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

As for the others, Harry couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of annoyance with Ron and Hermione. The clearer it became that Lockhart was a useless, pretty boy of a fraud, the more vociferously Hermione defended him. Harry could’ve sworn he’d seen her studious focus lapse into sappy staring on more than one occasion. And Ron’s anger was becoming harder and harder to keep leashed. He’d heard his friend pounding his pillow in the evenings, and it was surely only a matter of time before he snapped and attacked Malfoy.

A great solace to them both was Riddle’s diary, which continued to be excellent company. Harry was beginning to wonder how they’d managed at Hogwarts without it.

On Saturday morning, they planned to all go and visit Hagrid together with Luna, who Harry had seen little of since the start of term. However, the intervening period of sleep was rudely cut short by Oliver Wood physically shaking the dreams out of him.

“Whassamatter?&rdq uo; said Harry groggily.

“Quidditch practice!” said Wood. “Come on!”

Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn’t understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

“Oliver,” Harry croaked. “It’s the crack of dawn.”

“Exactly,” said Wood. His eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm.

Harry rubbed the sleep from his face just to better show Oliver his displeasure.

“It’s part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let’s go,” said Wood heartily. “None of the other teams have started training yet; we’re going to be first off the mark this year...”

Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes. “Sleep’s pretty important for training,” he muttered.

Apparently, his captain didn’t hear him. Or perhaps his new strategy for dealing with insolence was to pretend it didn’t exist. “Good man. Meet you on the pitch in fifteen minutes.”

When he’d found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he’d gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.

“I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! I wanted to ask, you know, I mean I know that Slytherin boy got in the way of the photo, and...” Colin waved his camera in a vaguely hopeful motion.

Harry looked back up the completely empty stairwell, considered the time, and just barely held himself back from making a comment. He was almost as curious as he was creeped out by the way Colin had found him.

“No, Colin,” said Harry, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. “Sorry, I haven’t got time, I’m in a hurry – Quidditch practice...”

He climbed through the portrait hole. “Oh, wow! Wait for me! I’ve never watched a Quidditch game before!”

And, predictably, Colin stuck to him like an extremely talkative shadow all the way down to the pitch. Harry resorted to wishing one of the gargoyles would fall off the castle walls and bang him on the head so that he wouldn’t be able to hear the boy’s excited yammering. He only shook Colin off when he reached the changing rooms; Colin called after him in a piping voice, “I’ll go and get a good seat, Harry!” and hurried off to the stands.

The rest of the Gryffindor team were already there, though Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired next to Alicia, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Katie and Angelina yawned side by side on the opposite bench.

“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 coloured 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’s head drooped right onto Alicia’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 are the champions.” There was a muted cheer at that. “That means we’ve all got targets painted on our backs.”

“Guess we should all take a quick shower,” said Fred.

“Come on team,” said Wood. “Do you want to be the ones handing that cup back to the Slytherins?”

That got a reaction.

“Right then,” said Wood, apparently satisfied with their level of inspiration. “This year we train harder, longer and better. Let’s get out there and put our new theories into practice!”

He seized his broomstick with his usual fervour and led them out onto the pitch. Slapping themselves awake, the team tried, and failed, to reach half of his energy levels.

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 all the others sitting together in the stands.

“Aren’t you finished yet?” called Ron incredulously.

“Haven’t even started,” said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron was munching on. “Wood’s been teaching us new moves.”

“Don’t worry,” said Ginny, “there’s some honey on toast and hash browns waiting for you.”

Harry mounted his broomstick with a stomach now aching for the promised food, but a mind well motivated to getting practise out of the way as soon as possible. This was a wish he would soon come to regret.

However, as he felt his broom hum beneath him, smoothly carrying him into the sky, he felt his mortal woes melt away. The cool morning air whipping his face stripped away the lethargy far more effectively than Wood’s long talk. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.

“What’s that funny clicking noise?” called Fred as they hurtled around the corner.

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 burst 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.”

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.

“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 their prized 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.

“Oh, look,” said Flint. “A field invasion.”

Harry’s friends were all crossing the grass to see what was going on. Or, four of them were. Luna might have just decided to join in for the sake of a stroll.

“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.

There was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, “How dare you!”, and Ron plunged his hand into his robes and 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 end of Ron’s wand, only to splash harmlessly against a translucent shield.

“That’s enough,” said Ginny. She was lacking her usual fire though. “He’s not worth it. Honestly, Malfoy, are you gay for Harry or something?”

Malfoy spluttered. “Wh-what? What did you just say?”

“Gay,” said Ginny calmly. “Homosexual. You want his dick-”

“I understand the word gay, you trollop!” Malfoy seethed.

Having recovered from the shock, Harry shared a smirk with Hermione. His girlfriend was truly brilliant. She was completely mad, to be true, but she was brilliant.

“You couldn’t leave him alone all of first year after he rejected you,” said Ginny. “And now you’re trying his position in Quidditch, so... what? You can try to be better than him at something? Maybe have something in common with him? Spend a bit more time... close to him?”

Ron and Malfoy had completely switched roles. The usually pale Slytherin was bright red in his rage, and was now going for his own wand.

“That’s enough, Weasley,” said Flint. “If Potter wants to advertise for male company he can do it in the Prophet or something.”

That calmed Malfoy down enough that he dropped his hand from his robe pocket.

“If Harry Potter wanted company of any kind...” said Fred.

“He wouldn’t need to advertise,” George finished.

“Now, are we going to play Quidditch or are we going to stay here grandstanding all day?” said Harry. He was eyeing the stacked plates Neville and Hermione were carrying with great desire.

Wood was still angry, but he was weighing up his options, and eventually sighed. “We’ll come back later. Enjoy the new brooms, lads. You might need them.”

“Right you are, Wood,” Flint smirked.

“You gave up?” Angelina said disbelievingly once they were out of earshot.

Wood shrugged. “They’d have just sabotaged our practise, even forgetting the fact that they could analyse all our plays.”

“We could’ve returned the favour,” Alicia suggested.

“Oh that would end just marvellously,” Wood groused. “Both teams probably banned from the pitch for a couple of weeks and four players in the infirmary for a few days. Besides, the only plays Slytherin have are varyingly subtle forms of cheating.”

“Hear, hear,” Fred and George grinned.

Harry barely even tracked the conversation, scarfing down honeyed toast after sweet, sweet honeyed toast.

“Oh, you have the plate,” said Hermione after he turned to her for the fourth time. She sounded annoyed, but she’d turned her face away. Harry wasn’t about to complain. He felt like there was a gaping hole in the bottom of his stomach.

“Right, I’ll see you lot later,” said Wood.

“Where you headed?” said Fred.

“The library. I’ve resolved to keep on top of my NEWTs,” Wood said drily.

Alicia snorted. “Let us know how that one works out.”

The others split off in turn, until it was just Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna walking down towards Hagrid’s.

“Where’d Creevey go?” said Neville.

Harry made a non-committal sound.

“Probably ran out of film for the camera,” Hermione sighed.

“He is very... enthusiastic,” said Luna.

“Call it that,” Ron laughed.

Unfortunately, Colin arrived mere seconds later, hurrying along after them. Harry was beginning to worry about the kid. He desperately needed some friends of his own - he couldn’t be forever following Harry.

“That was incredible! You really put him in his place!” Colin gushed. “You’re Ginny, aren’t you? Ginny Weasley?”

“That’s me,” said Ginny. “Thank you.”

“Are you and Malfoy enemies then, Harry?” said Colin. “Why would anyone want to be your enemy? You took down You-Know-Who, what’s he going to do?”

“Good question, Colin,” said Ron. “Maybe he’s going to go back to his room and cry, kissing Harry’s photo.”

Harry made a face. “That’s bad enough. I know what you didn’t say.”

“What didn’t he say?” Colin asked, once everyone else was done laughing or retching.

“Colin...” Hermione sighed. “Come with me a moment.”

Everyone else stopped to watch, bemused, as Hermione led the first year away.

“Is she... taking one for the team?” Ron asked.

Neville snorted. “She’s not that generous.”

A few minutes later, Colin took one last look at them and walked away, leaving Hermione to return to them alone.

“What did you say?” Ron said, gaping.

Hermione shrugged. “I just suggested that if he wanted to be friends with Harry he was probably going about it the wrong way.”

“He didn’t look too crushed,” Neville noted.

“I was quite clear that he and Harry might definitely be friends in the future if he’d calm down a little,” said Hermione.

Harry groaned. “Well, as long as he’s not following me around everywhere, then I guess that’s fine. Thanks Hermione.”

“No problem,” said Hermione. “Oh!”

It was quite clear what had caught her attention. The front door of Hagrid’s hut had just opened, but it was Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, who came striding out.

“Everyone hide,” Harry urged.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Hermione, but everyone else had jumped to do as he’d said, Ginny dragging Hermione behind a nearby bush. “Oh honestly, I have no idea what you have against the man.”

“It’s a simple matter if you know what you’re doing!” Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. “If you need help, you know where I am! I’ll let you have a copy of my book. I’m surprised you haven’t already got one – I’ll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!”

And he strode away toward the castle. Harry waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then led everyone out of hiding and up to Hagrid’s front door. Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.

“Bin wonderin’ when you’d come ter see me,” said Hagrid. “Come in, come in... Thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again. An’ who’s this young lady?”

“Luna Lovegood, sir,” said Luna.

Hagrid chuckled. “Listen ter that. Sir... I’m Hagrid, Luna, and there ain’t no sir around here ‘cept Sir Prance A Lot just left.”

Hagrid bustled around making them tea. Fang the boarhound was slobbering over Harry.

“What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?” Harry asked, scratching Fang’s ears.

“Givin’ me advice on gettin’ kelpies out of a well,” growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. “Like I don’ know. An’ bangin’ on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I’ll eat my kettle.”

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts teacher, and Harry looked at him in surprise.

Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, “I think you’re being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job –”

“He was the on’y man for the job,” said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle toffee. “An’ I mean the on’y one. Gettin’ very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren’t too keen ter take it on, see. They’re startin’ ter think it’s jinxed. No one’s lasted long fer a while now.”

“How long?” asked Neville.

“Thirty-five years,” said Luna.

“What?” said Hagrid. “Tha’ can’t be right... Professor Selwyn retired in... let me think, it was sixty... sixty three. And he had the job since Professor Merrythought retired at the end of the World War.”

Neville frowned. “And since then nobody’s stayed defence professor?”

“It’s gotten worse lately,” said Hagrid. “After old Selwyn nobody ‘ad it for more than a few years, but lately no-one’s had it more than a year at a time.”

“That is rather odd,” Ginny frowned.

“Sounds like a jinx to me all right,” said Neville.

“I wouldn’t believe it,” said Hagrid. “Who’d want to jinx a teachin’ position? Nah, it’s bad luck, tha’s what it is.”

For a moment there was only silence as they all enjoyed their tea, but then...

“Hagrid, Malfoy called Hermione a Mudblood,” said Ron.

Malfoy might have threatened Hermione’s life from the look on Hagrid’s face. “He didn’!” he growled at Hermione.

“He did,” she said. “But I don’t know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course –”

“It’s about the most insulting thing he could think of,” Ron spat. “Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who’s Muggle-born – you know, non-magic parents.”

“It’s a lot of elitist rot,” said Neville vehemently. “Crabbe and Goyle are so inbred they can hardly count to ten.”

“An’ they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’ do,” said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

“It’s a disgusting, stupid thing to say,” said Ginny. “Dirty blood... Most wizards are half-blood at most - we’d’ve died out otherwise.”

“You showed him though,” Ron said, smiling faintly. “I’d have just cursed him, but Ginny was a bit more... inventive.”

Ginny sniffed. “I just stated the obvious.”

“What’ve yeh done, Ginny?” said Hagrid suspiciously. An embarrassed Neville whispered to him, and he roared with laughter. “Tha’s terrible, that is. Least yeh saved Lucius Malfoy the trouble o’ comin’ up ‘ere an’ raisin’ a fuss over someone cursin’ ‘is son.”

“Yes, well, he had it coming,” Ginny smirked.

“Harry,” said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. “Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I’ve heard you’ve bin givin’ out signed photos. How come I haven’t got one?”

“Ha bloody ha,” Harry griped, as everyone had a good laugh at his expense, Hagrid loudest of all.

“I’m on’y jokin’,” said Hagrid, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face first into the table. “I knew yeh hadn’t really. I told Lockhart yeh didn’ need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin’.”

“Bet he didn’t like that,” said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.

“Don’ think he did,” said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. “An’ then I told him I’d never read one o’ his books an’ he decided ter go.”

“Gone to preen in front of his mirror, I’ll bet,” said Neville in disgust.

“Count his Witch Weekly awards,” Ron snorted.

“‘Ere, come an’ see what I’ve bin growin’,” said Hagrid as Hermione finished her tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid’s house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

“Gettin’ on well, aren’t they?” said Hagrid happily. “Fer the Halloween feast... should be big enough by then.”

“What’ve you been feeding them?” said Harry.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone. “Well, I’ve bin givin’ them... you know... A bit o’ help...”

Harry noticed Hagrid’s flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Harry had had reason to believe before now that this umbrella was not all it looked; in fact, he had the strong impression that Hagrid’s old school wand was concealed inside it. Hagrid wasn’t supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but Harry had never found out why – any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

“An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?” said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. “Well, you’ve done a good job on them.”

“Not going to bring up the finer points of Gamp’s Law?” said Ginny, who was definitely amused.

“Gamp’s...?& rdquo; said Hermione suspiciously, before whipping out a pen and pad.

The rest of them, Hagrid included, just shook their heads bemusedly.

As lunchtime approached, they said goodbye to Hagrid, eager to get food in their bellies that wasn’t at risk of not staying there, or staying there a bit too long. The shepherd’s pie Harry found waiting for him was a lot more appetising.

“He seemed nice,” said Luna.

“He’s a lot of fun,” Harry agreed.

“Not the sharpest knife in the drawer,” Ginny winced. “But he’s great.”

Harry grimaced. As much as he loved Hagrid, his giving away Fluffy’s weakness had been troublesome to say the least.

“Don’t say that,” said Ron. “She’s a Ravenclaw.”

Luna tilted her head at him, as though considering. “I’m also a human,” she said. “I can make friends with whoever I wish.”

Ginny gave her a warm, bright smile.

“But did you see his face?” said Neville.

“It was classic,” Harry laughed. “Just the timing was so perfect.”

“I’m just amazed we got so much pus into a quill,” said Neville.

“At least he had his mouth shut,” Harry said, shuddering.

“Don’t even go there,” said Neville.

They were heading back to a Gryffindor tower after a successful prank on Malfoy in the library. Harry would have brought Ginny if he could find her. Hermione, however, was currently forcing Ron to do his Potions essay, making the both of them unavailable. Not that Hermione would have approved, even if the prank was retaliation for Malfoy’s slant against her. Perhaps especially with that being the case.

Just as they rounded the corridor, heading towards the Grand Staircase, Harry froze in his tracks. A voice whispered from the walls, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

“Come... come to me... Let me rip you... Let me tear you... Let me kill you...”

Harry gave a huge jump as soon as he heard the word ‘rip’, pulling his wand and aiming down the empty corridors with lethal precision. “What?” he said loudly.

“Harry?” said Neville.

“The voice!” said Harry. “Didn’t you hear?”

Neville looked as though he was about to laugh, then looked closer at Harry and all mirth left him. Drawing his own wand, he stood at Harry’s left, covering the other end of the corridor.

“I don’t see anything,” said Harry.

“Stick to main corridors?” said Neville.

“Yeah.”

They hurried up to the Common Room, finding Ron and Hermione still hard at work - Ron on his essay, Hermione on third year elective textbooks.

“Where’s Ginny?” said Harry.

“Still haven’t seen her, why?” said Hermione.

Harry paled. “There was a voice in the corridor. Well, only I heard it, but it was talking about wanting to kill.”

“Is this what the elf was trying to warn you about?” said Ron, who had lost any and all interest in his homework the moment he saw Harry.

“She could be anywhere,” Hermione said. “Harry, are you sure you didn’t...?”

Harry was already gone. Anxiety was trickling through in small amounts... he could just about trace her. She was below them, and moving upwards. If he had to guess, she was on the third floor and rising. That was higher than where he’d heard the voice, but he couldn’t risk it.

Grabbing the edge of the portrait hole, Harry flung himself into the corridor, running to the Grand Staircase. He had a stronger sense of her now. On the sixth floor he practically ran into Ginny as she emerged onto the Grand Staircase.

She looked almost afraid for a second before she gathered herself. “What’s going on?”

Harry said nothing, just wrapped her tightly in his arms. She was safe.