Chapter Eleven- "Magic, what the hell can't it do!"
What a little shit!
Flint has to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him but I go for a different tactic.
I shoot a quick spell at Malfoy and he doubles over.
Hah! Have fun with that tickling spell bitch!
Angelina shrieks, "How dare you!" (at Malfoy not me), and Ron plunges his hand into his robes, pulls out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and points it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.
God Ron, copycat much. I've already done that!
A loud bang echoes around the stadium and a jet of green light shoots out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backwards into the grass.
"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squeals Hermione.
OTP!
Ron opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, instead he gives an almighty belch and several slugs dribble out of his mouth and onto his lap.
Okay, maybe not.....
"That's worse than when Poppy burps," El says, looking faintly green.
The Slytherin team are paralysed with laughter. Flint is doubled up, hanging on to his new broomstick for support. Malfoy is on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. We gather around Ron, who keeps belching large, glistening slugs. No one seems to want to touch him.
"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, its nearest," says Harry to us, and Hermione helps pull Ron up.
"Get Malfoy for us," I mutter to Fred and George who grin evilly.
Oh, Malfoy's gonna regret being an ass now...
"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin has run down from his seat and is now dancing alongside is as we leave the pitch.
"He cursed himself," Maya answers, glaring at the boy, then glares at Ron. "What a fucking idiot."
Ron gives a huge heave and more slugs dribble down his front.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Elinor mutters, gagging.
"Oooh," says Colin, fascinated and raises his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"
Now he is getting annoying. Can I tell a first year to fuck off?
Eh, I've done it before.
"Get out of the way, Colin!" I growl, and push him out of the way. Harry and Hermione support Ron out of the stadium and across the ground towards the edge of the Forest, May, El and I close behind.
"Nearly there, Ron," says Hermione, as the gamekeeper's cabin comes into view. "You'll be all right in a minute ... almost there ..."
We are within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the front door opens, but it isn't Hagrid's who emerges. Gilderoy Dickhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today (ew), comes striding out.
"Quick, behind here," Harry hisses, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. We follow, Hermione somewhat reluctantly.
"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart is 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, goodbye!"
We wait for Lockhart to go, but he lingers looking around at the grounds.
Harry looks helplessly at me and I sigh.
"I'll get rid of him......"
I move away from the others, add some teigs to my hair and mud to my face and run out of the forest, screaming at the tops of my lungs, running right into Lockhart.
He catches hold of me, and stares shocked.
"Are you alright?" He asks, looking quite perplexed.
"No," I choke out, "I was in the forest, looking for some flowers, when I was attacked, I don't know what it was, I think it was a vampire!" I sob, and begin to tremble. "Sir, can you go get rid of it? I wouldn't usually ask but after everything you did in your books...."
Lockhart coughs uncomfortably, then forces a smile. "Sure, just let me get my, ugh, wand, yes!" And he hurried of towards the castle.
"That was amazing," Maya roars, holding her stomach, leaning against Elinor.
"How did you cry like that?" Harry asks.
"Years of practise," I grin, wiping the tears. "He won't be back, I can tell you that."
"That wasn't nice, Emily," Hermione says, disapprovingly, as we head towards Hagrid's front door. "He'll be back and ready to fight that vampire."
"Fight that vampire my arse," I laugh, knocking on Hagrid's door. "More likely hide under his covers and shake."
Hagrid's door flies open, and Hagrid's appears, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightens when he notices us.
"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me - come in, come in - thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again."
Harry and Hermione support Ron over the threshold, us close behind, into the one-roomed cabin, which has an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling evilly in another. Hagrid doesn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explains as he lowers Ron into a chair.
"Better out than in," he says cheerfully, plonking a large copper basin in front of him. "Get 'em all up, Ron."
"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," says Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand ..."
Hagrid is bustling around, making us tea. Fang, his boarhound, starts slobbering on Harry's leg.
"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Maya asks.
"Givin me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growls 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's most unlike Hagrid to criticise a Hogwarts teacher and I look at him, surprised. Hermione, however, says 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," says Hagrid, offering us a plate of treacle toffee, while Ron coughs squelchily into his basin. "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 its jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," says Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron, "who was he tryin' ter curse?"
"Malfoy called Hermione something," Harry says, taking a bit of treacle toffee. "It must've been really bad, because everyone went mad."
"It was bad," says Ron hoarsely, emerging over the table top, looking pale and sweaty. "Malfoy called her 'Mudblood', Hagrid -"
Ron dives out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs makes their appearance.
"He didn'!" Hagrid growls at Hermione.
"He did," Elinor mutters darkly.
"But I don't know what it means," Hermione says.
"GASP! Hermione doesn't know something! It's the end of the world!" I cry, falling to the floor.
Hermione glares at me then continues, "I could tell it was really rude, of course ..."
"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," El says. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who was Muggle-born - you know, non-magic parents."
"There are some wizards," gasps Ron, coming back up, "like Malfoy's family - who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He gives a small burp, and a single slug falls into his outstretched hand. He throws it into the basin and continues, "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom - he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up."
"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can't do," says Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.
"Hey, that's not Neville's fault," Maya butts in, blushing slightly.
"You're only saying that because you fancy him," I mutter.
"You fancy Neville?" Harry asks.
He's so oblivious.....
"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," says Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's mad. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out."
He retches and ducks out of sight.
"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," says Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."
I'm guessing this would be a bad time to tell them about cursing Malfoy then....
"Harry," says Hagrid suddenly, 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?"
Spluttering, I burst into laughter, gasping for air, as Harry goes red.
"I have not been giving out signed photos," he says hotly. "If Lockhart's still putting that about -"
"I'm on'y jokin'," Hagrid laughs, 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," I grin, sitting up from the floor.
"Don' think he did," says Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle toffee, Ron?" he adds, as Ron re-appears.
"No thanks," says Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."
"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," says Hagrid, as I finish my glass of water.
Because tea is NASTAY!
In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house are a dozen of the largest pumpkins I've ever seen. They're all about the size of a large boulder.
"Gettin' on well, aren't they?" says Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween feast ... should be big enough by then."
"What've you been feeding them?" El asks
"Well, I've bin givin' them - you know - a bit o' help."
Magic, what the hell can't it do!
"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" says Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on them."
"That's what yer little sister said," says Hagrid, nodding at Ron. "Met her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looks sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. "Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house." He winks at Harry. "If yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed -"
"Oh, shut up," says Harry. Ron snorts with laughter and the ground is sprayed with slugs.
"Watch it!" Hagrid roars, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.
It's nearly lunchtime, when we say goodbye to Hagrid and walk back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two, very small slugs.
We've barley set foot into the Entrance Hall when a voice rings out. "There you are, Potter, Swift, Weasley." Professor McGonagall is walking towards us, looking stern. "You three will be doing your detentions this evening."
"What are we doing, Professor?" says Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.
"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch," says Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley - elbow grease. And you two, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail."
"NO!" I yell, falling to the floor. "Please anyone else Professor!"
"Certainly not," says Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you two particularly. Eight o'clock, the three of you."
I stomp into the Great Hall, Ron, Elinor, Maya and Harry close behind. Hermione is behind us, wearing a well-you-did-break-school-rules sort of expression. Sitting down, I grab the first thing I touch and stick it on my plate.
"Filch'll have me there all night," says Ron heavily. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning."
"I'll swap any time," says Harry hollowly. "I've had loads of practise with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail ... he'll be a nightmare ..."
"I don't even know why he requested me," I growl stabbing my chicken.
"He probably feels bad that he left you with the vampire and wants to make you feel better," Maya laughs.
"STOP THE ABUSE!" El yells, taking my chicken and begins eating it herself.
The afternoon seems to melt away, and in what seems like no time, it's five minutes to eight, and Harry and I are outside Lockhart's office. I sigh then knock.
The door flies open at once. Lockhart's beams down at us.
"Ah, here are the scallywags!" he says. "Come in, Harry, come in!"
I'll come in too then!
Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles are countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He's even signed a few of them. Another large pile lies on his desk.
"You two can address the envelopes, take it in turns, yes!" Lockhart tells us, as if this is a real treat. "This first ones to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her - huge fan of mine."
The minutes snail by. I let Lockhart's voice wash over me, occasionally saying, "Mmm" and "Right" and "Yeah". Now and then I catch a phrase like "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry" or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that".
It's like I'm not even here.....
"Did you get rid of the vampire, sir?" I ask, bored with the silence.
"Uh, yes, don't worry, I got rid of it," Lockhart smiles widely.
Asshat.
The candles burn lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching us. Freaky ... I move my aching hand over what feels like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley's address.
It must be nearly time to leave, please let it be time to leave!
And then I hear something - something quite apart from the dying candles and Lockhart's prattling.
It's a voice, a voice of breath-taking, ice-cold venom.
"Come ... come to me ... let me rip you ... let me tear you ... let me kill you ..."
I'm not going to come to you when you want to kill me. And I'm not going to let you kill me.....
Wait creepy voice? Where did that come from?
I give a huge jump and Harry next to me does the same.
"What?" Harry says loudly.
"I know!" says Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the bestseller list! Broke all records!"
"No," says Harry frantically. "That voice!"
"Sorry?" says Lockhart, looking puzzled. "What voice?"
"That - that voice that said - didn't you hear it?"
"I heard it to, Harry," I say, glancing around at Lockhart who's looking at us in astonishment.
"What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy? Great Scott - look at the time! We've been here nearly four hours! I'd never have believed it - the time's flown, hasn't it?"
Neither Harry or I answer. I'm straining my ears to hear the voice again but there's no sound except for Lockhart's stupid voice . Feeling dazed, Harry and I get up and leave.
It's so late that the Gryffindor common room is almost empty. I go straight up to my dorm after saying goodnight to Harry. I pull on my pyjamas, and get into bed.
I grab my diary from the side of my bed, a quill and open it to the second page.
Dear diary, shit journal,
Diary's are for sissys as Maya would say.
Anyway, nothing much has happened, except I think Harry and I are going crazy. We heard a voice but Dickhart didn't hear it.
Can two people go crazy at the same time??
I don't know, I should google it.
I have a confession......
I think I like someone, but I don't know. If getting butterflies every time he talks counts as liking someone, then.....
I don't like him do I?
I snap my journal shut, and throw it to the ground.
Shit, I like George Weasley......