"Five to a tray -- there is a large supply of pots here -- compost in sacks over there -- and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething," Professor Sprout whacked a dark red plant sharply, forcing it to take back it's feelers that had been wrapping around her shoulder.
Amisty, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all crowded around a tray when a Hufflepuff boy joined them, smiling brightly.
="Justin Finch-Fletchley. Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter... And you're Hermione Granger -- always top in everything," He shook their hands as he said their names. "Oh, you're Amisty River, the only one who can leave Draco Malfoy speechless," Amisty grinned, blushing, "-- and Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?"
=Ron didn't look too pleased at the mention of the car.
Amisty thought back to the Howler. That was probably what kept him from smiling.
="That Lockhart's something, isn't he? Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and -- zap -- just fantastic," Justin, unfazed by Ron's unhappy reaction, started to fill their pots with dragon dung compost. "My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family..."
It wasn't long before their conversation ceased and they had to put their earmuffs back on.
Amisty turned her attention onto her Mandrake, quickly learning that it wasn't as effortless as Professor Sprout had made it seem.
She tugged one out of the dark soil, to the Mandrake's fury. It struggled in her grip, kicking and punching and biting at her.
She shoved it into her pot with much struggle, turning to the next one and dreading it already.
Class ended with her covered in dirt, tired, and sweaty. Following after the rest of her class, she plodded up to the castle to wash up and then down to Transfiguration.
Amisty had always enjoyed Transfiguration, and she was glad to see that she hadn't forgotten too much over the summer.
They were to turn beetles into buttons, and by the end of class her and Hermione had managed to produce a small pile of coat buttons.
"Wonderful job, girls," Professor McGonagall praised them, her green eyes twinkling slightly.
The two of them traded grins, high-fiving beneath the table. When the lunch bell rang, they walked down to lunch.
As they ate, Hermione showed the boys their little pile of buttons. Neither looked happy.
"What've we got this afternoon?" Harry asked, sensing the tension between Ron and Hermione and changing subjects.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione answered instantly.
Amisty looked up, giving her a question look. Her reply was just a sheepish shrug.
Ron grabbed her schedule, looking at it and then back to her.
"Why have you outlined all of Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?" He asked sharply.
Hermione went red, grabbing it back and stuffing it away.
Amisty hid her laughter with a coughing fit, earning an amused smile from Harry.
Lunch ended, and they all went outside to the courtyard. The sky was the same cloudy grey from the morning.
Hermione took a seat on the steps, diving right back into Voyages with Vampires yet again.
Ron and Harry were talking about Quidditch and Amisty slowly tuned them out, tugging on the grass below her feet.
She glanced up at the overcast sky, thinking back to the mysterious letters. The writer still had yet to reveal who they were to her, and she was starting to think she would never find out.
"Alright, Harry? I'm -- I'm Colin Creevey. I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think -- would it be all right if -- can I have a picture?" A new voice asked shyly. Amisty lowered her gaze, catching sight of a tiny, brown-haired boy looking at Harry with awestruck eyes.
She smiled slightly.
"Harry's got an admirer," She thought to herself, turning her gaze away so they didn't know she was listening in to their conversation.
Ears pricked, she looked around the courtyard, catching sight of a platinum blonde head in the crowd. He was far enough away... for now.
"A picture?" Harry asked, blinking in confusion.
"So I can prove I've met you. I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll move," He took a deep breath, struggling to keep his voice straight. "It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'll be really good if I had one of you, maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"
And then Draco was right behind poor Colin with his goons on either side, scaring the first-year out of his wits, "Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"
Amisty leaped to her feet, getting to the right of Harry as Ron took the left.
She sent a withering glare over at Malfoy, who met it evenly and smirked.
"Everyone line up! Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!" He yelled out to the courtyard, quickly grabbing the attention of everyone.
"No, I'm not. Shut up, Malfoy," Harry growled lowly, fists clenched as he glared at the Slytherin.
"You're just jealous," Colin protested, his voice squeaky.
Amisty winced internally. He should've stayed quiet.
"Jealous? Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself," Draco replied smartly, earning dark chuckles from his minions.
"Eat slugs, Malfoy," Ron snarled, his eyes blazing with blue fire.
Crabbe sobered up, rubbing his knuckles.
"Be careful, Weasley. You don't want to start any trouble or your mummy'll have to come and take you away from school," He raised his voice a few octaves, "If you put another toe out of line' --"
A group of Slytherin fifth years laughed, their voices carrying over the silent courtyard effortlessly.
Ron flushed, gritting his teeth.
"Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter. It'd be worth more than his family's whole house --" Draco started once again, smirking.
Ron whipped out his wand just as Amisty leaned to lunge until...
"Look out!" Hermione whispered, closing Voyages with Vampires and staring off across the field.
Gilderoy Lockhart was strutting toward them, his hair still miraculously shiny in the dullness of the day.
"What's all this, what's all this? Who's giving out signed photos?" He asked, robes flaring out behind him like a turquoise tail. Harry opened his mouth to explain only for Lockhart to swing his arm around his shoulders. "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"
Malfoy, his job finished, snuck back into the crowd.
Amisty scrambled after him for her path to be blocked by a mass of Slytherins.
Protecting their prince.
Harry's face was on the verge of turning mahogany he was blushing so furiously.
"Come on then, Mr. Creevey. A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it for you," Lockhart grinned and the fumbling boy.
Colin nodded enthusiastically, his fingers shaking slightly as he snapped a picture. The afternoon bell rang after it clicked.
"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart waved everyone off.
Amisty, after a lot of pleading from Hermione to 'leave him alone' and Ron's 'you can get to that git later' she headed back up to the castle.
Grudgingly, of course.
She headed up to her dormitory to grab her pile of textbooks before running back down to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Harry was hunched in the back of the class, his books stacked in front of him. She took the seat to the right of him, Hermione beside her and Ron on Harry's other side.
"You could've fried an egg on your face. You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club," Ron joked, nudging him with his elbow.
"Shut up," Harry snapped.
Clearly Lockhart had said something he hadn't quite appreciated. Lockhart, ahem, Professor Lockhart was standing at the front of the class, waiting patiently for silence to fall.
Once it did, he picked up Neville's copy of Travels with Trolls and help it up to his face.
"Me," He smiled his blinding white smile, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award -- but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"
He paused, waiting for laughter. All he got were a few weak smiles.
The only one from the quartet coming from Hermione.
Amisty was looking at him, stone-faced, wondering how on earth someone could be so arrogant.
"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books -- well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about -- just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in --" He handed out the test papers as he talked. "You have thirty minutes -- start -- now!"
Amisty leaned over her paper, almost bursting into laughter at the sight of the ridiculous questions.
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?
"I don't know and I really don't care. Not much of a secret if you've written about it. Managing to write a quiz about himself," Amisty thought to herself as she read the questions, flipping it over to see if there were any serious ones.
There were none.
She glanced to the side, biting on her cheek to keep from laughing.
Harry and Ron looked just as confused and amused as she was.
Hermione, on the other hand, was working away diligently, already on the second page.
So she set on scribbling down random, though not rude, answers.
Thirty minutes passed, the Professor collected all the papers and flipped through them at his desk.
"Tut, tut -- hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully -- I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples -- though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!" He winked, smiling broadly.
Ron stared at him, incredulousness written all across his face.
Seamus and Dean, the two friends sitting up front, were struggling to contain their laughter.
Hermione was sitting up straight, listening closely to his nonsense.
" ... but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions -- good girl!" He praised, looking over her paper as Hermione jumped in her seat. "In fact, full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"
Hermione raised her hand shakily, her cheeks stained scarlet.
"Excellent! Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor!" His smile was brilliant. "And so -- to business --"
He leaned over behind his desk and pulled out a tall, fabric covered cage and placed it on the wood.
"Now -- be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest of creatures known to wizardkind!" He spoke with intense drama in his tone. "You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."
Amisty looked at the cage with interest, alone with Harry, who leaned around his books to see.
Professor Lockhart stared around the room, making eye contact with every one of the students as he curled his fingers around the sheet.
Seamus and Dean had ceased their laughter and Neville was shaking in the front row, his eyes as wide as saucers.
"I must ask you not to scream. It might provoke them," He whispered, voice easily heard as the class had gone eerily silent.
With a swift flick of his wrist, he tugged off the cover.
"Yes. Freshly caught Cornish pixies," He announced theatrically, throwing the cloth out to the side.
Amisty fell out of her seat.