Certain Dark Things || Book Two

xviii. strike a king

In Hogwarts, rumors circulated with the kind of practiced efficiency the professors direly wished the students would portray in their classwork, and so by the time Harriet sat down to eat breakfast the next morning, she had already learned the newest bit of scandal involving Neville Longbottom.

"A flying car? Really?" Harriet asked Hermione as she picked over her eggs.

"According to Pansy, who heard it from Parvarti," she said with a delicate sniff that portrayed her regard for idle gossip. "But that's all hearsay. I would imagine that if they had truly crashed a flying Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow, they wouldn't be here this morning."

They both glanced toward the Gryffindor table, where they found Longbottom and Weasley seated with Finnigan and Thomas. None of the four second years looked up from their plates, even when their classmates jostled and pestered them for information.

"He is the Boy Who Lived," Harriet said, old anger prickling along her nerves. "I doubt he could get expelled for anything, short of murder. The Prophet would never let the Headmaster live it down."

Snape came down along the table and passed out schedules for the Slytherins. Harriet took hers and could barely hold back a groan. "Look at this!" she complained once the Potions Master moved off. "Defense and Potions right in the morning! And Astronomy tonight!"

A furrow appeared between Hermione's brows. "And Charms and History of Magic after lunch." Her eyes flickered toward the Head Table, where Professor Selwyn was doctoring his English breakfast tea to his liking. Harriet winced in sympathy.

Elara—eyes scrunched, mouth set in a hard grimace—arrived, and Harriet slid down the bench to give her room. Snape returned, her schedule in hand, and he glowered at the half-asleep witch in warning before he let her take it from him. Elara glanced at the listed classes, grunted, and lowered her head to the table, bumping a platter of sausages. None of the other second years looked pleased either; the Slytherin professors were notably more difficult to handle, even to their own House, and having all four on their first day was dreadful.

Sighing, Harriet managed a few more bites of breakfast, then pulled her school bag onto her shoulder. "I'm going to go now. I don't want to be late." Not after what happened this summer with Slytherin.

"All right. We'll catch up with you in just a few minutes."

Harriet departed the Great Hall and climbed the marble steps, finding her way to the corridor where the Defense classroom and Slytherin's office were kept. The professor never opened the door early—never opened it until he was good and ready to do so—so she sank to the floor by the entrance and leaned on the wall, fishing through her bag until she found Hermione's copy of Gadding With Ghouls. She flicked past the bulky author foreword.

Hermione appeared soon, as promised, walking with a marginally more alert Elara, who was listening to something Daphne Greengrass was saying. The rest of the Slytherins arrived before the Gryffindors—the latter of whom descended with their usual loud raucous centered around L0ngbottom. The Boy Who Lived grinned when Seamus mimicked driving a car and laughed.

"Longbottom," Draco said, narrowing his eyes at the taller boy. "Did you and the Weasel really crash a car into the Whomping Willow?"

The Gryffindors snickered as if in on a good joke, and Longbottom shrugged, the corner of his lips quirked. "Even if I did, why would I tell you anything, Malfoy?"

Draco flushed and mouthed off while Crabbe and Goyle scowled. Harriet, still sitting on the floor with her book, was tempted to tell Malfoy he shouldn't try to be clever since it never seemed to work out for him—but she opted for Slytherin solidarity and said nothing. Elara offered her hand, and Harriet used it to get to her feet.