In no time at all, Defence Against the Dark Arts had become most people's favourite class. Only Draco Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins had anything bad to say about Professor Lupin.
"Look ar the state of his robes," Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. "He dressed like our old house-elf."
Other than a couple of hexes from Antheia, no one else paid attention to Malfoy nor cared that Professor Lupin's robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. After Boggarts, they studied Red Caps, nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed, in the dungeons of castles, and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had got lost. From Red Caps they moved on to Kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.
As happy as Antheia was with her father's class, she couldn't help hoping her other classes could be just as interesting. Worst of all was Professor Snape who was in a particularly vindictive mood these days, and no one was in any doubt why. The story of the Boggart assuming Snape's shape, and the way Neville had dressed it in his grandmother's clothes, had traveled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn't seem to find it funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Professor Lupin's name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever.
Harry was starting to dread the hours he spent in Professor Trelawney's stifling tower room, deciphering lop-sided shapes and symbols, trying to ignore the way Professor Trelawney's enormous eyes filled with tears every time she looked at him. He couldn't like Professor Trelawney, even though she was treated with respect bordering on reverence by many of the class. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney's tower room at lunchtimes and always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they knew things the others didn't. They had also started using hushed voices whenever they spoke to Harry, as though he was on his deathbed.
Nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures, which after the action-packed first class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. They were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after Flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence.
"Why would anyone bother looking after them?" said Ron, after yet another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the Flobberworms' slimy throats.
At the start of October, however, Antheia and Harry had something else to occupy them. The Quidditch season was approaching, and Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor team, called a meeting one Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season.
Antheia had tried out for and joined the team as a chaser in her second year after a whole summer of practicing with Fred and George. Her father couldn't afford the best broom, but she was grateful for her Comet 290 nonetheless.
There were seven people on a Quidditch team: three Chasers, whose job it was to score goals by putting the Quaffle (a red, football-sized ball) through one of the fifty-feet-high hoops at each end of the pitch; two Beaters, who were equipped with heavy bats to repel the Bludgers (two heavy black balls which zoomed around trying to attack the players); a Keeper, who defended the goalposts, and the Seeker, who had the hardest job of all, that of catching the Golden Snitch, a tiny, winged, walnut-sized ball, whose capture ended the game and earned the Seeker's team an extra one hundred and fifty points.
Oliver Wood was a burly seventeen-year-old, now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed his fellow team members in the chilly changing rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch pitch.
"This is our last chance - my last chance - to win the Quidditch Cup," he told them, striding up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it."
"Gryffindor hasn't won for seven years now. OK, so we've had the worst luck in the world - injuries - then the tournament getting called off last year ..." Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've got the best - ruddy - team - in - the - school," he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye while Antheia snickered into her hand.
"We've got three superb Chaser."
Wood pointed at Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Antheia. Antheia pointed back at him, grinning.
"We've got two unbeatable Beaters."
"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," said Fred and George Weasley together, pretending to blush.
"And we've got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!" Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. "And me," he added, as an afterthought.
"We think you're very good, too, Oliver," said George.
"Cracking Keeper," said Fred.
"The point is," Wood went on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry and Antheia joined the team, I've thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this year's the last chance we'll have to finally see our name on the thing ..."
Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Fred and George looked sympathetic.
"Oliver, this year's out year," said Fred.
"We'll do it, Oliver!" said Angelina.
"Definitely," said Harry.
Full of determination, the team started training sessions, three evenings a week. The weather was getting colder and wetter, the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind, or rain could tarnish Harry's wonderful vision of finally winning the huge silver cup.
Antheia loved Quidditch. She always had. However, with her extra classes, she hardly had time to complete all her homework with the extra Quidditch practices. She had close to no free time, even during weekends, and pulled all-nighters at least twice a week.
Antheia looked up from her Arthimancy textbook to see the common room buzzing excitedly.
"What's happening?" she asked Ron and Hermione, who were sitting in two of the best chairs by the fireside and completing some star charts for Astronomy as Harry walked in.
"First Hogsmeade weekend," said Ron, pointing at a notice that had appeared on the battered old noticeboard. "End of October. Hallowe'en."
"Excellent," said Fred, who had followed Harry through the portrait hole. "I need to visit Zonko's, I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets."
Harry threw himself into a chair beside Ron, his high spirits ebbing away. Antheia seemed to read his mind.
"Harry, I'm sure you'll be able to go next time," she said. "They're bound to catch Black soon, he's been sighted once already. Anyways," she leaned closer to Harry and whispered, "you could always ask Fred and George."
"Black's not a fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade," said Ron. "Ask McGonagall if you can go this time, Harry, the next one might not be for ages -"
"Ron!" said Hermione. "Harry's supposed to stay in school -"
"He can't be the only third-year left behind," said Ron. "Ask McGonagall, go on, Harry -"
"Yeah, I think I will," said Harry, making up his mind.
Hermione opened her mouth t argue, but at that moment Crookshanks leapt lightly onto her lap. A large, dead spider was dangling from his mouth.
"Does he have to eat that in front of us?" said Ron, scowling.
"Clever Crookshanks, did you catch that all by yourself?" said Hermione.
Crookshanks slowly chewed up the spider, his yellow eyes fixed insolently on Ron.
"Just keep him over there, that's all," said Ron irritably, turning back to his star chart. "I've got Scabbers asleep in my bag."
Antheia felt her eyes get heavy. She wanted nothing more, at that moment, to fall into her bed and sleep for hours. She looked around her lap to see Arthimancy textbooks, star charts, and a Transfiguration essay. She opened up her Arthimancy textbook and yawned, accepting another sleepless night.
All of a sudden, Ron roared, "OY!" Antheia looked up to see Crookshanks sinking four sets of claws deeply into Ron's bag, and begin to tear it ferociously. "GET OFF YOU STUPID ANIMAL!" he yelled.
Ron tried to pull the bag away from Crookshanks, but Crookshanks clung on, spitting and slashing.
"Ron, don't hurt him!" squealed Hermione. The whole common room was watching; Ron whirled the bag around, Crooksanks still clinging to it, and Scabbers came flying out of the top -
"CATCH THAT CAT!" Ron yelled, as Crookshanks freed himself from the remnants of the bag, sprang over the table, and chased after the terrified Scabbers.
George Weasley made a lunge for Crookshanks but missed; Scabbers streaked through twenty pairs of legs and shot beneath an old chest of drawers. Crookshanks skidded to a halt, crouched low on his bandy legs, and started making furious swipes beneath the chest of drawers with his front paw.
Ron and Hermione hurried over; Hermione grabbed Crookshanks around the middle and heaved him away; Ron threw himself onto his stomach and, with great difficulty, pulled Scabbers out by the tail.
"Look at him!" he said furiously to Hermione, dangling Scabbers in front of her, "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!"
"Crookshanks doesn't understand it's wrong!" said Hermione, her voice shaking. "All cats chase rats, Ron!"
"There's something funny about that animal!" said Ron, who was trying to persuade a frantically wiggling Scabbers back into his pocket. "It heard me say Scabbers was in my bag!"
"Oh, what rubbish," said Hermione impatiently. "Crookshanks could smell him, Ron, how else d'you think -"
"That cat's got it in for Scabbers!" said Ron, ignoring the people around him, who were starting to giggle. "And Scabbers was here first, and he's ill!"
Hermione and Ron both marched through the common room and out of sight to their respective dormitories.
Antheia sighed, opening up her textbook once more. She looked at Harry, who was still staring up the stairs to the boys' dormitories and put her head on his shoulder, continuing reading.
Harry froze, looking down to see Antheia calmly reading, and with all the courage he could collect, put his arm over her shoulders.
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Ron was still in a bad mood with Hermione next day. He barely talked to her all through Herbology, even though he, Harry, Antheia, and Hermione were working together on the same Puffapod.
"How's Scabbers?" Hermione asked timidly, as they stripped fat pink pods from the plants and emptied the shining beans into a wooden pail.
"He's hiding at the bottom of my bed, shaking," said Ron angrily, missing the pail and scattering beans over the greenhouse floor.
"Careful, Weasley, careful!" cried Professor Sprout, as the beans burst into bloom before their very eyes.
They had Transfiguration next. Harry, who had resolved to ask Professor McGonagall after the lesson whether he could go into Hogsmeade with the rest, joined the queue outside the classroom, trying to decide how he was going to argue his case. He was distracted, however, by a disturbance at the front of the line.
Lavender brown seemed to be crying. Parvati had her arm around her and was explaining something to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were looking very serious.
"What's the matter, Lavender?" said Hermione anxiously, as she, Harry, Ron, and Antheia went to join the group.
"She got a letter from home this morning," Parvati whispered. "It's her rabbit, Binky. He's been killed by a fox."
"Oh, I'm so sorry Lavender ..." Antheia said.
"I should have known!" said Lavender tragically. "You know what day it is?"
"Er -"
"The sixteenth of October! 'That thing you're dreading, it will happen on the sixteenth of October!' Remember? She was right, she was right!"
Antheia was tempted to tell her it was probably just a coincidence but decided against using logic against a wailing Lavender.
The whole class was gathered around Lavender now. Seamus shook his head seriously. Hermione hesitated; then she said, "You - you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?"
"Well, not necessarily by a fox," said Lavender, looking up at Hermione with streaming eyes, "but I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn't I?"
"Oh," said Hermione. She paused again. Then -
"Was Binky an old rabbit?"
"N-no!" sobbed Lavender. "H-he was only a baby!"
Parvati tightened her arm around Lavender's shoulder.
"But then, why would you dread him dying?" said Hermione.
Parvati glared at her.
"Well, look at it logically," said Hermione, turning to the rest of the group as Antheia widened her eyes at her. "I mean, Binky didn't even die today, did he, Lavender just got the news today -" Lavender wailed loudly. "- and she can't have been dreading it, because it's come as a real shock -"
"Don't mind Hermione, Lavender," said Ron loudly, "she doesn't think other people's pets matter very much."
Professor McGonagall opened the classroom food at that moment, which was perhaps lucky; Hermione and Ron were glaring daggers at each other, and when they got into class, they seated themselves on either end of Harry and Antheia and didn't talk to each other all lesson.
Harry still hadn't decided what he was going to say to Professor McGonagall when the bell rang at the end of the lesson, but it was she who brought up the subject of Hogsmeade first.
"One moment, please!" she called, as the class made to leave. "As you're all in my house, you should hand Hogsmeade permission forms to me before Hallowe'en. No form, no visiting the village, so don't forget!"
Neville put up his hand.
"Please, Professor, I - I think I've lost -"
"Your grandmother sent yours to me directly, Longbottom," said Professor McGonagall. "She seemed to think it was safer. Well, that's all, you may leave."
"Ask her now," Ron hissed at Harry.
"Oh, but -" Hermione began.
"Go for it, Harry," said Ron stubbornly.
Antheia watched as Harry nervously walked to Professor McGonagall's desk before she approached Ron.
"Ron, do you think you can maybe stop fighting with Hermione?" she said timidly. "I mean -"
"No," he said firmly.
"Come on, Ronald. It isn't her fault her cat -"
"That monster almost killed Scabbers!" Ron yelled.
"But -" Antheia started, but Ron had already walked away from her. Antheia rolled her eyes just as Harry walked back towards them sadly.
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There was nothing to be done. Ron called Professor McGonagall a lot of names that greatly annoyed Hermione; Hermione assumed an 'all for the best' expression that made Ron even angrier, Antheia was starting to develop a permanent headache due to Hermione and Ron always screaming at each other, and Harry had to endure everyone in the class talking loudly and happily about what they were going to do first, once they got into Hogsmeade.
"There's always the feast," said Ron, in an effort to cheer Harry up. "You know, the Hallowe'en feast, in the evening."
"Yeah," said Harry, gloomily, "great."
The Hallowe'en feast was always good, but it would taste a lot better if Harry was coming to it after a day in Hogsmeade with everyone else. Nothing anyone said made him feel any better about being left behind. Dean Thomas, who was good with a quill, had offered to forge Uncle Vernon''s signature on the form, but as Harry had already told Professor McGonagall he hadn't had it signed, that was no good. Ron half-heartedly suggested the Invisibility Cloak, but Hermione stamped on that one, reminding Ron what Dumbledore had told them about the Dementors being able to see through them. Percy had what were possibly the least helpful words of comfort.
"They make a fuss about Hogsmeade, but I assure you, Harry, it's not all it's cracked up to be," he said seriously. "All right, the sweetshop's rather good, but Zonko's Joke Shop's frankly dangerous, and yes, the Shrieking Shack's always worth a visit, but really, Harry, apart from that, you're not missing anything."
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On Hallowe'en morning, Harry awoke with the rest and went down to breakfast feeling thoroughly depressed, though doing his best to act normally.
"We'll bring you lots of sweets back from Honeydukes," said Hermione, looking desperately sorry for him.
"Yeah, loads," said Ron. He and Hermione had finally forgotten their squabble about Crookshanks in the face of Harry's disappointment.
Antheia, looking conflicted, walked towards Harry and said, "I could stay with you, Harry. I could always go another time."
"No, no," said Harry. "I'd only feel worse if you stayed."
"What's that supposed to mean, Potter?" Antheia joked, raising an eyebrow.
Harry laughed and said, in what he hoped was an offhand voice, "Don't worry about me. I'll see you at the feast. Have a good time."
Antheia walked along with Ron and Hermione, who were now chatting animatedly. She couldn't help missing Harry. Harry could always make her laugh while Ron and Hermione, though her best friends, were rather more interested in each other than Antheia.
The three walked around, exploring Hogsmeade.
"Can we visit the Hog's Head?" pleaded Hermione. "I think it'd be fascinating to see the headquarters of the goblin rebellion in 1612 -"
"Let's go to Honeydukes!" interrupted Ron, dragging the two girls and practically running into the shop.
They continued to visit Dervish and Banges, have a glass of butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, check out Zonko's Joke Shop, and visit the post office filled with multi-colored owls. After a couple of hours, they headed back, carrying as many sweets as they could carry.
"There you go," said Ron. "We got as much as we could carry."
A shower of brilliantly colored sweets fell into Harry's lap. It was dusk, and Ron, Hermione, and Antheia had just turned up in the common room, pink-faced from the cold wind and looking as though they'd had the time of their lives.
"Thanks," said Harry, picking up a packet of tiny black Pepper Imps. "What's Hogsmeade like? Where did you go?"
By the sound of it - everywhere. Antheia tried her best to make the shops sound mediocre, but not much could make foaming hot mugs of butterbeer sound mediocre.
"The post office, Harry! About two hundred owls, all sitting on shelves, all colour-coded depending on how fast you want your letter to get there!"
"Honeydukes have got a new kind of fudge, they were giving out free samples, there's a bit, look -"
"We think we saw an ogre, honestly, they get all sorts at the Three Broomsticks -"
"Wish we could have brought you some Butterbeer. Really warms you up -"
"What did you do?" said Hermione, looking anxious. "Did you get any work done?"
"No," said Harry. "Lupin made me a cup of tea in his office. And then Snape came in and put something in it."
Ron's mouth fell open.
"Lupin drank it?" he gasped. "Is he mad"
Hermione checked her watch.
"We'd better go down, you know, the feast'll be starting in five minutes ..." They hurried through the portrait hole and into the crowd, still discussing Snape.
"But - if he really was -" Antheia glanced around before whispering, "if he was trying to poison dad - he wouldn't do it in front of Harry, right?"
"Yeah, maybe," said Harry, as they reached the Entrance Hall and crossed into the Great Hall. It had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats, and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.
The food was delicious; even Hermione, Antheia, and Ron, who were full to bursting with Honeydukes sweets, managed second helpings of everything. Harry kept glancing at the staff table. Professor Lupin looked cheerful and as well as he ever did; he was talking animatedly to tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher. Harry moved his eyes along the table, to the place Snape sat. Was he imagining it, or were Snape's eyes flickering towards Lupin more often than was natural?
The feast finished with entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a spot of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had great success with a re-enactment of his own botched beheading.
It has been such a good evening that Harry's good mood couldn't even be spoiled by Malfoy, who shouted through the crowd as they left the Hall, "The Dementors send their love, Potter!"
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Antheia followed the rest of the Gryffindors along the usual path to Gryffindor Tower, but when they reached the corridor which ended with the portrait of the Fat lady, they found it jammed with students.
"Why isn't anyone going in?" said Ron curiously.
Harry peered over the heads in front of him. The portrait seemed closed.
"Let me through, please," came Percy's voice, and he came bustling importantly through the crowd. "What's the hold-up here? You can't all have forgotten the password - excuse me, I'm Head Boy -"
And then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front first, so that a chill seemed to spread down the corridor. They heard Percy say, in a suddenly sharp voice, "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick."
People's heads turned; those at the back were standing on tiptoe.
"What's going on?" said Ginny, who had just arrived.
Next moment, Professor Dumbledore was there, sweeping towards the portrait; the Gryffindors squeezed together to let him through, and Harry, Ron, Antheia, and Hermione moved closer to see what the trouble was.
"Oh, my -" Antheia whispered and grabbed Harry's arm.
The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor, great chunks of it had been torn away completely.
Dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned, his eyes somber, to see Professors McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape hurrying towards him.
"We need to find her," said Dumbledore. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."
"You'll be lucky!" said a cackling voice.
It was Peeves the poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry.
"What do you mean, Peeves?" said Dumbledore calmly, and Peeves' grin faded a little. He didn't dare taunt Dumbledore. Instead, he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his cackle.
"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful," he said happily. "Poor thing," he added, unconvincingly.
"Did she say who did it?" said Dumbledore quietly.
"Oh, yes, Professorhead," said Peeves, with an air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see." Peeves flipped over and grinned at Dumbledore from between his own legs. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."
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