𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐜𝐞 | ʜ. ᴊ. ᴘ. [ hiatus ]

• 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐬 •

❾¾ ⌁☍ ♪ ‹ 𝓶𝓪 𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓬𝓮 › ♪ ☍⌁¾❾

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.

Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disasterous car journey and Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, she spends time together in Dexter's cage refusing to be near Harry.

Surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. So with one thing and another, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend.

He, Ron, Mal, and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning.

Harry, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Whassamatter?" 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.

He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm.

"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.

Noticing Harry's slow movements, Wood had an idea.

"Mal is there," Wood suddenly.

Hearing that, Harry's eyes lit up and rushed to find his robes.

"Meet you on the field 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! Look what I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show you -"

Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose.

A moving, black and white photo of Lockhart that Colin was waving in front of his nose, tugging hard at Harry's arm while the other was wrapped around Persephone's waist.

Harry was happy to see the photo of him and Persephone struggling to get away from Lockhart while Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

"Will you sign it?" Colin eagerly.

"No," said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry - Quidditch practice -"