Love at First Sight (Harry Potter)

Gilderoy Lockhart

|ALEXANDRIA WEASLEY'S P.O.V|

"Must you read that during breakfast?"

Hermione, for the first time since the two of us had sat down at the Gryffindor table nearly an hour prior, looked away from the rubbish that was Gilderoy Lockhart's book — Voyages with Vampires. "I always read our schoolbooks before the classes begin, you know that."

"Yes," I nodded, the harsh movement of my head shaking my loose hair and sending some of the ginger locks into my eyes. I reached for another slice of toast, before continuing, "but during breakfast?"

"Yeah, 'Mione," Ron piped up from his seat beside me, his mouth full of chewed scrambled egg. "This is the time to eat."

Hermione grimaced when crumbs began to fall from his lips, bits of combined spit and food nearly hitting the back cover of her book, "One: this read is much better than any breakfast — and two: that is absolutely disgusting, Ronald, shut your mouth."

I giggled as my twin complied, a sullen expression spread across his features as his blue eyes rolled. My gaze connected with Harry Potter's in that moment, who was seated across from me and beside Hermione.

"And what of you, hmm?" I questioned, an eyebrow raised as I watched him spoon another helping of porridge onto his tongue. "You haven't said much this morning."

"I'm glad you noticed," A smile spread to his lips as he swallowed, "at least someone pays attention to me."

"Oh, blimey," Ron huffed, waving the silver fork in his right hand at his best mate in accusation. "I'm sorry that I didn't care for a conversation last night — I was bloody tired after our journey and my wand, in case you've forgotten, is broken.  .  .  . any ideas on how to tell that one to my Mum?"

Before Potter could argue, however, Neville Longbottom (who hadn't changed at all over the summer) suddenly sat himself on the bench on Hermione's other side.

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

I resisted the urge to say, "You always forget things, Neville" and instead forced a small smile at the round-faced boy before returning to the syrup-drenched pancakes on the golden plate in front of me.

Sure enough, less than a moment later, a loud rushing sound was heard overhead as a hundred or so owls streamed in; they circled the hall, dropping letters and packages onto each of the chattering tables. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head. Ron, whom of course had to laugh at the incident, was immediately silenced when our family owl (Errol) fell into Hermione's jug of milk, spraying us all with feathers.

"Errol!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet.

A pitiful expression crossed my features as I eyed the soggy owl, which slumped unconscious onto the table with his legs in the air. I nearly gasped aloud, however, upon noticing the damp red envelope in his beak.

"Oh, no —" groaned Ron, as I glanced between him and the Howler.

"It's all right, he's still alive," said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

"It's not that," I shook my head in dismissal, already assured that the owl was breathing. I pointed at the letter, which seemed to be pulsing with radiating anger. " — it's that."

"What's the matter?" asked Potter, clearly noticing the odd expressions on Neville and Ron's faces.

"She's — she's sent me a Howler," said Ron faintly, and a loud gulp could be heard as he swallowed the lump in his throat.