules; it was clear.
Even worse, they were going to miss Jules more than they’d like to admit.
“...Fred? George?” A voice came from next to them, making the twins stiffen. It was Ginny, her eyes red and puffy from crying. The twins immediately felt their stomachs drop. Jules was like a big sister to Ginny. She’d braid her hair and teach Ginny all sorts of things, like when Jules showed off her nails after the first time she had used nail polish. It was only a clear coat, but Ginny and Jules had giggled over them for days. Like when Ginny would pull Jules aside when she wanted to talk about Harry during the summer, before he had arrived at the Burrow, or simply behind Harry’s back.
“Is—Jules will be okay, right?” Ginny asked, trying to keep more tears at bay. Fred looked like he had just been sucker punched to the face, and George sucked in a sharp breath. Combining their worry with their little sister’s tears was the worst combo for them right now.
Lee sat up slowly. “I’ll…go see where Angelina and Alicia went—” He excused himself, rushing off, which was understandable.
“Jules will be okay…She’s really strong.” George said, almost sounding as if he was trying to convince himself.
“Let’s…play some Exploding Snap, yeah? It will help us relax…Get our mind off of things…” Fred said, stirring Ginny towards the couch, glancing around. It seemed that Percy had run off to send a letter back home about what happened with Jules. He must not have been able to deal with Ginny at the moment; he had been acting weird since the news about that one prefect getting petrified as well, just last week.
“Okay…” Ginny responded weakly, the twins and their little sister making their way to the couch.
--------------------
Harry went to get the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk right after dinner, and spent the evening sitting on it, waiting for the room to clear. Fred and George challenged Harry and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, and Ginny sat watching them, her eyes red from crying, very subdued in Hermione’s usual chair. Harry and Ron kept losing on purpose, trying to finish the games quickly, but even so, it was well past midnight when Fred, George, and Ginny finally went to bed.
Harry and Ron couldn’t say no to the game. It was clear the twins needed some morale boost after what had happened with Jules. Ron mentioned how he had never seen Fred and George so lost.
Harry and Ron waited for the distant sounds of two dormitory doors closing before seizing the cloak, throwing it over themselves, and climbing through the portrait hole.
It was another difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the teachers. At last, they reached the entrance hall, slid back the lock on the oak front doors, squeezed between them, trying to stop any creaking, and stepped out into the moonlit grounds.
“’Course,” said Ron abruptly as they strode across the black grass, “we might get to the forest and find there’s nothing to follow. Those spiders might not’ve been going there at all. I know it looked like they were moving in that sort of general direction, but…”
His voice trailed away hopefully.
--------------------
“The Heir of Slytherin,” said Professor McGonagall, who was very white, “left another message. Right underneath the first one. ‘Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.’ ” Professor Flitwick burst into tears.
“Who is it?” said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed, into a chair. “Which student?”
“Ginny Weasley,” said Professor McGonagall.
Harry felt Ron slide silently down onto the wardrobe floor beside him.
.
.
.
.
It was probably the worst day of Harry’s entire life. He, Ron, Fred, and George sat together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, unable to say anything to each other. Percy wasn’t there. He had gone to send an owl to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then shut himself up in his dormitory.
No afternoon ever lasted as long as that one, nor had Gryffindor Tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet. Near sunset, Fred and George went up to bed, unable to sit there any longer. The twins looked even more defeated than before. First, their best friend, now their little sister. They didn’t know what to do with themselves.
--------------------
Harry had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. Harry didn’t know whether the best bit was Hermione running toward him, screaming “You solved it! You solved it!” or Justin hurrying over from the Hufflepuff table to wring his hand and apologize endlessly for suspecting him, or Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Harry and Ron so hard on the shoulders that they were knocked into their plates of trifle, or seeing Fred and George finally fully smiling again as they almost got tackled by Jules rushing to hug them, making the twins catch her and pick her up as she jumped them, or his and Ron’s four hundred points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the second year running, or Professor McGonagall standing up to tell them all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat (“Oh, no!” said Hermione), or Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.
“Shame,” said Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. “He has started to grow on me.”
The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences — Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled (“but we’ve had plenty of practice at that anyway,” Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.
Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Jules, Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to themselves. They made the most of the last few hours in which they were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, set off the very last of Fred, George, and Jules’ Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming each other by magic. Harry was getting very good at it.
They were almost at King’s Cross when Harry remembered something.
“Ginny – what did you see Percy doing, that he didn’t want you to tell anyone?”
“Oh, that,” said Ginny, giggling. “Well — Percy’s got a girlfriend.”
Fred almost dropped a stack of books on Jules’s head, who quickly dodged, the books hitting George instead, making him groan and rub his head. “What?”
“It’s that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” said Ginny. “That’s who he was writing to all last summer. He’s been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. You won’t tease him, will you?” she added anxiously.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.
“Definitely not,” said George, sniggering.
“Who, me? Never.” Jules added, beaming innocently, but the glint in her eyes said she was clearly lying.
The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped. Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron and Hermione.
“This is called a telephone number,” he told Ron, scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. “I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer — he’ll know. Call me at the Dursleys’, okay? I can’t stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to…”
Jules coughed, making a ‘gimme’ sort of motion with her hand, and Harry smiled, scribbling the number down a third time, handing it to Jules.
“Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won’t they?” said Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. “When they hear what you did this year?”
“Proud?” said Harry. “Are you crazy? All those times I could’ve died, and I didn’t manage it? They’ll be furious…”
And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world.
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IamCringe on Chapter 1 Fri 05 Sep 2025 10:24AM UTC
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