Chapter Sixteen- "Lockhart on top of Harry, and us all watching."
Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart has not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he reads passages from his books to us, and sometimes re-enacts some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picks Harry to help with these reconstructions, much to my amusement.
Harry is hauled to the front of the class during today's Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf.
"Nice loud howl, Harry - exactly - and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced - like this - slammed him to the floor - thus - with one hand, I managed to hold him down - with my other, I put my wand to his throat - I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm - he let out a piteous moan - go on, Harry - higher than that - good - the fur vanished - the fangs shrank - and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective- and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."
By this point, Maya, Elinor and I are almost wetting ourselves from laughing so hard.
"This would look so weird if someone was to walk in now," I mutter, "Lockhart on top of Harry, and us all watching. Kinky ..."
The bell rings and Lockhart gets to his feet.
"Homework: compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"
"He can go fuck himself if he thinks I'm going to do the homework," Maya mutters darkly.
"And he must be off his rocker if he thinks anyone but Hermione wants that prize," Elinor agrees.
The class begins to leave. Harry returns to the back of the classroom, where Hermione, Ron and I are waiting.
"Ready?" Harry mutters.
"Wait till everyone's gone," says Hermione nervously. "All right ..."
She approaches Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry, Ron and I right behind her.
"Er - Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammers. "I wanted to - to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She hold out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. "But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign it - I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms ..."
"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" says Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favourite book. You enjoyed it?"
"Oh, yes," says Hermione eagerly. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer ..."
Wow, suck up much?
"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student in the year a little extra help," says Lockhart warmly.
"Excuse me? She's joint top with me, thank you very much," I huff and glare at Lockhart, who squirms uncomfortably.
"Um, yes of course," Lockhart coughs and pulls out an enormous ugly peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he says, misreading the revolted looks on Ron's face. "I usually save it for book signings."
He scrawls an enormous loopy signature on the note and hands it back to Hermione.
"So, Harry," says Lockhart, while Hermione folds the note with trembling fingers and slips in into her bag, "tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try out for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players ..."
"You realise I'm playing too, right. Oh wait, you're too far up your own ass to notice anyone apart from yourself or your admirers," I scoff, and pull Harry out of the room.
"So, did he sign it?" Maya asks, as her and Elinor fall into stride beside me.
"I don't believe it," I say, as I examine the note, "He didn't even look at the book we wanted."
"That's because he's a brainless git," says Ron. "But who cares, we've got what we needed."
"He is not a brainless git," says Hermione shrilly, as we half-run towards the library.
"No, he is," El laughs.
"Just because he said you were the best student in the year ..."
I huff in protest. What? We are equals!
"Just because you fancy him," Maya mutters under her breath.
We drop our voices as we enter the muffled stillness of the library.
Madam Pince, the librarian, is a thin, irritable women who looks like an underfed vulture.
Vulture, that's fun to say...
"Moste Potente Potions?" she repeats suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione, but she won't let go.
"I was wondering if I could keep it," she says breathlessly.
"Oh, come on," says El, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting (pftttt) it at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if it stands still long enough."
Madam Pince holds the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passes the test. She stalks away between the lofty shelves and returns several minutes later carrying a large and mouldy-looking book. Hermione puts it carefully into her bag and we leave, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.
Five minutes later, we're barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom once again. Hermione's overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it's the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so we are guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle is crying noisily in her cubicle, but we're ignoring her, and she us.
Hermione opens Moste Potente Potions carefully and the six of us bend over the damp-spotted pages. It's clear from a glance why it belongs in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions have effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there are some very unpleasant illustrations, which includes a man who seems to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.
"Here it is," says Hermione excitedly, as she finds the page headed The Polyjuice Potion. It's decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people.
I really hope that pain is exaggerated because I have a low pain tolerance and ....
Basically I'm a wuss.
"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," I say, as we scan the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed and knotgrass," I murmur, running my finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves. Oooh, look, powdered horn of a Bicorn - don't know where we're going to get that ... Shredded skin of a Boomslang - that'll be tricky, too - and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into."
"Excuse me?" says Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe's toenails in it ..."
Hermione continues from where I left of.
"We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last ..."
Ron turns, speechless, towards Harry, who apparently has another worry.
"D'you realise how much we're going to have to steal? Shredded skin of Boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good idea ..."
Hermione shuts the book with a snap.
"Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine," she says. There are bright pink patches on her checks and her eyes are brighter than usual. "I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in, then none of us will get to do anything ..."
"Hey, we're not chickening out!" Maya protests.
"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be persuading us to break rules," says Ron. "All right, we'll do it. But not toenails, okay?"
"How long will it take to make, anyway?" says Harry, as Hermione, looking happier, opens the book again.
"Well," I deliberate, "as the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days ... I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."
"A month?" says Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes narrow dangerously again, and he adds swiftly, "But it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say."
"That's Christmas, isn't it?" El asks, and I nod. "Then you only have to make enough for five."
"Four," Maya interjects.
Damn them both! Going on holiday! Having a life without me!
"You realise, it'll be a lot less hassle," Ron mutters towards Harry and I, "if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow."
*
I wake up early on Saturday morning and lie for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match.
I wonder what will happen if we lose. Wood will probably have our heads.
After half and hour of lying with my insides churning, I get up, dressed, and go down to breakfast early, where I find the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.
As eleven o'clock approaches, the whole school starts to make its way down to the Quidditch Stadium. It's a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron, Hermione, El and Maya come hurrying over to wish Harry and I luck as we enter the changing rooms. We pull on our scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sit down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.
"Slytherin have better brooms than us," he begins, "no point denying it. But we've got better people on our brooms. We've trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all weathers -" ("Too true," mutters George. "I haven't been properly dry since August") "- and we're going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team."
Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turns to Harry.
"It'll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we've got to win today, we've got to."
"So no pressure, Harry," I laugh.
"And you," Wood says, turning on me. "Keep that Quaffle away from the Slytherins. Don't be afraid to play rough. Do what ever if takes to keep it in our possession."
"Everything within the rules, of course?" I ask, holding back a smirk.
"Uh, yes, of course," Wood mutters uneasily, showing that playing by the rules is far from his mind.
As we walk out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greets us; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd make their boos and hisses heard too. Madam Hooch asks Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they do, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than is necessary.
"On my whistle," says Madam Hooch, "three ... two ... one ..."
With a roar from the crowd to speed us upwards, the fourteen players rise into the air, and I immediately take possession and begin to zoom down the pitch.
"All right there, Scarhead?" I hear Malfoy yell from above me, and I roll my eyes.
I'm about to throw the Quaffle when a bludger appears out of nowhere. I roll to the left to avoid it and drop the Quaffle to Katie who's below me.
"Close one, Emily!" Fred says, streaking past me with his club in one hand, ready to knock the Bludger back towards a Slytherin. I watch as Fred gives the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changes direction in mid-air and shoots straight for me again.
I drop quickly to avoid it, and Fred manages to hit it hard in the opposite direction. Once again, the Bludger swerves like a boomerang and shoots at my head.
I put on a burst of speed and zoom towards towards the other end of the pitch. I can still hear the Bludger whistling behind me and I do a quick loop loop and, to my surprise, the Bludger leaves me alone.
The Quaffle is suddenly in the air again, and I swoop towards it, grabbing it quickly, and zooming down the pitch.
But once again, the Bludger has come back and I have to drop the Quaffle, narrowly avoiding getting my head knocked off.
Where the heck is Fred and George? And what the fuck is wrong with this Bludger? I'm pretty sure they aren't meant to focus on a single person.
It starts to rain; I feel the heavy drops fall into my face, splattering into my glasses. I so need to wear contacts next time.
I have no idea what's going on in the rest of the game until I hear Lee Jordan say, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero."
Ah shit, Wood is literally gonna kill me...
And I don't even have a will written out, fuck!
MY CAT GETS ALL MY BELONGINGS!
The Slytherins' superior brooms are clearly doing their jobs, and meanwhile the mad Bludger is going all it can to knock me off my broom.
And where are Fred and George?
We need a time out, then I can give them a piece of my mind.
Apparently Wood's a mind reader because not even a second later, Madam Hooch's whistle rings out and I dive for the ground, still trying to avoid the Bludger.
"What's going on?" says Wood, as we (the Gryffindor team) huddle together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeer. "We're being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Emily from scoring. And Emily, what have you been doing this entire game?
"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger murdering Harry, Oliver," says George angrily.
"Oh, is that where you were?" I snarl, punching George hard on the arm, then doing the same to Fred. "One of you could have at least helped me. I'm being chased by the other Bludger, that's why I haven't been able to score this whole bloody time!"
"Someone's fixed them," Fred mutters, "they won't leave them alone, they haven't gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it."
"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practise, and there's nothing wrong with them then ..." says Wood, anxiously.
Madam Hooch is walking towards us. Over her shoulder, I can see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in our direction.
"Listen," says Harry, as she comes nearer and nearer, "with you two flying round me all the time the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."
"You'll have to leave me as well," I nod in agreement. "It won't help me much and I've dealt alright so far this game. Just keep the Bludger away from everyone else."
"Don't be thick," says Fred. "They'll take your heads off."
Wood is looking from Harry and I to the Weasleys.
"Oliver, this is mad," says Angelina angrily. "You can't let them deal with those things on their own. Let's ask for an inquiry -"
"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" I say. "And we're not losing to Slytherin just because of mad Bludgers! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave us alone!"
"This is all your fault," George says angrily to Wood.
"George, it's okay. We'll be fine," I say reassuringly, patting his arm. "I don't know about Harry, but I'm certainly not letting a Bludger take me out."
"Ready to resume play?" Madam Hooch asks Wood, as she joins us.
Wood looks at me, and I nod.
"All right," he says. "Fred, George, you heard them both - leave them alone as much as you can. Only deal with them when you have to."
"Emily -" George says imploringly and I sigh.
"Don't worry, George," I smile weakly, then give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll be fine." And I hurry next to Harry, hoping George didn't see the blush creeping into my cheeks.