Star Quality

Chapter 4

Harry woke up with a horrible start to a loud banging noise. For a moment, his insides lurched about, like he was on his broom and had just dropped into a steep, stomach-churning dive. What on earth was that? It sounded like someone was trying to knock his door down, except he could barely remember anyone ever knocking on the door before, let alone banging on it. His address was an open secret, and he'd often found wizards and witches loitering at the foot of his front steps, but anyone who wanted to get in that badly could simply—

Merlin's balls. Harry sat bolt upright in bed and said, firmly, "Accio wand." His wand remained very much un-Summoned, and Harry felt panic once again take a small but insistent grip on his insides. So, yesterday wasn't a dream. He leaned over to grab his glasses from the bedside table and shoved them on, looking round the room with distaste. His mouth felt like he'd sucked on a carpet – all thick and furry and gross – but at least he didn't have a hangover today.

The banging had stopped, and Harry briefly wondered if he'd imagined it, before it started up again with a vengeance. Someone really wanted him to answer the door. Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair, glanced over to the clock on his bedside table – ten minutes to seven, ridiculously early – and scrambled out of bed, straightening his pyjamas and reaching for the saggy dressing gown on the back of his bedroom door, before leaping down the stairs, two at a time. It only occurred to him that it might be Malfoy – he'd called up one of Malfoy's minions and left his address last night, hadn't he? – by the time he was already opening the door and wishing the ground would swallow him up.

It wasn't Malfoy. It was . . .

Harry blinked, completely thrown by this. "Parvati?" he managed, looking the woman up and down. It certainly looked like Parvati Patil, despite the horrible Muggle polo shirt and calf-length skirt. He felt a rush of sweet relief that made his knees nearly give way. If Parvati was standing on his doorstep, then she must remember being a witch! And she was a fantastic witch too, Harry thought as he looked at her. Brave and resourceful and, all right, she was no Hermione, but who was? She could still help him fix this mess and—

"Harry, for goodness' sake!" Parvati said cheerfully, rolling her eyes and pushing past him into his house. "Why are you standing around gawping like you've never seen me before?" She leaned back in and gave him a thoughtful sniff. "You don't smell pissed," she added, handing him a Styrofoam cup of coffee. "And yet, we need to be at work to open up in ten minutes and you're still in your . . ." She trailed off. ". . . really, really terrible night clothes," she concluded, her voice a laugh. "Gosh, it's no surprise to me that you're perpetually single. No offense!"

"None taken," Harry said automatically, feeling offended, but following Parvati as she appeared to lead the way into Harry's own house and straight into the dining room. She would know where things were, of course, he told himself. She'd been a member of the Order. Only . . .

"Well, go on then! What are you waiting for?" Parvati said, taking a seat at the dining table and slurping at her own cup of coffee.

"Um?" Harry said stupidly.

Parvati rolled her eyes, the movement sending her long, thick plait swinging over her shoulder to hang straight down her back. "Go and put your uniform on, you plonker!"

"Er, Parvati?" Harry managed, setting the coffee in his hand down on the side.

"Mm?" Parvati didn't appear to be actually listening any more. She was staring at her mobile phone, her fingers flying as she wrote out a text. Harry knew what that was; he'd sometimes seen Dudley do it. Dudley had been very fast too. It had been pretty much the only time Harry had seen him move quickly.