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Chapter Text

Mr and Mrs Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious or unnatural, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which manufactured and sold drills. He was a big, beefy man with a thick moustache and beady eyes. Mrs. Dursley, who used to work at Grunnings, quit her job to be a housewife shortly after they got married. She was a willowy, blonde woman with clear eyes and teeth that were just a bit too big for her mouth. Mrs. Dursley spends most of her free time spying on their neighbours over the garden fence. They had a small son; Dudley, and in their opinion, there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they could possibly want but they also had a secret, a secret that was so shameful, their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't know what they would do if someone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's younger sister but they haven't seen each other in months, in fact, Mrs. Dursley liked to pretend she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what their neighbours would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small child too; a daughter, but they never met her. She was another on a list of reasons to keep the Potters away, they couldn't have Dudley mixing with children like that.

Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up on the morning of November 2nd, 1981. It was a dull, grey morning; a Monday. There was nothing outside their bedroom window to suggest that strange and unusual things were about to happen all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring brown tie for work to match his equally boring grey suit while Mrs. Dursley gossiped away as she tried to wrestle a squirming, screaming Dudley into his high chair. Neither Mr or Mrs Dursley noticed the tawny owl soar past the kitchen window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley finished his coffee, picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley but missed, his son seemed much more interested in throwing bits of scrambled egg on the walls than receiving affection from his father.

"Little tyke," he chortled and left the house, he stood on the stoop for a moment, breathing in the smell of dead leaves and wet asphalt. Nearly every house on Privet Drive was was decorated for Halloween, including theirs (primarily for Dudley's enjoyment).

Mr. Dursley picks a few leaves off his windshield before sliding into his hatchback.

It was on the corner where he noticed the first sign of something peculiar; a car reading a map. For a moment, Mr. Dursley thought he was seeing things— then he jerked his head around to look again, there was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive only there was no map in sight. Mr. Dursley laughed uneasily, chalking it up to a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked his beady blue eyes at the cat and the cat stared back. As he drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his rearview mirror, head tilted up, reading the sign that said Privet Drive— no, looking at the sign; cats can't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley shook his head and forced the cat from his mind, driving toward town with nothing but the large order of drills he was hoping to receive today.

But when he merged into traffic, he forgot all about his drills too. As sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help but notice there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed young people up and about, people in cloaks. Mr Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes, he supposed this was some stupid new fashion.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing close by. They were whispering excitedly about something and Mr. Dursley was enraged to discover that a few of them weren't young at all; one of them was decades older than he was, in an emerald cloak and not in a suit and tie like he ought to be wearing. But then it struck Mr Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt. These people were obviously collecting for something...yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on, and a few minutes later, Mr Dursley arrived in the Grunnings car park, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley's office was up on the ninth floor. He always sat with his back to the window, if he had been facing forward he would've found it harder to concentrate on drills. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, the people down in the street did however; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl flew overhead. Most people in Little Whinging had never seen an owl even at night-time. Mr. Dursley, all thanks to his seating arrangement, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning; he yelled at people, made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more, making one intern cry.

He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the baker's opposite.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. Mr. Dursley didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This lot were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, with a black coffee in one hand and a large doughnut in a bag in the other, that he heard a bit of what they were gossiping about.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard—"

"—yes, their daughter, Lisa—"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead in his tracks, a cold rush of fear washing over him. He looked back at the whisperers with eyes bulging. Mr. Dursley nearly dropped his coffee on his dash back across the street, he hurried back up to his office, ordered his secretary not to disturb him for the rest of the afternoon. He seized his telephone and had nearly dialled his home number when he thought better of it. Mr. Dursley slammed the receiver down and stroked his moustache thoughtfully. Potter wasn't such an uncommon name, he knew several in his youth and was sure there were lots of Potters with a daughter named Lisa and come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his niece was called Lisa. He'd never even seen the girl. Her name could have easily been Lydia or Lola for all he knew. Therefore there was no sense in worrying Mrs. Dursley about it, she always got so upset at the mere mention of her sister, not that he could blame her, if he'd had a sister like that.

Mr. Dursley found it difficult to focus on drills that afternoon, his mind drifting back to those cloak-clad weirdos every fifteen minutes or so. When he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted as the tiny old man stumbled and nearly fell on the asphalt. It took a moment for Mr. Dursley to notice his attire; velvet robes under a violet cloak. The old man didn't seem at all upset that he had been nearly knocked over. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he spoke with a squeaky voice that made passersby glance their way: "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!" and then the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around his middle and skipped off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot mere feet away from his car, he had been hugged by a stranger and called a Muggle, whatever that was. Rattled, he hurried to his hatchback and sped off for home, hoping he was simply imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination. As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw (and it didn't improve his mood) was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo! Go away!" Mr. Dursley shouted, swinging his briefcase around. The cat didn't budge, merely giving him a stern look. Mr. Dursley huffed irritably and wondered if this was normal behaviour for feline pests.

Trying to pull himself together, he fumbled for his keys and let himself into the house. Immediately, his nose was filled with the aroma of rosemary chicken and roast potatoes. He remained determined to not mention a single thing he saw or heard today to his wife. Mrs. Dursley has a normal day and she told him all about it over dinner. Apparently, according to Mrs. Dursley, the old woman next door had a row with her daughter-in-law. Dudley had learned a new word; shan't. All in all, nothing out of the ordinary happened here. Mr. Dursley tried to act as normal as he was capable, he watched Mrs. Dursley wrestle Dudley up the stairs, shouting "shan't!" the whole way. With a heavy sigh, he tossed back the rest of his brandy and retreated into the living room. He loosened his tie and bent over the television, switching it on before collapsing in his armchair. Mr. Dursley had missed most of the evening news but was just in time to catch the last report:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving rather unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen during the day, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping patterns. Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather, going to be any more showers our owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," the weatherman said after a slight delay, "I don't know about that, but it's not only owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early— it's not until Thursday, folks! But I can promise you a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his overstuffed armchair, shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying in broad daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks on every corner? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room just then, carrying two cups of tea on saucers. It was no good, he couldn't keep it in forever, he had to say something.

Mr. Dursley took the tea and gripped the china tightly, he cleared his throat nervously and said, "Er— Petunia, dear...you-you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?" As he expected, Mrs. Dursley stiffened, both shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply, "why?"

"Oh just...funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled, burning his tongue and throat when he took a sip of scalding tea. "Owls...shooting stars and there were loads of funny-looking people out and about today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I had thought," he continued uncomfortably, "perhaps it had something to do with... her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips and Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard mention of the Potters. He decided he shouldn't dare, instead, he said, as casually as he could, "their daughter...she'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't she?"

"I suppose so," Mrs. Dursley said tautly.

"What are what was her name? Louise, isn't it?"

"Lisa. A nasty, common name if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, "yes, I quite agree."

He didn't utter a single word on the subject, they finished their tea and went upstairs to bed.

While Mrs. Dursley was in the adjoined bathroom, applying cold cream to her face, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden and to his horror, the cat was still there, staring down Privet Drive as if it were waiting for something. Was he simply imagining things? Did it have something to do with Mrs. Dursley's sister? If it did and word got out that they were related to a pair of...well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The light behind him switched off and he followed his wife into bed, Mrs. Dursley lay on her back, she lowered her eye mask and was able to fall asleep quickly. Mr. Dursley, however, hadn't had such luck. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, turning everything over in his mind. He managed, after nearly an hour of worrying, to fall asleep. Whatever was happening to the Potters, if anything were happening, there was absolutely no reason for them to come anywhere near the Dursleys.

How very wrong he was.

While Mr. Dursley drifted into uneasy sleep, the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed in the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearing midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner of Privet Drive, so suddenly and quietly it would be safe to assume he just popped straight out of the ground. Nothing like this man had been seen on Privet Drive before, not even at an eccentric child's birthday party. He was tall, thin and appeared to be very old, he had long white hair and a longer beard, tucked into his belt. The belt was just for show, a mere fashion choice due to the simple fact he wasn't wearing trousers but a long purple robe that swept the ground with each step and click of his high-heeled boots. His blue eyes were bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles perched on his long and crooked nose.

His name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome, sweeping past identical brick houses. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something, fully aware that he was being watched. He looked up at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him, he chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

His fingers brushed over loose sherbet lemons before he found what he was looking for. It was long and thin like a lighter; he called it a deluminator or a put-outer (depending on the time of day), like some cartoonish villain out of a movie made for children. He flicked it open and instead of a flame, it began to suck all the light from the lampposts. He clicked it twelve times until the only light was the dim light of the moon and two tiny pinpricks in the distance; the eyes of the tabby cat.

Dumbledore slipped the deluminator back into his pocket and set off for number four. He looked down at the cat perched on the garden wall and sat down beside it. He didn't look at the cat, but after a moment he spoke to it, a twinkle in his eye, "fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." Dumbledore turned to smile at the tabby but it had gone, instead, he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square-shaped glasses, identical to the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was as wearing a cloak; emerald velvet. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun behind her head and she looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she inquired.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly," Dumbledore quipped and she frowned, eyes narrowing behind square-shaped glasses.

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day."

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily, "oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right, you'd think our kind would be a bit more careful. Even the Muggles have noticed, it was on their news," she jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it; flocks of owls, shooting stars. They're not completely stupid, they were bound to notice something. I bet those shooting stars down in Kent had something to do with that Dedalus Diggle, he never had much sense."

"You can't be so hard on them, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently, "we've had very little to celebrate these last eleven years."

"I know that," McGonagall snapped, "but that's no excuse to lose our heads. People are being careless, Albus. Out on the streets in broad daylight, didn't bother to dress in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours." She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she continued, "fine thing it would be if on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone?"

"It certainly seems so," he said. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A what?"

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of," he said and twirled the wrapper, popping the sour sweet in his mouth. He held one out in offering but McGonagall waved her hand.

"No, thank you," she politely declined, "as I said, even if You-Know-Who has gone—"

Dumbledore hummed, "my dear Professor, surely a sensible person such as yourself can call him by his name? All of this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense— for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort," Professor McGonagall flinched but the old man hadn't noticed, "it all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who', I have never seen any reason to be frightened of a name."

"I know you haven't," Professor McGonagall sighed, half exasperated, half admiring, "but you're different, everyone knows you're the only one You-Know...oh, all right, Voldemort, was afraid of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore, "Voldemort has powers I'll never have."

"Only because you're too, well, noble to use them."

The old man chuckled, "it's lucky it's dark, I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

"Hm," McGonagall shot a sharp look his way, "the owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around, you know what everyone's saying? About why he disappeared? About what finally stopped him?" This is what Professor McGonagall was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been sitting on that cold hard wall all day. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. And he wasn't looking at her, seemingly more concerned with finding the best-looking sherbet lemon in his pocket.

"What they're saying," she pressed, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are-are— that they're dead." Dumbledore lowered his head and she gasped, covering her mouth with her palm. "Oh, I can't believe it...I didn't want to believe it, oh...Albus..."

Dumbledore reaches out and pat her shoulder for comfort, "I know, I know," he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled but she pushed through it, "that's not all they're saying— their little girl, Lisa. They're saying he tried to kill her too but he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why or how but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Lisa Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke and that's why he's gone." Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It— it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall, "after all the people he's killed...he couldn't kill a child barely out of infancy? It's just astounding...of all the things to stop him...but how in the name of heaven did Lisa survive?"

"We may never know," Dumbledore said, "we can merely speculate."

Professor McGonagall pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes beneath her spectacles, Dumbledore sniffed beside her and checked his pocket watch; it was an odd watch, not the kind you'd buy in a shop. It had twelve hands but instead of numbers, little planets circled the edge.

"Hagrid is late," he said, tucking the watch away, "I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Lisa to her Aunt and Uncle. They're the only family she has left now."

A look of quiet outrage swept across McGonagall's face. "You don't mean— you can't mean the people who live here?' She jumped to her feet and pointed at number four. "Dumbledore— you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son, I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Lisa Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for her," Dumbledore reaffirmed, "her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her once she's old enough to understand. I've written them a letter," he patted his inner pocket.

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall, she plopped back down on the low wall and rubbed her forehead, irritated. "Honestly, Albus. Do you think you can just explain all this in a letter and they will understand? She'll be famous! You know, I wouldn't be surprised if today was named 'Lisa Potter Day' in the future, there will be books written about her and every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very serious over the top of his half-moon glasses. "she's better off growing up away from all that. That level of fame would be enough to turn any child's head, Minerva."

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth then snapped it shut, sighing. "Yes, yes you're right but how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She asked, eyeing his cloak suddenly as if he might be hiding little Lisa beneath it.

"Oh, Hagrid is bringing her."

Professor McGonagall blinked at Dumbledore, "you think it's a wise idea to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life."

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place but you can't pretend that he isn't careless. He does tend to— what is that?"

The roar of a motor filled the night air so suddenly, it grew louder and louder as they looked down the road for the glare of a headlight, but nothing came around the corner. Then they had the idea to look up and saw it, a large blue bike coming down with the moon behind it. It fell out of the air and skidded to a halt a few houses down.

While the motorcycle might've been huge, it was nothing compared to the person riding it. He was twice as tall as a regular man, big and burly with long tangles of bushy black hair and his beard— equally as wild, hid most of his face. But his eyes were kind, beneath his goggles. One huge hand gripped the handlebar, in the crook of his other arm he held a lumpy bundle of blankets. He nudged the kickstand with his boot and pushed up his goggles.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," he said with a sniff, "Professor McGonagall."

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved, "there you are. Where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," he said and climbed off carefully, adjusting his grip on the child in his arms, "from Sirius Black. I've got her, sir."

"No problems, I trust?"

"No, sir— house was almost destroyed but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent over the child. She was sound asleep, one chubby cheek pressed against Hagrid's arm. Under downy black hair, McGonagall spotted something and gently brushed the strands out of the way, gasping softly when she saw the peculiarly shaped cut; a bit like a lightning bolt.

"Is that where—?" Professor McGonagall whispered.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, "she'll carry that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't, scars can come in handy. I have one myself, above my left knee, it's a perfect map of the London Underground." He said with his arms out expectantly, "well, give her here, Hagrid."

Hagrid carefully lowers the bundle of blankets into Dumbledore's arms and the old wizard cradled her gently.

"Could I...could I say goodbye to her, sir?" Hagrid asked and Dumbledore nodded, he bent his head and gave her what must've been a very scratchy kiss on an unmarred part of her forehead and without warning, he let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" Professor McGonagall hissed, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-sorry," Hagrid blubbered, pulling a great big spotted handkerchief from his inner pocket, he buried his nose in it and blew. "But I ca-can't stand it! Lily an' James are dead— an' poor little Lisa has ter live with Muggles—"

"Yes, it's all very sad," McGonagall said, offering the man her handkerchief, "but get a hold of yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found."

He blew his nose noisily, watching Dumbledore stride passed the car in the driveway and place little Lisa down on the welcome mat in front of the door, beside the plastic ghost holding a pumpkin. He took a thick parchment envelope out of his inner pocket and tucked it in the outermost blanket and backed away slowly, muttering under his silver moustache. Despite knowing this was the safest place for her now, even Dumbledore had his reservations about it, but there was nothing he could do now, it was already done.

He returned, heavy-hearted to Hagrid and McGonagall and for a moment all they could do was stand and watch the bundle of tweed and flannel. Hagrid worried McGonagall's handkerchief between his fingers, his moustache and beard dripping with tears. Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, trying to swallow the lump that had found a home at the back of her throat, the dam nearly broke when she heard Lisa sneeze in her sleep. McGonagall looked up at Dumbledore, silently hoping he would change his mind. Instead, the twinkle of mirth in his clear blue eyes had been snuffed out.

"Well," Dumbledore said, "that's that, we have no business staying here. We might as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," Hagrid agreed, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, sir." Wiping his eyes with his sleeve he lowered his goggles and swung himself onto the motorcycle, he kicked the engine to life and with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore said and unable to find her voice, McGonagall nodded in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and one by one the light returned to their posts. Privet Drive was aglow in orange light once again and he could make out a cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street.  He could just see the tiny bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Lisa," he murmured and with a click of his heel and a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A cold breeze ruffled through bare branches and neatly clipped hedges that lay silent and tidy under the starry sky. It was the last place one would expect something remarkable or astonishing in to happen. Lisa Potter rolled over inside her soft blankets without waking, unaware of how special she or famous she had become, unaware that in a few hours she'll be rudely woken by her aunt screaming bloody murder when she opened the door to get the morning paper or that she would spend the next few weeks being poked and pinched by her cousin Dudley. She didn't know that at this very moment, people just like her gathered all over the country, holding up their glasses and celebrating her for something she was too young to remember: "To Lisa Potter, the girl who lived!"    

Chapter Text

Nearly ten years had passed since Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up to find their niece on their front step and they should've been glad to know that their fears were redundant because Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front garden and lit up the brass numbers on the front door, it crept into their living room, it was almost the same as the night Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls.

Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed, a decade ago, there had been lots of pictures of Dudley, who looked less like a baby boy and more like a large pink beach ball wearing various colourful bobble hats. Dudley was no longer a baby, now the images in the picture frames showed a young boy; riding his first bicycle, on a roundabout with his mother at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, and being hugged and kissed by his mother.

There were pictures of Lisa too, discreetly taken by Aunt Petunia and hidden in a cheap photo album, tucked away in the upstairs linen closet. The most recent was taken last Christmas; it was snowing outside, the sun had gone down and Lisa was standing in the kitchen, aglow with dozens of warm colourful lights. 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' was playing on the little television on the counter and Lisa was standing in front of a sheet of cookie dough, half-watching with a tree-shaped cookie cutter in her hand. Other than that there wasn't much to indicate that she lived here at all. She didn't have any toys or schoolwork stuck to the refrigerator but her shoes were on the rack by the door and she left one of her zip-up jumpers on the back of a kitchen chair. 

Aunt Petunia was the first one up and about, with her hair still in rollers and an apron around her waist. 

She smacked her palm against Lisa’s little door, startling the poor girl out of sleep. "Up! Get up!" She smacked the door again and stalked off toward the kitchen, "now!" Lisa waited until she heard the faint sound of the kitchen door swinging shut and the sound of the cast iron being put on the stove before she rolled onto her back and tried to remember the dream she'd been having, it was a good one— there had been a flying motorbike in it. But as nice as it was, Lisa couldn't help but feel like she'd had the same dream before.

"Okay," Lisa breathed, she reached for the shelf behind her head, feeling around until her fingers brushed cool metal, she opened the arms and nearly poked herself in the eye putting her glasses on. She turns the light on and untangles herself from the threadbare blanket to kneel on the mattress. Lisa paws through the small pile of clothes on the upper shelf and trades her pink nightgown striped shirt and overalls with patched up knees. She smooths down her hair and leaves her cupboard, turning toward the kitchen. On the breakfast table was a mountain of neatly wrapped presents, two balloons were tied to one of the chairs and there was a banner over the wall by the window.

It was Dudley's birthday, how could she forget?

At a glance, it looked as though Dudley had gotten that new computer he wanted, a second television and a bicycle. Why Dudley wanted a bicycle was a mystery, Dudley hated exercise— unless, of course, it involved punching someone. His target was almost always Lisa, but he often couldn't catch her. Perhaps it had something to do with living in a cupboard most of her life but Lisa was small and quick and had a knack for hiding herself away.

Aunt Petunia brushed past Lisa, "keep an eye on the bacon and don't you dare let it burn. I want everything to be perfect on Dudley's birthday."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Lisa muttered and took her post at the cast iron, pulling her sleeves up to her elbows. She stands there and pushes the bacon around in the grease, catching her reflection on the pot resting on the drying rack on the counter. Lisa had a scar on her forehead, long, thin and jagged. Like a bolt of lightning. Frowning, Lisa ran her fingers through her bangs, forcing it to lie flat against her skin. 

Lisa tried asking her Aunt about it once and her response was rather flippant. "In the car crash when your parents died and don't ask questions." Don't ask questions; the first rule she ever learned in the Dursley house. A rule that even Aunt Petunia occasionally broke by answering the questions she sometimes dared to ask.

Lisa was turning the bacon over when her Uncle entered the kitchen. He took his seat at the breakfast table and picked up his morning paper, lowering it once or twice to keep an eye on Lisa. She was a wisp of a girl, with thick black hair tumbling around her shoulders. Her glasses were round, black-and-silver frames held together by a bit of sellotape. Dudley had broken them a week ago, luckily it only resulted in a nosebleed and the bruising under her dark eyes has turned yellow, well on their way to healing. In a day or two, it would be as if it had never happened at all.

Lisa had set the bacon aside and was frying the eggs in the grease by the time Dudley came downstairs in blue pyjamas, he looked exactly like Uncle Vernon, only blond. Aunt Petunia often said he looked like a baby Angel— most of the world would disagree and so did Lisa who thought her Uncle looked like the human equivalent of an English Bulldog and if Dudley was his spitting image...

Lisa switches off the stove and uses a little stool to get three plates from the cupboard. She watches her family while she makes up their breakfast, smearing butter and jam on toast. Lisa sets the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, finished counting his presents and his face fell. "Thirty-six," he said and looked up at his parents, "that's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Aunt Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from mummy and daddy," soothed Aunt Petunia.

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Lisa, who could see a Dudley-style tantrum on the horizon, began wolfing down her bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. Aunt Petunia sensed it too and quickly tried to remedy the situation.   

"And we'll buy you two presents while we're out today, how's that, pumpkin? Two more presents, is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment, "so I'll have thirty...thirty..."

"Thirty-nine," Lisa supplied.

"Right, thirty-nine," repeated Dudley, he sat down on a chair and grabbed the nearest present.

Uncle Vernon chuckled, "little tyke wants his money's worth," he said, "just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!"

Just then, the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia left the kitchen to answer it while Lisa and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the bike,a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a videocassette recorder. He was tearing the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back, both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," Petunia said, "that was Mrs. Figg, apparently she's broken her leg and can't take her."

Dudley's jaw dropped in horror but Lisa’s stomach lurched. Every year on Dudley's birthday, she went to Mrs. Figg's house while the Dursleys took him and a friend out for the day; to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, and the cinema. Mrs. Figg's house always smelled like boiled cabbage but she had cats and a television. Lisa rarely got to watch what she wanted on any of the televisions in the house, especially not the big one in the living room. Every year Mrs. Figg orders Lisa a small cheese pizza and lets her drink as much cherry coke as she can stomach while she sits on the floor on a mountain of pillows and watches movies all day long. She had been looking forward to it all year.

"Now what?" Aunt Petunia wondered, glancing at Lisa suspiciously as if she had somehow planned it.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl."

"What about what's-her-name, your friend— Yvonne?"

"On holiday in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here," Lisa suggested hopefully but Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?"

"I'm not going to blow up the house, Aunt Petunia," Lisa said but they weren't listening to her.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," Aunt Petunia suggested slowly, "...and leave her in the car..."

Uncle Vernon looked mildly horrified and pointed a finger at Lisa, "the car is new, she's not sitting in it alone."

Dudley started crying rather loudly, though no real tears fell from his pale blue eyes, it's been years since he had a proper cry but he knew if he sat there and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry! Mummy won't let her spoil your special day!" She cried, flinging her arms around the boy.

"I...don't...wan'...her...t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between heaving pretend sobs. "She always sp- spoils everything!" He shot Lisa a nasty grin between the gap in his mother's arms and she rolled her eyes.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Oh, good Lord, they're here!" Aunt Petunia shrieked and left the kitchen, a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked into the kitchen with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with mousy hair and a face like a rat. He was the one who held people's arms while Dudley punched them.

Now they had no choice but to take Lisa with them.

Aunt Petunia exchanged pleasantries with Piers' mother and pulled Lisa up from the breakfast table, ushering her into the downstairs bathroom. She makes Lisa stand in front of the mirror and opens a drawer, bony fingers curling around a cheap plastic brush. Lisa was forced to stand there, hissing in pain every time her Aunt forced the bristles through the tangles. When she finished, Lisa was tender-headed and her hair was a puffy, frizzy mess. Aunt Petunia reached into the drawer again, she parted Lisa’s hair into two ponytails and braided them. When she left the bathroom, Lisa glanced at the door and fixed her bangs to cover her scar.

Lisa follows Piers out of the house but Uncle Vernon takes her aside before she can climb in the car. "I'm warning you," he said, pointing his keys at her, "any funny business, any at all and you'll be in that cupboard until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything, honest," Lisa said but Uncle Vernon didn't believe her. No one did. The problem was, strange things happened around Lisa, things out of her control. Every time something happens she tries to explain she didn't make them happen but they never seem to believe her. 

Every six months, Aunt Petunia sets up an appointment for Lisa to get her hair cut yet every time she got out of the car after it looked as if she had never gone at all. Aunt Petunia got so fed up one time she took matters into her own hands, plopping Lisa down on a kitchen chair and taking the kitchen scissors to her hair, snipping away until it reached her jaw. 

It didn't last though, when Lisa woke up the morning after, it was exactly how it had been before her aunt lopped it all off, long and wavy and too much like her mother's. All of Aunt Petunia's work had been undone in eight measly hours. Lisa spent three days in her cupboard for that despite trying to explain that she couldn't explain how it had happened.

A few weeks after the hair fiasco, Aunt Petunia tried forcing Lisa into a horrid jumper that had belonged to Dudley. He refused to wear it and Lisa could see why; itchy brown wool covered in gaudy orange polkadots. The harder Aunt Petunia tried the jumper seemed to keep shrinking until it looked like it could only fit a hand puppet or a newborn baby. Aunt Petunia stopped and stared at the garment with a huff, deciding it must've shrunk in the wash and simply wouldn't fit. Mercifully, Lisa wasn't punished for it.

One time she had gotten in trouble for being found on the roof of the school's kitchen. Dudley's gang had been chasing her as they usually did when, as much to Lisa’s surprise as anyone else's; she was on the ground one moment and standing on the chimney the next. The Dursleys had received a rather angry phone call from her headmistress that afternoon, letting them know that Lisa had been climbing school property. They were waiting for her in the front hall when she and Dudley got home, Lisa couldn't explain how it happened, all she'd tried to do (as she shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of her cupboard) was jump over the bins but ended up on the roof instead. It was an overall jarring experience and three days in the cupboard.

But today, Lisa was determined to have nothing go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to spend the day at the zoo.

Lisa had a window seat, directly behind Uncle Vernon. While he drove, he complained to Aunt Petunia, as he often did. Uncle Vernon liked to complain about things: people at work, Lisa, the council, Lisa, the bank and Lisa were just a few of his favourite subjects. This morning it was motorbikes.

"Roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said as a motorcycle overtook them on the road.

"I had a dream about motorbikes," Lisa said without thinking resting her cheek on her palm, "it was flying."

The car jerked violently and Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front of them when he slammed his foot down on the pedal, he whipped around in his seat and yelled at Lisa, his face resembling a moustachioed tomato, "MOTORBIKES DON'T FLY!"

"I know they don't," mumbled Lisa, sinking into her seat, "it was only a dream." Now she wished she hadn't said anything, if there was one thing the Dursleys hated more than her asking questions, it was Lisa talking about things acting in a way they shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon— they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas. 

The sky in London was brilliant blue without a cloud. It was Sunday and the zoo was packed full. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance. They were about to walk away when the lady on the other side of the counter practically cooed over Lisa, as people tended to do. Uncle Vernon bought Lisa a cheap cherry ice lolly and whisked her away. It wasn't terrible, only a little freezer-burned and slightly cough-syrupy. Lisa held onto the strap of Aunt Petunia's purse with her free hand as they wandered through the zoo, looking at giraffes and gorillas. She was having the best day she'd had in a long time.

"Can we go see the birds?" She asked Uncle Vernon, tossing the stick in a nearby bin. 

"No." 

The Dursleys were starting to get bored with the animals around lunchtime. They ate in the zoo restaurant, sitting squished together in a booth. When Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Lisa was allowed to finish the first (which seemed only fair since Dudley stole a slice of her cheese pizza when she wasn't looking). Lisa felt, afterward, that she should've known something was going to go wrong. It always did.

After lunch, they visited the reptile house, which was cool and dark with lit windows all along the walls. Behind glass enclosures, all sorts of lizards and snakes were moving along bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see the poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons.

"Cobras aren't poisonous, they're venomous," Lisa corrected on the way there, "poison is ingested, venom is injected."

Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place, bypassing all the other reptiles. The enclosure was huge and the snake inside was beautiful with golden brown patterned scales.

"Since you're so smart, Lisa, what kind of snake is this one?" Dudley asked, shoving himself between his parents to get a closer look.

"Burmese Python," Lisa answered, glancing at her Aunt and Uncle nervously.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the enclosure, his breath fogging the glass, "make it move," he demanded and Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again!" Uncle Vernon rapped the enclosure again but the snake just snoozed on.

"He's asleep," Lisa pointed out and Dudley sneered, pushing himself away from the glass to look at his cousin.

"How do you know?"

"Well, we've been standing here for five minutes and his tongue hasn't flicked once, I think that's a pretty good indicator."

Aunt Petunia looked down and tugged her ear, "watch your tone!"

"Ow! Sorry, Aunt Petunia," Lisa mumbled and rubbed the side of her head.

"He's boring," moaned Dudley, shuffling away along with his parents and Piers, leaving Lisa alone with the python.

Lisa stepped to the side to get a closer look at the snake, small fingers wrapped around the railing. Lisa couldn't help but feel bad for him, no company except for stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass for hours, trying to disturb it all day. It was worse than having a cupboard under the stairs where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up. But at least she got to roam the rest of the house— apart from any of the upstairs bedrooms.

The snake lifted his head suddenly and turned to look at Lisa, tongue flicking the air.

"Oh," Lisa smiled, "hello," she said and the snake nodded in acknowledgment, she looked around to see if anyone was watching, they weren't and she leaned forward a little. The snake turned his head to look at the Dursleys.

I get that all the time, he said and Lisa blinked.

"You don't look very comfortable in there," she observed, tilting her head to the side. "Where are you from?" He moved his head toward the little sign on the wall, "Myanmar, I see. Do you miss it there?"

The snake shook his head and she looked to the sign again: This specimen was bred in captivity.

"Oh, sorry," Lisa mumbled sadly.

Are they your parentsss? asked the snake and Lisa shook her head.

"No, they're my aunt and uncle," she said, "my parents died when I was a baby."

I'm sssorry.

Lisa shrugged, "it's okay, I think not knowing them makes it easier."

Do you talk to sssnakes often? He asked.

"Sometimes," Lisa admitted, "but you're the first one who's talked back to me, the others don't say anything but they like to sit and listen."

The snake, now alert and moving, attracted Dudley and his friend's attention. They ran over to the enclosure and Dudley knocked Lisa out of the way.

"Mummy, Dad, come here! You won't believe what this snake is doing!" What came next happened so fast that no one could say for sure what happened exactly; one moment, Dudley had been pressed up against the glass and the next he lost his balance and fell into the water. Lisa, who had fallen flat on her bottom, watched Piers jump out of the way before Dudley took a dive. The python uncoiled itself and slithered out of its enclosure, it raised its head and looked Lisa in the eye, thanksss, he hissed, his tongue tickling the tip of her nose.

Lisa watches it slither away with wide eyes, hearing a man shout somewhere in the reptile house. People started to scream in terror as the sixteen-foot snake made its escape, weaving around human legs running for the exit.

The keeper stared, flummoxed, "but the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

Inside the enclosure, Dudley stood up, a bit disoriented. He moved to get out but to his horror discovered he was trapped. Lisa scrambled to her feet as Dudley started to pound the glass in panic.

"Mum! Mummy!" shouted Dudley but his voice was slightly muffled, he looked to Lisa who was looking around frantically in the chaos, muttering "oh no," under her breath. The Dursleys, who had been looking at brightly coloured lizards a moment before the reptile house erupted into chaos, heard Dudley above the noise and turned, Aunt Petunia screaming in horror when she saw Dudley trapped behind glass.

"My darling boy!" She shrieked and pounded her hands on the glass, "how did you get in there?! How did he get in there?!" She asked Lisa.

"I-I don't know!" said Lisa, once the zoo-goers had completely vacated, the keeper of the reptile house was able to help get Dudley out of the enclosure, he was shaking violently and soaked to the bone.

A different zookeeper escorted them to the director's office, he made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized, unsure of what else to say, nothing like this had happened before. Dudley was wrapped in blankets and towels, Piers gibbered in his plastic chair and Lisa, sitting beside him and swinging her legs back and forth, looked both frightened and guilty, as if she was somehow responsible for the zoo's mistake (she was but she didn't know that yet).

By the time they were back in Uncle Vernon's Ford Sierra Sapphire, Dudley was muttering unintelligibly and Piers swore how the snake tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Lisa at least, he calmed down enough to say, "Lisa was talking to it, weren't you, Lisa?"

Uncle Vernon nearly threw Piers into his mother's car and Lisa quickly followed Dudley and Aunt Petunia into the house, her heart beating uncontrollably behind her ribs.

"It's all right, sweetheart," she soothed, "let's get you out of those terrible clothes." Aunt Petunia steered Dudley into the living room and Lisa’s trembling fingers reached for her cupboard door but before she could slip inside, Uncle Vernon caught her and shoved her against the wall, grabbing her by the pigtail.

Lisa yelped.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!"

"I don't know!" Lisa shouted and Uncle Vernon snarled, "one minute the glass was there and then it was gone! It was like magic!"

Vernon scoffed at this as he shoved Lisa in the cupboard and slammed the little door, "there's no such thing as magic!" He spat. Lisa’s chest heaved and she did something she's never done before; she screamed. It's shrill, full of anger, rattling picture frames. Glass shatters and Aunt Petunia lets out a small shriek from the living room and Uncle Vernon slammed the door and pushed the lock closed.

Lisa has lived with the Dursleys for almost ten years after her parents died in a car accident. She couldn't remember what happened since she was a baby at the time but sometimes, if she sits in the dark and quiet long enough she could see a flash of green light behind her eyes and it would make her forehead ache. That, she supposed, could have been the crash, though she couldn't place where the green light could've come from. She didn't know what her parents looked like either, her aunt and uncle never spoke about them and she was forbidden from bringing them up in conversation. 

When she was little, Lisa wished someone would come and take her away, someone from her father's side of the family or some unknown relation. No one ever did. It wasn't all bad, though, not around Christmas time, the only time of year they seemed to form some semblance of a family. 

Thinking about Christmas, for some reason, made her think about some of the strangers she's met in her life, funny-looking strangers who seemed to know her; a tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to her once while she was doing the shopping with Aunt Petunia, she asked Lisa if she knew the man and watching her shake her head, Aunt Petunia rushed her out of the shop, abandoning her cart in the middle of the aisle. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at her once on a bus, a bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word.

The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to disappear the second Lisa tried to get a closer look at them. At school, Lisa didn't have any friends, odd Lisa Potter who would rather do her schoolwork at lunch instead of trying to socialize. 

A few hours later, Aunt Petunia opened the door, she looked over her shoulder and quickly handed Lisa a dinner of cold tin soup and burnt toast and shut the door again. Lisa ate her dinner and set the bowl and plate down on her shelf. She waited until the Dursleys went upstairs to bed, pulling Superman: Last Son of Krypton by Elliot S. Maggin (borrowed from the library), she read two thirds of the way through until she was sure the coast was clear. Lisa opened the door (Aunt Petunia forgot to lock it) and she tiptoed into the kitchen to sneak a sliver of chocolate birthday cake. She washed her plate after and stopped by the downstairs bathroom before returning to the cupboard. The lock on the outside slid closed while she changed into her nightgown.

Lisa arranged old pillows against the shelf and sat up with her diary and a pen with Grunnings Drills stamped across the plastic.

                          June 23rd, 1991 8:15 p.m.

Dear Diary,

I think I have made the biggest mistake of my life... 

Chapter Text

It was weeks before Lisa was allowed to have free reign of the house again. Since the escape of the python at the zoo, Lisa had been confined to her cupboard, living off a diet of cold soup and burnt toast. She was let out in the morning to go to school and to use the bathroom. It was well into July when she checked the calendar on the kitchen counter and since his birthday, Dudley had already broken his new cine-camera, crashed his remote control aeroplane and crashed his bike into poor Mrs. Figg as she tried to cross Privet Drive on her crutches.

Lisa hated that school was over, she couldn't hide from Dudley when she was home and there was no escaping his gang now. They visited every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon, every single one of them was big and stupid but Dudley, being their leader, was the biggest and stupidest of the lot.

She tried to spend as much time as possible out of the house; running errands with Aunt Petunia or going for long walks around the neighbourhood. She kept telling herself it was only for a few more weeks because when September came, she would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in her life, she would be going without Dudley.

Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school; Smeltings. Piers Polkiss would be going with him. Lisa, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High; the local comprehensive. She didn't want to go there and Dudley finding her situation hilarious made her feel even worse about it.

“They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Lisa one afternoon, "want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No thanks," Lisa said with her nose in a book, "the poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it— it might be sick." Then she ran before Dudley could work out what she'd said.

On Saturday, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Lisa at Mrs. Figg's. It turned out Mrs. Figg had broken her leg tripping over one of her cats and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. Mrs. Figg let Lisa watch The Exorcist (under her supervision) and have her a can of cherry coke and a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though it had been in the back of her refrigerator for several years. 

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers and flat straw hats called boaters. They carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking— this was supposed to be good training for later life.

“Smile sweetheart!" said Aunt Petunia when Dudley let her take an ample amount of pictures with the camera. "Vernon, just look at him. I can't believe it. In just a few weeks he'll be off to Smeltings!"

“This is the proudest moment of my life!" Uncle Vernon said.

Lisa stood beside Aunt Petunia with lips pressed in a tight line, quietly simmering with jealousy.

"What do you think, Lisa?" Dudley asked, posing haughtily. Her aunt and uncle lowered their heads to stare at her, eyebrows raised.

"You look great," she answered with a forced smile, "I'm happy for you, Dudley." 

When Lisa went in for breakfast the following morning she braided her hair to avoid any comments. Uncle Vernon was sitting at the table with his morning paper and a cup of coffee. Dudley was still in his pyjamas, banging his Smelting stick on the table.

They heard the click of the letter-box and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the post, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said from behind his paper.

"Make Lisa get it."

"Get the post, Lisa."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke Lisa with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

"Ow!" Lisa exclaimed when Dudley whacked her head on the arm, she left the kitchen, muttering under her breath all the way to the front door. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Aunt Marge, she was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and— a letter for Lisa.

Lisa squatted down and picked it up, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her entire life, had written to her. And who would? She had no other family and it wasn't an overdue notice from the library, she always returned her books on time. Yet it was written on the envelope, plain as day:

Ms. L. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope in her hand was thick and heavy, there was no stamp and her address was written in emerald-green ink. Turning the envelope over, her hand trembling, Lisa saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up!" Uncle Vernon shouted from the kitchen, "what are you doing? Checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke. 

Lisa stood and headed back into the kitchen, still staring at her letter. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down and slowly began to open the yellowish envelope. Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust and flipped over the postcard.

"Oh, Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia, "ate a funny whelk—"

"Dad! Look! Lisa’s got a letter!" Dudley said suddenly, Lisa was about to unfold her letter, written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was ripped out of her hands by Uncle Vernon.

"Hey! That's mine, give it back!" exclaimed Lisa, trying to snatch it from her uncle.

"Yours? Who would be writing to you?" Uncle Vernon sneered, shaking the letter open one-handed, he squinted at it and Lisa watched his face go from red to green faster than a traffic light. But it didn't stop there, within seconds he was white as a ghost.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped and Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line, she swayed on her kitten heels for a moment and Lisa was afraid she might faint.

She clutched her throat and made a choking noise, "Vernon! Oh my goodness— Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Lisa and Dudley were still in the room, Dudley wasn't used to being ignored like Lisa was. He gave his father a sharp thwack on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter!" He demanded.

"I want to read it!" Lisa argued, "it's my letter!"

"Get out, both of you," Uncle Vernon croaked, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

"I want my letter!"

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

“OUT!" Uncle Vernon roared, he took Lisa by the jumper and Dudley by the scruff of his neck and tossed them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them.

Dudley stood by the stairs and crossed his arms like a petulant toddler. He glanced at Lisa, picking at the raspberry thread on the inside of her shirt cuff, wondering why someone would send her a letter. She didn't have any friends or family and she certainly wouldn't exchange letters with Aunt Marge, they couldn't stand each other.

“Lisa?" She turned to look at him.

"Hm?"

"What d'you think was in that letter?"

Lisa sighed, "I don't know, didn't get that far. Maybe if someone had kept their mouth shut I would've gotten to read it," she said, side-eyeing her cousin.

Dudley kicked the air and huffed, "rock-paper—scissors for who gets to look in the keyhole?"

Lisa won; best four out of five and Dudley ended up on his knees and elbows with Lisa on his back, peeking through the narrow hole in the door. "What do you see?" Dudley asked and she hissed at him to be quiet.

"Shut up, Dudley!" 

Aunt Petunia was slumped in one of the kitchen chairs, fanning herself with aunt Marge's postcard while her Uncle paced up and down the checkered green tile.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia quivered, "look at the address— how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching— spying— might be following us," Uncle Vernon muttered wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want—"

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer...yes, that's best...we won't do anything..."

"But—"

“I'm not having one in the house, Petunia!" Uncle Vernon shouted. Lisa jumped and Dudley yelped under her. 

"Didn't we swear when we took her in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

Lisa pulled away from the keyhole and looked down at Dudley who was almost as confused as she was.

"What does Dad mean? Having one in the house?" Dudley asked.

"I don't know." 

The rain had started late in the morning just as the weatherman said it would. Deep dark clouds covered the sun and the air around them felt thick from the humidity. Lisa opened the passenger door and slipped inside the car. Petunia shook out her umbrella and got behind the wheel. The Beatles sang low on the radio and Lisa watched the windshield wipers as they drove into town. Every so often, Aunt Petunia would look down at her with fear in her eyes. Aunt Petunia parked on the side of the road and ushered Lisa into a shop, looking around, almost paranoid.

"Are you okay, Aunt Petunia?" she asked.

"Fine!" snapped Aunt Petunia, nudging Lisa forward. They were in a charity shop, it smelled like mildew and mothballs and the racks squeaked with each slide of the hanger, making Lisa flinch. She went to cover her ears but her aunt grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her forward.

"What are we doing here?"

"Uniform shopping, you're going to need one for Stonewall," Petunia answered.

Lisa followed her aunt around the children's section, running her fingers over different fabrics, itchy jumpers and soft shirts. She eyed a dark blue cardigan, she wanted to ask for it but before she could take it off the rack, Aunt Petunia was dragging her toward the fitting rooms with a armful of dull grey fabric.

Lisa hated it. She hated everything about this. She shouldn't be going to Stonewall. Lisa had thought— hoped, briefly, that her grades would be enough for her aunt and uncle. She didn't expect to earn their love with them, she didn't have it and she never will have it but she wished they would be proud of her for once, all she wanted to hear was "good job, Lisa," or something like that. At the very least she had hoped they would let her choose which school she wanted to go to. Lisa had worked hard enough and her perfect marks were proof of that but they never acknowledged them, especially not Uncle Vernon who had torn up her last report card and disposed of it in the fireplace.

Aunt Petunia shoved her in the empty fitting room with the pile and waited outside the door, after a minute she knocked, "well?" Lisa unlocked the door and held only a few items, the rest were left on the bench.

Aunt Petunia left the rest there, "someone will clean it up," she said and stalked off to look at the shoes, leaving Lisa unattended with her new uniform. She went to look at the cassette tapes along the back wall. In her search, she stumbled on the only Peter Murphy album she didn't have yet; Love Hysteria. Looking over her shoulder she plucked a Beach Boys cassette off the shelf and switched it. With her heart hammering in her ears, she found her Aunt Petunia and swallowed.

"Aunt Petunia?" Petunia turned around and she held up the tape, "can I get this, please?"

Aunt Petunia took the case from her hands and inspected it, turning it over to look at the back and thankfully, didn't open it. "Fine," she said and grabbed the shoes she found in Lisa’s size and took her by the wrist, leading her over to the register. Lisa dropped the heap on the counter and stood behind her Aunt while she paid. 

Uncle Vernon came home early from work, he shook out his umbrella and hung his coat up before he dared to do something he'd never done before; he came to visit Lisa in her cupboard. Uncle Vernon sat down on her lumpy mattress and she scooted closer to him, "do you know who wrote to me?" She asked, assuming this was about the letter.

"No one. it was addressed to you by mistake," he said, "I've burned it."

"Oh...are you sure?" She eyed her uncle cautiously, "it had my cupboard on it—"

"LISA!" shouted Uncle Vernon and a few spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a deep breath and forced a smile. It was unnerving, to say the least. "Er— yes, Lisa, about this cupboard...your aunt and I have been talking...you're really getting a bit big for it now and we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Really?" She asked, her excitement was short-lived as she quickly grew suspicious, squinting at her overstuffed uncle, "why?"

"Don't ask questions!" snapped Uncle Vernon, "take your thing's upstairs, now." 

The Dursleys' house— pink and floral and garish— had four bedrooms; one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (primarily Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It took Lisa two trips to move all her things from the cupboard to her new room. She sat down on the bed and looked around. Nearly everything in here was broken.

The month old cine-camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favourite program had been cancelled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air-rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books, they were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want her in there...I need that room...make her get out..."

Lisa sighed and stretched out on the bed, shoving new batteries into her Walkman. It had been gathering dust on her shelf for the last few weeks. She had gotten it months ago at a car boot sale. The guy who sold it to her got it as a gift twelve years ago and found it in a box while cleaning out his childhood bedroom. Lisa bought it, along with a few cassette tapes, using the rest of the money she got from feeding the neighbour's cats while she was on holiday. She nearly slipped back to the car, her crooked pigtails bouncing up and down. 

Lisa slipped her new tape in and pulled her headphones over her ears, sighing deeply through her nose. Until now she would've given anything to be up here, today she'd rather be back in her cupboard with that letter than up here without it— wondering how she was going to move all this junk out. 

The next morning at breakfast, everyone was quiet, apart from Dudley. He'd screamed, smacked his father and the furniture with his Smeltings stick, made himself sick on purpose, kicked his mother and thrown his turtle through the conservatory window and he still didn't have his second bedroom back. Lisa thought about this time yesterday, bitterly wishing she had opened her letter in the hall, or at the very least, put it in her cupboard to open later. 

Her eyes drifted between her Aunt and Uncle like a metronome, thunder rumbled outside the kitchen window, close enough to shake the glass and they could only stare at each another, haunted by what happened yesterday.

Whatever was in that letter, couldn't have been good.

When the post arrived, Uncle Vernon, who was seemingly trying to be nice to Lisa, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him thwacking his stuck all the way down the hall while crying loudly. But suddenly the crying stopped and he shouted back int the kitchen: "there's another one! 'Ms. L. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive—"

With a strangled cry, Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Lisa slid her chair out and got up to follow him, Petunia's fingers slid across the skin of her arm in a weak, failed attempt to stop her from going out there. 

With a crack of lightning the sky opened up and rain came flooding down, pelting against the glass. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, the boy shouted and waved his stick around, smacking his father and the wall. With Lisa’s letter in his fist, Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath.

He turned around to face Lisa, "go to your cupboard— bedroom," he wheezed and Lisa sidestepped around them to run up the stairs, narrowly missing Dudley's Smeltings stick.

"I want my room back!" The blond boy shouted and wailed when his father finally took the stick from him.

“Dudley, go...just go."

"No!"

"DUDLEY!"

Dudley face crumpled and tears streamed down his face, he cried and lumbered up up the carpeted stairs.

Lisa walked round and round her new room, someone knew she had moved out of her cupboard and they seemed to know she hadn't received her first letter either— who was trying to contact her so badly? And surely, they'd try again if they sent a second one today. Lisa had to get her hands on it before Uncle Vernon did. 

The alarm clock beeped at six o'clock the next morning. Lisa silenced it quickly and dressed quietly, careful not to wake the Dursleys. She stole downstairs without turning on the lights, she was going to wait for the postman on the corner so and get the letters for number four first. Her heart hammered as she crept across the dark hall toward the front door—

"AAAAARRRGH!"

Lisa leapt into the air; she'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat— something living. Lights clicked on upstairs and to her horror, Lisa realized that the big, squashy something had been her Uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure Lisa didn't do exactly what she'd been trying to do.

Uncle Vernon scrambled out of the puffy polyester and looked down at Lisa. "What the Devil are you doing?!" He demanded and Lisa pointed toward the kitchen.

"I was getting a glass of water," she fibbed with feigned innocence and pointed back at him, "what are you doing?"

Uncle Vernon sniffed, "I was, uh, I was waiting for the postman."

"Why? Do you think I'll get another letter?"

“I very well hope not!" He nearly shouted and Lisa shushed him to be quiet, holding her hands up. They waited for movement upstairs but heard nothing.

Lisa sighed, "I'll make the coffee," she said and turned toward the kitchen. By the time she returned with Uncle Vernon's coffee and her water, the mail had arrived, landing in his sleeping bag. Lisa and Uncle Vernon stared at the yellow parchment, he bent down and snatched up her letter, tearing it into small pieces. Lisa took a sip of water, hiding her hum of disappointment.

Uncle Vernon called out of work that day, he stayed at home and spent the morning in front of the mail slot, nailing it shut with a piece of plywood he picked up from the hardware store. "See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

“I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no fewer than twelve letters arrived for Lisa. As they couldn't go through the letter-box they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom. Uncle Vernon stayed at home again, after burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out.

He hummed Tiptoe Through the Tulips as he worked. Lisa tried sneaking past him to go upstairs but when Uncle Vernon heard a creak in the floor, he spun around and nearly hit her over the head with the hammer before he stopped himself. Lisa screamed, as anyone would and Aunt Petunia rushed out of the kitchen to witness the aftermath; Lisa shaking and breathing heavily, her uncle lowering the hammer with a wild look in his eyes.

"Vernon!" gasped Aunt Petunia, her clear eyes widening, he sputtered out something unintelligible and turned around again. Aunt Petunia couldn't help but think what would have happened if Vernon hadn't stopped himself; they would've had to take Lisa to the hospital and it would've been a hell of a thing to try explain to the staff. Aunt Petunia shooed Lisa toward the living room, "go watch television with Dudley."

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Lisa found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused neighbour had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

“Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Lisa in amazement.

“How should I know?" Lisa whispered, "I don't know anybody."

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy. "No post on Sundays," reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his morning paper, "no blasted letters today—" 

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Then, the floodgates opened, so to speak and hundreds of letters came shooting into the salmon-pink kitchen like bullets. Lisa ducked under the table with Dudley, she spotted one by the door and crawled on her hands and knees toward it. Uncle Vernon caught her and stood suddenly, knocking the chair back, making Petunia yelp. Lisa’s fingers curled around the parchment and she got to her feet, shrieking when Uncle Vernon seized her around the waist.

“Out! OUT!” Uncle Vernon ripped the letter out of her hands and tossed Lisa— a girl of four-foot-three, into the front hall.

When Aunt Petunia and Dudley followed with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor, breaking cups and knocking things off the counters. 

"That does it," Uncle Vernon said, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!" He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one was brave enough to argue.

Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway, Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him upside the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag. They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. 

Every now and then, Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake 'em off...shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this. They didn't stop to eat or drink all day and by nightfall, Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life, he was hungry and he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy looking motel on the outskirts of a big city. They stepped out of the car for the first time in hours and took it all in.

"Huh," Lisa said, "people have definitely been murdered here."

"What?" Dudley squeaked beside her and she shrugged.

"It makes sense, shoddy place like this, there's bound to have been some deaths."

Dudley and Lisa had to share a room with twin beds covered in dank, musty sheets. Dudley snores loudly and Lisa lay atop the hideous floral comforter with her headphones over her ears, watching the ceiling fan go around and around.

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next morning when the owner of the hotel came over to their table. "'Scuse me, but is one of you Ms. L. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk." She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Ms. L. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Lisa dropped her spoon and made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon smacked her hand out of the way while the woman stared.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

 
“Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" suggested Aunt Petunia timidly but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. Tired of the uneasy silence, Petunia switched on the radio.

I see the bad moon arising, I see trouble on the way, I see earthquakes and lightnin', I see bad times to—

Petunia shut it off as just as quickly. Uncle Vernon drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bridge and at the top of a multi-storey car park.

“Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car and disappeared. It started to rain and Dudley snivelled. "It's Tuesday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Lisa scrunched her nose and turned to Dudley, "are you sure it's Tuesday?" 

“Of course I am! Do you think I'm stupid?"

Lisa wanted to say yes but she wasn't up for getting hit, especially since she can't run away to avoid being hit. "No, it's just...tomorrow is my birthday, that's all," she said and Dudley frowned.

"Oh."

"Yeah," her birthdays were never exactly fun; last year she had gotten a pair of socks and a jumper made of itchy fabric, and they weren't wrapped either. She's never had a birthday party, not that she had anybody to invite if she did, Aunt Petunia had never made her a birthday cake and never, ever had someone told her happy birthday. Still, you didn't turn eleven every day. 

When Uncle Vernon returned, he was smiling in a way that was quite frankly a little frightening. He had a long, thin package tucked under his arm and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he announced. "Come on! Everyone out!" It was very cold outside the car and Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine and one thing was for certain; there wouldn't be a television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!" An old man came shambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked toothless grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," Uncle Vernon said, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat, icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house. The inside was worse; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of crisps each and four bananas, he tried to start a fire but the empty crisp packets just smoked and shrivelled up. "Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" He said cheerfully. Uncle Vernon seemed to be in a very good mood. It was obvious he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver post. Lisa privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer her up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy, spiderweb riddled windows. Aunt Petunia found a few mouldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door and Lisa was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Lisa couldn't sleep, she shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, she's hardly eaten in days and only now she was beginning to feel it. Huffing, she stood up and rummaged for her rucksack, finding her dairy and a pen. Lisa keeps the key on a chain around her neck. She lays back on the floor and places the black book on the blanket, unlocking it and flipping to a unused page.

                      July 30th, 1991 11:26 p.m.

Dear Diary,

It's almost my birthday. Technically, it starts at Midnight but I wasn't born until 8:13 in the morning (it's the only question Aunt Petunia has ever answered).

I want to care but I don't. I've never been excited and my Aunt and Uncle have never done anything worth getting excited about, in fact they've forgotten most years. In ten years they've remembered exactly three birthdays and none of them were memorable.

Right now I'm lying on a dirt floor, the fireplace smells like scorched wood and burnt plastic. Dudley is asleep beside me on the sofa. It's my fault we're here, those letters had my name on them. I don't know who wants to talk to me so badly, no one wants to talk to me.

It's storming outside, the wind sounds angry and I'm cold. Aunt Petunia gave me a blanket before she went to bed but it's full of holes. I want to go home.

                           Love, Lisa.

 
Her dairy locks with a soft click and finds itself back in her bag. She wanders around the hut with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, dragging across the floor. There's a smudge of dirt on the left lens of her glasses but she couldn't be bothered to clean it off. Eventually, she got tired of pacing around and climbed onto the back of the sofa a bit like a cat. She had to balance a little bit but it was infinitely more comfortable than the floor. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder.

Lisa reached and grabbed his thick wrist, she could barely make out the time on his watch but from what she could tell it was ten to midnight. Lisa unclipped his watch, she stared at the seconds counting by, counting in her head.

Five minutes to go— Lisa heard something creak outside, quietly hoping the roof wouldn't cave in around them.

Four minutes— maybe the house on Privet Drive would be overflowing with letters when they got back and she could just take one without Uncle Vernon noticing.

Three minutes— Lisa heard something slap against the rock, the sea perhaps?

Two minutes— was that a crunching noise? Was someone here? The old man? An axe murderer? Was the old man an axe murderer?

One minute— Lisa scrambled off the couch and looked around for a way to escape or hide since it seemed the only way out was the front door.

Ten...nine...eight...seven...perhaps she should wake up Dudley...three...two...one... BOOM!

The whole shack shivered and Lisa screamed at the top of her lungs, "UNCLE VERNON!"

Dudley's eyes snapped open and he took a tumble off the sofa, scrambling to his feet.

BOOM!

Someone was outside, knocking to come in.  

Chapter Text

BOOM!

They knocked again and Dudley yelped, scurrying behind Lisa. There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room, holding a rifle in his hands, now they knew what he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" He shouted, "I warn you, I'm armed!" There was a pause, then— Uncle Vernon squawked indignantly when the door was hit with such a force that it swung clean off its hinges and fell to the dirty floor with a deafening crash.

A giant of a man was standing on the other side, cloaked in darkness. Lightning flashed behind him, allowing them a glimpse of his long, shaggy mane of hair and wild beard, nothing else of his face could be seen but his eyes.

Fingers brushed Lisa’s sleeve and she let out a small shriek, whipping around to stare at Aunt Petunia, curlers in her hair and eyes glued onto the giant. "Lisa," Aunt Petunia hissed and grasped her arm fully, pulling her closer, Dudley was already hiding behind his parents, shaking in his blue pyjamas.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey." He strode over to the sofa and looked down at Dudley, cowering behind the lumpy cushions, "budge up, yeh great lump," he said and Dudley squeaked, he ran to hide behind his mother, pushing Lisa forward.

“An' here's Lisa!" exclaimed the giant.

Lisa looked up at the shadowy face, his eyes were crinkled and there was a warm, familiar glimmer. "Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," he said, "yeh look just like yer mother, except for the hair and eyes of course."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise, tightening his trembling grip on the rifle, "I demand that you leave at once, sir, you are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune!" The giant gruffed, he reached forward and jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands and bent the barrel into a knot as easily as if it were made of rubber and tossed it over his shoulder. Uncle Vernon made another odd noise, like a mouse being trodden on by a great big boot.

"Anyway, Lisa, a very happy birthday to yeh," he said, "got somethin' fer yeh here...I mighta sat on it at some point but I'm sure it'll taste fine jus’ the same." The giant man reached into his pocket and pulled out a white box, he handed it to Lisa who had to grip it with two hands. Moving away from Aunt Petunia, she opened the lid and her eyes widened; inside was a round chocolate cake decorated with pink icing and Happy Birthday Lisa written on the top in green.

"Th-thank you," Lisa managed in a meek voice, setting the cake down on the arm of the sofa, "uh...sorry...who are you?"

The giant man laughed, "true, I haven introduced meself," he said and held out an enormous hand, "Rubeus Hagrid," he said and Lisa grabbed his hand to shake it. "What about that tea then, eh?" Hagrid said, falling on the empty hearth and the shrivelled, slightly melted crisp bags and snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; the Dursleys couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering orange light and Lisa felt the warmth wash over her as though she'd sunk into a hot bath.

He sat back on the sofa, it sagged under his weight and he began taking all sorts of things out of his great pockets: a copper kettle, a squishy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several large chipped mugs and a bottle of some sort of amber liquid. He took a sip from the bottle before he started on the tea. The Dursleys— plus Lisa, stood rooted to the spot and soon enough the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausages. Nobody said a word while the giant worked but when he slid the first six, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little and Vernon shouted at him.

"Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley!"

The giant eyed Lisa, short and waifish compared to a taller, well-fed Dudley.

"Don' worry, Dursley, it's not fer him," he assured and passed the sausages to Lisa, who wasn't too keen on them but still tucked in, hungry enough not to care. She stared at Hagrid as she ate, hoping he would talk more but when he didn't she took it upon herself to kickstart a conversation.

"Sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

Hagrid took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the hack of his hand, "call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm the Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts. Yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o'course."

"Um— no, sorry," said Lisa and Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry?” Hagrid barked, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrunk back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Lisa, passing her uneaten sausages to Dudley before Uncle Vernon could say anything.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered, "now wait jus' one second!" He leapt to his feet, in his anger he seemed to fill the whole shack, Hagrid loomed over her aunt and uncle who were cowering against the wall. "Do you mean ter tell me, "that this girl knows nothin' abou'— abou' ANYTHING?"

Lisa scowled and looked up at Hagrid from her spot on the floor, "excuse me, I'll have you know I’ve got top marks in school—" Hagrid waved his hand.  

"About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he might explode, "DURSLEY!" He boomed, beat red in the face and Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, mumbled something that sounded like 'mimblewimble'.

Hagrid turned and stared, almost wildly at Lisa, "but yeh must know about yer mum an' dad," he said, "I mean, they're famous, you're famous."

Lisa’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline and dropped nearly just as quick, she narrowed her eyes, "what? My mum and dad weren't famous, don't be ridiculous." She crossed her arms and Hagrid shook his head.

"Yeh don' know...yeh don' know," he ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Lisa with a bewildered stare. "Yeh don' know what yeh are?" He asked and just then, her uncle found his voice.

"Stop!" He commanded, "you stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!" A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid shot him and when he spoke, every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer her? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from her all these years?!"

"Kept me from what?" snapped Lisa, beginning to feel very irritated, "what the hell are you talking about?"

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" roared Uncle Vernon in panic and her aunt, who hadn't said a word, gasped in horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," Hagrid grumbled, "Lisa— yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut, only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

Then, Lisa laughed. She laughed harder than she ever had before, nearly doubling over from the force of it. With hands on her knees, she took a great breath in and straightened, wiping a few wayward tears from her eyes. She looked up at Hagrid and a few giggles tumbled out of her mouth. Hagrid didn't move or speak, he stared at her with serious eyes and Lisa’s smile faded.

"You're serious?" Lisa asked, eyes darting between him and her aunt and uncle’s guilty faces.

"Serious as I've ever been," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, the wood and springs groaned and the cushion sank lower, nearly touching the dirt floor. "Yer a witch, an' a thumpin' good'un I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's about' time yeh read yer letter." He observed Lisa, watching emotions dance across her face until she lifted her hand and pinched the skin of her arm. Hagrid grabbed her hand and reached inside his inner pocket, placing the yellow envelope in it. Lisa’s fingers curled around the rough parchment:

Lisa ripped open the envelope eagerly and pulled out the letter she had spent an entire week trying to get her hands on, addressed in emerald green ink to Ms. L. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. Lisa exhaled and turned it over, careful not to break the seal as she opened it and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

 
Lisa blinked and squinted at the letter again, "what does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons! That reminds me!" exclaimed Hagrid, clapping his hand to his forehead, from another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl— a real owl, alive and rather disgruntled-looking owl, a long quill and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth, Hagrid scribbled out a note which Lisa read upside-down:

 
Dear Mr. Dumbledore,

Given Lisa her letter. Taking her to buy her things tomorrow. Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.

Hagrid.

 
Hagrid rolled up the note, he handed it to the owl, it took the parchment in its beak and Hagrid took it over to the front door. He pulled it off the frame and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone. Lisa realized her mouth was hanging open and promptly closed it.

"Where was I?" Hagrid asked but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced, still livid, moved into the firelight.

"She's not going!"

Hagrid grunted, "I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop her."

"A what?"

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call non-magic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took her in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of her! Witch indeed?"

"Aha!" Lisa exclaimed, getting to her feet and pointing an accusatory finger at her Uncle. "So that's what you meant, 'I'm not having one in the house, Petunia!' You knew all along!"

“Of course we knew!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, "how could you not be? My perfect sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school— and came home every summer with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was, a freak! But for my mother and father? Oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were so proud of having a witch in the family!" She stopped to draw in a deep breath and went on, she held it down for so long it was all coming out at once, like an unattended pot on the stove, boiling over.

"And then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you," Aunt Petunia spat, "and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as—as abnormal. And then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!" Aunt Petunia exhaled and Lisa opened her mouth but she could only squeak, in the firelight Petunia could see the tears shining on her cheeks.

Lisa struggled to find her voice, too many emotions churning in her at once; hatred, heartache, anger, confusion, disbelief, all spinning round and round. "You...told me they died in a car crash."

"CAR CRASH?" roared Hagrid, jumping up so enraged that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Lisa Potter not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!"

"But why? What happened?" Lisa asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face, and he looked suddenly anxious, "I never expected this," he said in a low, worried voice, the state Lisa was in made his heart ache, poor child. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Lisa, I don' know if I'm the right person to tell yeh— but someone's gotta, yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'." He threw a dirty look in the Dursleys' direction. Hagrid sighed and offered Lisa his big spotted handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

"We'll, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it..." he sat down and stared into the fire for a moment, Lisa took the spot next to him. "It begins, I suppose, with— with a person called— but it's incredible you don't know his name, everyone in our world knows—"

"Who?"

Hagrid shifted a little uncomfortably, "well, I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Lisa, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went...bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was..." Hagrid huffed a breath but no words came out.

"Maybe you could write it down?" Lisa suggested, she's never seen such an aversion to a name before and she found it oddly fascinating.

"Nah, can't spell it. All right...Voldemort," he shuddered, "don' make me say it again. Anyway, this...wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em too, some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, alright. Dark days, Lisa. Didn' know who ter trust, didn' dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches...terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn' dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway."

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before...probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side. Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em...maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an'— an'..." Hagrid plucked the handkerchief Lisa had been worrying between her fingers and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he apologized, "but it's that sad, knew yer mum and' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find. Anyway...You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then— an' this is the real myst'ry of things, he tried to kill you too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh, took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house even but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Lisa. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age: the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts, an' you was only a baby an' you lived."

Something painful was going on in Lisa’s mind, as Hagrid's story came to a close. She saw the blinding green light more clearly than she ever had before and she remembered something else, for the first time in her life: a cold, cruel laughter. Hagrid watched her and she looked at him with a strange sort of haunted stare, hazel eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Took you from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon and Lisa jumped, she had forgotten all about the Dursleys and her uncle certainly seemed to have gathered his courage again— the same couldn't be said for her Aunt, however, the blonde woman could hardly look at her niece, the small girl sitting on the sofa with a thousand-yard stare. Petunia had seen that look hundreds of times. She knew about the nightmares, remembering all the times she had woken up to Lisa standing a foot away from her side of the bed. “Just checking,” she would say and then she would leave and go back to her cupboard, she never asked for comfort.

"Now, you listen here, girl," Uncle Vernon snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured— if your Aunt Petunia had let me— as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it and the world's better off without them in my opinion— asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types— just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end—"

At that moment, Hagrid leapt up from the sofa and whipped out a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat, he pointed it at Uncle Vernon like a bit like a sword and said in a low voice, "I'm warning you, Dursley, one more word." In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," Hagrid said, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Lisa, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them. "But what happened to Vol-sorry— I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see...he was gettin' more an' more powerful, why'd he go? Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back. Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Lisa. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on, I dunno what it was, no one does but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at Lisa with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes— it made Lisa feel a bit uncomfortable if she were honest. But most of all, there had to have been some horrible mistake. A witch? Lisa? Surely this must all be a fantastical, horrid dream. She couldn't be a witch. There was no way.

"Hagrid," she whispered, "I think you made a mistake. I don't think I can be a witch." And to her surprise, he chuckled.

"Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen? Anything would couldn't explain when you were scared or even angry?"

"I..." Lisa looked down at her hands. Come to think about it...every odd thing that made her aunt and uncle furious with her had happened when she had been upset or angry; chased by Dudley's gang and somehow ended up out of their reach; dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, she managed to make it grow back...and the very last time Dudley had hit her, had she got her revenge without realizing it? Did she set the python on him on purpose? "I guess so, yeah." She looked back and Hagrid was positively beaming at her.

"See?" He chuckled, "Lisa Potter, not a witch, you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight. "Haven't I told you she's not going?" He hissed, "she's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish: spell books and wands and—"

“If she wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop her," Hagrid growled, "stop Lily an' James Potter's daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad, her names been down ever since she was born. She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she won't know herself. She'll be with youngsters of her own sort fer a change an' she'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled—"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HER MAGIC TRICKS!" Uncle Vernon yelled but now he'd really stepped in it, now he's gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head.

"NEVER," Hagrid thundered, "INSULT-ALBUS-DUMBLEDORE-IN-FRONT-OF-ME!" He brought his umbrella down through the air to point at Dudley— Lisa had completely forgotten about him, not that he had been paying attention to anything anyway, he had taken Lisa’s birthday cake when no one was looking and helped himself and she couldn't bring herself to be upset about it, this was the first big meal he'd eaten in days

There was a flash of violet light and a loud crack like a firecracker. A sharp squeal echoed through the shack and Dudley, poor Dudley, had his hands clasped over his bottom. He danced around on the spot, howling in pain and he turned around, Lisa saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers. Aunt Petunia screamed and Uncle Vernon roared, he pulled both of them into the other room, casting one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them. And Hagrid looked down at his umbrella, stroking his big, bushy beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do." He cast a sideways look at Lisa under his bushy eyebrows. "Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm, uh, not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job."

"Why can't you do magic, Hagrid?" Lisa asked.

“Oh, well...I was at Hogwarts meself but I, er, got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?"

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," Hagrid said, glancing at the watch on the floor. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that." He struggled out of his coat and threw it over Lisa, underestimating how much it weighed.

"Ack!" exclaimed Lisa when he fell over her head and she nearly fell on the dirty floor.

“Sorry 'bout that," Hagrid apologized, "but you can kip under that, don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."

Chapter Text

Lisa woke early the next morning, she knew it was daylight but she kept her eyes shut, pressed against her forearm. It was a dream, she told herself, I dreamed a man named Hagrid broke in and told me I was going to a school for witches. When I open my eyes I'll be back in my bedroom...

Something tapped on the window.

And there's Aunt Petunia, she thought, her heart sinking. Lisa scrunched her eyes tighter and curled into a ball, willing her Aunt to go away. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Lisa huffed and rolled over onto her back, "okay," she mumbled, "I'm getting up." She sat up and Hagrid's great coat hung on her head, "what?" Feeling around she gripped the moleskin and pulled it off, making a greater mess of her hair. The sun was out, brightening the inside of the shack to a shade of grey. Lisa blinked, she felt around for her glasses and slipped them on, finding Hagrid sprawled out on the collapsed sofa. He was snoring quietly for such a big man. 

The tapping continued and she turned her head to the window, there was an owl, brown with a newspaper in its beak. It tapped on the window with its talons and flapped its wings impatiently. Lisa's stomach leapt and she pushed Hagrid's coat off her legs, she padded over to the window and slid it open with a grunt of effort.

The owl flew in and dropped the newspaper on Hagrid's face, it swooped down and landed on his coat, poking around with its beak.

"Hey, don't do that," Lisa said, getting onto her knees, "stop it! Bad bird!" She hissed and tried to shoo the owl away, the owl released the fabric pinched in its beak and screeched at Lisa who fell back onto her elbows.

The girl frowned and the owl continued. Grumbling, Lisa reached behind her and tugged on Hagrid's shirt, "Hagrid, there's an owl."

"Pay 'im," Hagrid grunted.

“Hagrid...it's a bird," said Lisa, pointing at the owl with a raised eyebrow.

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper," Hagrid explained, "look in the pockets." 

Lisa huffed and poked around, "your coat is nothing but pockets," she complained, "and I thought Aunt Petunia's purse had endless compartments," she found bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags and finally, after what seemed like an endless search, Lisa pulled out a handful of weird-looking coins. "Uh...how much do I give it?"

“Give him five knuts," Hagrid mumbled sleepily.

"What?"

"The little bronze ones."

"Oh," Lisa counted five and the owl held out his skinny little leg so she could put the coins in the small leather pouch tied to it and then he flew off, back out the open window.

Behind her, Hagrid yawned loudly and sat up, he stretched and said, "best be off, Lisa, lots to do today, gotta get up to London and buy all your stuff for school."

Lisa looked down at the small coins and flipped them over in her hand, thinking back to what Uncle Vernon said, "Hagrid?"

"Hm?" said Hagrid, pulling on his boots.

"I don't have any money," she said, "you heard my Uncle, he said he won't pay for my school things."

"Don't you worry about that," he said, "d'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

“Yeah...sort of," Lisa admitted, "I mean they're dead and you said the house was destroyed—"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, Lisa! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold an' I wouldn' say no the a bit o' yer birthday cake neither." 

Lisa looked over her shoulder at the white box in the corner, "I think Dudley ate most of it," she said and poked around the remaining sausages, scrunching her nose at the congealed fat on the underside, "so...where's this bank?" 

"Diagon Alley o' course, run by goblins."

“Goblins?"

"Yeah, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Lisa. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe, 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid said, drawing himself up proudly, "he usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you, gettin' things from Gringotts, he knows he can trust me, see." 

Lisa hummed sadly, "I wish the Dursleys trusted me that much," she said, nibbling on a sausage like a corn cob to avoid the bottom. After she ate as much as she could stomach and dressed quickly in the dank and mouldy bathroom. She grabbed her bag, double checking for her Walkman, tapes and the extra batteries she stole out of the remote control in the living room. 

"Got everything?" Hagrid asked, watching Lisa shove her pyjamas in her bag. Lisa nodded, "come on, then."

Lisa followed Hagrid out onto the rock, the sky was clear, not a cloud for miles and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, bobbing in the water with puddles in the bottom from the storm.

"How did you get here?" Lisa asked, looking around for a second boat.

“Flew," said Hagrid.

"Sorry...flew?"

"Yeah, but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh." Lisa looked back at the boat and frowned. "Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Lisa another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter...speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?" 

"Mention what?" Lisa asked with a slight smile. Hagrid pulled out his pink umbrella and tapped the side of the boat twice and they sped off toward land.

"Hagrid? Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?"

"Hey, Hagrid? Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?"

"Spells, enchantments," Hagrid said, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the highsecurity vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way, Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Lisa hummed and sat across from the giant while he read his newspaper: The Daily Prophet.

Lisa learned from a young age that people liked to be left alone while they did this so she pulled out her Walkman and placed the headphones over one of her ears, she pressed down on play and looked up at the blue sky. 

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

Lisa lifted the foam off her left ear, “there’s a Ministry of Magic?”

"Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

“What does the Ministry do?"

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

“Okay...why?" 

“Why? Blimey, Lisa, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

"Makes sense," Lisa said after a short pause.

The boat bumped gently into the harbour wall and Hagrid folded up his newspaper, they clambered out of the boat and trekked up the stone steps. Passersby stared at Hagrid as they walked though the little town, eyes nearly popping out of their skulls at his size. Not that Lisa could blame them, he was twice as tall as everyone else and kept pointing at perfectly normal things and exclaiming, "see that, Lisa? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"That's a parking meter Hagrid,” Lisa said, panting a bit as she ran to keep up with him, “people put money in it to...park places. Anyway, you said something about dragons guarding Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," Hagrid said. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one?"

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid. Here we go."  

They reached the station, there was a train to London scheduled five minutes from now and Hagrid, who didn't understand Muggle money, gave it to Lisa so she could buy their tickets.

On the train, Lisa swung her legs back and forth and looked around, they were being gawked at worse than before, Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letter, Lisa?" Hagrid asked and she picked up her rucksack, rifling though it. 

"Uh..." she found parchment crumpled at the bottom and pulled it out, in her haste to leave the hut she forgot to put it back in its envelope, "yes." She smoothed it out over her knee like she saw Uncle Vernon do with rumpled bank notes.

“Good," Hagrid said. "There's a list there of everything yeh need." 

She folded her acceptance letter back and there was a second piece of parchment:

 
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. One set of plain robes (black) new ones will be provided once sorted.

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for occasional wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' should bring appropriate footwear.

 
COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander 

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

 
OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) 1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope set

1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS 

“Where do we get all this stuff?" asked Lisa.

“Diagon Alley, like I said." 

Lisa had only been to London once before and although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he obviously wasn't used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground and complained that the seats were too small and the train was too slow.

"I don' know how Muggles manage without magic," he said as they walked up a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling street.

"I don't think they think about it, Hagrid."

Hagrid parted crowds with ease, big as he was, and all Lisa could do was keep close behind. They passed bookshops and record stores, a cinema and a fast food place. Just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of gold buried beneath them guarded by dragons? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Could this all be just some sick prank that the Dursleys cooked up? If Lisa didn't know the Dursleys as well as she did, she might've thought so. They weren't clever enough to do something so elaborate.

"This is it," announced Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place." 

It was a dark, grubby-looking pub and if Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Lisa wouldn't have noticed it was there.

“Looks...mouldy," she observed and looked around, the people passing by didn't glance at it, their eyes slid from the bookshop to the record store as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Lisa had the most peculiar feeling that only she and Hagrid could see it. Hagrid steered her inside, for a supposedly famous place it was shabby and probably hadn't been cleaned since the 14th century going off all the dust.

“Do magic people not have health inspectors?" Lisa mumbled, too low for Hagrid to hear. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry and one of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was speaking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and resembled a toothless walnut.

The dull buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid, they waved and smiled at him and the bartender reached for a glass and said, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"'Fraid I can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Lisa's shoulder, making her knees buckle.

“Good Lord," said the barman, peering down at Lisa, "is this...can this be?" The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," the old barman continued, "Lisa Potter...what an honour." He hurried out from behind the bar and rushed toward Lisa, who stumbled back against Hagrid, eyes wide as a doe.

"Welcome back, Miss Potter! Welcome back!" He seized her hand and shook it up and down almost wildly.

“Uh...hi..." was all she could say, everyone was staring at her and she squirmed uncomfortably. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it still without realizing it had gone out and Hagrid was beaming above her. Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Lisa found herself surrounded by strange, unfamiliar people and forced to shake their hands.

"Doris Crockford, Miss Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Miss Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand! Oh, I'm all of a flutter!"

"Delighted, Miss Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

A look of realization crossed Lisa's face, "oh, I remember you," she said as his top hat fell off in his excitement, "you bowed to me at a shop once."

"She remembers!" He cried, looking around at everyone, "did you hear that? She remembers me!"

Lisa shook hands again and again and again and Doris Crockford's more than once. A pale young man made his way forward, nervous and twitchy in the eye.

"Professor Quirrell!" exclaimed Hagrid, "Lisa, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

“P-P-Potter," Professor Quirrell stammered, his hand was cold and clammy, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."

Lisa hummed, lips pressed into a thin line, "what do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" 

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," he muttered as though he'd rather not think about it. "N- not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires." He looked petrified at the thought.

“Oh, vampires are cool," said Lisa, "I'm a big fan of Dracula myself, Christopher Lee is good but no one is better than Bela Lugosi." Professor Quirrell stared at Lisa as if he had no idea what she was talking about despite being the Muggle Studies Professor the year prior. He opened his mouth to stutter something else but the others wouldn't let Quirrell keep Lisa to himself a moment longer.

It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on, lots ter buy. Come on, Lisa." 

Doris Crockford shook Lisa's hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh, mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

“Something was off about him,” Lisa said with a frown. 

“Nonsense, he’s just nervous,” Hagrid said, “poor bloke, brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience...they say he met vampires in the Black Forest and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag...never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject now, where's me umbrella?"

Lisa blinked and titled her head, vampires were real? And hags too? The only hag Lisa knew was Mrs. Johnson down the street— and not in the wise old woman way. 

Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can. "Three up... two across," he muttered. "Right, stand back, Lisa." He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he touched quivered, it wriggled and in the middle, a small hole formed. It grew wider and wider and soon enough they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," Hagrid said, "to Diagon Alley." He grinned at Lisa’s astonishment and they stepped though the archway. Lisa looked over her shoulder and watch the wall slowly close behind them. 

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop, the sign hanging over them read: Cauldrons— All Sizes: Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver, Self-Stirring, Collapsible.

“Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first." 

Lisa wished she had more eyes or another head, there was so much to see and she couldn't look around fast enough to see all of it: the shops, the things outside the shops, fantastical things she could only dream of, the people doing their shopping in funny clothes. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, muttering, "dragon liver, seventeen sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

Lisa giggled and hopped a few times to catch up to Hagrid. "This. Is. Incredible!" She exclaimed with each jump. A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop— Eeylops Owl Emporium, Lisa caught a glimpse of the owls outside, in cages and or standing on perches: Tawny, Brown, Barn, Screech and Snowy. Several boys around Lisa's age had their noses pressed against a window full of broomsticks.

“Look," she heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand, it's the fastest broom in the world!"

There were shops full of those funny-looking clothes and more modern-looking ones and everything in between. There was a shop selling telescopes and strange silver instruments, there were windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles and globes.

"Gringotts," Hagrid announced and Lisa turned her head back around. The bank was a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops and was tilted just a little bit to the left. Standing beside the large doors was a little man wearing a scarlet and gold uniform.

"Yeah, that's a goblin," Hagrid whispered as they walked up the stone steps toward him. He was about a head shorter than Lisa, dark-skinned with a clever face and a pointed beard. He bowed to them as they walked inside, now facing another set of doors, silver doors with words engraved into the glass:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn, 

Must pay most dearly in their turn. 

So if you seek beneath our floors 

A treasure that was never yours, 

Thief, you have been warned, beware 

Of finding more than treasure there.

 
"Huh..." Lisa blinked, "that's cheery."

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," Hagrid said.

A pair of goblins bowed through the doors and they were in a vast marble hall, with shiny floors and a high gold ceiling. There were rows of goblins sitting high on stools behind long counters, scribbling in ledgers, weighing jewels and counting stacks of gold coins. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall and yet more goblins were showing people in and out. Lisa followed Hagrid to a high counter, much too high for her to see over.

"Mornin’," Hagrid said. "We've come ter take some money outta Miss Lisa Potter's safe."

“You have her key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," Hagrid said and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of mouldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin scrunched his nose and Hagrid exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out a tiny gold key, "got it!"

The goblin took it, examined it and gave it back, "that seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen." 

The goblin read the letter carefully and looked up at Hagrid from above his small spectacles, "very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid. "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Lisa followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Lisa asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

“Fine," Lisa frowned and crossed her arms, "keep your secrets." 

Griphook opened the door and held it open, Lisa expected more gilded marble but was met with a narrow stone passageway, lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and Lisa looked down at the railway tracks. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurling up the tracks, it screeched to a halt and they climbed in— Hagrid with some difficulty.

At first, they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages, Lisa glanced at Griphook expecting to see him driving yet his hands were free, apparently the cart knew exactly where it was going.

Lisa's hair whipped all around as cold air rushed past them, a few turns back she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon but she couldn't see anything. The cart plunged deeper, passing an underground lake.

"Did you know, the difference between stalagmites and stalactites is stalagmites grow from the floor while stalactites grow down from the ceiling?" She glanced at Hagrid who looked very green.

The cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid clambered out and leaned against the wall, knees trembling. Lisa followed, she fixed her hair and Griphook handed her a lantern. She held it for him while he unlocked the door. They took a few steps to the side as the door swung open. It was a large vault, piled high with mountains upon mountains of gold, silver and bronze.

"All yours," Hagrid smiled.

Lisa looked down at Griphook, "how...how much is here?" "Just over two-hundred million," he replied.

"Two..." Lisa breathed, she turned back to her vault and laughed in disbelief. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have taken it from her before she could blink. 

"The Potter’s are an ancient family, goin' back ter the founding o' Hogwarts," Hagrid explained. "But your grandfather, Fleamont, a great businessman an' potioneer he was, he invented Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, quadrupled your family's fortune he did."

"And it'll keep growing, so long as they keep manufacturing it," said Griphook.

“And— and all of this is mine?"

"Every last galleon, sickle and knut."

Lisa could only laugh, she stepped in and looked around, taking it all in. Last night she found out she was a witch and now she discovered she comes from, for a lack of a better term, old money. 

Hagrid helped her stuff as much gold and silver as she could into a bag. "The gold ones are galleons," he explained, "seventeen silver sickles to a galleon and twenty-nine knuts to a sickle, it's easy enough to remember. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook, "vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," Griphook said.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed, the air became colder and colder as they hurtled around right corners, they went rattling over an underground ravine and Lisa leaned over the side to see what was down at the bottom but Hagrid groaned and pulled her in by her rucksack.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," Griphook ordered, he stroked the door gently with one of his small fingers and it simply...melted away.

“If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Lisa asked.

“About once every ten years," Griphook said with a rather nasty grin.

Whatever was in this vault really had to be important for such extreme security measures. Lisa leaned eagerly to the side on her toes, expecting to see fabulous jewels or something but there wasn't anything except for a grubby little package wrapped in brown paper on the floor. Hagrid's plucked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat and Lisa grumbled in disappointment.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," Hagrid said.

One wild cart ride later they were standing in the lobby. Out of the corner of her eye, Lisa saw a man open his wallet and hand a goblin a few pound notes in exchange for a sac of gold. Lisa tucked her hand inside her pocket and rolled a galleon between her fingers, she looked up at Hagrid, who was looking a bit peaky, “I’ll be right back.” If that man could trade Muggle money for wizard money then surely she can do the opposite. And she could. Lisa left Gringotts with a few hundred quid tucked in her front pocket.

Lisa wasn't sure where to go first, she had a pouch full of gold and not a single idea.

"Might as well get yer uniform," Hagrid said, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. “Listen, Lisa, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." 

"Sure," Lisa said and slipped into Madam Malkin's, alone and feeling very nervous.

Madam Malkin, presumably, was a squat witch dressed head to toe in mauve. "Hogwarts dear?" She asked and Lisa nodded. Madam Malkin smiled and ushered her through the shop, "come with me, I have a young man currently being fitted at the moment, would that be a bother?"

"No, that's fine." Lisa's eyes caught onto a rather obnoxious peacock...thing.

Madam Malkin pulled back the curtain and the boy turned his head, locking eyes on Lisa. He hadn't expected anyone else to come in. She was pretty, he supposed, though her black hair was frizzy and her clothes looked shoddy. 

Lisa stepped onto the stool with Madam Malkin's help and glanced at him. He was taller than she was and dressed impeccably well, his silver-gold hair was slicked back neatly.

Madam Malkin turned, picked up a roll of tailoring tape and started taking Lisa's measurements, she glanced at the boy and was surprised to know he was still looking at her, hazel eyes met grey for a moment and she looked away, choosing to focus on the peacock thing on the mannequin again.

"Hello," the boy said, "Hogwarts too?"

“Yes," Lisa said.

"My Father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands," he said. He had a bored, drawling voice, "then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Lisa was strongly reminded of Dudley.

“Have you got your own broom?" He went on.

"No."

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No."

"I do, my father says it'll be a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house and I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

Lisa shrugged, feeling dumber by the second and the boy hummed.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all my family has been...imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said Lisa with a thin-lipped smile.

“I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window, Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Lisa and pointing at the two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Lisa, "he works at Hogwarts."

“Oh," the boy said, "I've heard of him, he's sort of a servant, isn't he?"

"Gamekeeper," Lisa corrected, rolling her eyes. She was liking the boy less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage— lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," Lisa said icily.

"Do you?" The boy asked with a slight sneer, "why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

“They're dead," Lisa said shortly. She didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy. 

"Oh, sorry." He didn't sound sorry at all, "but they were our kind, weren't they?"

“Mm-hm."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. I'm Malfoy by the way, Draco Malfoy," the boy said, having gone the entirety of the conversation without telling her his name. He twisted his torso and held out his hand for Lisa to shake.

Before Lisa could open her mouth to say something, Madam Malkin said, "that's you done, my dear," and Lisa stepped down from the stool.

“Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," Malfoy said, pulling his hand back. He sounded almost disappointed their conversation had come to an end.

Lisa took the package from Madam Malkin and reached into the pouch in her pocket, dropping a few galleons into her hand.

Lisa was quiet while she ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought her— chocolate and strawberry with chopped peanuts.

"What's up?" Hagrid asked.

“Nothing," mumbled Lisa.

She cheered up a bit when they went shopping for quills and she found a pot of ink that changed colours as you wrote. When they left the shop, she asked, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

“Blimey, Lisa, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know, not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," she whined and told Hagrid all about the boy in Madam Malkin's, “— and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in!"

"Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh were— he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o’ Muggles, look at yer Mum! Look what she had fer a sister!" 

Lisa smiled, "so what is Quidditch, Hagrid?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like...like football in the Muggle world. Everyone follows Quidditch. Played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls...sorta hard ter explain the rules." 

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but—“

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I get in Hufflepuff,” Lisa said gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”

"Vol— sorry, You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

“Years an’ years ago,” Hagrid said. 

Hagrid brought Lisa to a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather, books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk, books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything would've been wild to get his hands on some of these.

Hagrid had to pull Lisa away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian by her rucksack. Again.

“Aw, c’mon Hagrid, it’s my birthday!” Lisa said, playing the birthday card for the first time in her life, “I want to find a way to curse Dudley.”

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid.

“That’s a dumb rule,” Lisa grumbled with her arms crossed.

“An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level." 

Hagrid wouldn't let Lisa buy a silver cauldron either, ("it says pewter on yer list,") but they did get a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible gold telescope. And then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff, jars of herbs, dried roots and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling.

While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of basic potion ingredients for Lisa, she examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one galleons a piece and minuscule, glittery black beetle eyes, five knuts a scoop.

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Lisa's list again, "just yer wand left, oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present."

Lisa felt herself go red, "you don't have to—"

“Tell yeh what? I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze. I’ll get yeh an owl, all the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'." 

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, (which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes). Lisa now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. Lisa couldn't stop stammering her thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell. 

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now, only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand." A wand...this was what Lisa had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby, peeling gold letters over the door read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty front window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Lisa felt strangely as though she had stepped into a very strict library. She stood rooted to the spot and her eyes moved about the room, looking at the thousands of narrow boxes piled chaotically right up the ceiling. Strangely, the hair on her arms stood on end and the very dust and silence seemed to tingle with some ancient magic.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice said and Lisa jumped, Hagrid must've too, because there was a loud snap and he quickly got off the spindly chair.

An old man appeared seemingly out of nowhere, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons. "Hi," Lisa said.

"Ah yes," he said. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Lisa Potter. You wear your mother's face. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." 

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Lisa and she wished he would blink, he was beginning to creep her out.

"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and is excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it, it's really the wand that chooses the wizard or witch, of course."

Mr. Ollivander bent forward to look Lisa in the eye, "and that's where..." he touched the scar on her forehead with a long, pale finger. "I'm sorry to say that I sold the wand that did it," he whispered. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands...well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..." He shook his head and then, to Lisa's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again...Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," Hagrid said.

“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?"

"Er— yes, they did, yes," Hagrid said, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" Mr. Ollivander sharply questioned.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Lisa noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

Mr. Ollivander hummed and gave Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now, Miss Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measurer with silver markings from his pocket, "which is your wand arm?"

"Uh...well I guess it'll be my right one," she said.

"Hold out your arm, that's it," he measured Lisa from shoulder to the tip of her finger then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and around her head.

He spoke as he measured, "every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Lisa wiggled her nose, it was then she realized the tape measurer was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. "That will do," he said and the tape measurer crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss Potter. Try this one. Beech and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Lisa took the wand and looked at Mr. Ollivander, unsure. Feeling foolish, she waved it around but he snatched it out of her hand almost immediately.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—"

Lisa had tried but she had hardly raised the wand before it was snatched again by Mr. Ollivander. "No, no, here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Lisa tried and tried, she had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. A pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the sleeves the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere. I wonder, now...yes, why not? Unusual combination; holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Lisa took the wand with a sigh, almost immediately she felt a sudden warmth in her fingers, she raised the wand and swished it through the air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light onto the walls.

Hagrid cheered and clapped from where he stood and Mr. Ollivander cried, "oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well...how curious...how very curious..." He put Lisa's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "curious...curious..."

"Sorry," Lisa interrupted, "but what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Lisa with his pale stare, "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather, just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar."

"Oh."

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember...I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Potter. After all, He- Who-Must- Not-Be-Named did great things— terrible, yes, but great."

Lisa shivered, she wasn't sure she liked Mr. Ollivander. She paid ten galleons for her wand and scurried from the shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Lisa and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the now empty Leaky Cauldron. Lisa didn't speak at all as they walked down the street, she didn't notice how many people gawked at them on the Underground, laden as they were with their funny-shaped packages and an owl in its cage beside Lisa. Up another escalator and out into Paddington station— Lisa only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said. He bought Lisa a cheeseburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Lisa sipped her chocolate milkshake and looked around, everything looked so...strange, somehow.

"You all right, Lisa? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid and Lisa hummed, unsure if she could explain. She just had the best birthday of her life and yet...

"Everyone thinks I'm special," she sighed, picking off the large chunks of onion, setting them on a thick slice of tomato, "all the people in the leaky cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander...but I don't know anything about magic...how can they expect great things from me when I don't know what I'm doing? I'm famous and I can't remember what exactly I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vold— sorry, the night my parents died."

Hagrid leaned across the table and behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a kind smile, "don’ you worry, Lisa. You’ll learn fast enough, everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine, just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts, I did and still do, 'smatter of fact." 

Hagrid helped Lisa onto the train that would take her back to Little Whinging then he handed her an envelope. "Yer ticket for Hogwarts,” he said, “first o’ September at Kings Cross, it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, he'll know where to find me....See yeh soon, Lisa." 

The train pulled out of the station, Lisa wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight, she rose from her seat and pressed her nose against the window but he was gone.

And Lisa was alone again.    

Chapter Text

Lisa's last month with the Dursleys wasn't particularly bad, it wasn't good by any means but it wasn't as awful as it could have been. Dudley was now so scared of her that he refused to be in the same room and while her aunt and uncle didn't lock her away in the cupboard again, they didn't speak to her at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as if any chair Lisa sat in was empty. 

Over the last month, she often accompanied Aunt Petunia into town and wandered across the street when she wasn't looking. She would buy something with the money she got from the bank; clothes, new shoes, books, glow-in-the-dark stars to stick on the wall, plastic rose lights on a string and various little trinkets. And when she would go back to the car she expected her Aunt to say something but she didn't. Lisa wanted her to, yell at her for going off on her own, question her about the money, smack her, grab her by the arm, something, anything but this silent treatment.

The last attempt Lisa made to put an end to the silent treatment was to go downstairs in her Hogwarts uniform. After she unwrapped it to try it on she hadn't expected there to be a tie. Lisa held it in her hands while she stood in front of the Dursleys, twisting the fabric nervously. She asked Uncle Vernon if he could teach her how to tie it but he refused, rather furiously, and Aunt Petunia (reluctantly), ended up helping her, knowing Lisa would go away and leave them be if she did. 

Lisa kept to her room most the the time with her new owl for company. She decided to call her Hedwig, a name she found in A History of Magic. She spent days packing and unpacking her trunk, rearranging her bedroom and reading her school books cover to cover. Twice. Hedwig swooped in and out of the open window as she pleased. It was lucky Aunt Petunia didn't come vacuum in here anymore since Hedwig always returned with something dead in her beak. Every night before she went to sleep, Lisa crossed out another day on her calendar with a black sharpie, counting down to September.

On the last day of August, Lisa sat at the top of the stairs and picked at her thumb, she knew she'd better speak to her aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station tomorrow morning. Taking a deep breath she went down to the lounge where they were watching a quiz show, she cleared her throat to let them know she was there and Dudley screamed, running from the room.

"Uh, hey...Uncle Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon grunted from his chair and Lisa exhaled.

"I need to go to King's Cross tomorrow...to go to Hogwarts," she said, rocking back on her heels. Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Do you think you could give me a lift?"

He grunted a third time and Lisa supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you," she turned around to go back upstairs when her uncle actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a witches' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?" 

Lisa didn't say anything.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Lisa and pulled the ticket Hagrid had given her out of her pocket, "I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock."

Her aunt and uncle turned their heads in her direction and Lisa squirmed under their gaze. "Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," Uncle Vernon spat, "there is no platform nine and three-quarters."

"It says so on my ticket."

"Barking," Uncle Vernon said, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see, you just wait, we'll take you to King's Cross, we're going up to London tomorrow anyway or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Lisa asked, trying to keep things light and friendly.

"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon, sinking further into his armchair, "got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

"Oh," Lisa mumbled, "thought that would've disappeared by now." 

 
Lisa wasn't sure if she slept at all, opening her eyes periodically through the night. She sighed and rolled over onto her side, tucking her arms under her pillows. The red light from the roses strung along her bedposts allowed her to read the time on her alarm clock. It was five in the morning. Lisa looked over at Hedwig, fast asleep on her perch. Lisa rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, picking at the back of her hand. The clock ticked in her ears and she kicked the blanket off her legs and sat up, Lisa shoved her feet into her slippers and opened her bedroom door, tying her robe around her middle.

She moved through the house like a ghost; sweeping, wiping, doing up the few dishes in the sink, fluffing pillows. After about an hour of this she ventured back upstairs and took a bath. She returned to her bedroom and dumped her nightgown in the hamper, wondering, briefly, if it would still be there when she came home on holiday. Humming to herself, she pulled on burgundy corduroy trousers and a white t-shirt under a big knitted navy blue moon and stars jumper. Lisa tucked her damp hair behind her ears and pulled her trunk out from under her bed, she unlocked it and started taking everything out again with her supply list in her hand.

Lisa packed again, slower this time, "books, clothes, shoes, wand, telescope, potion stuff, scales, uniform, gloves, batteries, cassettes, hairbrush, hat...I feel like I'm forgetting something," Lisa said, sitting back on her haunches. She looked over at Hedwig, "owl treats," Lisa reached under her bed and pulled out a box, she shoved it down one of the sides and closed the lid, "okay," she sighed, "I think that's everything." Double-checking that Hedwig was secure in his cage, she went back downstairs. The kitchen door swings open and Lisa goes straight for the kitchen table. She grabs a chair and quietly slides it over to the refrigerator, Lisa climbs onto the seat and shuffles through the cereal until she finds the box of Grape-Nuts. Stepping down, Lisa grabs a bowl and shakes the cereal into it, adding strawberries blueberries before pouring milk over top. She takes her breakfast into the living room and sits down in the middle of the floral sofa, remote in hand. She flicks around the channels until she finds and old episode of Scooby-Doo. 

A few hours later, Lisa's huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into Uncle Vernon's car and Aunt Petunia had to talk and eventually bribe Dudley into sitting next to Lisa. They reached King's Cross at half past ten, Vernon dumped Lisa's trunk onto a trolley and wheeled it into the station for her, she squinted at her Uncle, dubious of his suddenly kind behaviour until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face. Lisa was right to be skeptical.

"Well, there you are, Lisa. Platform nine and platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle but they don't seem to have built it yet." He was right of course, there was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic ten beside it, separated by a brick wall.

"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile and he left without another word, leaving her all alone. Lisa turned and watched the Dursleys drive away. She was starting to attract a lot of funny looks now.

Lisa paced along the freshly waxed floor, picking her cuticles, every so often she glanced at the clock while she tried to figure out what to do. She couldn't ask someone, everyone here was a Muggle, presumably. Lisa was stuck in an unfamiliar city with a trunk she could barely lift, a bag full of wizard money, Muggle money— just in case and a snowy owl who screeched at people as they walked by.

“Shh! Hedwig! You're going to get us into trouble!" Lisa glanced at the clock again, she had ten minutes to get into the platform somehow and she was trying not to panic. Hagrid must've forgotten to tell her something she had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. While Lisa was engrossed in thought, a group of people passed just behind her and she caught a few words.

"—packed with Muggles, of course—"

Lisa spun around on her heel, the speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all of them had flaming red hair and each of the boys was pushing a trunk like Lisa's, and they all had an owl. Heart hammering, she pushed her trolley after them with a grunt of effort. They stopped and so did she, just near enough to overhear.

"Now, what's the platform number?" asked the boys' mother.

"Nine and three-quarters!" A small girl piped, holding her hand. She had red hair too. "Mum, can't I go?"

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looked to be the oldest boy, marched between platforms nine and ten. Lisa watched, careful not to blink in case she missed something, unfortunately before she could see, a large group of tourists came swarming in front of her and by the time the last overstuffed backpack had gone, "Fred, you next," the woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy, "honestly woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," the boy smiled mischievously and his twin called after him to hurry up and he must've done so because a second later he vanished. The third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier, he was almost there and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

Lisa stared at them, she tightened grip on the trolley and exhaled nervously, "excuse me," she said and the woman turned her head with a warm smile.

"Hello, dear," she said, "first time at Hogwarts? Ron's new too." She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin and gangling with freckles and a long nose. 

"Yes," said Lisa, "only I don't know how to...um..."

"How to get onto the platform?" She asked kindly and Lisa nodded.

"Not to worry, all you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best to do a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron," she encouraged and Lisa blinked.

"Um...okay, thank you." Lisa pushed her trolley around and stared at the brick wall. It looked...very solid. She started to walk toward it, people jostled her on their way to platforms nine and ten. She picked up the pace, she was going to smash into the wall and then she'll get in trouble. She broke into a run, the red brick was inching closer and closer and she wouldn't be able to stop now, she scrunched her eyes shut tight and prepared to crash. She didn't. She kept on running and opened her eyes. A great scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead read: Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Lisa turned her head and saw a wrought-iron archway where the wall had been with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it.

She did it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted and screeched to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed, some hung out of the window to talk to their families, some fought over window seats and Lisa pushed her trolley down the platform in search of an empty compartment. She passed a round-faced boy, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville,” she heard the old woman sigh.

A small crowd surrounded a boy with locs, "give us a look, Lee, go on." The boy lifted the lid off the box in his arm and the teenagers around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg. Lisa pressed on through the crowd until she found what she was looking for, near the end of the train. She put Hedwig inside first and started to shove and heave her trunk toward the door. She attempted to lift it on her own but she could hardly raise one end and twice dropped it on her booted foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of those red-haired twins she'd followed through the barrier.

"Yeah, thanks," Lisa panted.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

With the twins' help, Lisa's trunk was at last tucked away in the compartment.

"Thanks for the help," said Lisa, wiping the sweat gathered on her brow.

“What's that?" One of the twins asked, pointing to her scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin, "are you?"

"She is," the first one said, "aren't you?"

"What?" 

"Lisa Potter," the twins chorused.

"Oh," she said and fixed her bangs, "yeah."

The two boys gawked at her and Lisa felt herself going red in the face. Then, to her relief, a voice came floating through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum."

With a last look at Lisa, the twins hopped off the train. Lisa sat down next to the window where she could see the red-haired family on the platform, she watched their mother pull out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose," she said and the boy tried to squirm out of the way but she grabbed his cheeks and began rubbing the tip of his nose.

"Mum— gerooff," he wiggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins.

“Shut up," said Ron.

"Where's Percy?" Their mother asked. "He's coming now."

The oldest boy came striding into sight, he had already changed into his robes, they were like hers only he wore trousers and his crest and tie were maroon and gold. On the left side of his chest, he wore a badge.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he informed, "I'm riding up front, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves—"

"Oh, are you a Prefect, Percy?" One of the twins said with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once."

”Or twice."

"Every minute."

"All summer."

"Oh, shut up," Percy sneered.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?"

"Because he's a Prefect," their mother said fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term and send me an owl when you get there." She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now, you two, this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've— you've blown up a toilet or—"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."

"It's not funny. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

“Shut up," Ron said again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

“Oh, hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?" Lisa slid down the seat to avoid being seen. "You know that little black-haired girl who was near us at the station? Know who she is?"

"Who?"

"Lisa Potter!"

Lisa heard the little girl's voice.

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see her...Mum...please..."

"You've already seen her, Ginny and the poor girl isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked her. Saw her scar. It's really there, like lightning right in the middle of her forehead."

"Poor dear, no wonder she was alone. I wondered. She was ever so polite when she asked how to get onto the platform." 

"Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their mother suddenly grew very stern. "I forbid you to ask her, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though she needs reminding of that on her first day of school."

"All right, keep your hair on—" a whistle sounded. 

"Hurry up!" Their mother cried and the three boys clambered onto the train, they leaned out for her to kiss them goodbye and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

“George!"

"Only joking, Mum."

The train began to move and Lisa watched the boys' mother waving and their sister half laughing, half crying, running to try to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed and then she fell back and waved.

Buildings flashed past the window and Lisa felt a great leap of excitement...but she was also nervous, perhaps a bit anxious. She didn't know where she was going but it had to be better than what she was leaving behind. 

The door to the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy came in. "Anyone sitting here?" He asked pointing at the seat opposite Lisa, "everywhere else is full." Lisa shook her head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Lisa and then quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Lisa saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

"Hey, Ron." The twins were back. "Listen, we're going down the middle of the train, Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Lisa," the other one said, "did we introduce ourselves? I'm Fred, this is George and this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

"Bye," Lisa said, Fred smiled at her and her cheeks flushed pink.

"Are you really Lisa Potter?" Ron blurted the moment the door slid shut and she nodded. "Oh, well...I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," he said, "and have you really got...you know?" He pointed to Lisa's forehead, she pushed her bangs out of the way to show the scar. "So that's where You- Know-Who—"

"Yeah," she fixed her hair, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" Ron asked.

"Well…I remember green light— but nothing else..."

"Wow..." he sat and stared at Lisa for a bit, it was just his luck that this was the only compartment available, he could hardly believe that he was here and sitting across from the Lisa Potter. He'd heard the name all his life but he didn't know what she looked like, no one did. She was smaller than he imagined she’d be— skinnier too. Pale and bespectacled with sparse freckles all over her face. Her eyes from what he could tell were mostly brown, dark with specs of green. Then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked out the window again.

"Are all your family magic?" asked Lisa, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found her.

“Yes, I think so," said Ron, "I think Mums got a second cousin who's an accountant but we never talk about him." 

"So...you must know loads of magic already." The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families Draco Malfoy had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," Ron said. "What are they like?"

"Horrid...well, just my family I guess...but most of them are fine. I wish I had three brothers."

“Five," Ron corrected, looking a bit gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left. Bill was Head Boy and Charlie a Quidditch Captain, now Percy's a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand and Percy's old rat." Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat grey rat, fast asleep.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a Prefect, but they couldn't aff— I mean, I got Scabbers instead." Ron's ears went pink, he seemed to think he said too much because he went back to staring out the window. Lisa didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, until a month ago the only money she had was what she earned, and she told Ron so, all about having to wear secondhand clothes and never getting any proper presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up a bit.

"—until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a witch or my parents or Voldemort— " Ron gasped, "what?"

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" He said, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people—"

“So? It's just a name," said Lisa with a shrug and then she sighed, "I guess I have a lot to learn, don't I? At my Muggle school, I was the best in the class, here I'll probably be the worst."

"You won't be," Ron reassured, "there's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

As they talked, the train had carried them out of London, now they were speeding passed fields of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick by.

Around half-past twelve, there was a great chattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled old woman slid back the door and asked, "anything off the trolley, dears?"

Lisa eyed the candy curiously and got to her feet but Ron's ears went pink again and he muttered that he brought sandwiches. Lisa grabbed her bag off the seat and went into the corridor. She eyed the boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands and several other strange things she's had never seen before. Lisa worried her bottom lip between her teeth and looked back at the compartment she shared with Ron, turning back to the trolly witch she opened the velvet pouch she kept her silver and gold in.

"I'll take some of everything," she said.

Ron stared as Lisa brought it all back into the compartment and tipped it onto the empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Hungry, curious, I've never had candy before," said Lisa and went straight for a red Liquorice Wand.

Ron reached into his pocket and pulled out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside, he pulled one apart and said, "she always forgets I don't like corned beef."

“Do you want one?" Lisa asked, holding up a piece of liquorice.

"No thanks, I'm all set," he said.

"Ron, take the candy," she said, firmer this time, "go on." 

It was nice, sitting there with Ron and eating their way through all the pasties, cakes and candies Lisa bought, forgetting entirely about the sandwiches.

"Hey," she said to get Ron's attention, holding up a pentagon-shaped package, "they're not really frogs, are they?"

"No," said Ron, "but see what the card is, I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, you wouldn't know, sorry. Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, y'know, to collect. Famous witches and wizards, I've got about five hundred but I haven't got Cornelius Agrippa and Ptolemy."

Lisa unwrapped her Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face, he wore half-moon glasses and had a long crooked nose, silver hair with a beard and moustache. Underneath the picture was the name 'Albus Dumbledore'.

"So this is Dumbledore," Lisa said.

“Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!”

"Of course I have," she said defensively, "I just...had trouble putting a face to a name."

"Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa— thanks."

Lisa turned over her card and read:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Lisa turned the card back over and saw, to her astonishment, Dumbledore had disappeared. "Huh, that's weird," she said and Ron looked up.

“What?"

She showed him the empty card, "he's gone."

"Well you can't expect him to hang around all day," he said, "he'll be back. Oh no!" Ron groaned, "I've got Morgana again and I've got six of her...do you want it? You can start collecting." Ron's eyes stayed glued to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," Lisa said, "you know in the Muggle world, people stay put in photographs."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed, "weird!"

Lisa shrugged and looked down at the card, Dumbledore slid back into the picture and gave her a small smile. Ron seemed more interested in eating the chocolate than looking at the cards. Lisa couldn't keep her eyes off of them, soon she not only had Dumbledore and Morgana but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, Salazar Slytherin and Merlin. She tore her eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned, "when they say every flavour, they mean every flavour. You got all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade but then you get spinach and liver and tripe. George swore he got a booger-flavoured one once." Ron picked a green bean from the box, he stared at it carefully and bit into a corner. "Bleaaargh— see? Sprouts."

They had a good time eating them, Lisa got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee and sardine and was even curious enough to nibble the end off a funny grey one Ron wouldn't touch; it was pepper.

The countryside flying passed the window was becoming wilder, the neat fields had gone, and now there were woods and twisting rivers and dark green hills. There was a timid knock on their compartment door and the round-faced boy Lisa had passed on the platform opened the door, he was tearful.

"Sorry," his voice quivered, "but have you seen a toad at all?" When they shook their heads, he wailed. "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"I'm sure he'll turn up," said Lisa with a smile.

"Well if you see him," he said miserably and left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," Ron said, "if I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk." The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap. "He might've died and you wouldn't know the difference," he scrunched his nose in disgust, "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look." He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white glinted at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out." He raised his wand and the compartment door slid open again, the toadless boy was back but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her uniform.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she has a bossy sort of voice and lots of frizzy brown hair and large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," Ron said but the girl wasn't listening, she was staring at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see then," she sat down and Ron looked taken aback.

"Er...all right." He cleared his throat, "sunshine, daises, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow." He waved his wand but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed grey and fast asleep. 

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" The girl asked. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard— I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

Lisa looked at Ron, "I've read all my books too, twice," she admitted and Ron looked stunned, apparently he hadn't read them.

"I'm Ron Weasley," he muttered.

"Lisa Potter."

"Are you really?" Hermione asked, "I know all about you, of course. I got a few extra books for background reading and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

Lisa laughed uncomfortably and squirmed in her seat, "am I?"

"Goodness, didn't you know? I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," she said, "do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best. I hear Dumbledore himself was in it but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad. Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon." And she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," Ron said and shoved his wand back in his pocket. "Stupid spell! George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What houses are your brothers in?" Lisa asked.

"Gryffindor," mumbled Ron, looking gloomy again. "Mum and Dad were in it too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Vol— sorry, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," Ron said and flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the tips of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," Lisa said, trying to take Ron's mind off houses. "So...what do Bill and Charlie do now that they've left school?"

“Charlie's in Romania studying dragons and Bill's somewhere in Africa doing something for Gringotts," Ron said. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the muggles, someone tried to rob a high-security vault."

Lisa blinked, "huh...what happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My Dad says it must've been a powerful dark witch or wizard to get round Gringotts but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it." 

Lisa turned the news over in her mind, she was beginning to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned, she supposed it was part of entering the magical world...or it could simply be psychosomatic.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Oh...I don't know any teams," Lisa confessed.

"What?" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world—" and he was off, explaining all about the four balls and positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Lisa through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered and Lisa recognized the middle one immediately, the pale boy from Madam Malkin's. He was looking at Lisa with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true? They're saying all up and down the train that Lisa Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," she sighed and glanced at the other two boys, both of them were large and mean-looking. They flanked either side of the blond boy, like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said Draco, almost carelessly. "I suppose you remember my name then?"

"Yes, hello Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, hiding a laugh and Draco looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He turned back to Lisa, "you'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held out his hand again, Lisa stared at it and scoffed.

"I'm perfectly capable of telling who the wrong sort are for myself, but thank you though." She said, meeting Malfoy's eyes, his cheeks had a slight pink tinge.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said, "unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, it'll rub off on you."

Ron stood up, hands balled into fists and Lisa followed. "Wow, you really don't know how to handle rejection," she said, unperturbed by the empty threat of a spoiled child, "you're not the first person to threaten me."

"You're going to fight us are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Yes," said Ron.

"No," Lisa held her arm out in case Ron tried something. She glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, "I think you should leave." 

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some." Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frog next to Ron, he leapt forward but before he could do much as touch Goyle, he let out a horrible yell. Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk in the first knuckle. Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling and when Scabbers finally let go and hit the window, all three of them disappeared, running down the corridor.

Lisa tried to stifle her laugh with her hand and Hermione Granger came back, having heard the commotion. "What has been going on?" she asked, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

"I think he's been knocked out," Ron said, looking at Lisa. "No— I don't believe it, he's gone back to sleep." Ron stuffed the rat back in his pocket, "you've met Malfoy before?"

"Yeah, at Madam Malkin's, he was getting fitted at the same time as me."

"I've heard of his family," Ron said darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You- Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My Dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's Father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to Hermione, "can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your uniforms on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"All right. I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," Hermione said in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?" Ron glared at her as she left.

Lisa peered out of the window, it was getting dark, and she could see mountains and forests under the setting sun. The train did seem to be slowing down.

Lisa stepped onto the seat and opened her trunk, pulling out her uniform. She pulled her skirt on over her corduroy trousers and pulled them off that way, tugging off her jumper she buttoned up her shirt and tucked them both into the waistband. Her vest and tie and robe quickly followed. She took the time to neatly fold her clothes before she put them in her trunk. She sat down to put on her new shoes, stealing a glance at Ron. His uniform was a bit too small around the wrists and ankles, Lisa could see his wool socks.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Lisa took a deep breath and Ron looked pale, she gathered the wrappers and empty boxes, disposing them into the bin under the seat— Ron had stuffed his pockets with the leftovers. Lisa fixed her bangs both she and Ron joined the crowd gathering in the corridors.

The train slowed and finally stopped, people pushed their way toward the doors and out onto a tiny, dark platform. Lisa shivered in the cold night air and looked up to see if Ron hadn't been swallowed by the horde of excited students. Then, a lamp came bobbing over their heads and Lisa heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" 

Hagrid's big bushy face beamed over the sea of heads. "C'mon, follow me! Any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!" 

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. The trees were so thick the light of the moon disappeared and they relied on Hagrid's lantern to see. Nobody spoke much and Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

""Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here." The narrow path had opened onto the edge of a great black lake, perched atop a high mountain on the other side was a great stone castle with many turrets and towers and the windows sparkled like gold stars.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats bobbing in the dark water. Lisa and Ron were followed by Hermione and Neville.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then— FORWARD!" The fleet of little boats began to move all at once, gliding across the lake. Lisa picked at her thumb and stared at the great castle overhead It towered over them as they said closer and closer to the cliff it was built on.

"Heads down!" Hagrid yelled and they all ducked, drifting into a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. The tunnel was dark, taking them directly beneath the castle, they reached a sort of underground harbour and the boats stopped. Lisa and Ron clambered out into the rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" asked Hagrid, he was checking the boats as the first years climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville, holding out his hands.

They went two at a time up a passageway, coming out at last onto damp grass. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the massive oak door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door. 

Chapter Text

The great door opened with a groan and a tall, black-haired witch in emerald robes stood on the other side of it. She had a very stern face and Lisa knew that this wasn't someone she wanted to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid, I will take them from here."

The door opened wider. The Entrance Hall was so big you could have filled the whole of the Dursleys' house in it, comfortably. The stone walls were lit with dozens of flickering torches and the ceiling was too high to make out. There was a great stone staircase that would lead them to the upper floors. They followed Professor McGonagall and Lisa could faintly hear the drone of hundreds of voices through the doors on her right. That must be everyone else, Lisa thought. She and the other first years followed Professor McGonagall to an empty chamber off the hall, it was small and a touch crowded. Lisa turned her head and met Neville's eyes— the poor boy looked like he might pass out at any moment.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall, "the start-of-term banquet will begin shortly but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room."

“The four houses are; Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. 

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Her eyes lingered on Neville's tie, half untucked and on Ron's smudged nose. Lisa fiddled nervously with her hair, running her hands over the frizzy waves.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," she said, "please wait quietly."

Once she had gone, Lisa tugged on Ron's sleeve and he looked down, "how do they sort us into houses?"

”Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot but I think he was joking."

"Well, from what I know about Fred, probably." She said then added, "not about the test, I hope it's a written one because I do not know any magic." She looked around, squinting in the low light, everyone seemed terrified, no one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Lisa tried to tune her out, Hermione wasn't making her feel any less nervous. She had never been this nervous, not really, not even when she had to take a school report home to show the Dursleys stating that she, somehow, turned her teacher's hair blue.

Lisa kept her eyes fixed on the door, any moment now Professor McGonagall was going to come back and lead her to her doom, assuming the test— if there was a test, wasn't a written one. Then something happened to make her shriek and jump half a foot in the air and several people behind her screamed.

"What the—?"

Gasps echoed around the corridor, about twenty ghosts had just poured in through the back wall, pearly- white and translucent. They glided across the room talking to one another and hardly taking a glance at the group of first years. They appeared to be arguing with each other.

"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost— I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly taken notice of the group of children.

"New students!" The Fat Friar exclaimed, smiling at them, "about to be sorted, I suppose?" A few nodded mutely. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."

"Move along now," came a sharp voice behind them, "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." Professor McGonagall had returned unnoticed. One by one the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall. "Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Lisa swallowed and wiggled behind a boy with sandy hair with Ron behind her. They walked out of the chamber together like a centipede, back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

It was lit by thousands and thousands of floating candles over long tables where the other students were sitting. The tables themselves were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the end of the hall, a great table was where the teachers sat. Professor McGonagall led them up there so they came to a halt in a line facing the other students with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them resembled lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students were ghosts that shone mostly silver. Shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, Lisa fixed her gaze upward, focusing on the ceiling, deepest blue and dotted with glittering stars and swirling clouds.

She heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling at all and the Great Hall didn't simply open to the heavens. Lisa looked down just as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of them. Resting on the seat was a pointed hat, it was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.

Do I have to put that on my head? Lisa wondered, scrunching her nose in disgust.

For a moment there was complete silence and then, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth and the hat began to sing:

Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, 

But don't judge on what you see, 

I'll eat myself if you can find 

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black, 

Your top hats sleek and tall, 

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat 

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head 

The Sorting Hat can't see, 

So try me on and I will tell you 

Where you ought to be. 

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry 

Set Gryffindors apart; 

You might belong in Hufflepuff, 

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true 

And unafraid of toil; 

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, 

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends, 

Those cunning folk use any means 

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none) 

For I'm a Thinking Cap! 

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song, it bowed to each of the four tables and became quite still again.

“So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Lisa. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

"I thought you said he said it was a test," she whispered back and glanced at the hat again, "honestly— I'd rather take a test." The hat was asking too much, if she were honest. Lisa didn't know if she was brave or quick-witted or any of the other stuff it said. Not at the moment anyhow. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for her.

Professor McGonagall unfurled a long roll of parchment, "when I call your names you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, she put on the hat and sat down, it slipped over her eyes and there was a pause— "HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped and Professor McGonagall removed the hat, Lisa watched Hannah sit down at the Hufflepuff table, immediately welcomed with open arms and wide smiles and the ghost of the Fat Friar waved merrily at her.

“Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

“RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time and several students in blue and bronze stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded, positively roaring, Lisa could see Ron's twin brothers whistle.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" became the first Slytherin. Perhaps it was all Lisa's imagination but after all she heard about Slytherin, she thought they looked like an unpleasant lot. She was starting to grow anxious, she remembered being picked for teams during gym at her old school, she had always been the last to be chosen, not because she was bad at sports but because no one liked her very much.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Lisa noticed, the hat seemed to know right away, never staying on their head for more than a few seconds. But occasionally it took its time. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Lisa in the line sat on the stool for almost an entire minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. "GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat and Ron groaned. Without warning— they never came with a warning, a horrid thought struck Lisa. What if she wasn't chosen at all? What if she just sat there with the hat on her head for ages and ages until Professor McGonagall jerked it off her head and announced that there had somehow been a mistake, a mixup and sent her back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom was called forward, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville and when it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," he took off still wearing the hat and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it back to someone named "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy stepped forward when his name was called and he got his wish instantly, the hat had barely touched his silver-gold head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself. There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally- Anne" and then, at last, "Potter, Lisa!" 

Lisa exhaled through her nose, she took a step forward and immediately whispered broke out like a pit of hissing snakes.

"Potter, did she say?"

“The Lisa Potter?"

Lisa stared at the hat, her fingers twitched and curled around the brim, she slid onto the stool and had to force herself to breathe, setting the old thing atop her head. The last thing she saw before it dropped over her eyes was the tables full of students craning their necks to get a better look at her.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear, "difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage I see," the hat said and Lisa frowned, eyebrows knitting under the old fabric.

"Not a bad mind either," the hat continued, "and there's talent, goodness yes— and a thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting...so where shall I put you?"

Lisa gripped the edges of the stool, hard enough to whiten her knuckles, not Slytherin, she thought, anywhere but Slytherin.

"Anywhere but Slytherin, eh?" said the hat, "are you sure? You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that— no? Well, if you're sure— better be..."

Please. Please. Please. Please…

The hall was silent, students and teachers alike held their breath and then the rip opened and the hat cried out:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Lisa exhaled shakily with relief when the hat shouted for the whole hall to hear. She removed the hat with trembling fingers and slid off the stool, her gait shaky as a newborn fawn as she stumbled toward the Gryffindor table. Lisa was so relieved to have been chosen and not put on Slytherin that she hadn't registered she received the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook her hand vigorously— something she would have to get used to, she supposed, it still felt weird, though. And the Weasley twins yelled, "we got Potter! We got Potter!"

Lisa sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff she'd seen earlier. The ghost patted her arm, giving Lisa the sudden, horrible feeling she’d just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water. Lisa could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest her sat Hagrid, who caught Lisa's eye, he had a large smile on his giant, gentle face and she smiled back. Sitting at the centre of the table was Albus Dumbledore, his silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Lisa spotted Professor Quirrell too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron, he was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban. 

And now there were only a few people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a boy even taller than Ron, joined Lisa at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was a pale green by now. Lisa crossed her fingers under the table and chewed her bottom lip nervously. A second later the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Lisa clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed onto the bench next to her.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy pompously across from Lisa as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away. Lisa looked down at her empty gold plate, only just realizing how hungry she was. Those pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet, he was beaming at the students and opened his arms wide as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. "Welcome," he said, "welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down, everybody clapped and cheered but Lisa didn't know whether to laugh or not. "Is he— a bit mad?" She asked Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Lisa?"

"Huh—?" The empty dishes in front of her were now piled with food, she had never seen so much at once: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and for some strange reason, mint humbugs. The Dursleys had never exactly starved Lisa but she rarely got to eat the same foods they did and she certainly didn't get to eat as much as she liked. Lisa took a bit here and there, a bit of chicken, a few roast potatoes, some gravy and carrots, careful to not let the gravy touch the carrots and a Yorkshire pudding. It was all delicious.

"That does look good," the ghost in the ruff sighed sadly, watching Lisa bite down on a bit of glazed carrot.

"Can't you—?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," the ghost said. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" Ron said suddenly. "My brothers told me about you— you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy—" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted. "Like this," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled, his whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, "So— new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable— he's the Slytherin ghost."

Lisa peered over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Lisa was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest. 

"I've never asked," Nearly Headless Nick said delicately. When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the puddings appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies and treacle tarts, eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding...

As Lisa helped herself to a treacle tart and a few strawberries, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. “Me dad's a Muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Neville?" Ron asked.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me— he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, and I nearly drowned— but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced— all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here— they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

On Lisa's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult—"; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing—").

Lisa, who was beginning to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet, Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with flat black hair, a curved nose and pale, sallow skin. It happened very suddenly, he looked past Quirrell and straight into Lisa's eyes— a sharp, shooting pain pulsed from the scar on her forehead. Lisa hissed through her teeth and pressed her palm against her skin.

"What is it?" Percy asked.

“N-nothing," said Lisa, "I'm fine." It had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Lisa had gotten from the teacher's look— a feeling that he didn't like Lisa at all. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" She asked Percy.

“Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to— everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape." Lisa watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at her again. At last the puddings too disappeared and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again.

"Ahem, just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you; First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Lisa laughed uncomfortably, but she was one of the few who did. "He's not serious, is he?" She muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere— the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us Prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore said. Lisa noticed the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed, Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, it rose high above the tables and twisted itself, almost snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune and off we go!" And the school bellowed:

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, 

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot, just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.

 
Everybody finished the song at different times— apart from Lisa, who could only sit there and stare, absolutely befuddled. Only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds and out of the Great Hall. Lisa kept close to Ron, feet dragging a little on the stone floor but only because she was so tired and full of food for the first time in her life. She was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and stumbling on their feet and Lisa was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years, "a poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves— show yourself." A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?" Percy asked. There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy. Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.

“You want to watch out for Peeves," Percy explained, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us Prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a plump woman in a pink silk dress. "Password?" She asked.

"Caput Draconis," Percy said and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it— Neville needed a leg up and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the boys through one door to their dormitory and the girls through another. At the top of the spiral staircase— they were obviously in one of the towers, they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.

Lisa fell asleep almost immediately, half-listening to Hermione Granger as she explained to an uninterested Lavender Brown about how the staircases to the girls' dormitories were enchanted— something about boys.

And perhaps Lisa had eaten a bit too much because she had a very strange dream; she was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban. It kept talking to her, telling her she must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was her destiny. Lisa told the turban she didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; she tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully around her hair— and there was Malfoy, laughing at her as she struggled with it. His hair grew gradually darker until he turned into Professor Snape, whose laugh became high and cold— there was a burst of green light and Lisa woke, sweating and shaking. She stared at the ceiling, until her breathing slowed and she rolled over, pulling the maroon covers over her head. 

Chapter Text

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Did you see her face?"

"Did you see her scar?"

Whispers followed Lisa from the moment she left her dormitory the next morning, people lined up outside classrooms, they stood on tiptoes to get a look at her or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, staring. Lisa wished they wouldn't, mostly because she was trying to find her way to class.

There were one hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts; wide, sweeping ones, narrow, rickety ones, some that led somewhere different on Friday, some with a vanishing step halfway up. Some doors refused to open unless you asked politely or tickled the wood in exactly the right place and doors that weren't doors at all but solid walls merely pretending. It was hard to remember where anything was, everything seemed to move around whenever it felt like it. The people in the portraits moved from canvas to canvas, conversing with one another and Lisa was sure the coats of armour could walk.

The ghosts weren't any help either, it was always a shock when one would glide through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk or sneak up behind you, grab your nose and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was Argus Filch, the caretaker. Lisa had managed to get on the wrong side of him on her first morning. Filch found her trying to open a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He refused to believe she was lost, sure she was trying to break into it on purpose and threatened to lock her in the dungeons when she was rescued by Professor Quirrell who was passing by.

Mr. Filch owned a cat, Mrs. Norris was a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with big, lamp-like eyes. She patrolled the corridors alone, broke a rule, put one toe out of line and she'll whisk off for Filch, who'd appear wheezing, two seconds later. He knew the secret passageways better than anyone (except the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts, everyone hated him and by extension, Mrs. Norris, it was the ambition of many to give her one good kick.

And then, if found in a timely manner, there were the classes themselves. There was more than just magic, Lisa discovered. They had to study the night skies through their telescope every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with a stout witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and what they were used for.

History of Magic was the only class taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old when he had fallen asleep in front of the fireplace in the staff room and gotten up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind in that overstuffed chair. Binns went on and on while they scribbled down names and dates and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick taught Charms, he was a small wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of first class, he took roll call and when he reached Lisa's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was different too. Lisa had been right to assume she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said, "anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned." Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. Lisa looked around, they all looked very impressed and couldn't wait to get started but quickly realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time.

After taking a lot of complex notes, they were each given a match and tried to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made a difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off the vampire he'd met in Romania and was petrified he would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been a gift from an African Prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie. No one believed him of course; Hermione Granger had asked him which country in Africa and Seamus Finnigan was eager to know how Quirrell had fought off the zombie. Professor Quirrell went pink all over and started rambling about the weather. If that wasn't strange enough, they had noticed a funny smell hanging around the turban. Hermione Granger said that the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic too, so Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Lisa was very relieved to find out that she wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like her, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

By Friday, Lisa had, mostly, mapped out where all of her classes were.

"We have double potions first, right?" Lisa asked Ron, watching him pour an ungodly amount of sugar into his porridge.

"Yeah, with Slytherin," Ron sighed, "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favours them— we'll be able to see if it's true."

"I wonder if McGonagall favours us," Lisa said and Ron snorted.

"If she did, she wouldn't have assigned us a mountain of homework yesterday."

"I like the homework," mumbled Lisa, taking a bite of toast.

Just then, the mail arrived. Lisa had gotten used to this by now but it had given her a shock on the first morning when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners and dropped letters and packages in their laps. Hedwig hadn't brought Lisa anything so far, she sometimes flew in to have her feathers brushed by Lisa's fingers and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery.

This morning, however, she swooped down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Lisa's plate. She furrowed her brows at it and peeled off the seal, it said, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Lisa,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Lisa borrowed Ron's quill and neatly printed 'yes, please, see you later' on the back of the note and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Lisa had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to her so far. At the start-of-term banquet, Lisa had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked her. By the end of the first Potions lesson, she knew she'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Lisa— he hated her. And the feeling was mutual.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons, it was colder here than up in the main castle and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Lisa's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Lisa Potter. Our new...celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, snickered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class, his eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of his warmth. They were cold and empty, reminiscent of dark tunnels. 

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word— like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death— if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Silence followed and Lisa, without thinking, turned to Ron and they exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly, making Lisa jump a bit on her stool, "what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Uh..." Lisa shifted on her stool just as Hermione's arm shot into the air, "D-draught of Living Death?"

Snape's lip curled into a sneer— he hadn't been expecting that. "Tell me, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat.

"A goat's stomach," Lisa answered, a bit more confident this time.

"Have you read your textbook, Potter?" He asked, almost accusingly.

"Yes, sir."

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"There isn't one," said Lisa.

"Why?"

"Because monkswood and wolfsbane are the same plant, also known as aconite."

"Put your hand down, Miss Granger," Snape said and looked down at Lisa, she looked just like her mother, and seemingly just as intelligent. She had some of her father too, her dark hair and eyes, he could only home she wasn't the least bit like him. 

Snape turned on his heel, toward the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk. "I trust you all have been copying Potter's answers down." There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment.

"And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House, Potter, nobody likes a know-it-all."

"Wha— you—" Lisa stared at Professor Snape, baffled, "why would you ask me questions if you didn't want the answer?"

"Another point, Potter, for your cheek," there was a collective groan from the Gryffindor side of the room. Things didn't improve for them after that. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mix up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around the room in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except for Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hiss nog filled the room.

Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus' cauldron into a twisted blob and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes into people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with a wave of his wand, "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. "Take him to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Lisa and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You— Potter— why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost from Gryffindor." 

This was so unfair and Lisa was about to open her mouth to say so when Ron gave her a little kick behind their cauldron. 

"Don't push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

"I hate him," Lisa announced as they climbed the steps out of the dungeon. Her first week and she's already lost Gryffindor three points.

"Cheer up," Ron said, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

"Yeah, sure," Lisa sighed. 

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small round cottage on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door. When Lisa knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, "back, Fang— back!" Hagrid's big, bushy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang!" He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound. There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," Hagrid said, letting go of Fang, Lisa gasped and turned away from the dog in wide-eyed terror. He bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is my friend, Ron," Lisa told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate. 

"Another Weasley, eh?" Hagrid said, glancing at Ron's freckles. "I spent half me life chasin' your twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins, Ron tried biting into his and almost broke a tooth but Lisa plopped hers into her tea. She fished it out after a minute and sucked the liquid out, she took a bite and they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Ron's knee and drooled all over his uniform. Both Lisa and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her— Filch puts her up to it."

Lisa told Hagrid about Snape's lesson and Hagrid, like Ron, told Lisa not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seems to really hate me," Lisa said sullenly.

"Rubbish!" Hagrid said. "Why should he?"

Yet Lisa couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet her eyes when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot— great with animals." Lisa wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose.

While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Lisa picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy, it was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

 
Lisa remembered Ron telling her on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but he hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid," said Lisa, "this break-in happened when we were in Diagon Alley, do you think the vault they were after was the one we opened?" There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Lisa's eyes this time. He grunted and offered her another rock cake but Lisa read the story again. It could've been seven hundred and thirteen, though it was already an empty vault, nothing in it but a grubby little package. Could that have been what the thief was looking for?

As Lisa and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse. Ron rambled while Lisa was deep in thought, humming every so often. For the first time all week, she couldn't think about her homework, her mind was occupied by the Daily Prophet article. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell her? 

Chapter Text

Lisa never thought she'd meet a boy she hated more than Dudley but that was before she met Draco Malfoy. Still, first year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the common room that made them all groan; Flying Lessons would be starting on Thursday— and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Ugh, just what I wanted, to make a fool of myself in front of Malfoy." Lisa had been looking forward to learning how to fly more than anything else.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though; the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas about football in the common room, he couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Lisa felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book— not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Lisa hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother, he opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" He explained. "Gran knows I forget things— this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red— oh..." his face fell because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet.

"You've forgotten something..."

Lisa knew what he was forgetting, he was sitting across from her in his maroon-gold tie and charcoal jumper and no robe. She was about to tell him when Draco Malfoy snatched the Remembrall out of Neville's hand.

"Hey!" Lisa exclaimed and both she and Ron were on their feet, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," said Neville. Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him. 

At three-thirty that afternoon, Lisa, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and a cool breeze billowed under their robes. There were twenty brooms lined up in the trimmed grass, Lisa recalled Fred and George saying something about the school brooms, apparently some of them started to vibrate if flown too high or would veer slightly to the left at random.

Their professor, Madam Hooch, was already waiting with her fists on her hips. Her hair was short, grey and slightly spiky and her eyes were yellow like a hawk. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" She barked, "everyone stand by a broom. Come on, hurry up."

Lisa took the spot beside Ron and glanced down, it was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. "Stick your right over your broom," Madam Hooch called from at the front, "and say 'up!'"

"UP!" Everyone shouted.

Lisa's broom shot up into her hand almost immediately, almost knocking her over. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over onto the ground and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid and there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to properly mount their brooms without sliding off the end and went up and down the line correcting their grips. Lisa and Ron snorted and glanced at each other when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years. 

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch, "keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forward slickly. On my whistle...three...two..."

But Neville, nervous, jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off too early.

"Come back, boy!" She shouted but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a champagne bottle, twelve feet— twenty, Lisa could see his terrified, paper-white face look down at the ground shrinking, heard him gasp, slip sideways and— fall. He slammed hard onto the grass and the sound of a bone breaking bounced off the stone wall behind them. Neville lay facedown in a heap, his broom was still rising higher and higher and drifted left toward the forbidden forest and disappeared.

Madam Hooch bent over Neville, her face as drained as his, "broken arm," she said, "come on, boy— it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of them, "none of you are to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be put out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, with his face tear-streaked, clutched his arm and hobbled off with Madam Hooch who had her arm around him. No sooner were they out of earshot that Malfoy burst out laughing. "Did you see his face, the great lump?" The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati Patil snapped.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson said, "never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati." Lisa had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from saying a word. 

"Look!" said Malfoy darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's Gran sent him." The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give it here, Malfoy," said Lisa quietly and everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy flashed her a nasty smile, "no, I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find...how about up a tree?"

"This is stupid, just give me the Remembrall," Lisa reached for it but Malfoy leapt onto his broomstick and took off. He wasn't lying when he said he could fly.

Hovering level with the topmost branches he called down, "come and get it, Potter!"

Lisa eyed her broom, lying there on the grass. She wouldn't have thought about mounting it without permission if Malfoy hadn't goaded her from where he hovered.

"What are you? Scared?" He taunted. "Bet you'll fall flat on your face the second you get on that broom." Lisa pressed her lips together in a thin line, she narrowed her eyes and wrapped her fingers around the wood.

"No!" shouted Hermione Granger, "Madam Hooch told us not to move, you'll get us all into trouble."

"I don't remember asking your opinion," Lisa said and climbed onto her broomstick, she kicked hard off the ground and up she soared, air rushed through her hair and her robe whipped out behind her. In a rush she realized she could fly. Without being taught. It was perhaps, the easiest thing she had ever done. She pulled her broomstick up a little to take it higher and heard screams and gasps and an admiring whoop from Ron.

She turned her broom to face Malfoy, her lips pulling into a smirk at the stunned look on his pale face. "Give me the Remembrall," Lisa said, "before we both get in trouble."

"Make me," Malfoy tried to sneer but he looked worried. Lisa knew, somehow, what to do. She leaned forward, grasping the broom tightly and shot toward Malfay like a javelin. Malfoy nearly dropped the bloody thing trying to veer out of the way, pulling his broom to the left.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Lisa said and the same thought seemed to have struck him.

"Catch it if you can, then!" He shouted, he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Lisa saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise in the air and then start to fall. She leaned forward and pointed her broom handle down, quickly gathering speed in a steep dive. Wind whistled in her ears muddled with screams of the other first years. She stretched out her hand and caught it, nearly a foot off the ground. She pulled her broom up with a grunt of effort and toppled onto the grass with the remembrall clutched in her fist.

"LISA POTTER!"

Her heart sank faster than she'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. She scrambled to her feet, eyes wide and trembling.

"Never— in all my time at Hogwarts—" Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock and her glasses flashed furiously, "—how dare you— might have broken your neck—"

"It wasn't her fault, Professor—"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil—"

"But Malfoy—"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me. Now."

Lisa caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as she left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. She was going to be expelled, she just knew it. She wanted to say something to defend herself, but there seemed to be something wrong with her voice.

Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at Lisa; she had to jog to keep up. Now she'd done it. She hadn't even lasted two weeks. She would be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when she turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to her. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Lisa trotting miserably behind. Maybe she was taking her to Dumbledore. She thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps she could be Hagrid's assistant. Lisa's stomach twisted as she imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming wizards and witches, while she stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom, she opened the door and poked her head inside. "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? Lisa thought, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on her? But Wood turned out to be a person; a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwicks class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Lisa.

"In here." Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" She barked, Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face them.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood— I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight. "Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The girl's a natural, I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

Lisa nodded silently, she didn't have a clue what was going on, but she didn't seem to be being expelled and some of the feeling started coming back to her legs.

"She caught this in her hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood, lifting Lisa's arm by the sleeve to show Wood the Remembrall still clutched in her hand. "Didn't even scratch herself, Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once, "ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" He asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"She's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Lisa and poking at her. "Small— light— speedy— we'll have to get her a decent broom, Professor— a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Professor Snape in the eye for weeks..." Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Lisa. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you." Suddenly, she smiled. "Your father would have been proud of you," she told Lisa softly, "he was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

It was dinnertime, Lisa had just finished telling Ron what had happened when she left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"Seeker?" He questioned. "But first years never— you must be the youngest house player in about a—"

"Century," said Lisa, stabbing a bit of pie filling onto her fork, "Wood told me."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Lisa.

"I start training next week," Lisa went on. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret." Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Lisa, and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too— Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred, "we haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Lisa, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

Ron noticed Lisa's cheeks tinge pink when Fred smiled at her.

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school," Fred said.

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week, see you," said George.

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

Lisa snorted, "you're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little cronies with you," she said, pulling a bit of carrot into her mouth. There was, of course, nothing little about Crabbe and Goyle— except their brains. Lisa spared a glance at the High Table full of teachers so they couldn't do much but crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime, on my own," Malfoy said, "tonight, if you want. Magic duel. Wands only, no contact." Lisa didn't say anything and reached for her pumpkin juice, "what's the matter? Never heard of a magic duel before?" 

"Of course she has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm her second, who's yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he decided. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Lisa looked at each other.

"Okay, what's a magic duel?" Lisa questioned, "and why are you my second?"

"A second's there to take over if you die," Ron explained.

"Wonderful," Lisa said, dryly.

"But people only die in proper duels, y'know, with real power," he added quickly, "all you and Malfoy'll do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

"Okay and what if I wave my wand and nothing comes out?"

"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested.

"Excuse me," Lisa looked up and there was Hermione Granger.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" Ron said and Hermione ignored him, speaking directly to Lisa.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying—"

"Bet you could," muttered Ron.

"— and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

"And I don't think it's any of your business, Hermione," said Lisa.

"Goodbye," said Ron. 

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Lisa thought, as she lay awake much later listening to Lavender and Parvati falling asleep. Hermione had spent all evening ranting about how this could all go terribly wrong and how against the rules it was. Lisa groaned and pulled her pillow over her ears. Hermione Granger was annoying but deep down Lisa knew it was coming from a place of genuine concern. And there was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris and Lisa felt she was pushing her luck, breaking another school rule today. But on the other hand, Malfoy's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness— this was her big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face and she couldn't miss it.

Lisa turned her head and looked at the clock, it was half-past eleven.

Quietly, she got out of bed, shoved her feet into fuzzy slippers and pulled on her robe; white with colourful butterflies. She tied it loosely around her middle and slipped her wand into her braid and crept down the stairs, where Ron was waiting in the common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when they heard a voice, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Lisa." They turned around to find Hermione Granger standing at the foot of the stairs in a pink housecoat.

"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I thought about telling your brother," Hermione said, "Percy— he's a Prefect, I know he'd put a stop to this."

Lisa groaned and pulled Ron by the sleeve, "come on," she said. She pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole. Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily, she followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor or do you only care about yourselves? I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"Go away."

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so—" But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" She asked shrilly.

"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we're going to be late." They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"You are not."

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you and you can back me up."

"You've got some nerve—" said Ron loudly.

"Shut up, both of you!" Lisa hissed through her teeth, "I heard something." It was a sort of snuffling. 

"Mrs. Norris?" Ron asked, squinting in the dark.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris, it was Neville Longbottom. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep but he jerked awake suddenly as they crept closer. "Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get into bed." 

"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" Lisa asked gently.

"Fine," said Neville, showing them, "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good. Well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later—"

"Don't leave me!" Neville scrambled to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been here twice already."

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville. "If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and use it on you."

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies but Lisa shot her a look and Hermione snapped it shut.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows, at every turn Lisa expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky tonight. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight hit them. Cups, shields, plates and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness, they edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Lisa took her wand out of her hair in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once.

The minutes crept by agonizingly.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered. Then a noise in the next room made them jump, Lisa had only raised her wand when they heard someone speak but it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner." It was Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris. Horror- struck, Lisa waved for the other three to follow her as quickly as possible, they scurried silently toward the door, away from his voice. Neville's robe had barely whipped around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way," Lisa mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer and Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak, breaking out into a run, he tripped and grabbed Ron around the waist and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour. The clanging and crashing bounced off the walls— loud enough to wake the whole castle.

"Run!" Lisa squeaked and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see if Filch was following, they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Lisa was in the lead, faster than the others. She hadn't a clue where they were going, they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, they hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Lisa panted, leaning against the cold wall and brushing stray hairs off her forehead. Neville was bent over, wheezing and spluttering.

I— told— you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I told you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," said Ron, "quickly as possible."

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said, "you realize that don't you? He was never going to meet you. Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

"Thanks for stating the obvious, Hermione," Lisa tucked her wand back into her braid. "Let's get out of here."

It wasn't going to be that simple, unfortunately. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when the doorknob rattled and something came shouting out of a classroom in front of them. It was Peeves, he caught sight of them and squealed with delight.

"Could this get any worse?" Lisa mumbled.

Peeves cackled. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," Ron snapped, taking a swipe at Peeves this was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door. Ron tried to open it but it wouldn't budge, he rattled the lock and whimpered pathetically. "This is it!" He bemoaned, "we're done for! This is the end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione demanded and grabbed Lisa's wand.

"Hey!" Lisa snapped, rubbing the back of her head, "warn me next time."

Hermione tapped the lock and whispered, "Alohomora." The lock clicked and the door swung open, they piled through and shut it quickly, pressing their ears against the wood, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please."'

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," Peeves said in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right— please."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Lisa whispered. "I think we'll be okay— get off, Neville!" Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Lisa's housecoat for the last minute. "What?"

Lisa turned around and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, she was sure she walked into a nightmare. It was too much, on top of everything that had gone wrong today. They weren't in a room as she had supposed, they were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden. They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between the ceiling and the floor. Worst of all, it had three heads. It had three pairs of rolling, mad eyes. Three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction. It had three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from sharp, yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them and Lisa knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was they had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant. Lisa scrambled frantically for the doorknob— between death and Filch...she'd take Filch.

They fell backward and Lisa slammed the door shut. "Is this a bad time for me to admit that I don't like dogs?" She asked and Ron grabbed her wrist and they ran, almost flew, back down the corridor.

Filch must've hurried off to look for them somewhere else because they didn't see him anywhere but they didn't care, all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their robes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that— pig snout, pig snout," Lisa wheezed and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs. It was a while before any of them said anything but Neville looked as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" Hermione snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Lisa said. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its monstrous heads."

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's guarding something." Hermione stood and glared at them, "I hope you're pleased with yourselves, we could all have been killed or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, his mouth open. "No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you."

But Hermione had given Lisa something else to think about as she climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something...what did Hagrid say? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide— except perhaps Hogwarts. It looked as though Lisa had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was being hidden. 

Chapter Text

Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Lisa and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired yet in good spirits.

They sat together at breakfast and Lisa filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron. 

"Or both," Lisa shrugged. But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again— something Lisa would agree with if it didn't interfere with the mystery at hand.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Lisa and Ron. Lisa didn't mind it so much and Ron, who thought Hermione was a bossy know-it-all saw this as an added bonus. It wasn't like they asked her to come anyway, she invited herself. All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall, everyone's attention was caught by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Lisa was just as curious as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of her, knocking her bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel. Lisa opened it first, carefully peeling off the wax seal:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody to know you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor McGonagall

Lisa tucked the letter away and stood, she clutched the parcel and excused herself and Ron, pulling him to the side. Before he could ask what was happening, she shoved the parchment, now crumpled, into his hand.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand?" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched one."

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap it in private before first classes but halfway across the Entrance Hall, they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Lisa and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back at her with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

Ron couldn't resist. 

"It's not any old broomstick," he said, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy? A Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Lisa. "Comets look flashy but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back, "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up to buy a twig."

Before Ron could retort, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow. "Not arguing, I hope, children?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," Professor Flitwick said, beaming at Lisa. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

“A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Lisa, fighting the urge to smile at the look of sheer horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," she added.

Lisa and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion.

"It's true!" Lisa laughed as soon as they were out of earshot. "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall, I wouldn't be on the team."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" Came an angry voice from just behind. Hermione followed them, she stomped up the stairs with a disapproving look aimed at Lisa.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" Lisa said.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good." Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

Lisa had no trouble focusing on her lessons that day, somehow she pushed the broomstick from her mind. It was waiting for her stuffed under her bed. But once her lessons were over, she bolted from dinner early and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rested on the squishy red sofa. Even Lisa, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top. 

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Lisa left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field,  pausing to fiddle with her overalls, the sleeves of her mauve-burgundy striped turtleneck and tighten the laces on her boots. She's never been outside the castle this late. The Pitch was long and oval in shape, hundreds of seats were raised in stands and at either end of the pitch were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Lisa a little bit of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Looking over her shoulder, she gripped the handle of her broom tighter, the urge to fly again was overwhelming, so she mounted her broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling. Lisa swooped in and out of the goalposts and sped down the field, the Nimbus Two Thousand turned whatever she wanted at the lightest touch.

"Hey, Potter, come down!" And there was Oliver Wood, carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. 

Lisa went in for a landing and ran toward him with ruddy cheeks and glinting eyes. "Sorry," she breathed, "I couldn't help myself."

"I see what McGonagall meant...you really are a natural!" Wood beamed, "I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate and inside were four different sized balls.

“Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

"Okay," Lisa said as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a football.

"This ball's called the Quaffle, the Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"Yeah, the Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Lisa recited, "so— it's sort of like...basketball on broomsticks."

"What's basketball?" asked Wood curiously.

"Never mind," Lisa said quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper— I'm Keeper for Gryffindor, I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Right, yeah," said Lisa, "so what are they for?" She pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

“I'll show you," Wood said. "Take this." He handed Lisa a small club, a bit like a rounders bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," said Wood. "These two are the Bludgers."

He showed Lisa two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Lisa noticed they seemed to strain against the straps holding them inside the box.

“Stand back," Wood warned Lisa. He bent down and freed one of the Budgers, immediately the black ball rose high into the air and then pelted straight at Lisa's face. She swung at it with the club to stop it from breaking her nose and sent it zigzagging away, it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team— the Weasley twins are ours, it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So— think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle, the Keeper guards the goalposts and the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Lisa reeled off with her fingers. "I have a question, though."

"What?"

“Has a Bludger ever killed anyone?" 

"Never at Hogwarts, we've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you and you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers unless they crack my head open," Wood said.

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers— I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves." Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch and it's the most important ball of the lot, it's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages— I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. Well, that's it— any questions?"

Lisa shook her head, she understood what she had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," Wood told her, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try you out with a few of these." He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Lisa were up in the air with Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Lisa to catch. She didn't miss a single one and Wood was delighted.

After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on. "That Quidditch cup'll have our name on it this year," Wood said happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

 
Perhaps it was because she was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all her homework, Lisa could hardly believe it when she realized that she had already been at Hogwarts for two whole months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. Her lessons, too, were becoming vastly more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning, they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Lisa was paired with Seamus Finnigan— which was a relief because Neville had been trying to catch her eye. It wasn't that she didn't like Neville, she did but so much just seemed to go wrong around him. Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione, it was hard whether Ron or Hermione were angrier about this. She hasn't spoken a word to either of them since Lisa got her broomstick.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched atop his pile of books. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the spell correctly is very important, never forget Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest." 

It was harder than Lisa thought, she and Seamus swished and flicked but she couldn't lift it more than a few inches and it didn't budge for Seamus, they were supposed to be sending it skyward. Seamus got so fed up that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it— Lisa had to put it out but she used his textbook to do it. Ron, at the next table over, wasn't having much like either.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" He shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

“You're saying it wrong," Lisa heard Hermione snap, "it's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," snarled Ron.

Hermione pulled up her sleeves, flicked her wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" Professor Flitwick cried, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!" 

Ron was in a very sour mood by the end of class, "it's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Lisa as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly. "

Someone knocked into Lisa as they hurried past her. It was Hermione. Lisa caught a glimpse of her face and was startled to see that she was in tears. "I think she heard you."

"So?" Ron said but he looked a bit uncomfortable, "she must've noticed she's got no friends." Lisa frowned and looked in the direction she had gone with worried eyebrows.

On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Lisa and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of their minds. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Lisa was just ladling herself more pumpkin soup when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped, "Troll— in the dungeons— thought you ought to know." Then he sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence. "Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy was in his element. "Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a Prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Lisa asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."

"Yeah," Lisa sighed, "maybe." They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions, as they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Lisa's eyes went wide and she suddenly grabbed Ron's arm. 

"I've just thought— Hermione."

"What about her?"

“She doesn't know about the troll." Ron bit his lip, Lisa raised her eyebrows at him, looking around anxiously, "Ron." 

"Oh, all right," he snapped, "but Percy'd better not see us."

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor and hurried off toward the girls' lavatory. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" whispered Ron, pulling Lisa behind a large stone griffin. Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

“What is he doing?" Lisa whispered, "why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?" "Beats me."

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps. "He's heading to the third floor," Lisa said but Ron held up his hand.

"Can you smell something?"

Lisa sniffed the air and a foul stench reached her nostrils, a mixture of twice rotten fruit and a septic tank that hadn't been emptied in twenty years. And then they heard it, a low grunting and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed at the end of the passage, something huge was moving toward them, they shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrific-looking creature, twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite grey and its great lumpy body was like a boulder with its misshapen bald head perched atop its shoulders like a butternut squash. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, elephant-like feet. The smell wafting from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were unnaturally long.

The troll stopped next to the doorway and peered inside, it waggled its large ears, making up its tiny mind then slouched slowly into the room.

"There's a key in the door," Lisa observed, "we could lock it in."

"Good idea," muttered Ron.

They edge toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't about to come out of it. With one great leap, Lisa managed to grab the key, shut the door and lock it.

"Got it," she whispered, staring at the door with her hands on her hips, "that's that then, it'll stay in there until a teacher finds it."

They started back up the passage when they heard something they made their hearts stop and blood run cold— a high, petrified scream, coming from the room they'd just locked. 

"Oh, no," Ron said, pale as the Bloody Baron.

Lisa pressed her lips into a thin line, eyes wide, "we locked it in the girls' toilets, didn't we?" She said.

"Hermione," Ron squeaked.

It was the last thing they wanted to do, especially Lisa who wanted nothing more than to run away but what choice did they have, really? Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door and turned the key, fumbling in their panic. Lisa pushed the door open and they ran inside. Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking sinks off the wall as it went.

"We need to confuse it," Lisa said, almost desperately, "and by we I mean you."

"Why me?!"

"Because you're bigger!"

Ron looked at Lisa and then down, there were at least seven inches between them he hadn't noticed before. With a whimper he bent down and picked up a tap, throwing it as hard as he could against the wall. The troll stopped a few feet away from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly to see what had made that noise. Its beady little eyes saw Lisa. It hesitated and then made for her instead, lifting its club as it went.

"Oh, no," Lisa panicked, she took a few steps back, "Ron!"

"Oy! Pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the lavatory and he threw a pipe at it. The troll didn't seem to register the pipe hitting its shoulder but it heard a yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Lisa time to run around it.

"Hermione, we gotta go," Lisa said and tried to pull Hermione toward the door but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall in wide-eyed terror. "Hermione!" Lisa tried to snap her out of it, shaking her shoulders, "is this really how you want to die? Getting your head bashed in by a troll?"

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk, it roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape. Lisa whimpered and looked around, grabbing a piece of sink and throwing it hard at the troll's head. 

"Hey, you big, stupid creature!" She shouted and it turned around, stumbling toward Lisa instead. Glancing at Hermione she flashed an apologetic smile and tried to run past the troll. The troll reached and grabbed Lisa by the ankle, lifting her off the ground and she shrieked.

"RON! RON!"

Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright and Ron pulled his wand out of his pocket. He racked his brain for a spell, any spell while Lisa dangled helplessly, fingers fisted in her skirt to keep it down (or up in this case) while she tried not to get hit with the club. Suddenly, one came to mind and he cried out: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand and rose high, high into the air, turned slowly over and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto his head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat onto its face with a thud that made the room tremble. 

Lisa scrambled to her feet, shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

It was Hermione who spoke first. "Is it...dead?"

"I don't think so," said Lisa, "I think it's just been knocked out." A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized the racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must've heard the crashes and the troll roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall came bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his chest. Snape bent over the troll and Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Lisa. They had never seen her look so angry, her lips were white and whatever hope Ron had for winning points for Gryffindor faded quickly from his mind.

“What on earth were you thinking of?” She asked with a cold fury in her voice. Lisa looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitories?"

Snape gave Lisa a swift, piercing look and she wiped crushed ceramic and dust off her skirt, wishing Ron would put his wand down. Then a small voice came out of the shadows, "please, Professor McGonagall, they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione managed to get her feet at last, "I went looking for the troll because I-I thought I could handle it on my own, you know, because I read all about them," she said and Lisa scrunched her face.

That's what you're going with? Lisa thought.

Ron dropped his wand, Hermione Granger telling a downright lie to a teacher?

"If they hadn't found me, I'd probably be dead now. They distracted it, Lisa tried to get me out of the room but I was too petrified to move but Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone, it was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Lisa and Ron had to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well...in that case," said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?" Hermione hung her head, she was the last person to do anything against the rules and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall, "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Hermione scurried out with her head down. Professor McGonagall turned to Lisa and Ron. "Well, I still say you were lucky but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go." 

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should've gotten more than ten points," Ron grumbled.

"Could be worse, we could be dead," Lisa said.

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted, "mind you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Lisa reminded him.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Pig snout," they said and entered. The common room was packed and noisy, everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looked at each other, they all said "thanks," and hurried off to get plates. 

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share in life without ending up liking one another and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.  

Chapter Text

As they entered November, the weather suddenly turned cold, almost overnight. The mountains surrounding them became icy grey and the lake was like frozen steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost, Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled in his long moleskin overcoat, rabbit-fur gloves and enormous beaver-skin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Lisa would be playing in her first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up to second place in the house championship. Hardly anyone had seen Lisa play because Wood decided that, as their secret weapon, Lisa should be kept, well...secret. But the news that she was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Lisa didn't know which was worse— people telling her she'd be brilliant or people telling her they'd be running around underneath her holding a mattress.

It was really lucky Lisa now had Hermione as a friend, it was nice to have someone to study with who actually studied and didn't just pretend and to have someone help keep her on top of her homework, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do.

Hermione had lent her Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read. Lisa learned there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and all of them happened during the World Cup in 1473; the Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players and that most serious accidents seemed to happen to them. Although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Lisa and Ron saved her from the mountain troll and she was much nicer for it. The day before the game, the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during their break and Hermione had conjured up a bright blue fire that she carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Lisa looked up, removing her face from the warmth of her maroon-gold striped scarf to look at him, immediately noticing his limp.

Lisa, Ron and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wasn't allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over, he hadn't seen the fire but seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?"

Lisa closed the book between her pointer finger and showed him the cover, Quidditch Through the Ages.

“Library books are not to be taken outside the school," Snape said. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"He's just made that rule up," Lisa groused, glaring at Snape's retreating back. Something caught her eye before he turned the corner and she tilted her head slightly. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," Ron's tone was bitter. 

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening, Lisa, Ron, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Lisa was finishing her History of Magic essay and Hermione was checking Ron's Charms homework for him, she would never let him copy, "how will you learn?" But by asking her to read it through, Ron got the right answers anyway.

Lisa shifted in her seat, restlessness eating away at her like a caterpillar eats a leaf. She wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back to take her mind off her nerves. Why should she be afraid of Snape?

Lisa closed her books and stood, "I'm going to ask Snape for the book back," she announced.

“Rather you than me," Hermione and Ron said together but Lisa had the idea that Snape couldn't refuse if there were other teachers present. She made her way down to the staff room, she smoothed down her uniform, fixed her tie and knocked. There was no answer. Frowning, she knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps Snape left the book inside? It was worth a try. She pushed the door ajar and peered inside, whatever she was expecting to see, it wasn't this. Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees, one of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

"Blasted thing," Snape was saying, "how are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" Lisa tried to shut the door quietly but, "—POTTER!" Snape's face was twisted with fury and he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg and Lisa swallowed.

"Uh...hello, Professor," she said awkwardly, "I was wondering if I could have my book back?"

"GET OUT! OUT!" Snape snarled and Lisa stiffened, she spun around quickly on her heel and scurried away before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. She sprinted back upstairs.

“Did you get it?" Ron asked before he saw her face, "what's the matter?" Lisa looked around the common room and leaned in, speaking in a hushed whisper about what she had seen.

“You know what this means, don't you?" Lisa asked, "he tried to get past that three-headed monster on Halloween. That's where he was going when we saw him...what I want to know is why."

"It's obvious isn't it?" Ron said, "he's after that thing he's guarding." "It's possible, yeah."

"I'll bet your broomstick he let that troll in to make a diversion!" Ron said and Hermione's eyes went wide as dinner plates.

"No! He wouldn't," she said, "I know he's not very nice but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron, "I'm telling you, I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

Lisa went to bed with her head buzzing with the same question. She tried to relax her mind, she needed to sleep, she had to, she had her first Quidditch match in a few hours but the expression on Snape's face when Lisa had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget. Maybe Ron was on to something. 

The morning dawned bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," Hermione wheedled.

"I'm not hungry," mumbled Lisa, fussing with her Quidditch jumper. She felt terrible, she was tired and in an hour she'd be walking onto the field.

“Lisa, you need your strength," chimed Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," Lisa sighed, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be put in the stands, many students had binoculars despite the seats being raised high in the air, it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Ron and Hermione joined Seamus, Neville and Dean on the Gryffindor side. As a surprise for Lisa, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Go Potter Go and Dean, who was quite the artist, had painted a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Hermione added her own touch, performing a tricky little charm to make the paint flash different colours.

Behind her, Wood cleared his throat for silence, “okay, men," he said.

"And woman," added Angelina Johnson. For the first time in Hogwarts Quidditch history, girls outnumbered boys on the Gryffindor team, four to three.

"And women," Wood agreed with a nod, "this is it."

"The big one," Fred Weasley said.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Lisa, he nudged her playfully and she nearly dropped her Nimbus. "We were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it." He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else." 

“Right, it's time. Good luck, all of you."

Lisa followed Fred and George out of the locker room, heart pounding in her ears. They stepped out onto the field to loud cheers and she hoped she didn't look as terrified as she felt.

Madam Hooch was refereeing, she stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Lisa noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Lisa thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Go, Potter, Go, over the ground. At that moment she calmed, feeling a warmth she never had before.

“Mount your brooms, please." 

Lisa clambered onto her Nimbus Two Thousand, Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle and fifteen brooms rose up, high into the air. And they were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor— what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—"

"JORDAN!”

"Sorry, Professor." The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve— back to Johnson and— no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes— Flint flying like an eagle up there— he's going to sc-no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle— that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and— OUCH— that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger— Quaffle taken by the Slytherins—"

"That's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger— sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which— nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes— she's really flying— dodges a speeding Bludger— the goal posts are ahead— come on, now, Angelina— Keeper Bletchley dives — misses— GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!" Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

“Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "but it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?" 

"Nope," Ron said. "Lisa hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," Hagrid said, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Lisa.

Way up above them, Lisa was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of her and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had said, "we don't want you attacked before you have to be." 

When Angelina had scored, Lisa cheered from her broom and flew in a loop. She was smiling so hard her cheeks hurt, swinging her legs back and forth. For a moment she caught a flash of gold but it was just a reflection from a wristwatch. She sighed with disappointment around the same time a Bludger decided to come pelting her way. Lisa ducked her head and veered left. Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

"All right there, Lisa?" he had time to yell as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the— wait a moment— was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear. Lisa saw it. In a great rush of excitement, she dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch— all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Lisa was faster than Higgs— she could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead— she put on an extra spurt of speed—

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below— Marcus Flint had blocked Lisa on purpose and her broom spun off course, Lisa holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" Screamed the Gryffindors, Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" Ron said.

"Red card!" Dean said furiously. "In football, you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't football, Dean," Ron reminded him. Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Lisa outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides. "So— after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul—"

"Jordan, I'm warning you—"

“All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Lisa moved left to avoid another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past her head, that it happened. Her broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. Lisa gave a small yelp and gripped the broom tightly with both hands and knees. She'd never felt anything like that. It happened again. It was as if her broomstick was trying to buck her off. But Nimbus Two Thousands don't just suddenly decide to buck their riders off. 

Lisa tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goalposts, she had half a mind to demand Wood call time-out but then realized her broom was completely out of her control. She couldn't turn it, couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost knocked her off. She was starting to panic and Lee was still commentating.

“Slytherin in possession— Flint with the Quaffle— passes Spinnet— passes Bell— hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose— only joking, Professor— Slytherins score— oh no..."

The Slytherins were cheering and no one seemed to have noticed that Lisa's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying her up slowly, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Lisa thinks she's doing," mumbled Hagrid, he grabbed his binoculars, "if I didn' know better, I'd say she'd lost control of her broom...but she can't have..." 

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Lisa all over the stands, her broom had started to roll over and over with Lisa only managing to hold on. Then, the crowd gasped, her broom had given a wild buck and Lisa swung off it with a shriek. She was now dangling from it, holding onto the handle with a white knuckle grip. She started to laugh, panicked bouts of laughter bubbling in her chest.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked her?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic."

Hermione's eyes widened and she seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Lisa, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, sheet-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape, look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars, Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Lisa and was muttering strings of words under his breath.

"He's jinxing the broom," said Hermione. "What should we do?"

"Leave it to me.”

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared and he turned the binoculars back on Lisa. Her broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for her to hang on much longer. Lisa looked down, she saw Snape there in the stands, his mouth moving, staring, unblinking. And Quirrell too, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled back like he was snarling as he spat out words. Were they working together? Was Snape trying to stop him? Was Quirrell?

Lisa felt hands on her legs and screamed, Fred and George were trying to pull her safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good— every time they got near her, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath her, obviously hoping to catch Lisa if she fell.

Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately. Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize he was on fire. A sudden yelp told Hermione she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row, Snape would be none the wiser. It was enough. Up in the air, Lisa was able to swing herself back onto her broom. Lisa exhaled through her nose and tightened her ponytail. She zeroed in on that damn ball and dove toward it as if she hadn't been holding on for dear life a moment prior.

"Neville, you can look!" exclaimed Ron, Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Lisa zipped low and reached out, she scooted forward on her broom with a grunt and reached out, her fingers brushed cool gold and in the stands, a swarm of maroon and gold leaned forward in anticipation. It was like her first flight all over again, she toppled onto the grass, only a bit more violently. They watched her clap her hand to her mouth as though she was about to be sick, she rose onto her knees and coughed and something gold fell into her hand.

Lisa's eyes widened and she laughed in disbelief, "I caught it," she breathed, "I caught the Snitch!" She waved it above her head and the game ended in complete confusion.

"She didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference— Lisa hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results— Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Lisa heard none of this, though, she was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut with Ron and Hermione.

“It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

"What if it wasn't Snape?" Lisa asked, looking out the window.

"What?"

Lisa turned around and crossed her arms, "Snape wasn't the only one moving his mouth, Quirrell was too," she said and Hagrid let out a scandalized gasp.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked and Lisa nodded.

"He looked...angry...what if..." she exhaled, "what if it was Quirrell?"

"But that doesn't make sense then," argued Ron, "if it was Quirrell wouldn't he have gotten bitten by that dog instead of Snape?"

Hagrid dropped his teapot, the ceramic smashed against the stone floor, spilling tea everywhere, "how do you know about Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?" Lisa squinted, "that thing has a name?"

“Yeah, he's mine, bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the..."

"To guard what, Hagrid?" Lisa prompted.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," Hagrid said gruffly, "that's top secret, that is." 

"But Quirrell—" she met Ron's gaze, "or Snape's trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," Hagrid said again, "they're Hogwarts teachers, they are. They'd do nothin' yer accusing them of."

"One of them tried to kill me, Hagrid, or at the very least incapacitate me."

"I know a jinx when I see one," said Hermione, "I've read all about them. You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"Neither was Professor Quirrell, I told you in Diagon Alley he had a weird vibe and you brushed it off."

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid nearly shouted. "I don' know why Lisa's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh, yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—" 

“Nicolas Flamel?" Lisa questioned and Hagrid looked furious with himself, "who's Nicolas Flamel?"

Chapter Text

One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow, white as the clouds above. The lake was frozen solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the heavy snow to deliver the mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start, while the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where they could see their breath and had to keep as close as physically possible to their hot cauldrons.

"I do feel so sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home." He was looking over at Lisa as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled.

Lisa, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, rolled her eyes. I hate him, she thought to herself, I hate him and his dumb stupid face.

Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Lisa as Seeker next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Lisa had managed to stay on her bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Lisa about having no proper family.

It was true that Lisa wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. At breakfast a week ago, Professor McGonagall went around, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays and Lisa signed up immediately. She was the first to do so. She wasn't sorry for herself at all; while Christmas with the Dursleys was never truly awful, spending the holidays at Hogwarts was the infinitely more appealing option. And she wouldn’t be spending it alone either, Ron and his brothers were staying too. Mr and Mrs Weasley were spending the holiday in Romania, to visit Charlie.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoy's drawl from behind them, "are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Ron dove at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's jumper.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge bushy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," Snape said, "five points from Gryffindor, Weasley and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Grabbe and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

"I hate him," Lisa blurted. 

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of these days, I'll get him—"

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid, "tell yeh what? Come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat." 

So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations. "Ah, Hagrid, the last tree— put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione, "and that reminds me, Lisa, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," Ron said, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and trailed them over the branches of the bare tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall, "just before the holidays? Bit keen aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Lisa told him, "ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

Hagrid's eyes widened, "you what? Listen here, I told yeh t'drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione.

"Exactly," Lisa said with a half smile, "unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble. We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin," Hagrid gruffed.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching for books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book in the first place. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century or Notable Magical Names of Our Time, he was missing from Important Modern Magical Discoveries and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books, thousands of shelves, hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Lisa wandered over to the Restricted Section, she had been wondering for a while if Flamel was somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you need a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books and she knew she would never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts and only read by older students studying advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, Potter?"

"Nothing."

Madam Pince, the librarian brandished a feather duster at her, "you better get out, then. Go on, out!"

Wishing she had lied and come up with a better story, Lisa left the library grumbling under her breath. She, Hermione and Rob had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them but they couldn't risk Dumbledore hearing what they were up to.

Lisa paced outside in the corridor, waiting to see if the other two had found anything but she wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for a fortnight, after all, but as they only had moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined her, shaking their heads. Lisa groaned and they went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" Hermione questioned, "and send me an owl if you find anything."

"Yeah, of course," said Lisa.

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," Ron added, "it'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists." 

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Lisa were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had their dormitories to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual and they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork— bread, crumpets, marshmallows— and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron had offered to teach Lisa how to play wizard chess but she knew how to play the Muggle way so there wasn't much to teach. The only difference she could see was the pieces were alive. Ron's set was very old and battered and like everything else he owned it had once belonged to someone else in his family, his grandfather in this case. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all, Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted. They didn't trust Lisa at all and kept shouting at her. "Don't send me there, don't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him." 

On Christmas Eve, Lisa went to bed in anticipation of the food and fun tomorrow would, hopefully, bring, even if she wasn't getting any presents. When she woke early in the morning, she shoved her feet into her slippers and grabbed her robe, shuffling into the common room.

"Merry Christmas," said Ron sleepily and Lisa sunk onto the floor next to him. She looked under the tree and saw several wrapped packages with her name on them under the big fir tree.

"You, too— oh, hey look at this, I've got presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" Ron said, reaching for one with his name on it and shook it up and down. Lisa picked up the top parcel, it was wrapped in thick brown paper and it was from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had whittled it himself and had carved her initials into the side. Lisa blew into it, the sound it made echoed an owl's call.

A second parcel was small and contained a note;

We received your message, enclosed are your Christmas presents. 

From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia

Sellotaped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," Lisa said dryly and Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence. "Weird!" He said, "what a shape! This is money?"

"You can have it," Lisa said, laughing at how pleased Ron was. At the bottom, squished in, was a cable stitch cardigan, it looked about twenty years old, was missing a few buttons and smelled like mothballs. Still, it was better than socks. 

"Got one from Hagrid and one from my Aunt and Uncle— so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My Mum. I told her you didn't expect any presents and— oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley jumper."

Lisa had ripped open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in navy blue with a large silver L embroidered on the front and a large box of homemade fudge. A lump found its way into Lisa's throat and she swallowed it down and blinked the tears away.

"Every year she makes us a jumper," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always maroon."

"That's sweet of her," Lisa said, trying the fudge— it was very tasty. Her next present also contained candy; a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. This only left one parcel, Lisa picked it up and felt it, it was very light. She unwrapped it and something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in shimmering folds. Ron gasped beside her.

"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavour Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is— they're really rare and really valuable."

"What is it?" Lisa picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor, it was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.  

"It's an invisibility cloak," Ron explained, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is— try it on." Lisa stood and wrapped it around her shoulders, Ron gave a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

Lisa looked down at her feet but they were gone, she dashed back upstairs to look in a mirror. Sure enough, her reflection looked back at her and just her head was suspended in midair; her body completely invisible. She pulled the cloak over her head and her reflection vanished completely.

"There's a note!" She heard Ron shout and left the lavatory, tossing the invisibility cloak on a chair before taking the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing she had never seen before were the following words:

Your father left this in my possession before he died. 

It is time it was returned to you. 

Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you. 

There was no signature.

Lisa started to tidy up as Ron admired the cloak.

"I'd give anything for one of these," he said, "anything."

Lisa took the cloak and went back upstairs, placed her treats on her bedside table and shoved her cloak in her trunk and locked it. Sighing, Lisa tugged on a pair of corduroy trousers and the jumper Mrs. Weasley made. Lisa fixed her grown-out bangs and rejoined Ron in the common room.

"What's the matter?" He asked, seeing the look on her face.

"Nothing," Lisa said but she felt very strange. Who is sent the cloak? Had it really belonged to her dad?

Before she could say or think anything else, Fred and George Weasley came bounding down the stairs.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look— Lisa's got a Weasley jumper, too!"

Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow 'F' on it, the other a 'G'.

"Lisa's is better than ours, though," Fred observed, lifting her arm, "she obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George questioned, "go on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

Ron grumbled out of the common room and when he returned, he was pulling it over his head. "I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.

"Mum forgot to put a letter on yours," George observed.

"I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid, we know we're called Gred and Forge," Fred said. 

"What are you all prattling on about?" Percy Weasley said, joining the party. He, too, carried a lumpy jumper over one arm, which Fred seized.

"'P' for Prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Lisa got one."

"I— don't— want—" Percy said thickly, as the twins forced the jumper over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the Prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family." They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his jumper.

Lisa had never had a Christmas dinner like this before. Fat, roast turkeys and mountains of potatoes, platters of sausages, tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These party favours were nothing like the Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and flimsy paper crowns.

Lisa pulled one with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke while from the inside exploded a rear admiral hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Lisa watched Hagrid getting redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally smooching Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Lisa's amazement, giggled and blushed, her hat lopsided.

When Lisa finally left the table, she was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of nonexplodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit and her own wizard chess set. The white mice disappeared and Lisa had a feeling they might end up as Mrs. Norris' Christmas dinner.

Oh well, she thought, a cat's got to eat.

Lisa and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet and gasping for breath, they returned to the Gryffindor common room, where Lisa broke her new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. She suspected she wouldn't have lost so spectacularly if Percy hadn't tried to help her so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen his Prefect badge.

This was the first Christmas Lisa felt warm and joyful, yet something had been nagging at the back of her mind all day. It wasn't until she climbed into bed she felt free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had sent it.

Lisa wiggled out of her blankets and opened her trunk, pulling it out again. She let the material flow over her hands, smoother than silk and light as air. Use it well, the note had said. Chewing on her bottom lip, she slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around herself, looking down at her legs, she saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a strange feeling.

Suddenly, Lisa felt wide-awake, the whole of Hogwarts was open to her in this cloak. Excitement rushed through her as she stood there in the dark. She could go anywhere in this, anywhere and Filch would never know.

Like the Restricted Section.

She crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Lisa didn't say anything, walking quietly down the corridor.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie, Lisa lit a lamp to see her way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair and even though Lisa could feel her arm supporting it, the sight gave her the creeps. The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope, she held the lamp up to read the titles.

They didn't tell her much, their peeling, faded gold lettering spelled words in languages she couldn't understand. Some had no title at all, one had a dark, curious stain on it that looked like blood. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, maybe she was imagining it, maybe not but she thought a faint whispering was emanating from the books as if they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

Lisa had to start somewhere. Settling the lamp down carefully, she looked along the bottom shelf, a large, black and silver volume caught her eye. She pulled it out with a grunt of effort and let it fall open on the floor.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence like a knife, the book was screaming! Lisa slammed it shut but the scream went on and on, one high, unbroken, ear-splitting note. She stumbled backward and knocked her lamp over, smashing the glass and extinguishing the candle.

Panicking, she heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, she ran for it. She passed Filch in the doorway; his pale, wide eyes looked straight through her and Lisa slipped under his outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in her ears.

She came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour, she had been so focused getting away from the library, she hadn't paid attention to where she was going. Perhaps because it was dark, she didn't recognize where she was at all. There was a suit of armour near the kitchens, she knew it, but she must be five floors above it.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wondering around at night and somebody's been in the library's Restricted Section." Lisa felt the blood drain from her face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut because his soft, greasy voice was growing closer and to her horror, it was Snape who replied.

"The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Lisa stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner, they couldn't see her of course but it was a very narrow corridor and if they came any closer they'd knock right into her— the cloak didn't stop her from being solid. She backed away as quietly as she could, a door stood ajar to her left and she squeezed through it without a thought.

They strode past and Lisa leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, listening to their footsteps fading away. It took a second for Lisa noticed she seemed to be in an empty, abandoned classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls and there was an upturned waste paper basket.

Propped up against the wall facing her was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. Her panic faded now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Lisa pulled off the cloak and moved closer to the mirror but saw no reflection.

She stepped directly before the glass and had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She whirled around, heart pounding furiously behind her ribs, she had seen, not only herself but a crowd of people, standing right behind her.

But the room was empty, no ghosts, no Peeves, just her. Slowly, she turned back to the mirror.

There she was, reflected in the glass, pale and frightened and behind her were at least ten others. Lisa looked over her shoulder again, still, there was no one. Were they invisible? Was it a trick? Spirits trapped behind enchanted glass?

She looked again, a woman standing right behind her reflection was smiling at her and waving. She reached out and felt the air behind her, if the woman was really there, she would feel her but their reflections were so close.

The woman looked exactly like Lisa, the only difference (beyond being at least ten years older), was her straight auburn hair and green eyes, bright as emeralds. She saw the tears reflected on her cheeks, she was crying; smiling but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her, his eyes were hazel behind his glasses and his hair was a mess of black waves, just like Lisa's. 

Lisa reached out, her fingers brushed the icy glass, "Mum?" She whispered, "Dad?" They just looked, smiling and slowly, Lisa looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror and saw dark eyes just like hers, other noses just like hers— for the first time in her life she could see her family.

She tried desperately to memorize all of their faces, hands pressed flat against the glass, hoping, somehow, she could sink into it and reach them. She had a powerful kind of ache inside her, a strange doleful joy. 

How long she stood there, she didn't know. The reflections did not fade and she looked and looked until a distant noise brought her back to her senses. She couldn't stay here, she had to find her way back to bed. She tore her eyes away from her mother's face and whispered, "I'll come back, I promise," she said and grabbed her cloak, hurrying from the room. 

In her dormitory she didn't have to worry about making noise. Her cloak found its home on Hermione's bed and she crawled into hers, opening the drawer on her side table and pulling out her diary. Lisa flipped through the pages until she found a blank one and pulled the cap off her pen with her teeth.

                  December 25th, 1991 11:46 p.m.

Dear Diary,

When I first met Hagrid, he told me I looked just like my mother. I know he was telling the truth now because I saw her. Both of them. My Mum and Dad, smiling at me from behind glass. Speaking of glasses, I seem to get my astigmatism from my Dad…

"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror."

“I'd like to see your Mum and Dad," Ron said eagerly.

“And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

Lisa couldn't eat, she had seen her parents and would be seeing them again tonight. She had almost forgotten about Flamel, it didn't seem important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if someone stole it, really?

"Are you all right?" Ron questioned. "You look odd."

 
What Lisa feared most was that she might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Ron covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly, they tried retracing Lisa's steps from the library, wandering around dark passageways for nearly an hour.

"I'm freezing," Ron complained, "let's forget it and go back."

"No!" Lisa hissed, "I know it's here somewhere." They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction but saw no one else, just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Lisa spotted the suit of armour.

"Yes! This is it!" She pushed the door open, she dropped the cloak from her shoulders and ran to the mirror. There they were, her mother and father beaming at the sight of her. "Hi, Mum, I brought a friend," she said and pulled Ron in front of the glass, "see?"

Ron frowned, "I can't see anything."

"Look! Look at them all...there's so many of them..."

"I can only see you."

Lisa shook her head, "what? No, look in it properly, go on, stand where I am." She stepped aside but with Ron in front of the mirror, she couldn't see her family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pyjamas.

Ron, though, was transfixed, "look at me!"

"Can you see your family too?"

"No, I'm alone but I'm different, I look older and I'm...Head Boy!"

“What?"

"I'm— I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup, im Captain too." Ron tore his eyes away from the splendid sight to look excitedly at Lisa. "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it? All my family are dead," she said, "let me have another look—"

“You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

“You're only holding the Quidditch cup, I want to see my Mum—"

"Don't push me—"

A sudden noise outside the corridor put am end to their argument. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking. "Quick!"

Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came around the door. Ron and Lisa stood quite still, both thinking the same thing, did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed like an eternity, she turned and left.

“This isn't safe, she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us, come on." Ron pulled Lisa out of the room. 

There was still a thick pile of snow the next morning and the sun was no where to be found. "Want to play chess?" Ron asked.

"No."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

"No...you go..." Lisa looked up at him, she looked as terrible as she felt with tired circles under her red and puffy eyes. 

"I know what you're thinking about, Lisa, that mirror. Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it and anyway, you've had too many close calls already. Filch, Snape and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

Lisa smiled ruefully, "you sound like Hermione."

"I'm serious, Lisa, don't go."

It was all Lisa wanted right now, all she planned to do until classes started back up again, and maybe after. She needed to go back to the mirror and Ron wasn't going to stop her. 

On the third night, she found her way more quickly than before. She was walking so fast she knew she was making more noise than what was wise but there was no one around.

She slipped though the door and pulled the cloak off. "Mum?" She whispered, "Mum?"

There were her parents smiling at her again and one of her grandfathers nodding happily behind glass. "Hi," she whispered, tears collecting on her eyelashes. Lisa sunk down onto the floor. There was nothing to stop her from staying with her family all night. Not Ron, not Filch or Snape or Mrs. Norris.

Nothing, except—

"Back again, Lisa?"'

Lisa exhaled shakily and turned around, heart hammering wildly in her chest. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was Professor Dumbledore. Lisa must've walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror she hadn't noticed him.

"...I-I didn't see you, sir." Lisa was somewhat relieved to see that he was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor next to her. "You, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised." Lisa smiled a little. "So, I expect you realize what it does?"

"It...shows me my family..."

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy."

"How did you know—?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Lisa shook her head.

"Let me explain, the happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is."

Professor Dumbledore turned toward the glass and gazed into it, "you have never known your family, Lisa, you see them standing all around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. People have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Lisa, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Lisa got to her feet and looked at the mirror one last time, her mother was crying again and she exhaled shakily, "bye, Mum, it was nice to see you."

I love you, her mother's reflection mouthed and Lisa's face crumpled and her chest ached something terrible. 

"Go on," urged Dumbledore with gentle understanding, "it will be all right."

She curled her fingers around the invisibility cloak and paused, "sir— Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled, "you may ask me one more thing, however." "What did you see when you looked in the mirror?"

"I? I saw myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks." 

Lisa blinked, and a few wayward tears dripped onto the floor.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It was only when she was back in bed that it struck Lisa that Dumbledore might not have been completely truthful. But then, she thought, it had been quite a personal question. Rolling onto her side, she pulled one of her pillows out from under her and buried her face in it. 

Chapter Text

Dumbledore had convinced Lisa not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again and for the rest of the Christmas holidays, the invisibility cloak stayed neatly folded at the bottom of her trunk. Lisa wished she could forget what she had seen in the Mirror as easily but she couldn't. Her nightmares had gotten worse, over and over again she dreamed about her parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a high voice cackled with laughter. And every time she would wake in the dead of night and rock back and forth, holding her head, wishing for the stabbing pain in her skull to ebb.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron when Lisa told him about these dreams.

Hermione, who returned the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Lisa being out of bed, roaming the corridors three nights in a row and disappointment that she hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was. They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Lisa was still sure she had read the name somewhere before.

Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Lisa had less time to relax because Quidditch practice had started again. Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless torrents of rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasley twins complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic but Lisa was on Wood's side, somewhat. If they won their next match against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Lisa found that she had fewer nightmares when she was exhausted after practice.

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with Fred and George, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.

"Will you stop messing around!" He yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

George Weasley really did fall off his broom when he heard what Wood said. "Snape's refereeing?" He spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."

The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.

"It's not my fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us." 

Which was all very well, but Lisa had another reason for not wanting Snape near her while she was playing Quidditch...

The team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the end of practice, apart from Lisa, who sprinted back to the Gryffindor common room, where she found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Lisa and Ron thought was very good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," Ron said when Lisa sat down next to him, "I need to concen—" He caught sight of Lisa's face. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Lisa told the other two about Snape's sudden desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," Hermione said at once.

"Say you're ill," said Ron.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

"Really break your leg," Ron said.

"I can't," Lisa groaned. "There isn't a reserve Seeker, if I back out Gryffindor can't play at all."

At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny-hop all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione, who leapt up to perform the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling.

"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Lisa and Ron.

"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!" 

Neville shook his head. "I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out.

"Wait here," Lisa said and scurried up the stairs, when she returned she held out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given her for Christmas. Neville took the Chocolate Frog and looked as though he might cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy, Neville," Lisa said in a gentle voice, "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin. Also, if it helps, I'm not very brave either." 

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog. "Thanks, Lisa...I think I'll go to bed...d'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?" As Neville walked away, Lisa looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Ugh, it's Dumbledore again," she said and then her eyes widened, "oh my God," she breathed, "Ron, Ron, Ron." Lisa tapped him rapidly on the shoulder without looking away from the portrait.

"What, what, what?"

"It's Flamel, I found him...or, Neville found him. I told you I'd read that name somewhere before, it was on the train, listen: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"

Hermione jumped to her feet, she hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.

"Stay there!" She said and she sprinted up the stairs. Lisa and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

"Oh not this thing again," Lisa nearly whined and leaned closer to Ron, whispering, "a few nights ago she fell asleep reading and forgot to put it away, gave us all a fright when it fell on the floor in the middle of the night."

"I never thought to look in here!" Hermione whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

Ron raised an eyebrow, "light?" He questioned but Hermione told him to be quiet and she started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself. At last, she found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I knew it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" Ron grumbled.

Hermione ignored him, "Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!"

That didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.

"The what?" Ron said.

"Oh, honestly, don't you two read?"

"I read quite a lot, thank you very much," Lisa retorts, "just not heavy books longer than my arm." 

Hermione rolled her eyes, "look— read that, there." She pushed the book toward them and Lisa read:

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight). 

"See?" Hermione said when Lisa and Ron had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"Huh, a stone that makes gold and keeps you from aging," Lisa said, "no wonder Qurriell—"

"Snape," Ron corrected and Lisa rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. Anyone would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," said Ron, "he's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?" 

The next morning in Defence Against the Dark Arts, while Lisa was copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites while Ron was rambling on about what he would do with the Philosopher's Stone if he had one and every so often Lisa would mumble, "that's great, Ron," and dip her quill in her ink pot.

It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Lisa remembered the coming match.

"Can I copy your notes?" Ron asked.

"No." 

"I'm going to play," she told Ron and Hermione when class ended. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. Which is a joke of course, especially when we win. It'll really wipe the smile off their faces." 

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the pitch," Hermione said, clutching her books tightly. 

As the match drew nearer, Lisa was steadily getting more and more nervous. The rest of the team wasn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship was wonderful, no one had done it for years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?

Lisa didn't know if she was imagining it or not but she seemed to keep running into Snape wherever she went. At times, she even wondered whether Snape was following her, trying to catch her on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture. Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Philosopher's Stone? Lisa couldn't see how he could— yet she sometimes had the feeling Professor Snape could read minds. 

Lisa knew, when they wished her good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see her alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Lisa hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as she twisted her hair into braids and picked up her Nimbus Two Thousand.

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did Lisa know, Ron and Hermione had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Lisa.

"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

"I know," Ron snapped, "don't nag."

In the locker room, Wood had taken Lisa aside. "Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff too much."

"The whole school's out there!" Fred announced, peering out of the door. "Even— blimey— Dumbledore's come to watch!"

Lisa's heart somersaulted and she scurried over to the door to make sure.

"Dumbledore?" She said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right, there was no mistaking that silver beard. Lisa could have laughed out loud with relief, she was safe. There was simply no way that Qurriell, Snape or anyone would dare to try to hurt her if Dumbledore was watching. 

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," Ron told Hermione up in the stands. "Look they're off— ouch!"

Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. Malfoy had somehow wormed his way onto the Gryffindor side.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there," he grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle. "Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on her broom this time? Does anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"

Ron didn't answer, Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap was squinting fixedly at Lisa, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money— you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy, "I-I'm worth tw-twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes off the game, said, "you tell him, Neville."

Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Lisa. "I'm warning you, Malfoy, one more word—"

"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly. "Lisa—"

"What? Where?"

Lisa had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth as Lisa streaked toward the ground like a bullet.  

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some gold on the ground!" said Malfoy and Ron snapped. Before he knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated then clambered over the back of the seats to help.

"Come on, Lisa!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Lisa sped straight at Snape— she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe and Goyle.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something maroon shoot past him, narrowly missing him by inches— the next second, Lisa had pulled out of the dive, her arm raised in triumph and the Snitch clasped in her hand. The stands erupted, it had to be a record— no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Lisa's won!" shrieked Hermione and danced up and down in her seat, "we won! Gryffindor is in the lead!"

Lisa jumped off her broom, a foot from the ground. She couldn't believe it, she'd done it, the game was over and it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, she saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped— then Lisa felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Lisa could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror...been keeping busy...excellent..."

"Thank you, sir." 

Lisa left the locker room alone some time later, but to take her Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. She couldn't remember feeling so happy, she had really done something to be proud of now, no one could say she was just a famous name anymore. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. She walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in her mind. It was a blur mostly; Gryffindors running to lift her onto their shoulders, Ron and Hermione in the distance, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.

Lisa reached the shed, she leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing gold in the setting sun.

Gryffindor is in the lead.

Her reverie was interrupted, suddenly. A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle, clearly not wanting to be seen. It walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest.

Lisa frowned, she recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner, what was he doing?

Lisa jumped back on her Nimbus Two Thousand and took off, gliding silently over the castle she saw Snape break into a run and she followed, the trees were so thick she couldn't see where he had gone. Lisa flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until she heard voices. She glided toward them and landed soundlessly on a beech tree. She climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tightly onto her broom, trying to see through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, stuttering worse than ever.

"...d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus..."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."

Lisa leaned forward and squinted at Quirrell, at his shifting gaze. There was something...strange that caught her attention; silver. There was some sort of thick, silvery liquid on Quirrell's robes. Lisa had never seen anything like it.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet? Or have you been biding your time?" "S-S-Severus, I—"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Snape warned, taking a step toward him.

"I-I don't know what you—"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted nearby, nearly startling Lisa out of the tree. She steadied herself in time to hear Snape say, "— your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't --"

"Very well," Snape cut in, "we'll have another little chat soon when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie."

Snape threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now but Lisa could see Quirrell, once petrified seemed to relax almost immediately after Professor Snape turned his back. And then he smirked, turning and walking deeper into the forest.

"Huh," Lisa whispered, narrowing her eyes at Quirrell's shrinking turban, "interesting..."

 
"Lisa, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked when Lisa returned to the castle.

"We won! You won! We won!" Ron shouted, thumping Lisa on the back ("ouch, Ron!"). "And I gave Malfoy a black eye and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be all right— talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room. We're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that," Lisa said, "let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this..."

She made sure Peeves wasn't slinking around before closing the door behind them, and then she told them what she had seen and heard.

"So, I was right about Snape, he's trying to force Quirrell to help him get the stone!" Ron said and Lisa stared blankly at him.

"No," she said, "it's not Snape, I mean sure he's a weird guy with some kind of complex who has it out for me but it's got to be Quirrell— I've never seen such a shady-looking person."

"As you said," Ron crossed his arms. "If it is Quirrell, then how come Snape was asking if he knew how to get past Fluffy and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus-pocus'...I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through—"

"Look, I've had my suspicions about Professor Quirrell and I hate to say it but I think Snape has too. The way he was talking to him in the woods, it was almost like he was trying to threaten him to confess to something— and as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Quirrell would know how to get past Fluffy and undo any enchantments he and the other teachers put in place to protect the stone."

Ron mumbled something under his breath and crossed his arms, Lisa continued. "Where was he, do you think, on Halloween? He did warn us about the troll but who's to say he didn't let it in? No one would suspect him, he's poor, nervous Professor Quirrell, remember?"

"So...say it is Quirrell like you said, how much longer do you think he'll wait?"

Lisa shrugged, "tonight, tomorrow— could be gone by Tuesday." 

Chapter Text

Quirrell, somehow, must have been braver than they thought. In the weeks that followed, he seemed to be getting thinner, and paler, but it didn't look as though he'd cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Lisa, Ron and Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling behind it. Whenever Lisa passed Quirrell these days, she would narrow her eyes at him and watch him squirm. The stone was still safe, as far as she knew.

Hermione and Lisa had more on their mind than the Philosopher's Stone most days. Hermione had drawn them both study schedules (Lisa would have made her own but she was still busy with Quidditch practice). Ron wouldn't have minded, but they kept nagging at him to do the same.

"Exams are ages away."

"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped, "that's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."

He glanced at Lisa for backup but she was on Hermione's side here. "Hermione's got a point, Ron," she said, looking up from her book.

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded them, "anyway, what are you studying for? You two already know it all."

Lisa narrowed her eyes at him, "are you daft?"

"What are we studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me..."

"Nicolas Flamel," mumbled Lisa while she wrote something down and underlined, "the Philosopher's Stone..."

"Right, that."

Fortunately— or unfortunately, depending on who you ask, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Lisa and Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren't nearly as much fun as they could have been. It was hard to relax with Lisa quizzing Ron on the twelve uses of dragon blood and Hermione encouraging him to practice his wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Ron spent most of his free time holed up in the library with them, trying to get through all his extra work.

"I'll never remember this!" He whined one afternoon, throwing his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first really good day they'd had in months; the sky was clear and blue and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.

Lisa hissed at him to be quiet, she glanced over her shoulder and continued looking up "Dittany" in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, she didn't look up again until she heard Ron say, "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat. "Jus' lookin'," he said in a shifty voice that immediately sparked their interest. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious, "yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?" 

Lisa hummed and stuck her quill in her ink pot, "no, we found out who he was ages ago," she informed him, "thanks to Neville, I mean, all he really did was eat a Chocolate Frog but I'm including him. And during our investigation, we found out what that...dog of yours is guarding, the Philosopher's St—"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. "Don' go talkin' about it." 

Lisa tucked her legs in and spun around, resting her arm on the back of the chair, "oh, while you're here, Hagrid, there are a few things we wanted to ask you," she said, "about what's guarding the stone apart from that dog—"

"SHHHH!" Hagrid hissed a second time, "listen, come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh—"

"See you later, then," said Lisa, spinning back around and Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" Hermione wondered.

"Could have something to do with the Stone."

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, he'd had enough of working. He came back minutes later with a pile of hooks in his arms and slammed them down on the table, almost knocking Lisa's ink over.

"Careful!"

"Dragons!" He whispered, "Hagrid was looking up stuff about Dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon," said Lisa, "he told me the first time I met him."

"But it's against our laws," Ron explained, "dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden, anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"There are dragons here, aren't there?" Lisa asked.

"Of course there are," Ron said, "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So, what on earth is Hagrid up to?" Hermione asked and Lisa snapped her book shut.

"Maybe he's got an egg," she joked. 

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later, they were surprised to see the curtains were closed. Hagrid called, "who is it?" before he let them in and then shut the door behind them. It was suffocatingly hot inside, there was a fire roaring behind the grate despite it being such a warm day. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they politely refused. "So, yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?" 

"Yeah," said Lisa, glancing at Ron and Hermione, "we were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Stone, apart from the dog."

Hagrid frowned at her, "o' course I can't," he said, "number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason, it was almost stolen outta Gringotts. I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy." 

"Accident— took a wrong turn," Lisa mumbled and started toying with her sleeve, "come on Hagrid, you might not want to tell us but you do know, you know everything that goes on around here." Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling.

"We only wondered who had done the guarding, really," Hermione added, "we wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Lisa met Hermione's eye and grinned, Ron was practically beaming at her.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that...let's see...he borrowed Fluffy from me... then some o' the teachers did enchantments...Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall," he ticked them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell, an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

Ron's eyes went wide, "Snape?!"

"Yeah, yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

"I told you," Lisa hissed and Ron frowned at her.

"Hagrid also listed Professor Quirrell," he argued, "that doesn't prove you right."

Lisa frowned and sat back in her seat. Ron had a point, of course, but she was sure it was Professor Quirrell who was after the Stone, everything about him set off red lights in Lisa's mind. If he had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything, except how to get past Fluffy.

"You know how to get past the dog, don't you Hagrid?" asked Lisa. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, wouldn't you? Not even one of the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," Hagrid said proudly.

"Well, that's something at least," Lisa muttered to the others, "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling."

"Can't, Lisa, sorry," said Hagrid and glanced at the fire, Lisa frowned and fixed her gaze on the roaring flames. There was something there, behind the grate, in the heart of it under the kettle— an egg.

"Hey, Hagrid? Remember when we met and you told me that you always wanted a dragon?" Hagrid was nervously fiddling with his great black beard, "whatcha got in the fire, Hagrid?"

"That's er..." 

Ron had caught on quickly, glancing at the hearth, "where did you get it, Hagrid?" He asked, walking over and crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid, "las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'", said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library; Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit, it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on I em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here: how ter recognize diff'rent eggs, what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them." He looked very pleased with himself but Hermione didn't. 

"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," she pointed out but Hagrid wasn't listening, he hummed merrily as he stoked the fire. 

Now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.

"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed, as evening after evening he struggled through all the extra homework they were getting.

"You wouldn't be struggling if you had actually bothered to take notes instead of sitting there, looking bored out of your mind," Lisa told him and he supposed she had a point, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

Then, at breakfast, Hedwig brought Lisa another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words:

It's hatching. 

Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut, but Lisa and Hermione had to drag him out of the Great Hall by his wrists.

"C'mon, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"

"We've got lessons, we'll get in trouble and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing," said Hermione.

"Exactly, plus, you could ask Charlie," said Lisa, "I'm sure he'd describe the process to you."

Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How much had he heard? Lisa didn't like the look on Malfoy's face at all.

Ron and Hermione argued all the way to Herbology and in the end, Hermione agreed to run down during the morning break.

When the bell sounded from the castle, the three of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them, looking flushed and excited.

"It's nearly out," he ushered them inside, the egg was lying on the table, there were deep cracks in the shell and something was moving inside, clicking and writhing. They drew their chairs up to the table and watched it with bated breath. 

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty, Lisa thought it looked like a broken umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny little body. It had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and big, bulging, orange eyes. The baby dragon sneezed and a couple of sparks flew out of its mouth.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured, he reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, and Lisa saw a flash of pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his Mummy!" Hagrid gushed.

"Hagrid, how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?" Hermione wondered.

Hagrid was about to answer when the colour suddenly drained from his face. He leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains— a kid. He's runnin' back up ter the school." 

Lisa glanced at her friends and slid out from the table, she opened the door and looked out. Even in the distance, there was no mistaking that silver-gold hair.

Malfoy had seen the dragon. 

Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week made Lisa, Ron and Hermione very nervous. They spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

"Just let him go," Lisa urged, "I know you've always wanted a dragon, I've always wanted a cat and a family that loved me, but we don't always get what we want because life isn't fair, Hagrid. That dragon is going to bring you nothing but trouble."

"I can't," said Hagrid, "he's too little, he'd die."

Lisa looked down at the dragon, it had grown three times in size in just a week. Smoke kept furling from his nose. Hagrid hadn't been keeping up with his gamekeeper duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"At the rate he's growing, he'll be able to fend for himself in no time," Lisa added.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes, "he really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mummy?" 

Lisa huffed an exasperated sigh and stared up at the ceiling, "oh my God," she whispered.

"He's lost his marbles," Ron muttered in her ear.

Lisa took a deep breath and clapped her hands to get his attention, "Hagrid! I know Malfoy, I'll bet my broom he's already told Dumbledore about this, or worse, his father. From what I know about Mr. Malfoy, he's on the Hogwarts Board of Governors and has a lot of influence. You're going to get thrown in Azkaban if you don't get rid of Norbert— assuming that's the punishment for having a dragon." 

Hagrid bit his lip, "I— I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't." 

Lisa sighed but suddenly got an idea, her eyes lit up and she turned to Ron, "Charlie!"

"You're losing it too," Ron said, "I'm Ron, remember?"

"No— ugh! Your brother, Charlie. In Romania? Studying dragons? Remember?" She said, "we can send Norbert to him."

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Ron, "how about it, Hagrid?"

In the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him. 

The week dragged slow, on Wednesday night, Lisa and Hermione were sitting alone in the Gryffindor common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Lisa's body seized up but she relaxed when Ron pulled off her invisibility cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

"It bit me!" He cried, showing them his hand wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week! I tell you, that dragons are the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby!"

There was a tap on the window, "oh, Hedwig's back," said Lisa and let her in, she dropped the letter and screeched. Lisa hissed at her to quiet down and peeled the seal off. The three of them pressed their heads together to read it;

Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for the letter.

I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon.

Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love, Charlie

Lisa folded the parchment back up, "shouldn't be too difficult, we'll use the cloak, I think it's big enough to cover us and Norbert."

There was a hitch in their plan, however. By morning, Ron's hand had swollen to twice its usual size. He didn't know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey, would she recognize a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he had no choice, the bite had turned a nasty shade of green; it looked as if Norbert's fangs were venomous. Lisa and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.

"It's not just my hand," he whispered, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me...I told her it was a dog but I don't think she believed me. Oh, I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

Lisa and Hermione tried to calm Ron down.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Hermione but that didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" He said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no no no...Charlie's letter was in the book that Malfoy took, he's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

Lisa and Hermione didn't get a chance to answer, Madam Pomfrey appeared seemingly out of nowhere and made them leave, saying Ron needed to sleep.

Lisa paced up and down, worrying her sleeve between her fingers, "it's too late to change the plan now," she said, "we haven't got time to send Charlie another owl and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. I don't like it but we'll have to risk it...plus we have my Dad's invisibility cloak and Malfoy doesn't know about that."

They found Fang, sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them. "I won't let you in," he puffed, "Norbert's at a tricky stage, nothin' I can't handle." When they told him about Charlie's letter, his eyes filled with tears— although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

"Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot, he's jus' playin'— he's only a baby, after all." The dragon banged his tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Lisa and Hermione walked back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn't come quickly enough. 

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say goodbye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had to do. It was a cloudy night and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid's hut because they had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the Entrance Hall, where he'd been playing tennis against the wall. Hagrid had Norbert all packed up in his large crate when they got there.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid, "an' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely." 

Lisa heard growling and the sound of fabric tearing and smiled a little, it appeared the teddy was now without a head.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed as Lisa and Hermione covered the crate with the invisibility cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. "Mummy will never forget you!"

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never knew. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the stairs and along the dark corridors, up another staircase, then another— even one of Lisa's shortcuts didn't make the work much easier.

"Nearly there!" Lisa panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower, "oh, God, oh, why are you so heavy, you stupid dragon!"

Then a sudden movement ahead made them almost drop the crate. Forgetting they were invisible, they shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

It was Professor McGonagall, in a green tartan bathrobe. She had Malfoy by the ear. "Detention!" She shouted, "and twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you—"

"You don't understand, Professor. Lisa Potter's coming— she's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on, I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

"Ha ha," Lisa snorted and Hermione rolled her eyes.

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the cool night air did they toss off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again, they jumped around and grabbed each other's hands.

"Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

"Glad it's not us!"

Giggling about Malfoy, they waited with Norbert thrashing around in his crate. Minutes ticked by and suddenly, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the clouds.

Charlie's friends were a cheery lot, they showed Lisa and Hermione the harness they'd rigged up to suspend Norbert between them. They helped buckle the dragon safely into it and then they shook hands with the others and thanked them profusely.

At last, Norbert was going...going...gone.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts light as their hands now that Norbert was no longer their problem. No more dragon, Malfoy has detention, what could spoil their happiness?

The answer was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch's face loomed out of the darkness.

"Well, well, well," he smirked, "we are in trouble."

Dread washed over them; they left the invisibility cloak at the top of the tower.  

Chapter Text

Things couldn't have been worse.

Filch took them down to Professor McGonagall's study on the first floor, where they sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Hermione trembled beside Lisa like a leaf and she squeezed her hand.

Excuses, alibis and wild cover-up stories chased each other around Lisa's brain, each more feeble than the last. She couldn't think of a way to get them out of trouble this time. They were cornered. How could she have been so stupid as to forget the cloak? How could Hermione? There was no reason on earth that Professor McGonagall would accept for their being out of bed and creeping around the castle in the dead of night, let alone in the astronomy tower, it was out-of-bounds except for classes. Add Norbert and the invisibility cloaks into the mix and they might as well be back in their dormitories, packing their trunks.

Had Lisa thought that things couldn't have been worse? She was wrong. When Professor McGonagall appeared, she was leading Neville.

"Lisa!" Neville burst out, the moment he saw the other two. "I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag—" Lisa flashed Neville a look and his mouth snapped shut immediately but Professor McGonagall had seen. She looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert as she towered over the three of them.

"I would have never have believed it of any of you. Mr. Filch says you were up in the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. Explain yourselves!"

Lisa glanced at Hermione, hopeful she could get them out of this but for the first time, she failed to answer a teacher's question, she was staring at her slippers, as still as a statue.

"I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor McGonagall, "it doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I've already caught him, I suppose you think it's funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?"

Lisa caught Neville's eye and tried to tell him without words that it wasn't true, he stared back stunned and hurt. Poor, blundering Neville, Lisa knew what it must have cost him to try and find them in the dark, to warn them.

"I am disgusted," Professor McGonagall continued, "four students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense. As for you, Miss Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All three of you will receive detentions— yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk about the school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous. And fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor."

"Fifty?" Lisa gasped— they would lose their lead, the lead she'd won in the last Quidditch match.

"Fifty points each," Professor McGonagall clarified.

"Wha— Professor, please, you cant—"

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I have never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students."

A hundred and fifty points were lost, which put Gryffindor in last place. In one night, they'd ruined any chance Gryffindor had had for the house cup. "Stupid dragon. Stupid Malfoy. Stupid Filch!" Lisa groused angrily under her breath.

Lisa didn't sleep that night, she could hear Hermione sobbing into her pillow for what felt like hours and Lisa couldn't think of anything to say to comfort her. She knew Hermione, like herself, was dreading the dawn. What would happen when the rest of Gryffindor found out what they'd done?

At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the house points thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly have a hundred and fifty points fewer than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Lisa Potter, the famous Lisa Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points. Her and a couple of other stupid first years.

Yesterday Lisa was one of the most popular and admired people at school, now she was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff turned on her, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the house cup. Everywhere Lisa went, people pointed and didn't trouble to lower their voices as they insulted her.

Slytherins, on the other hand, clapped as she walked past them, whistling and cheering, "Thanks Potter, we owe you one!"

Only Ron stood by her.

"They'll all forget this in a few weeks. Fred and George have lost loads of points in all the time they've been here, and people still like them."

"They've never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, though, have they?" mumbled Lisa miserably.

"Well...no," Ron admitted.

It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Lisa swore to herself not to meddle in things that weren't her business from now on. She was done with sneaking around and spying— Lisa felt so ashamed of herself that she even went to Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team.

"Resign?" Wood thundered, "what good'll that do? How are we going to get any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?"

But even Quidditch had lost its fun, the rest of the team wouldn't speak to Lisa during practice, and if they had to speak about her, they called her "the Seeker."

Hermione and Neville were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time as Lisa, because they weren't as well-known, but nobody would speak to them, either. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to herself in class, keeping her head down and working in silence.

If Lisa wasn't glad exams were approaching before, she was now. All the studying she was doing was keeping her mind off her misery. She, Hermione and Ron kept to themselves, working late into the night, reciting potion ingredients, perfecting spell pronunciations, memorizing dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions.

Then, about a week before exams were due to start, Lisa's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern her was put to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library to Gryffindor Tower to grab something she forgot, she heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As she drew closer, she heard Quirrell's voice.

"No—no—not again, please—" If Lisa didn't know better, it sounded like he was being threatened by someone. Lisa tiptoed closer. "All right— all right—" she heard Quirrell sob. A second later, he came hurrying out of the classroom, straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode past and Lisa noticed something odd...something she hadn't before— something squirmed under the purple cloth.

She waited until his footsteps had stopped, then peered into the classroom. It was empty. Lisa frowned and stepped inside.

Strange, she thought. There was a door to her left, cracked open and tempting. Lisa was halfway toward it before she remembered what she had promised herself about not meddling.

Lisa went back to the library where Hermione was quizzing Ron on astronomy and she told them what she heard.

"Snape's done it, then!" said Ron.

"Snape wasn't there," Lisa said, looking over her shoulder.

"What? He had to have been, who else would Quirrell be talking to?"

"I didn't hear Snape and I didn't see him either, it was just Professor Quirrell in that classroom."

"That's odd," Hermione said, "was he talking to himself?"

"Possibly...or maybe to a ghost. Or..." she hesitated.

"What is it, Lisa?"

"It's just...when he was leaving I swore I saw something moving under his turban."

"You were probably just seeing things," Hermione said and leaned across the table, "have you been sleeping?" She asked, concern worrying her brow.

Lisa frowned at her, "yes, I have been sleeping."

"For how long?"

"...Five-ish hours— anyway," she wiggled in her chair, refusing to meet Hermione's disappointed gaze. "If Quirrell is working with someone— who isn't Snape, Ronald, then we're running out of time."

"What do we do, Lisa?"

Hermione answered before Lisa could. "Go to Dumbledore, that's what we should've done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

"We have no actual evidence of wrongdoing, Hermione," argued Lisa, "all we have is speculation. If we did take it up with Dumbledore, Quirrell would deny everything. Also, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or the dog, remember? That'll take a lot of explaining."

Hermione looked convinced, but Ron didn't. "If we just do a bit of poking around—"

"No!" Lisa hissed, tugging a map of Jupiter's moons down the table, "we've done enough poking around.”

The following morning, notes were delivered to Lisa, Hermione, and Neville at the breakfast table. They were all the same:

Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the Entrance Hall.

Prof. M. McGonagall

Lisa had forgotten they still had detention to do in the furore over the points they'd lost. She had expected Hermione to complain that this was a whole night of studying to be lost, but she didn't say a word.

At eleven o'clock that night, they said goodbye to Ron in the common room and went down to the Entrance Hall with Neville. Filch was already there— and so was Malfoy. Lisa had forgotten that he had detention, too.

Filch appeared around the corner, he lit the lamp in his hand and said, "follow me."

He led them outside, "I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" He said, leering at them, "oh yes...hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me, it's a pity they let the old punishments die out...hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed. Right, off we go and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

They marched across the dark grounds and Neville sniffled, clutching onto the wool of Lisa's sleeve. She wondered what their punishment was going to be, it must be something terrible or Filch wouldn't be as delighted as he was.

The moon was bright but clouds drifted across it. Ahead, Lisa could see the warm windows of Hagrid's hut, then they heard a distant shout.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Lisa's heart rose, if they were going to be with Hagrid then it wouldn't be so bad. Her relief must have shown on her face because Filch said, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, Potter, it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece.

Neville let out a little moan and Lisa pat his hand reassuringly. Behind her, Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks, "the forest?" He questioned, "we can't go in there at night, there's all sorts of things in there— werewolves I heard."

"That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. "Should've thought of werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark with Fang on his heel. He was carrying a large crossbow and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder. "Abou' time," he said, "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Lisa, Hermione?"

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," Filch gruffed, "they're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, isn't it?" Hagrid asked, frowning at Filch, "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, "for what's left of them," he added nastily and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lantern bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy sneered up at Hagrid, "I'm not going in that forest," he said and Lisa would be lying if she said she wasn't amused by the note of panic in his voice.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my Father knew I was doing this—"

"He'd tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or Yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on." Malfoy didn't budge, he looked at Hagrid furiously, but dropped his gaze, focusing on the heel of Lisa's shoes. 

"Right then," Hagrid said, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment." He led them to the edge of the forest and held his lamp high, he pointed down at a narrow, winding path between the dark trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they peered into the unknown.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" Malfoy asked, unable to keep the fear from his voice.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night—"

"I want Fang," Malfoy said quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.

"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid, "so me, Hermione an' Neville'll go one way an' Draco, Lisa and Fang'll go the other."

"Please don't make me with him," Lisa bemoaned.

"Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now, that's it. An' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh, so, be careful, let's go."

The forest was eerily silent, but that didn't stop Lisa from complaining. "Why did you pick the dog?" She moaned, "we could've gone with Hagrid."

"What's the matter, Potter? Don't like dogs?" Malfoy snickered.

"No I don't," said Lisa, stepping over a log, she glanced at Malfoy and sighed, "it's a long story."

Lisa kept her gaze fixed on the empty path in front of them. They continued in uncomfortable silence, both of them wanting to insult the other but having no clue what to say. Then, out of nowhere, Lisa stopped.

"Hey, Malfoy, what colour did Hagrid say the unicorn blood was again?"

"Silver." He turned to look at her, "did you spot some?"

"No," she mumbled, "just thought it was an odd colour for blood to be." She walked in front of Malfoy. "Silver blood...silver blood," she muttered under her breath and Malfoy raised his eyebrow, looking down at Fang. Lisa's eyes widened in realization; there was silver blood on Professor Quirrell's robes that evening in the forest. The moon broke through the clouds and illuminated a spot of silver blood on decaying leaves.

"Could a werewolf be killing the unicorns?" Draco inquired.

"No. There isn't a full moon until Thursday, stupid," Lisa scoffed.

"Well, what do you suppose it is then, if you're so smart?"

"I dunno...there's a village not too far from here, right? It was probably a hunter or something."

They walked past a mossy stump, Lisa heard running water coming from somewhere; there must be a stream close by. There were spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

"Oh, hang on," Lisa said, she squatted down and Malfoy sighed. "What are you doing, Potter?"

"My boot came untied," she explained, "I almost tripped."

"Make sure to double knot, then."

Lisa rolled her eyes yet did it anyway, she wiped her hands on her overalls and whistled for Fang to follow. His cold nose touched her hand and she pulled it away, tucking her hands in the front, "oh no, go see Malfoy."

"Don't give him to me!"

"You're the one that wanted him! We could've gone with Hagrid!"

Lisa stopped again and Malfoy groaned, "what now, Potter?" She grabbed him by the front of his cashmere jumper and pulled him behind a large oak tree. "What are you doing?"

"Be quiet!" She hissed and peered around the corner, "I heard something."

Malfoy snapped his mouth shut. Something was slithering nearby; it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground.

"Who is that?"

"How the bloody hell should I know?" It could be Quirrell, her brain supplied.

The sound faded and Lisa exhaled, pushing Malfoy away from her. "C'mon."

They walked slower now, ears straining for the faintest sound, they reached the end of the path without further hindrance. Or so they thought, something moved up ahead.

"What now?"

Into the clearing came...a man? Was it a man or a horse? To the waist, a man, with red hair and a beard but below that was a horse's gleaming chestnut body.

"Children," the centaur spoke, "what an unusual surprise. Are you students?"

Lisa and Malfoy exchange glances, "...yes?"

"And do you learn much up at the school?"

"A fair amount."

"A fair amount. Well, that's something," he said, "I am called Ronan. And you are?"

"Erm...my name is Lisa and this is..."

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

"Right, he's Malfoy." She inhaled deeply, "anyway, uh, Ronan...I was wondering if you could help us?" "Are you lost?"

"No, no, not lost, just...looking for something. A unicorn's been injured somehow, we've found its blood but we haven't seen it."

Ronan didn't answer immediately, he stared unblinkingly upward, then sighed. "Always the innocent are the first victims," he said. "So it has been for ages past, so it is now."

"Yeah...but have you seen anything? Anything unusual? A man in a cloak maybe?"

"Mars is bright tonight," said Ronan, ignoring the question and Lisa groaned. "Unusually bright."

"I don't have time for any sort of weird centaur riddles, have you or have you not seen anything, on earth," Lisa gestured around them.

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At least, he said, "the forest hides many secrets." 

Lisa turned away from Ronan and rubbed her forehead, "oh my God," she sighed.

Movement behind Ronan made Lisa jump and she stepped closer to Malfoy, placing him partially in front. It was only a second centaur, black-haired and bodied and wilder looking.

"There are children in the forest," he said.

"Yeah, we already covered that," said Lisa, "I was trying to ask Ronan if he had seen anything unusual but he won't answer me. A unicorns been injured, so you know anything about it?"

The centaur stood next to Ronan and looked skyward, "Mars is bright tonight," he said simply.

"Yes," Lisa smiled tightly, "we heard." She clapped her hands together, "well, thank you, you two have been no help at all but if you do see anything, let us know. C'mon, Malfoy," she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him away. Fang lolloped behind.

They walked through the dense trees, Lisa kept looking over their shoulders, she had the nasty feeling they were being watched. Despite everything, she was glad they had Fang with them; a big dog with big, sharp teeth.

"Let's stop here," said Malfoy and leaned against a tree before she could answer. Huffing, Lisa hopped up onto a stump.

"I'm tired," he complained a second later, "what time is it?"

"We've only been out here for forty-five minutes, Malfoy," Lisa said, "tired, give me a break. Tired," she mumbled under her breath. Lisa sat on that stump, swinging her legs back and forth with her hands in her lap. She looked up at the sky and sighed and began naming Jupiter's moons aloud; "Adrastea...Amalthea...Thebe...Io...Europa...Ganymede...Callisto...Themisto...Leda...Ersa...Dia...Carpo...Eupheme—"

"Shut up, Potter!" snapped Malfoy and stepped away from the tree.

"We should go," Lisa said, ignoring him and set off again. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the bath became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick.

Lisa thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker, more frequent. There were splashes on roots, almost as if the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain nearby. She caught sight of another clearing up ahead, through tangled branches.

"Hey, look," she held out an arm to stop Malfoy, something bright white was gleaming in the dirt. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right but it was dead.

Lisa had never seen anything so beautiful and tragic. It's long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on dark leaves. Lisa lifted her boot when a slithering sound made her freeze where she stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered.

Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground. Lisa, Malfoy and Fang stood in terror, the cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound on the animal's side and began to drink its blood.

Lisa gagged and Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted— and so did Fang. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Lisa, unicorn blood dripping from its mouth. It crawled toward her like a twisted spider and a pain like she never felt before pierced her head. Lisa cried out, half blinded and staggered backward.

She heard hooves coming from behind, galloping and something jumped clean over Lisa, charging at the figure. The pain between Lisa's eyes was so terrible, she fell to her knees, she felt something warm trickle down the side of her nose and raised a shaky arm to wipe her forehead.

Blood. She was bleeding from her scar.

When Lisa managed to stand, she turned around, the figure was gone and a centaur was looking down at her. It wasn't Ronan; this one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

"Are you all right?" asked the centaur.

"Yes— thank you," Lisa said, wiping away the rest of the blood, "what was that thing?"

The centaur didn't answer, he had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Lisa, his eyes lingering on the livid scar on Lisa's forehead with interest.

"You are the Potter girl," he said. "You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time— especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way."

"My name is Firenze," he added, as he lowered himself onto his front legs so that Lisa could clamber onto his back.

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and the other centaur whose name Lisa didn't know, came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

"Firenze!" The second thundered, "what are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

"Do you realize who this is?" said Firenze. "This is the Potter girl. The quicker she leaves this forest, the better."

"What have you been telling her?"

"Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

Ronan pawed the ground nervously under the darker centaurs gaze. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best, " he added in his gloomy voice.

The black-haired centaur kicked his back legs in anger. "For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"

Firenze reared onto his hind legs in anger, Lisa shrieked and grabbed onto his shoulders to stay on.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellowed. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

And Firenze whisked around; with Lisa clutching on as best he could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them. Lisa didn't have a clue what was going on.

"Why's Bane so angry?" She asked. "What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?"

Firenze slowed to a walk, and warned Lisa to keep her head bowed in case of low-hanging branches, but did not answer Lisa's question. They made their way through the trees in silence for so long that Lisa thought Firenze didn't want to talk to her anymore.

They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped. "Lisa Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

Lisa blinked at the odd question, "um, no..."

"It is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," he said, "only one who has nothing to lose and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenceless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

Lisa stared at the back of Firenze's head, which was dappled silver in the moonlight.

"So...that really was unicorn blood I saw on Professor Quirrell's robes then— but it couldn't have been Quirrell I saw, I would have seen the outline of his turban under the hood. It had to have been someone else— but who would willingly curse themselves? Death would be the better option, wouldn't it?"

"It is," Firenze agreed, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else— something that will bring you back to full strength and power— something that will mean you can never die. Miss Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

"The Philosopher's Stone— of course— the Elixir of Life— but who—"

"Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?"

Lisa paled quite suddenly, she swallowed roughly and rubbed at her forehead. Over the rustling of the trees, she seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told her on the night they had met: Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die.

"I can think of one person," she whispered.

"Lisa!" Someone called, "Lisa! Are you all right?"

Hermione was running toward them down the path, Hagrid and Neville puffing along behind her.

"I'm fine," Lisa assured, "the unicorn is dead, Hagrid, it's in the clearing back down that way."

"This is where I leave you," Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn, "you are safe now."

Lisa slid off his back.

"Good luck, Lisa Potter," said Firenze, "the planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times." He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest.

 
Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Lisa shook him awake.

For the first minute or so, Ron yawned and rubbed at his eyes while Lisa told him and Hermione what happened in the forest, then suddenly he was wide-awake. Lisa couldn't sit down, she paced up and down in front of the fire.

"Quirrell wants the stone for Voldemort...and Voldemort's waiting in the forest all twisted and-and wrong —"

"Stop saying the name!" Ron whispered, looking over his shoulder as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

Lisa wasn't listening, "Firenze was there, he shouldn't have let us on his back, Bane was furious...he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen...they must know Voldemort is coming back...Bane thinks Voldemort should've killed me...or at least I think he does..."

"Will you stop saying his name!" Ron hissed.

"It's just a name, Ron!" snapped Lisa, then she sighed, "honestly. So...all we've got to wait for now is Quirrell to steal the Stone and then Voldemort will be able to finish me off..."

Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

"Lisa, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you."

"Except we go home in a few weeks."

"Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking, they went to bed exhausted, their throats sore. Lisa opened the door, she and Hermione tiptoed inside and she kicked off the boots— the left slid under her bed.

"I'll get it in the morning," she mumbled and yawned. Lisa pulled back the blankets and blinked, "what the..."

Her invisibility cloak was neatly folded on the sheets. There was a note pinned to it:

Just in case. 

Chapter Text

Lisa tried not to think about it, about what happened in the forest that night, but try as she might to focus on exams, she expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment and finish her off, but nothing happened that wasn't supposed to and Fluffy seemed to still be alive and well behind that locked door.

It was sweltering hot on exam day, practically every student had shed their robes and jumpers to combat the heat. They sat in rows of four while they took their written exam in an empty classroom on the second floor. Each of them had been given special quills that had been bewitched by an anti-cheating charm. Draco Malfoy, who had the spot behind Lisa, snickered at the sight of her hair. The inky strands were frizzier than normal, reacting poorly to the humidity. She stopped writing fifteen minutes in to twist it into a mess of a bun. Another twenty minutes had ticked on by the time she closed her inkwell and slid out from her desk, parchment in hand. Lisa placed it on the supervising teacher's desk and turned around, walking back to her chair. She glanced at Malfoy, glared, then plopped down, she sighed and laid down on her arms, her face turned toward the clock on the wall.

They had practical exams too, Professor Flitwick called them one by one into the room to see if they could make a pineapple tap dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuff box— points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was but taken away if it had whiskers.

Snape made them all feel a bit uneasy while they brewed a Forgetfulness potion. Lisa worked through the stabbing pains in her forehead, taking it out on the poor mistletoe berries in her motor, grounding them into a fine powder. Her scar had been bothering her since their jaunt into the forest.

Lavender Brown thought Lisa had a bad case of exam nerves because she was sleeping worse than usual. It wasn't nerves, Lisa had been studying for months and she was more than ready for this. Since that night in the forest she kept getting woken up by her old nightmare, except now it was worse than ever because there was a hooded figure dripping blood in it. Perhaps it was because they hadn't encountered the figure in the forest or because they didn't have scars on their foreheads but Ron and Hermione didn't seem to be as worried about the Stone as she did. The idea of Voldemort certainly scared them but he didn't visit them in their dreams.

Their last exam was History of Magic. It was an hour of answering a litany of questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons and they would be free, free for a whole week until their exam results came out. When their time was up, the spirit of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment— Lisa and Hermione had finished ages ago.

"It was easier than I thought," said Hermione and Lisa hummed in agreement.

"I didn't expect to finish so fast," Lisa said as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. 

"I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct of the uprising of Elfric the Eager," Hermione continued. They wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree, watching the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, basking in the warm shallows.

"No more studying," Ron sighed happily, stretching out onto the grass. "You could look more cheerful, Lisa, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet."

Lisa narrowed her eyes at him, "you mean how badly you've done." She rubbed her scar with the back of her hand, "I wish I knew what this means," she complained, "my scar hasn't stopped hurting since...I mean it's happened before but it's never been like this."

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested. 

"I'm not ill," Lisa waved Hermione's hand away, "I think it's a warning or something— something's going to happen and it's going to happen soon."

Ron refused to get worked up, it was too hot.

"Lisa, relax, Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. And Neville would play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

Lisa hummed but she couldn't shake the lingering feeling there was something she had forgotten to do, something important. When she tried to explain, Hermione said, "that's just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd already done that one."

Lisa was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn't have anything to do with schoolwork, though. She watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a letter clamped in its beak. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent her letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past the dog, never, but...

Lisa suddenly got to her feet.

"Where're you going?" Ron mumbled, half asleep in the grass.

"I've just thought of something," said Lisa, "we've got to go and see Hagrid, now."

"Why?" Hermione asked, following close behind.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd how Hagrid wanted nothing more than a dragon and then a stranger turned up and just happened to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against the law? It was lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?"

"What are you talking about?" Ron groaned, but Lisa, sprinting across the grounds toward the forest, didn't answer.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his hut; his trousers and sleeves rolled up, he was shelling peas into a large bowl by his feet.

"Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes, please," said Ron but Lisa cut him off.

"Sorry but no, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. The night you won Norbert, what did the stranger look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "he wouldn' take his cloak off." He saw the three of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows.

"It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head— that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

Lisa crossed her arms, "what did you talk about? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. "Yeah...he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here...he asked a bit about the sorta creatures I took after...so I told him...an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon...an' then...I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks....let's see...yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted...but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home...So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy..." 

"And did he seem interested in the dog?" Lisa asked as casually as she could.

"Well yeah, how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep—" horror flashed across Hagrid's face and he met Lisa's wide-eyed stare.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey, where're yeh goin'?" Lisa, Ron and Hermione didn't speak again until they came to a halt in the Entrance Hall.

"Oh my God," Lisa breathed, pressing her back on the stone wall, "we've got to tell Dumbledore," she said, "I don't want to but Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy and I'm certain it was Quirrell under that cloak— I bet he's working for Voldemort. Hagrid was drunk when he told him, I hope that'll be enough for Dumbledore not to sack him. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

They looked around as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. No one bothered to mention where Dumbledore resided in the castle and they didn't know anyone who had been sent to see him.

"Ugh, this is—" Lisa began but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"What are you three doing inside?" It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large stack of books.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, rather bravely. Better her than me, Lisa thought.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated, as though this was a very fishy thing to want to do. "Why?"

Lisa shifted from foot to foot, chewing on the inside of her cheek, "it's sort of, um, it's sort of a secret." She wished she could take it back because Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she replied, "he received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

Lisa groaned, "of course, he would be gone the day we needed him."

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time—" 

"Yeah, but this is kinda important."

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?"

"Very well could be, yeah," Lisa mumbled and threw caution to the wind, "look, Professor...it's about the Stone."

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms, "how do you know—" she sputtered.

"Professor, I think— I know that Qui— someone's going to try to steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

She eyed Lisa with shock and suspicion, "Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said, "I don't know how you found out about the Stone but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well- protected."

"Professor—"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she said shortly. She bent down and gathered the fallen books. "I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

"It's tonight," Lisa whispered once she was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Quirrell's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

"But what can we—"

Hermione gasped and Lisa turned around, half expecting to see Quirrell but it was just Professor Snape— not that was any better.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

"Hello, Professor." Hermione and Ron moved to stand a bit behind Lisa.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said with an odd attempt at a smile.

"We were starting to get overheated," Lisa explained, "we thought we'd get out of the sun for a bit, I don't know about Ron and Hermione but I'd hate to get a sunburn."

"You should be more careful, Potter," said Snape, "hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"

Lisa flushed. They turned to go outside, but Snape called them back.

"Be warned, Potter— any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you." He strode off in the direction of the staffroom and Lisa pulled Hermione along, Ron trailed behind.

Out on the stone steps, she turned to the other two, "right, so, here's what we've got to do," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder, "one of us has got to keep an eye on Quirrell, if I had to guess he's in the staffroom with the rest of them, Hermione, you'd better do that. Follow him if he leaves it." 

"Why me?"

"It's obvious," Ron said, "you can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick," he put on a high voice, "'oh, Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen B wrong...'"

"Oh shut up," Hermione spat but she agreed to go and watch out for Quirrell.

"And we'd better head to the third floor," Lisa told Ron, "come on." But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school, Professor McGonagall turned up again and this time, she lost her temper.

"I suppose you think you're harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!" She stormed, "enough of this nonsense! If I hear you've come anywhere near here again, I'll take another fifty points from Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own house!"

Lisa and Ron headed back to the common room. With a sigh, Lisa plopped down on the vacant sofa and said, "at least Hermione's on Quirrell's tail," just as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Hermione came in.

"I'm sorry, Lisa!" She wailed. "Quirrell came out and asked me what I was doing so I said I was waiting for Flitwick and Quirrell went to get him and I've only just got away, I don't know where he went."

Lisa inhaled deeply and rubbed her scar, "well...that's it then, isn't it?" The other two stared at her and she thought over their options. "Okay, new plan: I'm going to sneak out tonight and try to get the Stone before he does."

"You're mad!" said Ron.

"Possibly."

"You can't! After what McGonagall and Snape said? You'll be expelled!"

"That's a possibility, yeah, but it'll be up to Professor Dumbledore," said Lisa, "but what other choice do we have? Wait for Quirrell to steal the Stone? Twiddle our thumbs while he brings Voldemort back from the brink of death? What do you think will happen when he comes back, Hermione? You heard what it was like when he was trying to take over, there won't be a Hogwarts to get expelled from. He'll flatten it or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts."

Lisa sunk deeper into the cushions, "if I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well...I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there. He'll either kill me or try to persuade me to join him. Anyway, my mind's decided, I'm going through the trapdoor tonight, I've got my invisibility cloak so the chances of getting caught are slim—"

"Do you think it'll cover all three of us?" Ron interrupted.

"What? I mean probably but— what?"

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?"

Lisa mumbled something unintelligible under her breath with a shrug. 

"Of course not," said Hermione briskly, "how do you think you'd get the stone without us? I'd better go and look through my books, there might be something useful—"

"But if we get caught, you'll get expelled too."

"Not if I can help it," Hermione said grimly. "Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam—"

"Brag," Lisa interrupted and Hermione rolled her eyes. "They're not throwing me out after that."

Lisa thought it over while the other two waited in anticipation, eventually, she sighed, "fine." 

After dinner the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Lisa any more, after all. This was the first night she hadn't been upset by it. Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come across one of the enchantments they were about to try to break. Lisa and Ron didn't talk much, both of them were thinking about what they were about to do. Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

"Better get the cloak," Ron muttered as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Lisa ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. She pulled out her cloak and ran back down to the common room.

"We should try the cloak on," Ron muttered, coming around the side, "make sure it covers all three of us. If Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own—"

"What are you doing?" A voice said from the corner of the room. Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.

"Oh, Neville, what are you still doing up?" asked Lisa, hiding her cloak behind her back.

Neville stared at their guilty faces, "you're going out again," he accused.

"No, no, no," said Hermione, "no, we're not. Why don't you go back to bed, Neville?"

Lisa glanced at the grandfather clock by the door, they couldn't afford to waste any more time, Quirrell could be playing Fluffy to sleep right now.

"You can't go out," said Neville, "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."

Lisa groaned, "I can't argue about this right now, we're running out of time." But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate.

"I won't let you do it!" He said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. "I'll— I'll fight you!" Lisa's eyebrows shot up her forehead. It felt a bit like being threatened by a Cauldron Cake.

"Neville!" Ron exploded, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot—"

"Don't you call me an idiot!" said Neville, "I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yeah, but not against us," Ron sighed in exasperation. "Neville, you don't know what you're doing." He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trever and he leapt out of sight.

"Go on then, try and hit me!" He said, raising his fists, "I'm ready!" 

Lisa glanced at Hermione and took out her wand, "do you wanna...?"

"You do it," Hermione whispered, picking up the invisibility cloak.

Lisa nodded and took a step forward, "Neville, for what it's worth, I'm really, really sorry about this," she raised her wand. "Petrificus Totalus," she said and Neville's arms snapped to his sides, his legs sprang together and the whole of him went completely rigid and he swayed where he stood and fell flat on his face, stiff as a board.

Hermione ran to turn him over, only his eyes were moving, looking around in horror. "What did you do to him?" Ron squeaked and Lisa put her wand away.

"It's a full body-bind," Lisa explained, "he'll be fine," she assured and looked at Hermione, "help me get him on the sofa," she ordered and with strained grunts of effort they managed to lift him and set him down.

"How does the human body weigh so much?" Lisa complained, she pushed her hair out of her face. "I'm sorry Neville," she echoed, "but we had to. There's no time to explain."

"You'll understand later, Neville," said Ron as they pulled on the invisibility cloak, shortest to tallest. "I hope that's the only thing to go wrong tonight," Lisa mumbled on their way out.

In their nervous state, every statue's shadow looked like Filch, and every distant howl of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them. At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs. Norris skulking around near the top.

"Oh, let's kick her, just this once," Ron whispered and Lisa gasped.

"No!" She hissed under her breath, horrified by the idea, "she's just a cat. It's not her fault she has a wretched owner."

As they stepped carefully around her, Mrs. Norris turned her lamp-like eyes on them but didn't do anything. They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so people would trip.

"Who's there?" He said suddenly as they climbed toward him, he narrowed his black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you a ghoulie or a ghostie or wee student beastie?" He rose in the air and floated there, squinting at them. "Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

Lisa suddenly had an idea, she exhaled and spoke in a hoarse whisper, "Peeves, the Bloody Baron has his own reason for being invisible."

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock, he caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs. "So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake— I didn't see you— of course I didn't, you're invisible, forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," Lisa continued, "stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," Peeves said, rising in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you." And he scooted off.

Lisa took a great breath in, "oh God," she wheezed, "oh, I feel dizzy."

"Brilliant, Lisa!" Ron whispered.

"Yeah, wasn't sure if I got the voice right," she said.

A few moments later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor— and the door was already ajar, "Dammit, Qurriell's already gotten past Fluffy."

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them what was facing them.

Underneath the cloak, Lisa turned to face the other two. "If you want to go back I won't blame you," she said. "You can take the cloak if you want, I won't need it now."

"Don't be stupid," said Ron.

"We're coming," Hermione affirmed and Lisa pushed the door open.

As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dogs' noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn't see them.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a harp," Ron said, "Quirrell must have left it here."

"Ha! You said Quirrell!" Lisa snorted, "so you agree with me, it's not Snape."

"Yeah, yeah, just come up with a way to get past Fluffy."

"Not until you admit I was right."

"Lisa!" Hermione hissed, "we can talk about this later, just get us past the dog."

"Ugh, fine," Lisa racked her brain for a moment, wishing she remembered that flute Hagrid had given her, she thought back to her Walkman tucked away in a drawer and the cassette currently inside; The Cure's Three Imaginary Boys. "Okay...here goes nothing, I guess," she cleared her throat and started to sing loud enough for the dogs great big ears. 

Walk across the garden in the footsteps of my shadow

See the lights out, no one's home

In amongst the statues, stare at nothing in the garden moves

Can you help me?

 
The beast's eyes began to droop. Lisa hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased— it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground.

"It's working, keep going, Lisa!"
 

Close my eyes and hold so tightly 

Scared of what the morning brings 

Waiting for tomorrow, never comes 

Deep inside the empty feeling 

All the nighttime leaves me 

Three imaginary boys

They slipped out of the cloak and crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.

"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!"

"All right," Ron gritted through his teeth, glancing at Lisa, who was keeping the song going. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open. 

Close my eyes and hold so tightly

Scared of what the morning brings 

Waiting for tomorrow, never comes

Deep inside the empty feeling 

All the nighttime leaves me 

Three imaginary boys sing in my sleep  

Sweet child, the moon will change your mind

"What can you see?" asked Hermione anxiously.

"Nothing, just black, there's no way of climbing down, we'll just have to drop."

Lisa, who was still singing, waved at Ron to get his attention and pointed down. 

See the cracked reflection standing still before the bedroom mirror

Over my shoulder, but no one's there 

Whispers in the silence, pressing close behind me, pressing close behind

"You want me to go first?" Ron squeaked and she glowered at him. "I don't know how far this thing goes!" Lisa shrugged and Ron and he sighed. He looked down through the hole in the ground and lowered himself down until he was hanging on by his fingertips. And he let go.

Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down and— with a funny, muffled sort of thump, he landed on something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the gloom. It felt as though he was sitting on some sort of plant.

"It's okay!" He called up to the light the size of a postage stamp, "it's a soft landing, you can jump!" Hermione followed right away, she landed, sprawled next to Ron. "What is this?"

"Dunno, some sort of plant thing. Come on, Lisa!"

The distant singing stopped, there was a loud bark and a scream and Lisa landed on her back beside Hermione.

"We've got to be miles under the school," she said after a moment, "luckily this plant was here to break our fall."

"Lucky?!" shrieked Hermione, "look at Ron!" She leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall. She had to struggle because the moment she had landed, the plant started to twist snakelike tendrils around her ankles. As for Ron, his legs had already been bound tightly in the long creepers without their noticing. Hermione had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on her. She watched in horror as Ron shrieked and fought to pull the plant off of him, but the more he strained against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around him.

Lisa, having quickly figured out that was the opposite of what she should be doing, stayed still. "Stop moving," she said. "I know what this is...I just can't remember the name." She tilted her head back as far as she could and looked at Hermione, "what plant is this?"

"It's Devil's Snare!"

"Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help!" Ron snarled, leaning back to stop the plant from curling around his neck.

"Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!" snapped Hermione. "Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare...what did Professor Sprout say?"

"It likes the dark and damp—"

"So light a fire!" Ron choked.

"I don't think that's a good idea," said Lisa, "it's dark in here and Hermione could hit one of us by accident," she argued.

"OH, WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE SHE DO THEN?" Ron bellowed.

"Don't yell at me! There's a spell we can use but I'm blanking— uh...Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare...fun...something about the sun."

"LISA!"

"Oh! Oh! Hermione! Lumos Solem!"

"Yes, that could work!" Hermione whipped out her wand and waved it, an oppressively bright burst of light shot out from the tip of her wand. The Devil's Snare wailed and in a matter of moments, Ron felt its grip loosening as it cringed away from the light. Wriggling and flailing, it unravelled itself from his body and he was able to pull free.

"That was a close one," said Lisa, joining Hermione by the wall, "not for us, but for Ron. Maybe someone should've paid more attention in Herbology." Ron shot her a look. Lisa nudged him forward, pointing down a stone passageway, "let's go this way." It was the only way forward. All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway slipped downward and Lisa was briefly reminded of Gringotts and remembered the dragons said to be guarding the vaults and then she thought of Norbert, if he was adjusting to his new life in Romania.

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered and Lisa turned her head, a soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead. "Do you think it's a ghost?"

"I don't know...sounds like wings to me."

"There's a light ahead, I can see something moving."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite wall was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" Ron asked.

"Probably," said Lisa, "they don't seem to know we're here...I guess if we move across the room as silently as possible," Lisa reached down and pulled off her boots, "come on," she kept her eyes toward the ceiling, Ron looked at Hermione and shrugged and followed Lisa's lead. They crept across the floor and reached the door untouched. Ron pulled at the handle but it wouldn't budge, not even when Hermione tried the Alohomora charm.

"Great," Lisa huffed, pulling on her boots, "what now?"

"These birds...they can't be here just for decoration," Hermione said, they watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering— glittering?

"Oh wait— Hermione," Lisa said, "they aren't birds, they're keys, keys with wings. See?" She pointed at the ceiling and frowned, "there's got to be a way..." she looked around the chamber while the other two squinted up at the flock of keys. "Aha! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door."

"But there are hundreds of them!" Ron examined the lock on the door. "We're looking for a big, old- fashioned one, probably silver."

They each seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. Ron and Hermione grabbed and snatched but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one. Hermione spotted Lisa hovering there and frowned.

"Some help would be nice!" She shouted.

Lisa, the youngest Seeker in a century she was, had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute of surveying the room, she noticed a large silver key that had a wonky wing, as if it had been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

"Found you," she said, "it's that one!" She called to the others, "that big one there, bright blue wings, the feathers are all crumpled on one side." Ron went speeding in the direction Lisa was pointing, crashed into the ceiling and nearly fell off his broom.

"No, no, no, we've got to close in on it!" Lisa groaned, "Ron, you come at it from above, Hermione, stay below and stop it from going down and I'll catch it. Right, go!"

Ron dived, Hermione rocketed upward and the key flapped its wings frantically. Lisa streaked after it; it sped toward the wall, Lisa leaned forward and with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the wall with one hand. They landed quickly and Lisa ran toward the door, the key struggling in her hand. She rammed it into the lock and turned. It worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

"Sorry!" Lisa called after it. "Ready?" She asked the other two and they nodded, she pulled the door open, the next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, who were all taller than they were and carved from black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces.

Lisa laughed a little, hands on her hips, "wizard chess, this has Ron written all over it." She said and looked up at him.

"What do we do?" Hermione asked.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron, "we've got to play our way across the room." Behind the white pieces, they could see another door.

"How?"

"I think," said Ron, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

He walked up to the black knight and put his hand out to touch the horse. At once, the stone sprang to life, the horse pawed at the ground and the night turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

"Do we, er, have to join you to get across?" The black knight nodded. Ron turned toward Hermione and Lisa. "This needs thinking about," he said, "I suppose we've got to take the place of three of the black pieces..." Lisa and Hermione stayed quiet, watching Ron think, finally, he said, "now, don't be offended or anything but neither of you is that good at chess—"

Lisa rolled her eyes, "just tell us what to do."

"Well, Lisa, you take the place of the bishop and Hermione you go next to her instead of that castle." "What about you?"

"I'm going to be a knight," said Ron. The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because a knight, a bishop and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board, leaving three empty squares.

"White plays first," said Ron, peering across the board. A white pawn moved forward two squares.

Ron started to direct the black pieces, then moved silently wherever he sent them. "Lisa, move diagonally four squares to the right.

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board where he lay quite still, facedown.

Lisa shuddered.

"Had to let that happen," said Ron, looking shaken. "Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on."

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall.

"I don't like wizards chess, I've decided!" Lisa shouted when a piece near her was taken too close for comfort. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Hermione and Lisa were in danger. He darted around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly. "Let me think let me think..." the white queen turned her blank face toward him. "Yes," said Ron softly, "it's the only way, I've got to be taken."

"What?" Lisa shouted just as Hermione yelled, "no!"

"It's chess!" Ron snapped, "you've got to make some sacrifices! I take one step forward and she'll take me, that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Lisa!"

"But—"

"Do you want to stop Quirrell or not?"

"Ugh, fine...just— tuck your head in or something!"

"Ready?" Ron called, his face pale but determined. "Here I go. Now, don't hang around once you've won." He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. He barely had time to cover his head before she struck him with her arm and he crashed to the floor. 

Hermione screamed but stayed in her square, the white queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked to have been knocked out.

"Okay," Lisa breathed, running her hand down her braid, she sniffed and moved three spaces to the left. "Checkmate," she said and the white king took off his crown and threw it at Lisa's feet.

They had won.

The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Ron, Lisa and Hermione charged through the door and up the next passageway.

"What if he's—?"

"Ron'll be okay," Lisa assured, "I didn't hear a crack and he's not bleeding. What do you think is next?"

"We've had Sprout's, that was Devil's Snare. Flitwick must've put charms on the keys, McGonagall transfigured the chessman to make them alive...that leaves Quirrell's spell and Snape's." They reached another door.

"Okay," Lisa whispered and opened the door, a disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making them both pull their shirts over their noses. Eyes watering they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled on Halloween, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

"Quirrell..." Lisa whispered, "so it was him who let the troll in."

"At least we don't have to fight this one," said Hermione as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs.

"Come on, I can't breathe." Lisa pushed the next door open, both of them hardly daring to look at what came next. There was nothing frightening, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"And this would be Snape's," said Lisa, "who would've guessed." They stepped over the threshold and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway, purple flames licked the ceiling and black on the other side, leaving them trapped.

"Look," Hermione seized a roll of parchment lying next to the bottles, Lisa peered over her shoulder to read it:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind, 

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead, 

Two among our number hold only nettle wine, 

Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line. 

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore, 

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four: 

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size, 

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides; 

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight. 

 
Hermione let out a great sigh and Lisa smiled too.

"This is brilliant," said Hermione, "this isn't magic, it's logic, a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."

Lisa glanced at the parchment again, "right, okay, seven bottles: three are poison, two are wine, one will get us safely through the black fire and one will force us back through the purple." Lisa plucked a bottle off the table, "do you think Snape read Alice in Wonderland as a child?" She quipped.

"Lisa."

"But which to drink?"

"I'm not sure yet," Hermione said and reread the parchment, she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands.

"Got it," she said, "the smallest bottle will get us through the black fire— toward the Stone."

"You think?"

"Positive."

Lisa looked at the tiny bottle and plucked it, swirling the liquid around. "I don't think we can split it, there's only enough for one person." They looked at each other. "Which one will get you back through the purple flames?" Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line. "You drink that one, then."

"Lisa—"

"No, listen, get back to Ron, he might have a concussion or something, we shouldn't have left him alone in the first place. Grab a broom from the key room, they'll get you through the door and past Fluffy, go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Quirrell off for a while but I'm not a match for him, really, first year like me."

"But Lisa...what if You-Know-Who's with him?"

"Well...I guess that's just a risk I'll have to take," she forced a smile. "I got lucky once...maybe I will again." Hermione's lip trembled and she suddenly dashed at Lisa and threw her arms around her shoulders. "Oy! Hermione!"

"Lisa, you're a great witch, you know."

"Not as good as you," mumbled Lisa, cheeks warm. 

"Me?" Hermione said, "books and cleverness!" 

"Hey, I'm also books," she said and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"There are more important things; friendship and bravery and— oh Lisa, be careful!"

"You drink first," Lisa nodded toward the table. Hermione exhaled sharply and took a long drink from the round bottle at the end and shuddered.

"All right?" Lisa asked.

"It's like ice!"

"Quick, before it wears off."

"Good luck—"

"GO!"

Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple flames and Lisa turned to the table, "right, okay, here I go." She picked up the bottle and drank the rest. It was as Hermione described, however briefly, like ice flooding through her blood. She put the bottle down and walked forward, the black flames licked her clothes but she couldn't feel them. For a moment she could see nothing but dark fire and then she was on the other side, in the final chamber.

And there he was...as she had suspected all along. 

Professor Quirrell. 

Chapter Text

"You!"

Quirrell smiled, his face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," he said calmly, "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"I knew it was you," Lisa breathed, "I knew it was you all along, even when Ron thought it was Snape—"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, it wasn't his quivering treble but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem like the type doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell? No one it would seem— except for you, Potter. How long have you known?"

"After the Christmas holidays is when I knew for sure but I had a feeling there was something off about you since the moment we met— also, you tried to kill me for reasons I don't quite understand," said Lisa, crossing her arms.

"And I would have succeeded if not for your friend, Miss Granger, accidentally knocking me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you, another few seconds and I'd have gotten you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."

"So that's why he wanted to referee Gryffindor's match against Hufflepuff, to keep me safe."

"Yes, Potter, to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really...he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight."

Quirrell snapped his fingers, ropes sprang out of thin air and coiled themselves tightly around Lisa. "You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone." 

Lisa rolled her eyes, "I wasn't looking for you if that helps." 

"I have a special gift with trolls— you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for the one I set loose on Halloween, Professor Snape— who already suspected me, went straight for the third floor to head me off and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three- headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly."

"It's a wonder no one else suspected you after that stunt," said Lisa, "you disappear and suddenly there's a troll? And you just so happened to be the only one who saw it? If you were really just as timorous as you painted yourself, you would've fainted in the corridor."

"Funny, isn't it? Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror." It was only then Lisa realized what was standing behind Quirrell. The Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," murmured Quirrell, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this...but he's in London...I'll be far away by the time he gets back..."

Lisa squirmed against the ropes and huffed, blowing hair out of her eyes. All she could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking to stop him from concentrating on the mirror.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest that night— after the Quidditch match, you were looking particularly guilty," she said.

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me, as though he could, when I have Lord Voldemort on my side..." Quirrell came out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it. "I see the Stone...I'm presenting it to my master...but where is it?"

"Dammit," Lisa hissed under her breath, she came up with something else, "you know, I'm surprised Snape tried to save me, I always thought he hated me."

"Oh, he tries to hate you," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes, he tries so very hard but it is so difficult when you are a reflection of your Mother. They were at Hogwarts together, didn't you know? And your Father too— Severus despised your Father— but he never wanted you dead."

"I heard you a few days ago too, sobbing like a baby. Was Snape threatening you again?"

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face. "Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions— he is a great wizard and I am weak..."

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Lisa asked, eyes drifting to that purple turban atop his head, for a moment she felt if she focused enough, she could see it squirm again.

"He is with me wherever I go," Quirrell whispered. "I met him when I travelled around the world, a foolish young man I was then, full of foolish ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good or evil, there is only power and those too weak to see it...since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me," Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me...decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me..."

Quirrell's voice trailed away and Lisa wondered, was Voldemort here with them? If he was, where? She glanced at Quirrell's turban again, at the faded stains on his robe and she thought back to that night in the woods when she encountered Voldemort. Lisa's eyes widened and the movement beneath the turban seemed more obvious now. She swallowed roughly.

Quirrell cursed under his breath, "I don't understand...is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Lisa's mind was racing. I need to find the Stone before Quirrell does, she thought, oh! Oh, the mirror! I could use the mirror! It should work, it's what I desire most at the moment. But how? How do I get in front of the mirror without Quirrell noticing...considering I'm tied up at the moment. Think!

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!" 

And a voice answered. "Use the girl..."

Quirrell rounded on Lisa. "Yes, Potter, come here!" He clapped his hands once and the robes disappeared, slowly she got to her feet. "Come here," Quirrell repeated, "look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Lisa stood beside him and stared at the glass. I know what the mirror will show me, I need to come up with a lie. 

Quirrell moved close behind her and her nose wrinkled from that horrid smell wafting from Quirrell's turban, he used to smell like garlic but now he reeked of death. Lisa closed her eyes and stepped in front of the mirror, opening them again.

She saw her reflection; small, pale, tired. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at her, reaching into its pocket. It pulled out a blood-red stone, roughly cut and sharp, her reflection winked and slipped the stone back into its pocket. And suddenly, without explanation, Lisa felt something heavy drop into hers. Somehow, incredibly, she had gotten the Stone.

"Well?" Quirrell was impatient, shaking her shoulders, "what do you see? Tell me, Potter!"

Lisa swallowed and fixed her gaze on the glass, "I see myself, I'm...shaking hands with Dumbledore," she lied, "I've won the House Cup for Gryffindor."

Quirrell cursed again, "get out of the way!" As Lisa moved to the side she felt the Stone scratch her upper thigh. She needed to find a way out of here...dare she make a break for it? It would be incredibly stupid but then again, she was quick and could certainly outrun him.

She took a step back and that voice spoke again, "she lies..."

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted, "tell me the truth! What did you see!"

The voice spoke again, "let me speak to her...face-to-face..."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough...for this..."

Lisa stood rooted to the spot, she was somehow petrified yet intrigued as she watched Quirrell reach and begin to unwrap his turban. What does Voldemort look like, she wondered, underneath...I shouldn't want to know but I want to...put a face to a name. The turban fell away and Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned, slowly, on the spot.

"Holy..." Lisa breathed. Where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, there was a face, the most horrible face she had ever seen, she could hardly call it human. Deathly white with glaring red snake-like eyes and slits where his nose should be.

"Lisa Potter..." it whispered. "See what I have become, because of you? Mere shadow and vapour...I have form only when I share another's body...but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds...unicorn blood has strengthened me, you have seen...in the forest...and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own. Now...be a good girl and give me that Stone in your pocket."

He knows...how does he know? Can he read my mind? Feeling came rushing back to Lisa's limbs and she stumbled backward.

"Don't be a fool," Voldemort snarled, "better save your own life and join me...or you'll meet the same end as your parents...they died begging me for mercy—"

"Shut up!"

Quirrell took a step back and the wretched face was still smiling, wider now, exposing sharp, pointed teeth, stained silver. "How touching..." it hissed, "I always value bravery...yes, girl, your parents were brave...I killed your Father first and he put up a courageous fight but your Mother needn't have died...she was trying to protect you. Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"Fuck you!" Lisa spat and Voldemort roared.

"KILL HER!"

Quirrell spun around and reached for Lisa, knocking her to the ground, she tried to scream but his hands found themselves around her neck and squeezed, pressing down against the fabric, on her windpipe. She struggled and clawed at his sleeves, she kicked and pounded her small fists against his arms, trying to get him off, to let go.

The pain in her forehead was sharp, blinding, her head felt as though it was about to crack in two, she could hardly scream. Tears dripped onto the stone floor and she looked in his eyes for some shred of remorse but there was nothing but darkness there.

He throttled her and the Stone tumbled from her pocket, gleaming in the fire. She glanced at it, at the sharp edges and back at Quirrell. He tightened his grip and Lisa could taste blood in her mouth. She reached, it was smooth against her fingertips. Lisa wrapped her hand around it and swung with a strained grunt of effort. She could hear it slice through his flesh, through his eye. Blood splattered on her face, neck and clothes. He released her, screaming in pain. Lisa's lungs heaved and she rolled onto her side and coughed, her heart thundering in her ears.

The Stone had skittered several feet away, Lisa scrambled to her feet and looked at Quirrell, blood flowing down his hand and soaking his robes. She felt something wet and warm drip from her nose and wiped it away. The room spun and she tried to steady herself. 

"SEIZE HER!" Voldemort screeched, eyes locked on Lisa through the mirror. Quirrell dropped his hand and Lisa could see what she had done, he was cut from cheek to forehead and his eye...well, there wasn't much left of it now. Half-blinded, he lunged at her again, for her head. He itched to snap her neck, to watch her body drop, limp like a rag doll for what she had done. Killing a child shouldn't be this difficult.

Lisa caught his hands this time and he cried out, howled like the wounded dog he was. His skin, having touched hers, burned. Beneath the blood, she could see the blackened skin, peeling and flaking away, as if he had shoved them into the fire that trapped them here.

"Seize Her! SEIZE  HER!" Voldemort shrieked again.

"Master, it burns!" Quirrell cried, "I cannot touch her it burns— my hands, Master, my hands!"

"Then kill her, fool, and be done!" Voldemort screeched.

"How, Master?"

"Ussse your wand, you imbecile!"

Quirrell raised his wand to perform a deadly curse but Lisa, without thinking, reached up and grabbed ahold of his blood-smeared face, sinking her nails into his flesh, breaking the skin.

"AAAARGH!"

His wand clattered to the ground, blinded and in pain. Lisa picked it up and threw it into the fire. He had no weapon and he couldn't touch her, not unless he wanted to burn, not without suffering terrible pain.

Lisa lunged forward and grabbed Quirrell by the hands, up his wrists, pushing the fabric up to touch his bare skin. She hung on as tightly as she could, clawing at his flesh, keep him— Voldemort, away from the Stone. She hoped Hermione and Ron had gotten out and sent Dumbledore her owl. She just had to hold on until then.

The pain in her head was blinding, she could barely see, the ringing in her ears so loud she could barely hear. She wished she had the Stone still but it was out of her reach and thankfully, out of Quirrell's.

"KILL HER!" She heard Voldemort shriek, "KILL HER!"

A voice wormed it's way inside her ears, in her head, "Lisa! Lisa!"

"...Dad?" Lisa whispered, half out of her mind from the pain.

She felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from her grasp, knew all was lost and fell into blackness, down...down...down...

She saw a flash of black, billowing robes and she tried to reach out but her arms were too heavy...then, something gold. The Snitch? Why would the Snitch be here?

Lisa blinked, it wasn't the Snitch at all, but a pair of glasses...strange. She blinked again and saw...Dumbledore, smiling above her.

"Good afternoon, Lisa," he said, Lisa smiled back at him and then she remembered, her eyes snapped open fully and she shot up.

"Sir, the Stone!" croaked Lisa, "Quirrell has the Stone. I tried to stop him but I—" 

"Calm yourself, dear girl, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore, "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"What? Then who does? Sir—"

"Lisa, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Lisa swallowed and looked around, she was in the hospital wing, sitting up in a bed with white linen sheets. Next to her was a table piled high with what looked like half of a sweetshop. 

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," Dumbledore explained, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

Lisa's lips twitched into a small smile, "how long have I been here?"

"Three days, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"I'm glad they're okay but the Stone—"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it, Professor Snape and I arrived in time, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say." Dumbledore sounded proud of her but Lisa could only imagine how it looked, all that blood, all that screaming and the smell of putrid, burning flesh.

"You got Hermione's owl?" Lisa asked.

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you."

"It was you."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have held on much longer. I had to keep him from getting the Stone—"

"Not the Stone, dear girl, you— the effort involved nearly killed you. For a terrible moment, I was afraid it had."

Lisa could remember a bit more clearly now, when Dumbledore came with Professor Snape, the squelch of the blood beneath his feet. She could barely speak but she tried, rambling about the Stone. 

"As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Lisa blinked, "but Flamel—"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" Dumbledore asked, sounding quite delighted. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat and agreed it's all for the best."

"But...that means he and his wife will die, won't they?" She asked.

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Lisa leaned back against her pillow, "what would it feel like? Do you think? To have been alive for so long and then just...die?"

"To Nicolas and Perenelle, it is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all. The trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are wrong for them."

Lisa sat there in silence. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling. "Professor? I've been thinking...even with the Stone gone, Volde-sorry...You-Know-Who—"

"Call him Voldemort, Lisa. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Oh, okay. Well, Voldemort is going to try other ways to come back, isn't he? Unless he really has gone this time. I mean, it doesn't take a genius to guess that Quirrell is probably dead."

"Voldemort is not gone, he is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for a new body to share...not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die, he shows just as much mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Lisa, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time— and if he is delayed again and again, he may never return to power."

Lisa nodded but regretted it almost immediately because it made her head hurt. Then she said, "sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me...things I want to know the truth about..."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Right, okay, well, Voldemort said he only killed my Mum because she tried to stop him from killing me. But," she cleared her throat, "I was only a baby, why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed deeper this time and delayed his answer to clean his spectacles, "alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day...put it from your mind for now, Lisa. When you are older...I know you hate to hear this, when you are ready, you will know."

And Lisa scoffed, but she knew it would be no good to argue. "Why couldn't Quirrell touch me? Directly, I mean?"

"Your Mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's love for you leaves it's own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign...to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell full of hatred, greed and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Dumbledore now became rather interested in a bird on the windowsill, which allowed Lisa to wipe her eyes before he could turn around and see. When she found her voice again, she said, "and the invisibility cloak...do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah, your Father happened to leave it in my possession and I thought you might like it— a family heirloom of sorts," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful thing, your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else..."

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Professor Snape can't— I thought he hated me but he can't because of my Mum, is that true?"

"Yes, they were close as children, it's a shame their friendship ended as nastily as it did."

"And my Dad...Quirrell said they hated each other."

"That they did, not unlike you and Mr. Malfoy. And then your Father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life." 

"What?"

"Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your Father's debt...I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year, not only to honour your Mother, but to make him and your Father even. Then he could go back to hating your Father's memory in peace..."

Lisa tried to make it make sense but it made her head pound, so she stopped. "There is one more thing I want to ask you, Professor."

"Just the one?"

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone, find it, but not use it, would be able to get it, otherwise, they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes."

"I did use it though...just not the way it was meant to be used."

"Yes, it was rather unconventional yet resourceful," said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye, he plucked something off the table and placed it in her hands, "I had them cleaned for you as they were covered in blood."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Lisa said, slipped her glasses up her nose and the hospital wing became crisp and clear. 

"I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them. But I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?" He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "alas! Ear wax!" 

Madam Pomfrey, the matron, was a nice woman, but very strict. 

"Five more minutes, please?" Lisa pleaded, her voice still a hoarse whisper.

"Absolutely not."

Lisa frowned “you let Professor Dumbledore in..."

"Well, of course, he is the Headmaster, quite different. You need rest."

"But I've rested for three days already. Please, Madam Pomfrey."

"Oh, very well," she caved, "but for five minutes only." And she let Ron and Hermione in. 

"Lisa!" Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around her again but Lisa was glad she didn't, not with the pain in her head. "Oh, Lisa l— we were sure you were going to— you were covered in blood— Dumbledore was so worried—"

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron, "what really happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than wild rumours. Lisa told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, when Lisa told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

"So the Stone's gone?" Ron asked finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what Dumbledore said...what was it he said? 'To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure', something like that, I don't know, my head hurts."

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron.

"Yeah, but in a good way I think," said Lisa, "so what happened to you two?"

"Well, I got out all right," said Hermione, "I brought Ron around, that took a while and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the Entrance Hall— he already knew, he just said, 'Lisa's gone after him, hasn't she?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

"Do you think Dumbledore meant for you to do it?" Ron asked, "sending you your Father's cloak and everything?"

"Well," Hermione exploded and Lisa groaned, touching her forehead. "If he did— I mean to say that's terrible, you could have been killed!"

"I almost was," Lisa whispered, "anyway, he's a funny man, Dumbledore. He knows more or less everything that goes on around here, you know. I think he had a pretty good idea we were going to try and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I thought I could..."

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," Ron repeated, impressed by how mad his hero was. "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow, it won't be great for us because the points are all in and Slytherin won of course— you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you— but the food'll be good."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over, "you've nearly had fifteen minutes, now OUT!" She said, firmly. 

After another night's sleep, Lisa felt nearly back to normal— minus the aches and pains, but her head wasn't throbbing anymore. "I want to go to the feast tonight," Lisa told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened up her many candy boxes. "I can, can't I?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said stiffly, as though in her opinion, Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be. "And you have another visitor."

"Oh...who is it now?"

Hagrid sidled through the door, as usual and when he was indoors, he looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Lisa, took one look at her, and burst into tears. She blinked at his outburst.

"It's— all — my— ruddy— fault!" He sobbed, his face in his hands. Lisa sighed and wiggled out of bed, she slid her feet into slippers and grabbed the robe provided and put it on, coming around the other side. "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

"Hagrid!" Lisa shouted, her voice cracking horribly. She touched her neck and cleared her throat, "can't raise my voice," she turned away to cough into her elbow. She was surprised, in truth, to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. "Hagrid, Voldemort would've have found out somehow, even if you hadn't told him anything."

"Yeh could've died!" Hagrid sobbed, "an' don' say the name!" 

"Oh, grow up, Hagrid," snapped Lisa, Hagrid shocked by her outburst, stopped crying. "Names are just names, plus I've met him and I'm still going to call him by his name." She cleared her throat, "cheer up, Hagrid, the Stone is destroyed, he can't use it. Do you want a Chocolate Frog? Or a Liquorice Wand? I've got loads."

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "that reminds me, I've got yeh a present." 

Lisa scrunched her nose, "it's not a stoat sandwich, is it?"

Hagrid gave a weak chuckle. "Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead, anyway, got yeh this..." he reached inside his coat and pulled out a wrapped parcel. Under the parchment and twine was a beautiful, leather-covered book. Lisa opened it curiously, it was full of moving photographs.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos...knew yeh didn' have any...d'yeh like it?" Smiling and waving at her from every page were her Mum and Dad, smiling and waving at her from every page. There were other people too, all of a similar age. Hagrid eyed Lisa nervously, at first he was worried she didn't like the album but that worry shifted when she narrowed her eyes at a Polaroid of a young James Potter and Sirius Black in their Gryffindor uniforms, arms around each other. Hagrid waited with bated breath until Lisa flipped the page without asking him about it.

"Yeah," Lisa managed, voice thick, "it's great. Thank you, Hagrid."

An hour or so later, Lisa was free from the hospital wing— after one last checkup. She made her way to her common room, slippered feet shuffling across the floor with the album in her arms.

Lisa made her way down to the end-of-year feast, clean and in a fresh uniform, the Great Hall was decked out in Slytherin colours to celebrate them winning the House Cup. A huge banner showing their serpent covered the wall behind the High Table. When she walked in there was a sudden hush and then everyone started talking loudly, all at once. She slipped into a spot between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to try and look at her. She looked a mess, her scar was livid and her bottom lip was split. Her tie was loose and she couldn't do up all the buttons, the brush of the fabric was uncomfortable against the bruises on her throat. Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later and the babble died and everyone who got up to gawk at her, returned to their tables.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were...you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table, Lisa could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

"Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," Dumbledore said. "However, recent events must be taken into account." The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes... "First— to Mr. Ronald Weasley..."

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

"For the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other Prefects, "my brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last there was silence again.

"Second: to Miss Hermione Granger...for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." 

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Lisa strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves— they were a hundred points up. "Thirdly: to Miss Lisa Potter." The room went deadly quiet, "for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points." 

The din was deafening, those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points— exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup — if only Dumbledore had given Lisa just one more point.

Dumbledore raised his hand and the room gradually fell silent again.

"There are all kinds of courage," he said, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Ron and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before. Lisa, still smiling, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands, in an instant, the emerald hangings became maroon and the silver turned to gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Lisa's eye and she knew at once that Snape's feelings toward her hadn't changed one bit. But didn't worry Lisa. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts. 

Lisa was so preoccupied with winning the House Cup that she almost forgot about her exam results were still to come but come they did. Lisa had the best grades among the first years; second only to Hermione, who she was one-hundred percent sure would always be the smarter one between the two. Ron passed with good marks, even Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark made up for his abysmal Potions one— Lisa offered to tutor him next year— if he forgave her for the whole body-binding jinx. They had hoped that Crabbe and Goyle, who were almost as stupid as they were mean, might be thrown out, but they passed...barely.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake.

Then, they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier, eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour beans as they sped past Muggle towns. They tucked their garbage in the rubbish bins as the train pulled into King's Cross Station.

It took a while for them to all get off the platform, a wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You have to come and stay this summer," said Ron, "both of you, I'll send you an owl." 

"Thanks," Lisa smiled, her bruises faded yellow. "I'll need something to look forward to." People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

"Bye, Lisa!"

"See you, Potter!"

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Ha! Not where I'm going, I promise you," Lisa said. She, Ron and Hermione passed through the gateway together.

"There she is! Mum, there she is, look!" It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister. "Lisa Potter!" She squealed. "Look, Mum! I can see—"

"Be quiet, Ginny and it's rude to point." Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them, "busy year?" She asked.

"You have no idea, Mrs. Weasley," Lisa smiled, "oh, and thank you for the fudge and the jumper." 

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"Ready, are you?" It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still moustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Lisa, carrying an owl in a cage around ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and her cousin, Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of her.

"You must be Lisa's family!" Mrs. Weasley said.

"In a manner of speaking," Uncle Vernon coughed. "Hurry up, girl, we haven't got all day." He walked away and Lisa hung back.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have, er, a good holiday," said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

"Trust me, I will," Lisa said and they were surprised by the smile and mischievous glint in her hazel eyes, "they don't know we're not supposed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer..." 

Chapter Text

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive.

Vernon Dursley had been woken up in the early hours of the morning by a loud harsh screech coming from Lisa's room. "Third time this week!" He roared across the table, "if you can't control that owl, it'll have to go!"

Lisa tried, yet again, to explain. "She's bored, she's used to being free and flying around. If I could just let her out at night—"

“Do I look stupid?" snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy moustache. "I know what'll happen if that owl's let out." He exchanged a look with his wife, Petunia and Lisa sighed, turning back to the dishes. She heard her cousin Dudley belch from the kitchen table and scrunched her nose in disgust. 

"I want more bacon!" He demanded.

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia, turning her misty eyes on her son, "we must feed you up while we've got the chance...I don't like the sound of that school food..."

“Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings," said Uncle Vernon, patting his stomach, "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?" Dudley was larger than he had been last August, partly due to his most recent growth spurt. 

Vernon glanced at Lisa, she was a healthy weight now and he wondered, briefly, what they fed her at that school of hers. That wasn't the only change she had gone through since they picked her up at King's Cross; a week ago, she and Aunt Petunia went into town and she came home with her ears pierced— with Aunt Petunia's permission of course. Every time she braided her hair or put it up he could see those little studs she had put in. ("What's next," Uncle Vernon had gruffed from his chair, "your nose?" Lisa sighed, placing her shopping bags by the stairs, "it's just my ears, Uncle Vernon," she told him, "besides, you can hardly see them.")

And she was right, in a way. They didn't dangle or call attention, they were just there. And that wasn't the only new thing; beyond the new hair; messy black waves cut just past her shoulders, she had sprung up a few inches, standing now at four-foot-nine— it made him feel like he was forgetting something, something important. Then, Dudley spoke and he tore his eyes away from his niece, bringing his attention back to his breakfast.

"Pass the frying pan."

“What's the magic word, Dudley?" Lisa asked without turning around. The effect of a simple question on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen, her Aunt let out a small scream, clamping her hand over her mouth. And her Uncle jumped to his feet, veins throbbing at his temples and Lisa's eyes widened and she spun away from the dishes.

"I meant 'please'!" said Lisa, "I didn't mean—" 

“WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU?" Uncle Vernon thundered, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"

"But—"

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" He pounded his fist on the table, making Lisa jump.

"I just—"

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

Lisa stared at her purple-faced Uncle, twisting her finger. She glanced at her Aunt, trying to help Dudley to his feet. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I forgot how you feel about the...M word."

Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros, he watched Lisa closely, watched her take the coffee pot and refill his mug for him and put the rest of the bacon on Dudley's plate before returning to the sink.

She knew the Dursleys hated having her back for the holidays and the feeling was reciprocated. She didn't want to be here either. She missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, wandering in her invisibility cloak. She missed the Gryffindor common room, the warm fire and the smell of ink and parchment. She missed her lessons, the post arriving by owl, the banquets in the Great Hall, visiting Hagrid for tea and rock cakes she could hardly stomach and Quidditch...she longed to fly again, just as Hedwig did.

All of her books, her wand, robes, cauldron and broom had been locked in the cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant Lisa had come home. What did the Dursleys care if Lisa lost her place on the house team because she hadn't practiced all summer? What was it to the Dursleys if Lisa went back to school without any of her homework done? Uncle Vernon had even gone so far to padlock Hedwig inside her cage. 

Sniffing, Lisa drained the sink and wiped her hands on the towel underneath, hanging on the back of the cupboard. She glanced at the calendar on the wall by the kitchen door, the Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today was Lisa's twelfth birthday. Of course, her hopes hadn't been high; they'd never given her a proper present, let alone a cake...but to ignore it completely? At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat and said, "now, as we all know, today is a very important day." Lisa's head snapped toward the table, hopeful...had they remembered?

"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career," her Uncle said.

Lisa frowned, turning back around. Of course her uncle was talking about his dinner party. He'd hardly talked about anything else for weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him. 

“I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Uncle Vernon, "we should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be?"

"In the lounge," said Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously into our home." 

“Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door," Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?"

"They'll love him!" cried Aunt Petunia rapturously.

"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon, then he looked at Lisa, "and you?"

“I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," Lisa said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Exactly," said Uncle Vernon nastily, "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen—"

“I'll announce dinner," said Aunt Petunia. "And Dudley, you'll say—"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs Mason?" said Dudley, offering his plump arm to an invisible woman.

“My perfect little gentleman!" Petunia sniffed.

"And you?”

"I'll be in my room, as quiet as a church mouse.”

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

Lisa turned around and sighed, she eyed the coffee pot and worried her lip between her teeth. She's never had coffee before...and it was her birthday today...maybe she could.

"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason...do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason."

Lisa reached for a mug in the dish rack and filled it with coffee. She took a sip, immediately her face scrunched in disgust. The hot ceramic burned her fingertips yet she took another sip, just to be sure. She hummed indecisively and set it down on the counter. 

"Perfect, Dudley?"

"How about: we had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason and I wrote about you." This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Lisa. Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son while Lisa had to turn her back to keep herself from laughing.

"And you, girl?"

Lisa sighed, how many times did she have to say it? "I'll be in my room, Uncle Vernon. Making no noise and pretending I don't exist."

“Too right you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "The Masons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way."

Lisa puffed air into her cheeks and plucked the cream from the fridge, she poured a bit into the mug and took a sip. It was better, but it needed something else. She eyed the sugar and dumped a few spoonfuls while Uncle Vernon went on about the Masons.

"When dinner's over, you take Mrs Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia and I'll bring the subject round to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the News at Ten. We'll be shopping for our holiday home in Majorca this time tomorrow."

Lisa couldn't care less about a holiday home, they wouldn't like her there any more than they liked her here.

"Right— I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me." Uncle Vernon said, "and Lisa, you're going to stay out of your Aunt's way while she cleans."

Lisa shrugged, "it's not like I have anything else to do."

Uncle Vernon narrowed his small eyes at the mug in her hands, "what are you drinking?"

“Um...coffee," Lisa admitted, "it was kinda gross until I added stuff to it."

Aunt Petunia walked over and plucked the mug from her hands, dumping the contents into the sink. 

Lisa left through the back door. It was a brilliantly sunny day with a gentle breeze. She crossed the lawn, slumped down under a tree and sighed. Happy birthday to me, I guess.

No cards, no presents and she would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. She gazed miserably at the garden, she'd never felt so lonely. She missed her friends but they didn't seem to be missing her at all. Neither of them had written to her all summer and Ron hadn't followed through on his promise of having Lisa come stay with him.

Countless times, she found herself on the verge of unlocking Hedwig's cage but she didn't know where Uncle Vernon kept the key and her wand was locked in the cupboard so she couldn't mutter a quick Alohomora either— not that it was worth the risk anyway.

Lisa hadn't told Uncle Vernon she couldn't do magic outside of school, the fear that she might turn them into dung beetles stopped him from locking her back under the stairs with her wand.

Lisa had fun with it for the first couple of weeks, she muttered nonsense words under her breath and laughed when Dudley would tear out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him.

But the silence from her friends made being cut off from her world almost unbearable that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal. What wouldn't she give for a message from Hogwarts? From anyone? At this point, she'd be glad to receive one from Draco Malfoy.

September couldn't come soon enough.

Sighing, Lisa closed her eyes and leaned back against the trunk. Slowly, she felt herself drift off but was quickly startled wide awake by Quirrell's mangled face, burnt and bleeding, his eye torn open. She felt his hands on her throat again and forced air into her lungs, staring up at the sky. It wasn't enough that she was tormented by Voldemort in her sleep nearly every night but now she was being haunted by the man she may or may not have killed in self-defence, that part was unclear, it could've been Dumbledore who did it. She'll never know.

Her nightmares have gotten, in her own words, even more fucked up since then. They were less memory-like and a bit more surreal. Like last night, she dreamt she was in a maze of broken chess pieces, being chased by a giant white snake with Professor Quirrell's burnt and bloody head, screaming for his eye. Some part of her refused to come to terms with the fact she had come face to face with Lord Voldemort. He might be a ruin of his former self but he was still terrifying, hellbent on regaining the power he lost. Lisa had slipped through Voldemort's clutches a second time by nothing short of a miracle. It had been a narrow escape, thanks to Dumbledore and Professor Snape, she didn't want to think about what could've happened to her if they hadn't been there.

A wriggling in the grass caught her attention and she turned her head toward the hedge. A snake. Lisa smiled gently and turned on her knees, scooping the snake out of the grass. It was a greyish brown with a zigzag pattern along its spine. It flicked its tongue in the air and she sat back against the tree, drawing her knees up. Lisa hasn't held a snake since before she left for Hogwarts and hasn't spoken into one either...could she still?

“Hi," she said and the snake titled its head, "you can hear me can't you?" The snake nodded. "And you can understand me?" It nodded again. Lisa allowed the snake to slither around her hands and arms as she spoke. She told it about Voldemort, about the Stone, feeling haunted by Professor Quirrell every time she closed her eyes. "I didn't want to hurt him," she said, "but did I really have a choice?"

The snake flicked its tongue.

"Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I did die down there— Voldemort would have taken the Stone and returned to power and I would've been, well, dead. If I had died, would anyone visit me? Where do witches and wizards bury their dead do you think? Do they have cemeteries like Muggles do? I'd ask Ron but...he hasn't written me...yet." 

Lisa sighed and turned her head toward the hedge, she didn't see anything at first but after a moment her gaze landed on a pair of eyes. Two enormous green eyes had appeared between the leaves.

Lisa let out a startled gasp just as a jeering voice floated across the lawn. "I know what day it is," sang Dudley, moving toward her. The snake took one look at her cousin and slithered off. 

"What?"

"I said I know what day it is," Dudley repeated and Lisa stood up.

"Good for you, do you want a sticker or something?"

"Today's your birthday," Dudley sneered, "how come you haven't gotten any cards? Haven't you got friends at that freak place?"

"Keep your voice down, Dudley, wouldn't want your Mum to overhear you talking about my school. You know how she gets." 

"Why were you sitting under the tree?" He asked, almost suspiciously.

"Uh, because it's a nice day and it's summer and sometimes I like to be alone with my thoughts?"

"Oh...what were you thinking about?"

A mischievous smirk spread across Lisa's face, "I was trying to think of what would be the best spell to set the hedge on fire," she joked, wiggling her fingers. Dudley stumbled backward, a look of panic on his chubby face.

"You— you can't! Dad told you you're not to do m-magic! He said he'll chuck you out of the house and you haven't got anywhere else to go— you haven't got any friends to take you—"

"Jiggery pokery!" Lisa giggled, "hocus pocus...squiggly wiggly!" She poked him in the belly, "gobbledygook!"

“MUUUUUM!" Dudley howled, tripping over his laces as he dashed back toward the house. "MUUUM! She's doing you know what!"

Lisa was laughing when Aunt Petunia came out of the house. She paid dearly for her moment of fun.

As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew she hadn't actually done any magic, something she needed her wand for. Still, she got a smack upside the head and was given work to do with the promise she wouldn't get to eat again until she'd finished.

While Dudley lolled around watching television and eating ice cream, Lisa cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, pruned and watered the roses and repainted the bench. The sun blazed overhead, Lisa knew she shouldn't have teased Dudley this time, but Dudley had said the very thing Lisa was afraid to think...maybe she didn't really have friends at Hogwarts.

“Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day it's Cinderelly,” Lisa grumbled under her breath while she trimmed the flowerbeds. Her muscles ached and her hair was sticking to her face and neck. “Bet Malfoy would get a real kick out of this.”  

It was half past seven when at last, beyond exhausted, she heard Aunt Petunia calling her. "Get in here and walk on the newspaper!"

Lisa moved happily into the shade of the kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A joint of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped Aunt Petunia, pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.

Lisa washed her hands in the sink and sat down at the table for her pitiful supper. The moment she had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away her plate and started directing her out of the kitchen. "Upstairs! Hurry!" As Lisa passed the living room, she caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets and snorted at how stupid they looked. She ran to her room and grabbed her toiletry bag and clean pyjamas, it wasn't eight o'clock yet, so she had time for a quick shower.

Lisa slipped getting out, she cursed under her breath and grabbed another towel, squeezing the water out of her hair. She glanced at herself in the mirror, her scar had calmed ages ago, returning to its usual state, thin and white on her forehead. She looked away and focused on drying off and getting dressed. By the time she left the bathroom, she heard the doorbell and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Remember, girl, if I hear one sound..."

Lisa crossed the hall to her bedroom on tiptoe, slipped inside and closed the door. She sighed and grabbed her Walkman off her desk, she was about to collapse into bed but...there was already someone sitting on it.

Chapter Text

Lisa managed not to scream but it was a close thing. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and huge green eyes. Lisa knew immediately this was what had been watching her out of the garden hedge that morning. 

As they stared at each other, she heard Dudley's voice from downstairs. "May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?"

The creature slipped off her bed and bowed so low that the end of its long nose touched the carpet. Lisa noticed that it was wearing what appeared to be an old yellowed pillowcase with rips for head and arm holes. Lisa blinked and turned her head toward the door, she looked again and it was still there, not a figment of her imagination like she suspected.

“Hi," Lisa said nervously, slowly placing her Walkman back on her desk with one hand on the doorknob, fully prepared to make a break for it, consequences be damned.

"Lisa Potter!" The creature exclaimed in a high voice, she was sure it would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, miss...such an honour it is..."

"Okay...thanks...I guess." Lisa slowly made her way to her desk chair and sat down, next to Hedwig, who was asleep in her cage. She wanted to ask, "what are you?" but that would be rude, so instead she said, "who are you?"

"Dobby, miss, just Dobby, Dobby the house-elf," he said.

"It's nice to meet you, Dobby, but now isn't a great time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom." Aunt Petunia's high, false laugh sounded from the living room and the elf hung his head. "It's not that I'm not pleased to meet you or anything but is there a reason why you're here?"

"Oh, yes, miss," said Dobby earnestly, "Dobby has come to tell you, miss...it is difficult, miss...Dobby wonders where to begin..."

"You could start by sitting down," Lisa suggested, pointing at the bed. To horror, the elf burst into tears.

"S-sit down!" He wailed. "Never...never ever..."

Lisa, for a moment, thought she heard the voices downstairs falter.

"Dobby, I'm sorry," she whispered, glancing at the door, "I didn't mean to offend you but you gotta be quiet."

"Offend Dobby! Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a witch...like an equal." 

Lisa sighed and tried to comfort him the best she could, ushering him onto the bed where he sat hiccoughing, looking like a large and very ugly doll. After several minutes he managed to control himself and sat with his big eyes fixed on Lisa in an expression of watery adoration.

"You can't have met many decent witches then," Lisa tittered, awkwardly trying to cheer him up.

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting. “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"No! Dobby, stop! You're making too much noise!" Lisa hissed, springing up to pull Dobby back onto the bed. Hedwig had woken up with a particularly loud hiss and was beating her wings wildly against the bars of her cage.

“Dobby had to punish himself, miss," said the elf, having gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, miss.."

"Your family?"

“The wizard family Dobby serves, miss. Dobby is a house-elf, bound to serve one house and one family forever."

Lisa waited a moment before speaking, when she didn't hear Uncle Vernon stomping up the stairs, she turned her attention back on Dobby. "Do they know where you are?" She asked and Dobby shuddered.

"Oh no, miss, no...Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, miss. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this."

"Jesus," Lisa whispered, crossing her arms, "my situation with my family isn't great, either, but I've never— wouldn't they notice?"

"Dobby doubts it, miss. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, miss. They let Dobby get on with it, miss. Sometimes they remind Dobby to punish himself."

"But...can't you just..I don't know, leave?"

"A house-elf must be set free, miss. And the family will never set Dobby free...Dobby will serve the family until he dies, miss."

Lisa could hardly think of what to say, she chuckled humourlessly, "God, and I thought I was hard-done-by staying here for another month," she said, pushing her hair out of her face. "Your family makes mine seem...saint-like. Can't someone help you? Can I help you?"

Almost at once, Lisa wished she hadn't said anything, Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude. "Please!" Lisa whispered frantically, "please be quiet, if they hear you, if they know you're here—"

"Lisa Potter asks if she can help Dobby...Dobby has heard of your greatness, miss, but if your goodness, Dobby never knew..."

Lisa huffed, "greatness," she muttered, looking down at the floor, "that's a load of rubbish— I mean sure, I aced all my exams but I'm not...y'know? My, uh, my friend Hermione, she's top of our year and—" Lisa stopped herself because thinking of Hermione was painful.

"Lisa Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his green eyes aglow. "Lisa Potter speaks not of her triumph over He Who Must Not Be Named."

“You mean Voldemort?"

Dobby slapped his bony hands over his big ears and moaned, "Oh! Speak not the name, miss! Speak not the name!" 

"Okay, sorry," Lisa said, "I know quite a few people who don't like it, my...my, um...my friend Ron, he..." Lisa felt a lump form in her throat, thinking about him hurt too. Dobby leaned toward Lisa, his eyes wide as headlamps.

"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Lisa Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago...that Lisa Potter escaped yet again."

"Yeah...he was kinda freaky looking," she scrunched her nose.

Dobby's eyes shone with tears. "Ah, miss," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Lisa Potter is valiant and bold! She has braved so many dangers already!"

"Okay, first of all, I'm none of those things and secondly, I barely escaped with my life, so..."

"Dobby has come to warn Lisa Potter, to protect her even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later...Lisa Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon's voice.

Lisa laughed in disbelief, "what? That's— no. I need to go back, you have no idea...I don't belong here, in this house with these people! I belong with my kind— at Hogwarts."

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Lisa Potter must stay where she is safe. She is too great, too good to lose. If Lisa Potter goes back to Hogwarts, she will be in mortal danger."

Lisa blinked at the house-elf, then frowned, "why?"

"There is a plot, miss. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts this year," whispered Dobby, trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, miss. Lisa Potter must not put herself in peril. She is too important, miss!"

Lisa sat down on her desk chair again, "what terrible things? Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny-sounding noise and then banged his head madly against the wall. Lisa pinched the bridge of her nose and rolled over to where the elf was, grabbing ahold of his arm.

"Stop it! All right, you can't tell me, I get it but if you can't tell me then why are you warning me?" A sudden, unpleasant thought crossed Lisa's mind. "Wait...this hasn't anything to do with...You- Know-Who, does it? Shake your head or nod," she added as Dobby's head tilted worryingly close to the salmon-pink wall again. Slowly, Dobby shook his head and Lisa sighed in relief.

"Not— not He Who Must Not Be Named, miss." But Dobby's eyes were wide as he seemed to be trying to give her a hint.

“Well...it can't be Quirrell, I mean...he's dead and I haven't got any other enemies— except for Draco Malfoy...but I don't think he's capable of whatever you're trying to hint at." Lisa spun around in her chair, "besides, I don't think anyone would have a chance of making something horrible happen at Hogwarts with Dumbledore around. You know about Dumbledore, don't you?"

Dobby bowed his head, "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, miss. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He Who Must Not Be Named at the height of his strength. But miss," Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper, 'there are powers Dumbledore doesn't...powers no decent wizard..."

And before Lisa could stop him, Dobby bounced off the bed, seized her lamp and started beating himself around the head with ear-splitting yelps.

A sudden silence fell downstairs, two seconds later, Lisa, heart thumping madly, heard Uncle Vernon coming up the stairs, "Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"

"Get in the wardrobe!" Lisa hissed, stuffing Dobby in and shutting the door. She inhaled deeply and mussed up her pyjamas, pinching her cheek until it turned a bright shade of red. The handle turned and she rubbed at the mark she had made with a pained expression.

"What— the— devil— are— you— doing?!" Uncle Vernon said through gritted teeth, his face horribly close. "You've just ruined the punchline of my Japanese golfer joke!"

"Sorry, I fell out of bed— hit my face on the nightstand," she lied and her Uncle was quiet for a moment.

"If you make another sound, you'll wish you'd never been born, understand?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

He stomped out of the room and Lisa exhaled, she let Dobby out of the wardrobe.

"Do you get it now?" She asked with her hands on her hips, "why I have to go back? It's the only place I've got...well...I think they're my friends."

"Friends who don't even write to Lisa Potter?" said Dobby slyly. 

"I...hang on— how do you know my friends haven't been writing to me?"

Dobby shuffled his feet, "Lisa Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby, he did it for the best..." 

"Have you been stealing my letters?"

"Dobby has them here, miss," the elf said, stepping nimbly out of Lisa's reach. He pulled a thick stack of envelopes from the inside of his pillowcase. Lisa could make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl and even Hagrid's scribble. Dobby blinked, looking anxiously at Lisa.

“Lisa Potter mustn't be angry, Dobby hoped if Lisa Potter thought her friends had forgotten her, she might not want to go back to school, miss."

Lisa wasn't listening, she made a grab at the letters but Dobby jumped out of her reach.

"Lisa Potter will have them, miss, if she gives Dobby her word that she will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, miss, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, miss!"

Lisa stared thin-lipped at the elf, "no," she said, "give me the letters."

"Then Lisa Potter leaves Dobby no choice," he sighed. Before Lisa could stop move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open and sprinted down the stairs. 

“Oh no!" With her heart jumping into her throat, she sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. She jumped down the last six stairs, landing on the hall carpet.

She looked around for Dobby, from the dining room she heard uncle Vernon, "...tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason, she's been dying to hear..."

Lisa ran down the hall into the kitchen and a horrified gasp escaped her lips. Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of the cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.

"No," Lisa whispered, hazel eyes wide, "please, they'll kill me...like, actually kill me and bury me in the back garden."

"Lisa Potter must say she is not going back to school—" 

"Dobby, please."

"Say it, miss."

"I can't."

Dobby looked apologetic despite the fact he was about to officially ruin Lisa's life. "Then Dobby must do it, miss, for Lisa Potter's own good."

The pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping shatter, the stand broke in dozens of pieces, cream splattered the windows and walls, sugared violets went flying in every direction and with a pop, Dobby vanished.

"Oh, God," Lisa whimpered.

There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon burst into the kitchen to find Lisa, rigid with shock, covered in Aunt Petunia's pudding.

"Sooo..." she managed, "I know this looks bad...but I have an explanation...that I will tell you...when they leave." 

At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss the whole thing over, (“just our niece— she's very disturbed— meeting strangers upsets her so we kept her upstairs…”) He shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised Lisa he would throttle her within an inch of her life when the Masons left and handed her a mop. Aunt Petunia dug some ice cream out of the freezer and Lisa, still tense, started cleaning the kitchen.

"So...there was this house elf—"

"Not another word!" snapped Aunt Petunia, mourning over the loss of her pudding she spent hours meticulously preparing.

"Right, okay," Lisa said hoarsely and started mopping harder.

Uncle Vernon might have still been able to make his deal...if it hadn't been for the owl. Aunt Petunia was just handing round a box of after-dinner mints when a tawny owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a letter on Mrs. Mason's lap and flew out. Mrs. Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house, shouting about lunatics. Mr. Mason stayed long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all sizes and to ask whether this was their idea of a joke. Lisa stood petrified in the kitchen, clutching the mop for dear life as Uncle Vernon advanced on her, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.

"Read it!" He hissed, brandishing the letter the owl at delivered. "Go on! Read it!" Lisa took it and opened the envelope:

Dear Ms Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine. As you know, underage witches are not permitted to perform spells outside school and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity which risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence, under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy. Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office Ministry of Magic

Lisa looked up from the letter with a shuddery breath.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school," said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "Forgot to mention it, slipped your mind?"

“It might've," she mumbled, "Aunt Petunia knew...cause of my Mum..." he was bearing down on Lisa like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared.

"Well, I've got news for you, girl. I'm locking you away, you're never going back to that school, never! And if you try to magic yourself out, they'll expel you!" And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Lisa upstairs by her hair.

Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning, he paid a man to fit bars on Lisa's window, he himself fitted the cat flap in the bedroom door, so small amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day. They let Lisa out to use the bathroom in the morning and evening. Otherwise, she was locked in her room around the clock. Lisa spent most of her time reading, spinning around on her desk chair with her headphones over her ears, pacing and talking to Hedwig. 

Three days had gone by and the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting and Lisa couldn't see any way out of her situation. She sat in her chair, cheek resting on her knee as she watched the sun sink behind the bars on the window and wondered miserably what was going to happen to her. What was the good of magicking herself out of her room if Hogwarts would expel her for doing it? Yet, life at Privet Drive had reached an all-time low. Now that the Dursleys knew they weren't going to wake up as fruit bats, she had lost her only weapon against them. Dobby might have saved Lisa from some imaginary threat at Hogwarts, but she'll probably end up starving to death anyway. 

The cat flap rattled and Aunt Petunia's hand appeared, pushing a bowl of tinned soup into the room. Lisa, whose insides were aching with hunger, slipped off her chair and picked it up off the carpet. The soup was stone cold but she ate half of it as quickly as she could. She took the bowl over to Hedwig's cage and picked out the bits of chicken at the bottom, dropping them into her empty food tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave Lisa a look of deep disgust.

"It's no good turning your beak up at it," she sighed, "beggars can't be choosers." She dropped the empty bowl next to the cat flap and lay in her bed, somehow hungrier than she had been before the soup. She switched off her lamp and slowly, her room was lit up red from the string lights on her bedposts.

She lay there for hours, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars littering the ceiling. Supposing she was still alive a month from now, what would happen if she didn't turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why she hasn't come back? Would they be able to make the Dursleys let her go? If that was the case, she hoped it was Professor McGonagall.

Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind spinning with unanswerable questions, Lisa fell into an uneasy sleep.

Instead of her usual dreams she was...back in the reptile house at the zoo, staring at the snake behind the glass. Only it wasn't the python she met there, this one had raven black scales and familiar hazel eyes. It lifted its head from where it lay on the branch above the water and turned to face her, unblinking. Muffled voices caught Lisa's attention and she turned, nothing. No one there. But when she turned back, the snake had disappeared and in its place, inside the muggy enclosure was Lisa. She tried to call for help, only a forked tongue that flicked the air. No one could hear her, they all stared at her behind the glass, pointing at the 'Underage Witch' plaque with distorted faces, wide gaping mouths and bright red eyes. And there was Dobby, standing where she had been moments ago. She raised her head and suddenly he was closer, inches away from her snout."Lisa Potter is safe in here, miss!" He said and vanished in mist before she could sink her fangs into him. Uncoiling her scaled body, she fell into the water and slithered up to the glass. The people were gone and the lights had gone out, except for a spotlight, shining down on the Dursleys. Monstrous, twisted with sharp teeth and too-long limbs with eyes black as coal. Dudley smacked the glass with his gnarled hands. 

Lisa's eyes snapped open.

Moonlight was shining through the bars on the window and someone was goggling through the bars at her: a freckle-faced, auburn-haired, long-nosed someone. Lisa frowned and swung her legs to the side, she shuffled out of bed and opened the window, staring blearily at him. 

"Ron?" 

Chapter Text

"How the hell..." breathed Lisa, "how— what are you doing here?" It took Lisa a moment to realize Ron was leaning out the back window of an old turquoise car, hovering mid-air over the back garden. Grinning at Lisa from the front seats were Fred and George.

"All right, Lisa?" 

"What's been going on?" asked Ron, "why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles."

"It's a long story," said Lisa, reaching for her glasses, "but it wasn't my fault...how did he know anyway?"

"He works for the Ministry," said Ron, "you know we're not supposed to do magic outside school—"

"Yeah, well, what do you call this?" She asked, pointing at the floating car.

"Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron, "we're only borrowing this, it's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of Muggles you live with—"

"I told you it wasn't my fault," she sighed, "it'll take too long to explain. Anyway, I need you to contact Dumbledore somehow and tell him the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me out and obviously I can't magic myself out otherwise I would have done it already—"

"Stop gibbering," Ron said, "we've come to take you home with us."

Lisa stared at the bars with a raised eyebrow, "okay...do you have a plan or? Because you can't do magic either—"

"We don't need to," Ron said, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning, "you forget who I've got with me."

"Tie that round the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope at Lisa.

"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," Lisa warned, pointing a finger at the Weasley brothers, "and I mean dead, dead." She tied the rope around the bars, double-knotting to make sure it was secure and wouldn't come undone. She smacked the metal to give Fred the all-clear and he revved the engine.

Lisa took a few steps back and looked at Hedwig, wide awake in her cage. Mercifully, she didn't make a sound, somehow recognizing how important this was. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, the bars snapped off the window as Fred drove straight up into the air. Lisa ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Grunting, Ron hoisted them up into the car and Lisa listened anxiously but there was no sound from the Dursleys' bedroom.

When the bars were safely in the backseat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as possible to Lisa's window. "Get in."

"Not yet," Lisa said, glancing back at the door, "my trunk is locked up with my wand and broom."

"Where is it?"

"In the cupboard under the stairs."

"No problem," said George from the front seat, "out of the way, Lisa." The twins climbed carefully through the window into her bedroom. Fred poked around her desk and found a few bobby pins and started to pick her lock while George snooped around. It was hard to see, with the only light being the plastic roses around her bed.

Lis sat down in her desk chair and wheeled over to Fred, "I didn't know you could pick locks," she said.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick, but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."

Lisa hummed and smiled, "you should teach me how to do that, in case I get locked up again."

"It's a date," Fred joked and Lisa laughed.

"Gross."

There was a small click and the door swung open, "so, we'll get your trunk and you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," George whispered.

"Watch out for the bottom stair, it creaks," Lisa said and the twins disappeared into the dark hallway.

Lisa turned on the lamp on and dashed around her room, tossing clothes out of her wardrobe and onto her bed. Ron watched from the car, she scurried out of her room and into the bathroom, running back in with a purple bag. She zipped it closed and tossed it on the pile, along with a dozen cassette tapes and her Walkman. Fred and George returned, setting her trunk on the carpet. Lisa sat on her haunches and pushed the locks, the lid sprung open and she breathed a sigh of relief to discover everything was accounted for.

The Weasley twins watched her pack, going a bit slower than they would like. Apparently, Lisa was a meticulous packer. She stuffed her toiletry bag on top of one of her jumpers and closed the lid, sitting on top so Fred could snap it shut. He climbed back in the car to pull it in with Ron while Lisa and George pushed from the bedroom side. The trunk slid through the window and Lisa heard her Uncle cough.

"A bit more," Fred panted, "one good push."

The trunk slid out of the window and into the back seat of the car. "Okay, let's go," said George.

But as Lisa climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden harsh screech from behind her, followed immediately by the thunder of Uncle Vernon's voice. 

"THAT RUDDY OWL!"

Lisa's eyes widened, "Hedwig!" She climbed out of the window as the hall light turned on. Lisa snatched Hedwig's cage and passed it out to Ron. Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door. It crashed open and for a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Lisa, she shrieked as he grabbed her by the ankle. Ron, Fred and George seized Lisa by her arms and torso and pulled as hard as they could.

"Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon, "she's getting away! SHE'S GETTING AWAY!" The Weasleys gave one more pull and Lisa's leg slid out of Vernon's grasp.

The second she was free, she slammed the door shut and Ron yelled, still holding on, "put your foot down, Fred!" The car shot off toward the moon.

Lisa sat there sideways in the back seat, chest heaving. Then, she started to laugh, she could hardly believe she was free. She reached over and rolled down the window to stick her head out, the night wind whipped her hair all around and she stared at the Dursleys, hanging dumbstruck out of Lisa's window.

"See you next summer! Ha!” She yelled and sat back in the car. The Weasleys roared with laughter as Lisa settled in.

"Let Hedwig out," she told Ron, "she hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings in ages." Ron held the cage out to George who picked the lock. A moment later, Hedwig was out the window, gliding alongside them.

"So, what's the story, Lisa?" asked Ron impatiently, "What happened?"

"Pfft, where to start..." Lisa told them all about Dobby and his warning and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long bout of shocked silence when she finished.

"Very fishy," said Fred. 

"Definitely dodgy," George agreed, "so he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"No, I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started beating himself up." She looked between the twins and pressed her lips together, "do you think he was lying to me?"

Fred shrugged his shoulders, "put it this way, house-elves have got powerful magic of their own but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts, someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?" 

Lisa shifted in her seat, "I guess Draco Malfoy." She said and scrunched her nose.

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around, "Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Yeah," said Lisa, "why?"

"I've heard Dad talking about him," George said, "he was a big supporter of You-Know-Who back in the day."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," Fred craned his neck around to look at Lisa, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he never meant any of it. Load of dung, Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle."

Lisa hummed and pushed Fred's face away, "eyes on the sky," she said. Lisa had heard these rumours about Malfoy's family before and they didn't surprise him at all. Draco Malfoy made Dudley look like a kind, thoughtful and sensitive boy. 

"Anyway, I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf," she said, leaning against her trunk.

"Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family and they'll be rich."

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had one to do the ironing," said George, "but all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that, you wouldn't catch one in our house."

Lisa stared out the window. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; she could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Lisa from going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Lisa been stupid to take Dobby seriously?

"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron, bringing her out of her head, "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first, he's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes but Percy wouldn't lend him to me, said he needed him."

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," George frowned, "and he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room...I mean there's only so many times you can polish a Prefect badge— you're driving too far west, Fred," he pointed at a compass on the dashboard, Fred twiddled the steering wheel.

"Maybe he's got a girlfriend," said Lisa and the Weasleys burst into uproarious laughter as if that were the funniest thing they had heard all year. "So, does your Dad know you've got the car?" She asked between giggles.

"Er, no," said Ron, "he had work tonight. Hopefully, we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."

"What does your Dad do at the Ministry anyway?"

"He works in the most boring department," Ron said, "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

"That's a thing?" 

"Yep, it's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antique shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home and tried to serve her friend's tea in it. It was a nightmare, dad was working overtime for weeks," Ron said, watching the amusement spread across Lisa's face.

"Can I ask what happened?"

"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place, one man ended up in hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic, it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office and they had to do memory charms and all sorts to cover it up." 

"So why does he have this car, then?"

"Dad's mad about everything to do with Muggles, our shed is full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the window.

"We'll be there in ten minutes...just as well, it's getting light." A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon.

"We're a little way outside the village," said George, "Ottery St Catchpole." Lower and lower the flying car went as the sun rose.

"Touchdown!" Fred announced as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard and Lisa looked at Ron's house for the first time. It looked as though it had been a large stone pigsty at one point but over the years had extra rooms added here and there until it was several storeys high and so crooked it was possibly held up by magic. A lop-sided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read 'The Burrow'. Round the front door lay a jumble of Wellington boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," Ron mumbled.

"It's wonderful," said Lisa, getting out of the car, quickly realizing she wasn't wearing any shoes. She hadn't even time to get dressed; she was still wearing her polka-dotted pyjamas and yellow socks. 

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quickly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us down for breakfast, then Ron, you come bounding down going, 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Lisa and no one need ever know we flew the car." 

"Right," Ron nodded, "come on, Lisa, I sleep at the—" the colour had drained from his face suddenly, eyes fixed on the house. The other three wheeled around, Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she resembled a lion.

"Ah," gulped Fred.

"Oh dear," said George.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She had a flowered apron around her waist with a wand sticking out of the quilted pocket.

"Morning Mum," George said, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" Mrs. Weasley said in a deadly whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to—"

All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was but they cowered at her rage. "Beds empty! No note! Care gone— could have crashed— out of my mind with worry— did you care? Never, as long as I've lived— you wait until your father gets home, and then never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy..." 

"Perfect Percy," Fred muttered.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" shouted Mrs Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job—" It seemed to go on for hours, Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Lisa, who stumbled back almost instinctively with wide eyes and immediately, Mrs. Weasley softened, "I'm very pleased to see you, Lisa, dear," she said and grabbed her by the shoulders, "come in and have some breakfast." She turned and walked back to the house with Lisa, who glanced nervously at Ron, who nodded encouragingly.

The kitchen was as small and rather cramped, there was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle and Lisa sat down on the edge of her seat, looking around, rubbing her hands together under the table. She had never been in a wizard house before. The clock on the wall opposite her had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written all around the edge were things like 'Time to make tea', 'Time to feed the chickens' and 'You're late'. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking and One Minute Feasts– It's Magic!

There was an old radio next to the sink, it was low but Lisa could just make out what it was saying, "coming up: The Witching Hour with Celestina Warbeck."

Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like, "don't know what you were thinking" and "never would have believed it."

"I don't blame you, dear," she assured Lisa, tipping eight or nine sausages onto her plate. "Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written Ron back by Friday. But really," three buttery fried eggs accompanied those sausages, "flying an illegal car halfway across the country— anyone could have seen you—" she flicked her wand casually at the washing-up in the sink, and it began to wash itself.

"It was cloudy, Mum!" Fred said.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" snapped Mrs. Weasley.

"They were starving her, Mum!" George said.

"And you!" Mrs. Weasley shouted but it was with a slightly softened expression as she started cutting Lisa's bread and butter for her. At that moment, there was a diversion in the form of a small, red-headed figure in a long nightdress. It appeared in the kitchen and gave a small squeak, running out again.

"Ginny," Ron whispered to Lisa, "my sister. She's been talking about you all summer."

"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Lisa," Fred grinned across the table but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word.

Nothing more was said until all four plates were cleaned. Lisa was surprised in herself, she'd never eaten so many sausages without feeling like she wanted to throw up— probably because she was so hungry. She had lost most of the weight she had managed to put on during her time at Hogwarts.

"Blimey, I'm tired," Fred said after a long yawn, he set his knife and fork down, "I think I'll go to bed and —" 

"You will not," Mrs. Weasley snapped, "it's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de- gnome the garden for me, they're getting completely out of hand again."

"Oh, Mum—"

"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and George, "you can go up to bed, dear," she turned to Lisa, "you didn't ask them to fly that wretched car."

But Lisa, who felt wide awake said, "Thanks but, uh, I've never seen a de-gnoming and I kinda owe them for breaking me out." 

"That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," Mrs. Weasley said and Lisa shrugged.

"Really can't be any worse than the stuff the Dursleys make me do," she said.

"Let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject." She pulled a heavy book from the stack and George groaned.

"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden."

Lisa glanced at the cover of Mrs. Weasley's book, written across it in fancy gold letters were the words: Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. There was a big photograph on the front of what Lisa would assume to be a very attractive man with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. He kept winking cheekily at them and it was starting to make Lisa uncomfortable. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at her.

"Oh, he is marvellous," she said, "he knows his household pests, alright, it's a wonderful book." 

"Mum fancies him," said Fred in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be ridiculous, Fred," Mrs. Weasley said, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys pulled on their Wellington boots and let Lisa borrow Ginny's so she wasn't sock-footed in the garden. 

The garden was large and in Lisa's eyes, exactly what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it, plenty of weeds and the grass needed cutting but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Lisa had never seen spilling from every flowerbed and a big green pond full of frogs.

"Muggles have gnomes too...kinda," Lisa said as they crossed the lawn.

"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," Ron said, bent over with his head in a peony bush. "Like fat little Father Christmases with fishing rods.."

"Pushing wheelbarrows and holding flowers."

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered and Ron straightened up, "this is a proper gnome," he said with a grim expression.

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" Squealed the gnome, it definitely wasn't anything like the little statues Lisa saw decorating people's lawns, it was small and leathery-looking with a large, knobbly, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with horny little feet. He grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down. 

"This is what you have to do," he said, lifting the gnome above his head and beginning to swing it in circles, "it doesn't hurt them, you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnomeholes." He let go of the gnome's ankles, it flew twenty feet in the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said Fred, "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

Lisa learned pretty quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. She decided to just drop the first one she found over the hedge, but the gnome sank its sharp teeth into Lisa's finger. She shrieked and tried everything to shake it off until—

"Wow, Lisa, that must have been, like, fifty feet."

"Don't patronize me," she grumbled, grimacing at the punctured flesh. Soon, the air was thick with flying gnomes.

"See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six at once, "the moment they know de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put."

After a while, they seemed to get the hint and walked away in a straggling like with haunched shoulders.

"They'll be back," said Ron, as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge, "they love it here, Dad's too soft with them, he thinks they're funny."

"They're a bunch of little arseholes," Lisa complained, giving the last one in line a good kick in the arse on its way out.

Just then, the front door slammed shut.

"He's back!" said George, "Dad's home!" 

They hurried through the garden and back into the house. Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, he was balding but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. His robes were emerald green, dusty and travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbled, grasping for the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me the second I had my back turned." He took a long drink and sighed.

"Find anything, Dad?" Fred asked while he bandaged Lisa's finger.

"All I got were a few shrinking keys and a biting kettle," Mr. Weasley yawned. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely old ferrets but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness."

"Why would anyone bother making keys shrink?" asked George.

"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it. Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking, they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face, but the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe–"

"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

Mrs. Weasley had appeared seemingly out of nowhere m, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open and he stared guiltily at his wife.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly."

Mr. Weasley blinked. "Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if, er, he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth...there's a loophole in the law, you'll find...as long as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn't—"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" Mrs. Weasley accused. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Lisa arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"

"Lisa?" said Mr. Weasley blankly. "Lisa who?"

He looked around and saw a small raven-haired girl sitting at his table, out of place in a sea of auburn.

"Good Lord, is it Lisa Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us so much about—"

"Your sons flew that car to Lisa's house and back last night!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, "what have you got to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" Mr. Weasley said, eyeing his children eagerly, "did it go all right? I-I mean..." he faltered under his wife's hot gaze, "that-that was very wrong, boys, very wrong indeed."

"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Lisa as Mrs. Weasley swelled up like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom."

They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow hallway to an uneven staircase, it zigzagged its way up through the house. On the third floor, a door stood ajar, Lisa just caught sight of a pair of honey-brown eyes staring at her before it closed with a snap. "Ginny," said Ron, "you don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy, she never shuts up normally."

They climbed up two more flights until they reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque, 'Ronald's Room' it said. Lisa stepped in, her head almost touching the sloping ceiling and blinked. She felt positively accosted by the colour orange. Nearly everything in Ron's room was a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. And to top it off, it seemed almost like a shrine to his Quidditch team, every inch of wall space was covered in posters of witches and wizards wearing bright orange robes, carrying orange broomsticks and waving energetically. There were little knickknacks; a Quaffle, a Beaters bat, a broken model Quidditch pitched tucked in the corner, flags, all orange.

"Wow," Lisa said, poking around, "doesn't all this orange get overwhelming?" 

"You get used to it after a while," Ron shrugged and sat down on his bed, the spread was embroidered with the logo for The Chudley Cannons.

His spellbooks were stacked haphazardly in a corner, next to a pile of comics which all seemed to feature The Adventures of Martin Miggs: The Mad Muggle. Ron's wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat grey rat, Scabbers, snoozing in a patch of sun.

Lisa stepped over a pack of self-shuffling playing cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field, she could see a gang of gnomes sneaking, one by one, back through the Weasleys' hedge.

"Little bastards," muttered Lisa and turned back to look at Ron, who was watching her almost nervously, as though waiting for her opinion.

"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly, "not like that room you had with the Muggles and I'm right underneath that ghoul in the attic, he's always banging the pipes and groaning."

Lisa sat down next to him on the lumpy mattress and leaned back on her elbows, "it's a lot bigger than my first bedroom," she said, "it's messy but kinda cool."

Ron's ears flushed pink. 

Chapter Text

Life at The Burrow compared to life at Privet Drive was night and day.

The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys' house burst with the strange and unexpected. Lisa got a shock the first time she looked in the mirror over the mantle in the kitchen and it shouted, "fix your hair!" The ghoul in the attic howled and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet and small explosions from Fred and George's bedroom were considered perfectly normal. But what Lisa found most unusual about life at Ron's wasn't the talking mirror or the clanking ghoul, it was knowing that they all liked her— even Percy.

Mrs. Weasley fussed over her constantly and tried to force her to eat fourth helpings at every meal. It was overwhelming, to say the least, to receive such motherly attention after growing up with her Aunt Petunia.

Mr. Weasley liked Lisa to sit next to him at the dinner table so he could bombard her with questions about life with Muggles, asking her to explain how things like plugs and postal services worked.

"Fascinating!" he said when Lisa, to the best of her ability talked him through using a telephone. "Ingenious, really, how many ways Muggles have found of getting along without magic."

She showed him her Walkman one day, she showed it to him and explained how it worked. Mr. Weasley was enraptured with the little device, even if he didn't like the music very much. 
 
Lisa woke on a sunny Thursday morning, having had a fitful night's sleep. She opened her eyes and yawned, forcing herself into a sitting position with a groan. She untangled herself from the blankets and stood up from the sofa, shuffling into the kitchen. Ron was already sitting at the table with his parents and Ginny.

The moment she saw Lisa, blinking blearily at them, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking things over whenever Lisa entered a room. She dived under the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face red as a strawberry. Thankfully, Lisa wasn't awake enough to notice, taking the toast Mrs. Weasley offered her and nibbling on the corner. 

"Letter from school," said Mr. Weasley, sliding the envelope across the table. "Dumbledore knows you're here, Lisa, doesn't miss a trick, that man. You two've got them, too," he added as Fred and George ambled in, still in their pyjamas.

For a few minutes, there was silence as they all read their letters.

Lisa yawned, taking her glasses from her pocket and slipping them on, "King's Cross Station, blah, blah, blah, ah— the books...oh, what the hell?" She mumbled, blinking at the list she had been given. 

Second-year students will require:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk 

Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart

Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart 

Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart 

Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart 

Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart

Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart 

Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

Fred, who had just finished his own list, peered over at Lisa's. "You've been told to get all of Lockhart's books too!" he said, "The New Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan— bet it's a witch."

"Dunno, could be a wizard...or Lockhart himself." At this point, Fred caught his Mother's eye and quickly busied himself with the marmalade.

"That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive..."

"Well, we'll manage," said Mrs. Weasley, eyeing the list worriedly. "I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things second-hand."

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts?" Lisa asked, Ginny nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair and put her elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately, no one saw except for Lisa, because Percy had come downstairs. "Morning all," he said briskly, "lovely day."

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a moulting grey feather duster— that's what Lisa thought it was until she saw it was breathing.

"Errol!" groaned Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting the letter from under his wing. "Finally, he's got Hermione's answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys."

He carried Errol over to a perch just inside the back door and tried to stand him on it but Errol flopped over again so Ron laid him on the draining board instead, muttering, "Pathetic." He ripped open Hermione's letter and read it out loud:

Dear Ron, and Lisa if you're there,

I hope everything went all right and that Lisa is okay and that you didn't do anything illegal to get her out, Ron, because that would get Lisa into trouble, too.

I've been really worried and if Lisa is all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl, because I think another delivery might finish your one off.

I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course—

 
Suddenly, Lisa's eyes went wide and she stopped eating her breakfast. She gasped, "I forgot to do the homework!" She said and scurried away from the table. "Oh no, oh no no no..."

"We're on holiday!" Ron shouted after her. He waited for her to return with arms full of books and parchment. He sighed and continued reading the letter:. 

— and we're going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diagon Alley?

Let me know what's happening as soon as you can.

Love, from Hermione. 

"Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too," said Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the table. "What're you all up to today?"

Lisa, Ron, Fred and George were planning to go up the hill to a small paddock the Weasleys owned but they supposed it would have to wait until Lisa finished her homework.

The paddock was surrounded by trees that blocked it from view of the village below, meaning that they could practise Quidditch there, as long as they didn't fly too high. They couldn't use real balls, which would have been hard to explain if they had escaped and flown away over the village, instead, they threw apples for each other to catch.

Hours later they were marching up the hill, broomsticks over their shoulders. They had asked Percy if he wanted to join them but he had insisted he was busy. Lisa had only seen Percy at mealtimes which she agreed was strange, he stayed shut in his room the rest of the time.

"Wish I knew what he was up to," said Fred, frowning. "He's not himself. His exam results came the day before you did; twelve O.W.Ls and he hardly gloated at all."

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels," George explained. "Bill got twelve, too. If we're not careful, we'll have another Head Boy in the family. I don't think I could stand the shame."

"Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year," Fred said after a while, "five sets of Lockhart books! And Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything..."

Lisa didn't say anything, she thought about ways of trying to bring up the massive fortune she had stored underground. She could pay for all of them, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George, Percy and it wouldn't make a single dent. Five sets of books, new robes and equipment, the cost of it all would be comparable to a bit of pocket change. But how would she bring it up to the Weasleys? 

 
Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday. After a quick half-a-dozen bacon sandwiches each, Lisa joined the Weasleys in the living room, wearing her Quidditch jumper under a pair of corduroy overalls. Mrs. Weasley gently ushered her closer to the fireplace and took a flowerpot off the mantle, peering inside.

"We're running low, Arther," she sighed, "we'll have to buy some more today...ah, well, guests first! After you, Lisa dear!" And she offered her the flowerpot.

Lisa raised her eyebrows at it, "what am I supposed to do?"

"She's never travelled by Floo powder, Mum," said Ron, "Sorry, Lisa, I forgot."

"Never?" Mr. Weasley asked, "but how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?" "We went on the Underground—"

"Really?" He said eagerly, "were there escapators?"

"You mean escalators? Yeah, but we took the stairs I think. We got in from behind the Leaky Cauldron."

"Floo powder's a lot quicker dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before—"

"She'll be all right, Mum," said Fred, "Lisa, watch us first." He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up the fire and threw the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.

"You must speak clearly, dear," Mrs. Weasley said as George dipped his hand into the pot. "And mind you get out at the right gate."

"The what?" Lisa couldn't help but fidget nervously as the fire whipped George out of sight too.

"Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you've spoken clearly—"

"She'll be all right, Molly, don't fuss," said Mr. Weasley, helping himself to Floo powder.

"But dear, if she got lost, how would we ever explain it to her Aunt and Uncle?"

Lisa snorted, "they wouldn't care, trust me," she said, "Dudley would think it was a brilliant joke if I got stuck up a chimney, so don't worry about it."

"Well...all right...you go after Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said, "now, when you get into the fire, say where you're going—"

"And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron advised.

"And your eyes shut, the soot—"

"Don't fidget," Ron added. "Or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace—"

"But don't panic and get out too early, wait until you see Fred and George."

Feeling overwhelmed with the bombardment of information, Lisa reached her hand into the flowerpot and took a pinch of powder. She walked to the edge of the fire and took a deep breath, she scattered it into the flames and stepped forward, Lisa opened her mouth and immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash. She coughed and sputtered and said, "D-Dia-gon Alley."

It felt as though she was being sucked down a giant plug hole, spinning very fast. The roaring in her ears was deafening, she tried to keep her eyes open but the whirl of green flames was beginning to make her feel lightheaded. Something knocked her elbow and she tucked it in, still spinning and spinning, eyeing a blurred stream of fireplaces, the bacon sandwiches churned inside her and she closed her eyes again, wishing it would stop. It was like the world's worst rollercoaster.

And then, she fell, face forward onto the cold stone and felt her glasses shatter. Dizzy and bruised, nauseous and covered in soot, she picked up her broken glasses and slipped them back up her nose.  She was quite alone but where she was...she had no idea. Her breakfast crept up her throat the moment she was upright and in a panic, she blindly reached for something, an old vase, and threw up in it. Gasping, she put it back where she found it and grimaced at the taste of bacon and bile in her mouth. She was standing in what looked like a large, dimly lit, slightly musty wizard's shop— but nothing in her mind as ever likely to be on her list of supplies. 

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks leered down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling.

Lisa peered out of the window, looking both ways down the narrow street, never been down here before— but where was here? Lisa turned toward the door, her hand hovered over the handle when she saw two people on the other side of the glass and one of them was the last person Lisa thought she would see today: Draco Malfoy.

Thinking on her feet, she spotted a large black cabinet to her left and scurried inside, pulling the doors closed enough to leave a small crack to look through. What is he doing here? Seconds later, the bell above the door changed and Malfoy stepped into the shop. He looked older, kind of, definitely taller than she saw him last. The man who followed him could only be his father, he resembled his son, or rather, Draco resembled his father. His hair was the same silver-gold, long and slicked back in the front and his eyes the same shade of grey.

Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, idly eyeing the items on display and rang a bell on the front counter before turning to his son and said, "touch nothing, Draco."

Draco, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you said you would buy me a present." 

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the house team?" complained Draco, looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Lisa Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so she could play for Gryffindor. She's not even that good, it's just because she's famous...famous for having a stupid scar on her forehead..." he bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls, "...everyone thinks she's so smart and pretty, wonderful Potter with her scar and broomstick..."

People think I'm pretty? She thought, scrunching her face at the idea.

Mr. Malfoy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "you have told me this at least a dozen times already and I would remind you that it is not prudent to appear less than fond of Lisa Potter, not when most of our kind regard her as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear– ah, Mr. Borgin."

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face. "Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," he said in a voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted, and young Master Malfoy too, charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced—"

"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," Mr. said Malfoy.

"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.

"You no doubt have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids," said Mr. Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unravelling it for Mr. Borgin to read. "I have a few, ah, items at home that might embarrass me if the Ministry were to call..." Mr. Borgin fixed a pince-nez to his nose and looked down the list.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?" 

Mr Malfoy's lip curled. "I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumours about a new Muggle Protection Act, no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear–"

"I understand, sir, of course," said Mr. Borgin. "Let me see..."

"Can I have that?" Draco interrupted, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy's list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly and Mr. Borgin quickly bowed his head.

"No offence, sir, no offence meant—"

"Though if his school marks don't pick up," Mr. Malfoy said, more coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for."

"It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favourites, Lisa Potter and that Hermione Granger—"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that two girls beat you in every exam, especially one from a no- wizard family." said Mr. Malfoy and Draco squirmed under his gaze.

"It's the same all over," said Mr. Borgin, "wizard blood is counting for less everywhere—"

"Not with me,' said Mr. Malfoy.

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," Mr. Borgin said with a deep bow.

"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list, I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today."

They began to haggle, Lisa watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to her hiding place, examining objects for sale. He paused to read the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals: Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed— Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date.

Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him, he walked forward and reached for the knob. The door was open slightly and he turned his head to find an eye staring at him. A familiar hazel eye.

"Potter?" He whispered under his breath and curled his fingers around the handle, he was about to pull it open when—

"Done," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter, "come, Draco!" Lisa moved away from the door and exhaled as Draco turned away. "Good day to you, Mr. Borgin, I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."

The moment the door had closed behind the Malfoys, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner. 

"Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your manor," he muttered and disappeared into a back room. 

Quickly, Lisa slithered from the cabinet and slipped out without looking over her shoulder. She stood on the dark cobblestone, everywhere she looked the dingy alley was made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one she'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest but opposite was a freaky window display of shrunken heads and two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. She wandered around more, an old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told her she was in Knockturn Alley. She supposed she didn't speak clearly enough through her mouthful of ashes back in the Weasley's fireplace to end up here. 

"Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in her ear, making her jump. An aged witch stood beside her, holding a tray of what looked like human fingernails.

The witch leered at Lisa, showing mossy teeth. Lisa took a step backward.

"Kinda— but I'm fine thank you," she said.

"LISA! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?" 

Lisa nearly jumped a foot in the air and so did the witch— a load of fingernails cascaded down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid came striding toward them, black eyes flashing over his great bristling beard.

"Oh, hi, Hagrid," Lisa said, "uh...Floo powder...ended up in the wrong fireplace." 

Hagrid seized Lisa by the back of her overalls and held her up like a kitten, moving her away from the witch, Lisa's boot knocked the empty tray right out of her hands.

"Oh! Sorry!" She apologized and the witch's shrieks followed them out of the twisting alleyway into the bright sunlight. "Okay, Hagrid, you can put me down now." He set her down on the crowded cobblestone and she wiped her hands down burgundy fabric. 

"Yer a mess!" said Hagrid gruffly, brushing soot off Lisa so forcefully he nearly knocked her into a barrel of dragon dung outside an apothecary's.

"Oy! Careful!"

"Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley— dodgy place, Lisa, don' want no one ter see yeh down there—"

"It's not like I went down there on purpose," argued Lisa, "wait, what were you doing down there, Hagrid?" She asked, reaching up to poke an accusatory finger in his belly.

"I was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," Hagrid explained. 'They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own?" 

"I'm staying with the Weasleys but we got separated," Lisa explained, "I think they could be at Flourish and Blotts— if they're not looking for me."

They set off together but Lisa caught sight of something from the corner of her eye, "oh, hold on, Hagrid." She dipped into Sugarplum's Sweet Shop and emerged a minute later with a mint candy in her mouth. "I threw up my breakfast coming out of that fireplace," she said and they set off again. 

Hagrid had to remind himself to walk at a snail's pace so Lisa could keep up with him. "How come yeh never wrote back to me?" He asked and Lisa groaned loudly. She told him all about Dobby and what happened with the Dursleys. "Ruddy Muggles," Hagrid growled, "if I'd've known—" 

"Lisa! Lisa over here!"

Lisa turned her head and saw Hermione standing at the top of the marble steps to Gringotts, she ran down to meet them, frizzy brown hair flying behind her. She threw her arms around Lisa, who awkwardly reciprocated the hug, "it's so good to see you! I was so worried when you weren't responding to my letters. Are you coming into Gringotts?"

"Yeah, not before I find the Weasleys first," she said.

"You won't have long ter wait," Hagrid grinned. Lisa and Hermione looked around, sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, Fred and George, Percy and Mr. Weasley.

"Lisa," Mr. Weasley wheezed, "we hoped you'd only gone one grate too far..." he mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's frantic, she's coming now."

"Where did you come out?" Ron asked.

"Oh, Knockturn Alley," Lisa said, a dimply smile creeping across her face, "it's right spooky down there, Ron; shrunken heads, cursed objects, bats and an old witch with a tray of fingernails!"

"Brilliant!" said Fred and George.

"We've never been allowed in," Ron complained, envious of Lisa.

"I should ruddy well think not," Hagrid gruffed. 

Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other. "Oh, Lisa— oh, my dear! You could have been anywhere!" Gasping for breath, she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot and dirt Hagrid hadn't managed to beat away. Mr. Weasley took Lisa's glasses, gave them a tap of his wand and returned them, good as new.

"Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid, not before having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley ("Knockturn Alley! If you hadn't found her, Hagrid!"). "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he strode away.

"Oh! Guess who I saw at Borgin and Burkes?" Lisa asked, turning around to climb the Gringott's steps with Ron and Hermione, "Malfoy and his Dad."

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" Mr. Weasley asked behind them. 

"No, he was selling— don't know what."

"So, he is worried," said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction, "oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something..."

"You better be careful, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said sharply as they were ushered into the bank by a bowing goblin at the door. "That family's trouble, don't go biting off more than you can chew."

"So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" He asked his wife indignantly but he was distracted almost immediately by the sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them.

"You're Muggles!" Mr. Weasley said delightedly, "we must have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're exchanging Muggle money. Molly, look!" He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr. Granger's hand.

"Meet you back here," Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys and Lisa were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.

Lisa enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasley's vault but felt dreadful when it was opened. There was a very small pile of sickles inside and just one galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag.

Lisa fidgeted all the way down to her vault. When the cart screeched to a halt, she pressed her lips together, took a deep breath and stepped out, turning to the Weasleys.

"Okay," she sighed, "Mrs. Weasley, can I see your bag?"

"Do you need something, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, pulling it onto her lap, "feeling a bit peaky?"

"No, I feel fine," she said, "but I want to give you some money."

Mrs. Weasley brushed her off immediately, "oh, you don't need to do that, dear— you save your money, we'll manage."

"I know you can," Lisa said, "but I want to," she fished around for her key and opened the door to her vault wide enough for the Weasleys to see the mountains upon mountains of gold and silver, "It'll barely make a dent, please?" Lisa looked at the Weasleys, their mouths agape as they stared into her vault. And Lisa, before Mrs. Weasley could protest, picked her purse off her lap and disappeared inside, closing the door behind her. When she returned, Mrs. Weasley's bag was heavier than it had ever been before.

"Lisa—"

"No, no, no," she climbed back in the cart, "you took me in and this is me repaying you."

"How-how much do you have in there?" Ron asked on the way back up.

"Thousands?" Fred asked.

"Millions?" Asked George.

"Just over, uh...two hundred million," Lisa mumbled under her breath, face flushed scarlet. Percy Weasley nearly fell out of the cart.

Back outside pacing by the steps, Mr. Weasley saw his wife, she had Lisa in her arms, squeezing her in the tightest hug he'd ever seen his wife give. When he approached, Mrs. Weasley released the preteen girl who gasped for air, but not without pressing several kisses to her hair. Tears were shining in her eyes and Mr. Weasley quickly grew concerned, jumping to comfort his wife, "has something happened?"

"Arthur, look," Mrs. Weasley said, opening her purse to show him the gold shining inside and the balding man nearly fell over.

"Wh-where did you get that? Not in our vault..."

"It was Lisa," said Mrs. Weasley, "look at what she's given us— such a wonderful— I've never met anyone so generous! We can get the children new robes and new books, Ron can get a new wand!" Overwhelmed with joy, Mr. Weasley reached over and squeezed Lisa to her chest, thanking her over and over.

"Don't mention it, Mr. Weasley," Lisa wheezed, "I'm happy to help— anytime." Mrs. Weasley pressed yet another kiss to her hair and ushered her children over.

"Take what you need and make sure you thank Lisa— Percy, I know you need a new quill..."

Once outside on the marble steps, they all went their separate ways; Fred and George, with heavy pockets, spotted Lee Jordan a few feet away, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were off to Madam Malkins. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your school books," said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!" She shouted at the twins' retreating backs.

Lisa, Ron and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. "You didn't have to do that you know," mumbled Ron, ears flushed. 

"I know— but I wanted to."

"How much did you give Mum?"

"Uh...I don't know," Lisa shrugged, "I didn't really count, kinda just shoved gold in her purse until it was full."

The bag of gold, silver and bronze in her bag was clamouring to be spent, so she bought three large strawberry and peanut butter ice creams which they ate happily as they wandered up the alley, poking their heads in fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged him off to buy ink and parchment next door.

"I'll join you in a second," Lisa said and slipped into the Quidditch shop, emerging moments later with a parcel tucked under her arm. She joined her friends and they found Percy, holed up in the back, immersed in a deeply boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power. 

"A study of Hogwarts Prefects and their later careers," Ron read aloud off the back cover. "That sounds fascinating..."

"Go away," snapped Percy.  

"Course, he's very ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned out, he wants to be Minister of Magic," Ron told Lisa and Hermione on their way out. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on 'Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks'. An hour later, they made their way to Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop, as they approached it, they saw a large crowd jostling outside the doors trying to get in.

Lisa looked up and saw a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

today 12.30 – 4.30 pm

"Ugh," Lisa groaned, "him."

"We can actually meet him!" squealed Hermione, "I mean, he's written almost our whole booklist!"

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley's age, and a wizard stood at the door, "calmly, please ladies...don't push, there...mind the books now..."

Lisa, Ron and Hermione squeezed inside, a long queue wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing books. They each grabbed the ones they needed and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

"Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs. Weasley, she sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute."

"Must we?" Lisa complained, eyeing Lockhart at the front of the line, he was seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue which matched his eyes exactly. His pointed hat was set at a jaunty angle on his head.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet." 

Lisa frowned at the man, "arsehole," she muttered under her breath.

"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart had heard him, he looked up and looked at Ron until he saw Lisa, standing slightly behind him. He stared for a moment before he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "it can't be, Lisa Potter?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly.

"Oh God," Lisa squeaked. 

Lockhart dived forward and seized Lisa's arm.

"Hey! Let go of me!" She tried to free herself but he pulled her to the front. The crowd burst into applause, Lockhart kept a firm grip on her, and Ron, still standing there, could see the look of pure discomfort and anger on Lisa's face as she tried to free herself from Lockhart's grasp. He pulled her in closer and she nearly gagged from his funny-smelling cologne.

"Just one picture, Lisa, please," said Lockhart, still smiling for the camera, he tightened his grip and she stopped twisting, her arms up to try and hide her face. The little wizard was still clicking away, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys. "Together you and I are worth the front page."

When he finally loosened his grip on Lisa, she pushed him away and tried to run off, to the safety of the Weasleys but he still would not let her go and Lisa looked as if she might cry.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet with his free hand. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!"

"Please let go of me."

"When young Lisa here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, she only wanted to buy my autobiography— which I shall be happy to present to her now, free of charge—" the crowd burst into applause again— "she had no idea," continued Lockhart, "that she would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. She and her schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real, magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have the great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd cheered and clapped and all the colour drained from Lisa's face, she stared with a wide-eyed blank expression as she was presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Stumbling under their weight, she managed to make it out of the limelight to the edge of the room where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.

"I have never been so...humiliated," she said, misty-eyed and shaking, "and now I'm going to have to see that-that...arsehole every day at school!" She looked down at the books and held them out for Ginny with a sniff, "here, you take these. I'll buy my own."

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said an all too familiar voice. Lisa turned and found herself face to face with Draco Malfoy. "Famous Lisa Potter, can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

"Leave her alone! She didn't want any of that!" said Ginny, it was the first time she had spoken in front of Lisa all summer and she was glaring daggers at Malfoy.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend," Malfoy said and, Ginny went scarlet and Lisa sneered at him.

"You sound jealous, Malfoy," she said and watched him sputter.

"Fat chance!" He said as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.

"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were some unpleasant thing on the sole of his shoe. 

"Bet you're surprised to see Lisa here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," Malfoy retorted, "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for the lot." Ron went as red as Ginny, he dropped his books into the cauldron and started toward Malfoy, but Lisa and Hermione grabbed the back of his striped t-shirt.

"Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's mad in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well, Arthur Weasley." It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said with an icy smile.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy, "all those raids...I do hope they're paying you overtime." He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted from amidst the glossy Lockhart books, a brand new copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. "Hm, it appears they are," he said, sounding slightly disappointed. "Well, I suppose being a disgrace to the name of wizard isn't all bad now that they're paying you properly."

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley...and I thought your family could sink no lower—"

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron fell to the floor, Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all of their heads. There was a yell of "get him, Dad!" from Fred and George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "no, Arthur, no!"; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentleman, please — please!" cried the assistant and then, louder than all, "Break it up, there, gents, break it up!" Hagrid waded through the sea of books and in an instant pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut upper lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding Ginny's transfiguration textbook, he thrust it at her, eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl, take your book!" Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip, Mr. Malfoy grabbed Draco by the shoulder and led him out of the shop.

"See you at school," he said.

Lisa flashed him a venomous smile. "Eat shit and die, Malfoy."

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that. No Malfoy's worth listenin' ter. Bad blood, that's what it is. Come on now— let's get outta here." 

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them from leaving but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. Before they left, Lisa quickly gathered up the books she needed, quite serious about giving Ginny the ones she received from Lockhart (plus a few more because they were interesting) and then joined the Weasleys outside. Hermione's parents were shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley was beside herself with fury.

"A fine example to set to your children— brawling in public— what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought..."

"He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report, said it was all publicity."

They headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, where Lisa, the Weasleys and all their shopping would be travelling back to The Burrow by Floo powder. They said their goodbyes to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle world on the other side. Mr. Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs. Weasley's face and Lisa made sure to follow Fred and George into the fireplace instead of going in alone. It definitely was not her favourite way to travel. 

Chapter Text

The end of the summer holidays came too quickly for Lisa's liking. She was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts but her month at The Burrow had been the happiest of her life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when she thought about the Dursleys and the sort of welcome she could expect come next summer.

On their last evening together, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner which included all of Lisa's favourite things, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster Fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed. Lisa didn't fall asleep right away, she sat curled up on the squishy sofa trying to get through the last of Gilderoy Lockhart's books. By the time she rescued the back cover it was after midnight. Lisa was barely conscious enough to set it on the table before she fell asleep.

 
It took a long while to get going in the morning. They were up at cock-crow but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do. Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks, people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands. Lisa won the race to get in the bathroom first, shutting the door in Ron's face with a "ha!" of triumph. 

Mr. Weasley had nearly broken his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard, carrying Ginny's trunk to the car. Lisa couldn't see how eight people, six large trunks, two owls and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia.

"Not a word to Molly," Mr. Weasley whispered, opening the boot to show her how it had been magically expanded so their trunks could fit easily.

Soon enough they were in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the back seat, Ron, Fred, Lisa, George and Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side in that order.

"Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don't they?" Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were in the front seat with Mr. Weasley, it had been stretched to more resemble a park bench. "I mean, you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard, Lisa turning back for a last look at the house. She hardly had time to wonder when she'd see it again when Mr. Weasley was turning around: George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. 

They were barely back on the road when they skidded to a halt so that Fred could run in for his broom. 

They had almost reached the motorway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her diary.

"And you poked fun of me because I spent three days packing," said Lisa, poking Fred on the nose, "who's laughing now, huh?" Fred snorted and retaliated, poking Lisa's forehead, smiling when she giggled and bat his hand away. 

By the time Ginny clambered back into the car, they were running very late and tempers were running high.

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife. "Molly, dear—"

"No, Arthur."

"No one would see. This little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed, that'd get us up in the air then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser—"

"I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight."

They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven.

Mr. Weasley dashed to get trolleys for their trunks. All it took was Mrs. Weasley having her back turned five seconds for Fred to get the idea to do something fun. He whispered his idea into Lisa's ear and she grinned mischievously. She eyed Mrs. Weasley's back and climbed atop Fred's trunk.

"Go, go, go!" She said and Fred sped off toward the entrance. Lisa could be heard cackling across the car park. She nearly fell off twice.

The Weasleys chased after them all the way to Platform nine and three quarters. Lisa hopped off with flushed cheeks and a big smile, reaching up to high-five Fred with both hands. She glanced to the side and caught Mrs. Weasley's disappointed face.

Lisa's smile faded and she scurried away from Fred, "it was his idea," she added and took her trolley from Mr. Weasley.

"Percy first," said Mrs. Weasley, looking nervously at the clock overhead— they only had five minutes to get through the barrier. Percy strode forward and vanished. Mr. Weasley went next, and Fred and George followed.

"I'll take Ginny and you two come right after us," Mrs. Weasley told Lisa and Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and setting off. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

"Let's go together, we've only got a minute," said Ron.

Lisa made sure that Hedwig's cage was secure and wheeled her trolley about to face the barrier. She felt confident as this was nowhere near as uncomfortable as Floo powder. Both of them bent forward over the handles and walked purposefully toward the barrier, gathering speed. A few feet away they broke into a run and then— CRASH!

Both trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backward, Ron's trunk fell off with a loud thump. Lisa was knocked off her feet and Hedwig's cage bounced onto the waxed floor and she rolled away, screeching indignantly. People all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, "what in blazes d'you think you're doing?" 

"Sorry, lost control of the trolley," Lisa gasped, clutching her ribs as she stood up, "ow."

Ron ran to pick up Hedwig, who was causing such a scene, people were muttering about cruelty to animals from the gathered crowd. He handed the cage to Lisa, Hedwig looked fine, nothing seemed to be broken but that didn't stop her from screaming about it.

"Hedwig, you're causing a scene," Lisa hissed and Hedwig beat her wings on the bars, "don't be such a drama queen, you're fine." She set Hedwig down and whispered in Ron's ear, "why can't we get through?"

"I dunno—" Ron looked wildly around, a dozen curious people were still watching them. "We're going to miss the train," he whispered, "I don't understand why the gateways sealed itself."

Lisa looked up at the giant clock with a pit in her stomach. Ten seconds...nine seconds... Lisa smacked the barrier with the palm of her hand. 

"It's gone," Ron whimpered, "the train's left. What if Mum and Dad can't get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?"

Lisa stared at Ron and then swore, "I've got a stash of it in my room, I didn't think to grab it when you were rescuing me."

Ron pressed his ear to the cold barrier, "I can't hear a thing," he said tensely.

"Well, yeah, it's a brick wall again."

"What're we going to do? I don't know how long it'll take Mum and Dad to get back to us."

"I think we'd better go and wait by the car," Lisa said.

"Lisa!" said Ron, his eyes gleaming, "the car!"

"Oh no— I don't like that look."

"We can fly the car to Hogwarts!"

"No."

"We're stuck, right? And we've got to get to school, haven't we?"

"It's also super illegal."

"Even underage wizards and witches are allowed to use magic if it's a real emergency, section nineteen or something of the Restriction of Thingy..."

Lisa squints at him, “I don't think this is what they meant when they made that rule, Ronald." 

"C'mon Lisa! You don't want to miss school, you love school!"

"Oh my God," Lisa sighed with her hand on her forehead, "all right, fine. But if we get into trouble, I'm placing all the blame on you. And I mean it."

Ron wheeled his trolley around, "c'mon, let's go, if we hurry we'll be able to follow the train." 

They marched off through the crowd of curious Muggles, out of the station and back into the car park. Ron unlocked the cavernous boot with a series of taps from his wand and they heaved their trunks back in, putting Hedwig and Scabbers in the back seat.

"Check for Muggles," said Ron, starting the ignition with another tap of his wand. Lisa stuck her head out the window and looked around, their side of the lot was empty.

"We're good, nobody around but us."

Ron pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard, the car disappeared and so did they. Lisa could feel the seat vibrating beneath her and hear the engine but for all she could see, she had become a pair of eyeballs, floating a few feet above the ground in a lot full of parked cars.

"Wow, that's freaky."

"Let's go," said Ron.

“I really don't like this," Lisa complained, gripping the seat. The ground and buildings fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose higher and higher and then...there was a pop. The car, Lisa and Ron suddenly reappeared.

"Uh oh," said Ron, jabbing the Invisibility Booster, “it’s faulty—“ both of them pummelled it, the car vanished then it flickered back on again.

Lisa smacked the button again, “why?!”

"Hold on!" Ron yelled as he slammed his foot in the accelerator; they shot straight into the low dense clouds and everything turned dull and foggy.

Lisa sighed and leaned back in her seat, adjusting her seatbelt. "Okay," she breathed, "now what?"

"We need to see the train to know which direction to go in," said Ron and dropped back beneath the clouds and they twisted around in their seats, squinting at the ground.

"There!" Lisa pointed at the windscreen, "up ahead." The Hogwarts Express was chugging along below them like a scarlet snake.

"Do north," said Ron, checking the compass on the dashboard. "Okay, we'll just have to check on it every half an hour or so." And they shot up through the clouds. A minute later, they burst out into a blaze of sunlight. It was a different world, the wheels of the car skimmed the sea of white fluff, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blinding yellow sun.

“All we've got to worry about now are aeroplanes," said Ron. They looked at each other and started to laugh; for a long time, they couldn't stop.

Lisa turned her head, "all right back there?" She asked, still a bit giggly. Scabbers was asleep on his bedding and Hedwig screeched at Lisa. "Okay," she frowned and turned back around. "Hedwig's still mad at me." 

Lisa fiddled with the radio and they helped themselves to the toffees in the glove compartment. They made regular checks on the train as they flew further and further north, each dip beneath the clouds showing them a different view. London was soon far behind them, replaced by rolling green fields that gave way in turn to wide, purplish moors, villages with tiny toy churches and big cities full of ant-sized cars. 

Several uneventful hours later, Lisa was bored out of her mind, all that toffee had made her extremely thirsty and they had nothing to drink. Ron had pulled off his jumper and Lisa picked at a tiny hole in her striped tights. She daydreamed about the train, about the cauldron cakes she could be eating and ice-cold pumpkin juice she could be drinking from the trolley witch. Why hadn't they been able to get onto platform nine and three-quarters? 

"Can't be much further, can it?" Ron asked, hours later still, as the sun started to sink into the floor of their cloud, staining it deep pink. "Ready for another check on the train?"

"Ugh, fine."

It was still right below them, winding its way past a snowcapped mountain, darker beneath the canopy of clouds. Ron put his foot down on the accelerator and drove them upward again but as he did, the engine began to whine.

Lisa's eyes widened and she reached for the grab handle with both of her hands, knees pulled up to her chest, "why is it doing that? Are we running out of fuel?"

"It's probably just tired," said Ron, "it's never driven this far before."

Lisa groaned but tried not to think about it but the whining grew louder still, louder and louder as the sky grew darker. Stars were blossoming in the deep sky, Lisa watched the way the windscreen wipers were waving feebly, as though in protest.

"Not far," Ron said, more to the car than Lisa. "Not far now," and he patted the dashboard nervously.

When they flew back beneath the clouds a little later, they had to squint for a landmark they could recognize.

"There!" Lisa shouted, making Ron jump. Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake, stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle. But then the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed.

"Oh no," Lisa reached for the grab handle again, laughing nervously, "what's wrong with it now!"

"Come on," said Ron cajolingly, giving the steering wheel a little shake, "nearly there, come on." The engine groaned, narrow jets of smoke were issuing from under the bonnet.

“I'm gonna die," Lisa said to no one in particular as they flew over the lake, "I'm gonna die in a stupid flying car because we missed the train!"

The cat gave a nasty wobble and Lisa yelped. Ron's knuckles were white on the wheel and the car wobbled again.

“Come on," Ron muttered. 

They were over the lake, the castle was right ahead and Ron put his foot down. There was a loud clunk and a splutter, and the engine died completely.

"Oh God," Lisa squeaked.

"Uh oh," said Ron.

The nose of the car dropped. They were falling, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.

“No!" Ron yelled, swinging the steering wheel around; they missed the dark stone wall by inches as the car turned in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the vegetable patch and then out over the dark grass. Ron let go of the steering wheel completely and pulled his wand out of his back pocket.

"STOP! STOP!" He yelled, whacking the dashboard and the steering wheel, but they were still plummeting, the ground flying up towards them.

"Tree— there's a tree, Ron..." Lisa said, eyes wide as dinner plates, tapping Ron repeatedly on the shoulder, "TREE-TREE-TREE-TREE!" She made a grab for the steering wheel but too late— CRUNCH.

With an ear-splitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt, steam was billowing from under the crumpled bonnet; Hedwig was shrieking in terror in the back seat, beating her wings against her cage. Lisa sat there, hyperventilating and gripping Ron's sleeve. He let out a low, despairing groan.

“What?" Lisa asked urgently.

“My wand," said Ron in a shaky voice, "look at my wand!" It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters and unicorn hair. He turned to Lisa who stared at him with a murderous glint in her dark eyes and he gulped. Have her canine teeth always been so long and pointy? 

"Your wand?" She inhaled deeply, grabbed ahold of his t-shirt and shook him around, "WE NEARLY DIED AND YOU'RE WORRIED ABOUT YOUR WAND, RONALD WEASLEY?!"

At that moment, something hit her side of the car with the force of a charging bull and she screamed, lurching sideways into Ron. She undid her seatbelt, just as an equally heavy blow hit the roof.

"What the hell is that?"

Ron gasped, staring through the windscreen and Lisa looked around just in time to see a branch as thick as a python smash into it.

The tree they had hit was attacking them. Its trunk was bent almost double and its gnarled boughs were pummelling every inch of the car it could reach. Ron screamed as another twisted limb punched a large dent into his door; the windscreen was now trembling under the hail of blows from the knuckle-like twigs and a branch as thick as a battering ram was pounding furiously on the roof, which seemed to be caving in.

"Run for it!" Ron shouted, throwing his full weight against the door.

"Undo your seatbelt first!" Lisa shouted.

In the time Ron had freed himself from the strip of fabric, he had been knocked back into Lisa's lap by a vicious uppercut from another branch.  

"We're done for!" He moaned as the ceiling sagged. 

“Shut up! This is all your fault! I wanted to wait for your parents by the car!" Suddenly, the floor of the car was vibrating and the engine had restarted. “Back up!" Lisa yelled, "back up! Back up!" and the car shot backward. The tree was still trying to hit them, they could hear its roots creaking as it almost ripped itself up, lashing out at them as they sped out of reach.

"That," Ron panted, "was close...well done, car."

The car, however, had reached the end of its tether, with two smart clunks, the doors flew open and Lisa yelped as her seat tipped sideways and dumped her on the grass. The car then ejected their trunks and pets, Hedwig's cage burst open and she flew out with a loud, angry screech, speeding off toward the castle. Then, dented, scratched and steaming, the car rumbled off into the darkness, its rear lights blazing angrily.

"Come back!" Ron yelled after it, brandishing his broken wand. "Dad'll kill me!" But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from its exhaust. "Can you believe our luck?" Ron said miserably, bending down to pick up Scabbers. "Of all the trees we could've hit, we had to get one that hits back." He glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, still flailing its branches threateningly.

Ron dared glance at Lisa, who hadn't said a word, she stood there tense and hyperventilating. "Lisa—"

Then, the hyperventilating turned into screaming.

"Lis—"

Then she left him there, screaming and grunting angrily up to the castle while he had to drag their trunks up by himself.

"I think the feasts already started," Ron panted, catching up to her.

“Shut up!" she snapped.

Ron dropped his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossed quietly to look through a brightly lit window. "I know you're mad at me come here, it's the Sorting!" Lisa huffed and spun around on her heel to join Ron at the window. Through the forest of pointed black hats, Lisa saw a long line of frightened first years filing into the Hall, Ginny was amongst them, easily visible with her vivid copper hair.

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall was placing the Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers. Lisa well remembered putting it on, exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered aloud in her ear. For a few horrible seconds, she had feared that the hat was going to put her in Slytherin but mercifully, she had ended up in Gryffindor.

A small brown-haired boy had been called forward to place the hat on his head. Lisa's eyes wandered and several seats along, she saw Gilderoy Lockhart in robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid, huge and drinking deeply from his goblet. "Wait...where's Professor Snape?"

“Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully. "Or he might have been sacked! I mean, everyone hates him—"

"Or maybe," a very cold voice right behind them said, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."  

Lisa spun around. There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stood Professor Snape. He was smiling in a way that told Lisa, she and Ron were in very deep trouble.

"Follow me," he said.

Not daring even to look at each other, Lisa and Ron followed him up the steps into the vast Entrance Hall, lit with flaming torches. A delicious smell of food was wafting from the Great Hall but Snape led them away from the warmth and light, down a narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons.

"In!" He said, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing. They entered Snape's office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, which floated all manner of things Lisa was curious about and made a note to ask Professor Snape about them later. The fireplace was dark and empty and Snape closed the door and turned to look at them.

"So," he said softly, "the train isn't good enough for the famous Lisa Potter and her faithful sidekick Weasley? Wanted to arrive with a bang, did we?" 

"No," Lisa said, "it— okay," she sighed, "so what happened was; we couldn't get through the barrier at Kings Cross, we don't know what happened but it just went solid. And then we missed the train and I wanted to wait by the car for Mr and Mrs Weasley to come back but it was Ron's idea to take the car, I was against the idea." She explained in a single breath. 

"And what have you done with the car?" asked Snape and Ron gulped.

“It's, uh...it's gone," said Lisa, "but you already knew that, didn't you?" This wasn't the first time Professor Snape had given Lisa the impression of being able to read minds. He unrolled today's issue of the Evening Prophet and slid it across his desk:

FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. 

"You were seen!" He hissed and began to read aloud. "'Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower...at noon in Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing...Mr Angus Fleet, of Peebles, reported to police...six or seven Muggles in all. I believe your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?" he said, looking up at Ron and smiled nastily. "Dear, dear...his own son..."

Lisa felt as though he'd just been walloped in the stomach by one of the mad tree's larger branches. If anyone found out Mr Weasley had bewitched the car...

"I noticed, in my search of the car, that considerable damage seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow," Snape went on. 

"That tree did more damage to us than we—" Ron blurted out.

"Silence!" snapped Snape. "Most unfortunately, you are not in my house and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. You will wait here."

Lisa and Ron stared at each other, white-faced. Lisa didn't feel hungry anymore, in fact, she felt rather queasy. Still, she made the effort to scowl at Ron and turn her head to stare at a large, slimy something suspended in green liquid on a shelf behind Snape's desk. If Snape had gone to fetch Professor McGonagall, they were hardly any better off. 

Ten minutes later, Snape returned. Lisa had seen Professor McGonagall angry on several occasions, but either she had forgotten just how thin her mouth could go, or she had never seen her this angry before. Professor McGonagall raised her wand the moment she entered. Lisa and Ron both flinched, but she merely pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames suddenly erupted.

"Sit," she said and they both backed into chairs. "Explain," her glasses glinting ominously. Ron launched into the story, starting with the barrier at the station refusing to let them through.

"...so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get on the train."

"Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?" Professor McGonagall said coldly to Lisa and she sighed, slumping down in her chair with her arms crossed.

"Didn't think of that," said Lisa, "not that it would have worked anyway, Hedwig is angry with me," she mumbled, "keeps screaming at me."

“I see," said Professor McGonagall with an arched eyebrow.

There was a knock on the office door and Snape opened it, on the other side stood Professor Dumbledore. Lisa sunk down further in her chair, trying to look anywhere else. Dumbledore stared down his crooked nose at them and Lisa suddenly found herself wishing she and Ron were still being harassed by that damn tree.

There was a long silence, and then Dumbledore said, "please explain why you did this." It would have been better if he had shouted, Lisa hated the disappointment in his voice. She looked at Ron's helpless face and groaned.

Lisa told Dumbledore everything, leaving out that Mr. Weasley owned the enchanted car, making it sound as if Ron had just happened upon a flying car in the car park. She wasn't sure why she lied, she knew Dumbledore would see right threw her but Dumbledore asked no questions about that damn Ford Anglia. And when Lisa had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.

"We'll go and get our stuff," said Ron in a hopeless sort of voice.

“What are you talking about, Weasley?" Professor McGonagall barked.

"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" Ron asked and Lisa looked quickly at Dumbledore.

“Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you. As Professor McGonagall is your Head of House, deciding your punishment is her responsibility." He said, turning to Professor McGonagall. "I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I've got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there's a delicious-looking custard tart I want to sample."

Snape allowed himself to be swept out of his office, leaving them alone with Professor McGonagall, who was still eyeing them like a wrathful eagle. "You'd better get along to the hospital wing, Weasley, you're bleeding."

"Not much," Ron said, hastily wiping the cut over his eye. "Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted—"  

“The Sorting Ceremony is over," Professor McGonagall said. "Your sister is also in Gryffindor."

"Oh, good," Ron sighed happily.

"And speaking of Gryffindor," Professor McGonagall said sharply, but Lisa cut in.

"Professor, when we took the car, term hadn't started, so— so Gryffindor shouldn't really have points taken from it, should it?" She finished, watching her anxiously.

"I will not take any points from Gryffindor," she said and Lisa's heart lightened considerably. "But you will both receive detention."

This was going far better than Lisa expected. And as for Dumbledore writing to the Dursleys, Lisa didn't have anything to worry about, they would be more disappointed to learn that the Whomping Willow hadn't squashed her flat.

Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape's desk, a large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets and a jug of iced pumpkin juice appeared with a pop. "You will eat here and then head straight to your dormitories," she said, "I must also return to the feast." When the door closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low whistle.

"I thought we'd had it," he said, grabbing a sandwich.

Lisa glared at him and snatched one off the silver plate.

"Can you believe our luck, though?" Ron continued through a mouthful of chicken and ham. "Fred and George must've flown that car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw them." He swallowed and took another huge bite. "Why couldn't we get through the barrier?" 

Lisa shrugged, taking a long drink of pumpkin juice. Ron sighed. "C'mon Lisa, you can't still be mad at me."

To make a point, Lisa finished the sandwich in her hand, grabbed another and left him there. Lisa had made it up to the fifth floor before Ron caught up to her. They walked past muttering portraits and creaking suits of armour and climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last, they reached the passage where the secret entrance to Gryffindor Tower was hidden, behind an oil painting of a plump woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" She said as they approached.

"Oh—" Lisa said. They didn't know the new year's password, not having met a Gryffindor Prefect yet, but help came almost immediately; they heard hurrying feet behind them and turned to see Hermione dashing towards them.

“There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumours— someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car."

"Uh— well, we haven't been expelled," Lisa assured her.

"You're not telling me you did fly here?" Hermione questioned, sounding almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.

"Skip the lecture," said Ron impatiently, "and tell us the new password." 

“It's 'wattlebird'," Hermione said impatiently, "but that's not the point—"

Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the fat lady swung open and there was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked as though the whole of Gryffindor house was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lop-sided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for them to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Lisa and Ron inside, leaving Hermione to scramble in after them.

"Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that one for years!"

“Good on you," said a fifth-year Lisa had never spoken to; someone was patting her on the back as though she'd just won a marathon.

Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, "Why couldn't you've called us back, eh?" Ron was scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly, but Lisa could see one person who didn't look happy at all. Percy was visible over the heads of some excited first-years and he seemed to be trying to get near enough to start telling them off. Lisa nudged Ron in the ribs and nodded in Percy's direction, he got the point at once.

"Got to get upstairs— bit tired," said Ron, and the two of them started pushing their way toward the door on the other side of the room.

“Night," Ron said, but Lisa, who still wasn't talking to him, turned her head and climbed up the adjacent staircase. She reached the door of her old dormitory, which now had a sign on it that read; second-year girls. She pushed the door open and entered the familiar, circular room, with its five four-posters hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. Their trunks had been brought up for them and placed at the ends of their beds. Sighing deeply, Lisa changed quickly and collapsed into bed. 

Chapter Text

“Come to me...”

A voice whispered in the dead of night.

“Lisa Potter...come...and find me...”

Lisa sat up in her bed, eyes open. Soundlessly she stood and left the dormitory, as if, almost in a trance. The common room was quiet, empty but the embers were still burning in the fireplace.

“Yes...”

The portrait swung open and she climbed out of the hole and into the corridor. The castle was cold, devoid of life, illuminated only by the light of the moon in the windows. Lisa moved through the corridors like a ghost, half-lidded eyes and blank stare, passing empty classrooms, running into no one.

“Follow my voice...child...”

She found herself on the second floor.

“This way...”

The door to the girl's lavatory on the second floor opened without a creak and Lisa stepped inside. A gloomy place, the water on the floor soaked her slippers as she stepped inside. There was light, fire flickered off the stubs of candles. Her eyes fell on the mirror with a crack running down the middle, it hung over a row of chipped sinks.

“That’s it...almost there...”

Slowly, she approached the sinks and began to look for something, running her fingers along rusty faucets. And then she found it, a snake, engraved in metal.

“You found me...”

Said the voice, louder now.

“Now open it... release me...Lisa...”

“Lisa...”

"Lisa, wake up," someone pressed their fingers into her shoulder, startling her awake. Lisa squinted at the figure hovering over her, bushy brown hair pulled out of the way by a flat hair clip.

Lisa yawned, "time is it?"

"It's nearly seven," Hermione said, slightly clipped. "Lavender and Parvati have already gone down to breakfast."

A jolt of panic struck Lisa, she scrambled out of bed and herded Hermione out the door so she could get ready. Lisa raced to their shared bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. She stared at her reflection with furrowed brows. Lisa was sure she dreamt last night. Her dreams sometimes had a tendency to haunt her for days after and she remembers all of them. But not this time, not this dream. All she could remember was being in a bathroom somewhere in the castle. It left her feeling frustrated. Lisa reached for her hairbrush and ran it through her thick, wavy hair, watching it get big and frizzy. Sighing, she grabbed a scrunchie and pulled it into a high ponytail. 

Opening her trunk she shoved books, quill and parchment into her school bag and shed her pyjamas.

Hermione was waiting in the common room when she heard Lisa come down the stairs, fussing over her tie and straightening her glasses. They walked down to breakfast together, the heels of their shoes clicking on the stone floor as they entered the Great Hall. The four tables were laden with tureens of porridge, pots of tea and coffee, mountains of toast and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling; today, a dull, cloudy grey.

They turned toward the Gryffindor table and sat down across from Ron. Neither she nor Hermione said a word to him, the latter pulling out her copy of Voyages with Vampires. 

"Lisa," Ron said and she met his apologetic gaze for a moment before she narrowed her eyes and looked away, helping herself to a bit of toast.

Neville, who had noticed Lisa the moment she sat down, stumbled out of his spot at the table to greet her. He pulled her into a hug, exclaiming how happy he was that she didn't get expelled. Lisa was glad they were stiff friends, despite the body-binding curse she cast on him last year.

"Post's due any minute," said Neville, "I think gran's sending on a few things I forgot." 

Lisa poured herself a bit of pumpkin juice when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound from above and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy parcel bounced off Neville's head and a second later, something large and grey fell into a milk jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.

"Errol!" exclaimed Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the talons. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak. “Oh no–" he gasped.

"It's all right, he's still alive," said Hermione, prodding Eroll gently with the tip of her finger.

“It's not that— it's that!" Ron pointed at the red envelope, Lisa and Hermione had assumed it was merely fancy stationary but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode.

Ron looked at Lisa who raised her eyebrows, looking down at the envelope and back at him. "Mum...she-she's sent me a Howler."

"You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville, in a timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't, my Gran sent me one once and I ignored it and..." he gulped, "it was horrible." Lisa's eyes were fixed on the envelope, which had begun to smoke at the corners. 

"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll all be over in a few minutes..."

Ron reached out with a shaky hand, he eased the envelope from Errol's beak and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears and a split second later, Lisa knew why. She thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound filled the hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

"...STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT HAD GONE..."

Mrs. Weasley's yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swivelling around to see who had received the Howler and Ron sank so low that only his forehead could be seen.

"...LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND LISA COULD BOTH HAVE DIED..."

Lisa wondered if her name was going to pop up not that she had done anything wrong, taking the car wasn't her idea.

"...ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED, YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."

A ringing silence fell over the Great Hall. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's hand, burst into flames, raining ashes on the table.

"Well," said Lisa, a grin spreading across her face, "I think that was deserved."

“Does this mean you're speaking to me again?" Ron asked, shaken up and Lisa, without a word, grabbed another bit of toast. All around them a few people laughed— primarily from the Slytherin table but gradually the babble broke out again. Lisa saw a flash of emerald from the corner of her eye and saw Professor McGonagall moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out timetables. Lisa took hers with a muttered, "thank you" and looked it over; they had double Herbology with Hufflepuff first.

They left the castle together, greenhouses covered in moss and ivy. They saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Lisa had only just gotten in line when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart, still in sweeping robes of turquoise now wearing a hat with gold trimming over his perfectly coiffed blond hair. Professor Sprout's arms were covered in bandages and Lisa felt a twinge of guilt, spotting the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now wrapped up and in slings, drooping slightly.

"Oh, hello there!" Lockhart called, beaming around at the assembled students, "just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels—"

"Greenhouse Three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.

There was a murmur of interest, they had only ever worked in Greenhouse One before. Greenhouse Three was eerie-looking and housed far more interesting and dangerous plants, Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Lisa caught a whiff of damp earth mingling with the perfume of umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling and sighed. She was about to follow Hermione and Ron inside when Lockhart's hand shot out.

"Lisa! I've been wanting a word! You don't mind if she's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and closed the glass door in her face.

He pulled her away but not before Lisa could mouth a quick "help me" toward her Professor.

"Lisa," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Lisa, Lisa, Lisa."

Lisa said nothing just as thunder rolled overhead, accompanied by a flash of lightning across the darkened clouds.

"When I heard, well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself." Lisa had no idea what he was going on about, she was to say so when Lockhart went on. "Don't know when I've been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile. Lisa, Lisa, Lisa."

It was remarkable how he could show every one of his teeth even when he wasn't talking.

"Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?" He said, "gave you the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper with me and you couldn't wait to do it again."

"Wow, okay," Lisa snorted with her hand on her hips, "first of all, you couldn't be more wrong, you pompous a—" 

"Lisa, Lisa, Lisa." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she tried to shrug him off. "I understand, it's natural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste and I blame myself for giving you that, because it was bound to go to your head but see here, young lady, you can't start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's alright for him, he's an internationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I'd say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with He Who Must Not Be Named!" He tried to catch a glimpse of the scar hiding under Lisa's bangs.

"I know, I know, it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award five times in a row as I have but it's a start, Lisa, it's a start."

"Oh my God," she whispered in exasperation and he gave her a hearty wink and finally, finally strode off. Lisa opened the greenhouse door. Her classmates turned to stare at her and she inhaled sharply, muscles tense.

"I hate him!" She announced, nearly slamming the door and Professor Sprout gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"Go on and find a spot, dear," she said and Lisa wiggled her way in the line, between Ron and Hermione. She looked down and spotted coloured earmuffs on the bench.

"We'll be re-potting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?" There were a few murmurs but both Lisa and Hermione raised their hands almost immediately.

"Miss Potter?"

"The Mandrake is a powerful restorative, used to return someone who has been cursed or petrified back to their original state."

"Excellent, ten points to Gryffindor," said Professor Sprout, "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione and Lisa raised their hands again.

"Miss Granger?"

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it.”

"Quite right, take another ten points," Professor Sprout said. Hermione and Lisa high-fived each other discretely. "Now, don't be alarmed, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young." She pointed to a row of deep trays and everyone shuffled forward for a closer look, a hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in colour, were growing there in rows.

"Everyone take out your gloves and grab a pair of earmuffs," Professor Sprout said just as the sky opened up and heavy rain began to pelt the glass. There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that weren't pink and fluffy. 

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right, earmuffs on.”

Lisa snapped the earmuffs over her ears and it shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put a pair over her ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly and pulled hard. Instead of roots, a small, muddy and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head, he had pale green, mottled skin and was bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up and removed her earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly, as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they will knock you out for several hours and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up. Four to a tray, there is a large supply of pots here, compost in the sacks over there and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula— it's teething." She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant that had been slowly inching over her shoulder, making it shrink away.

Lisa, Ron and Hermione huddled together immediately, they were quickly adjoined by a curly- haired Hufflepuff boy Lisa knew by sight, but had never spoken to.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Lisa's hand almost wildly. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Lisa Potter."

Lisa merely smiled a tight-lipped smile, and here we go, she thought.

"And you're Hermione Granger— always top in everything." Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken, too, "and Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?" Ron didn't smile, theHowler was obviously still on his mind.

“That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" Justin continued happily, as they began filling their plant pots with dragon-dung compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone box by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and— zap— just fantastic.

"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..."

After that, they didn't have much of a chance to talk, their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth but didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists and gnashed their teeth; Lisa spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot.

By the end of class, Lisa, like everyone else was sweaty, achy and covered in dirt. They traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and change and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. They were supposed to be turning a beetle into a button but it was easier said than done. Lisa's kept scurrying around her desk.

“Stay still!" she huffed. She got the slippery little bastard eventually, turning it into a pretty pink silk button.

Ron was having far worse problems; he had patched up his wand with some borrowed spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick grey smoke which smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one.

When class was over, everyone filed out of the classroom except for her and Ron, who was whacking his wand furiously against the desk.

"Stupid...useless...thing...!"

“Maybe you should ask your parents for a new one," Lisa suggested, as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.

“Oh yeah and get another Howler back?" said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag.

"It's your own fault your wand got snapped," Lisa was quick to remind him on the way to lunch. Ron's mood was made worse by Hermione showing them the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration.

“What've we got this afternoon?" Lisa asked, hastily changing the subject.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

“Why," Ron seized her timetable, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione snatched the parchment back, flushing furiously. They finished their lunch and ventured out into the damp courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in Voyages with Vampires again.

Lisa and Ron stood around and talked about Quidditch for several minutes before Lisa became aware she was being watched. Looking up, she saw the small, brown-haired boy she'd seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night, staring at Lisa as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera and the moment Lisa looked at him, he went bright red.

"I'm— I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward, "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think...would it be all right if I— can I have a picture?" He stumbled out, raising his camera hopefully.

"A picture? Why?"

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin, edging forward still. "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." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement.

“It's brilliant 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 mailman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you," Colin looked imploringly at Lisa, who was smiling softly at him. "Maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?" Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was by Crabbe and Goyle.

Lisa groaned loudly at the sky, "and just like that my day is ruined— hello Malfoy."

“Everyone queue up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Lisa Potter's giving out signed photos!" 

Lisa sighed, "oh, honestly." She puffed her cheeks and addressed the crowd, "I'm not, by the way! Just so we're clear!"

"You're just jealous," Colin piped up, tiny as a mouse.

"Jealous?" said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore, half the courtyard was listening in. "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."

Lisa reached up and touched her scar, she was nearly pushed out of the way by Ron who jumped to her defence, "eat slugs, Malfoy!"

Crabbe and Goyle ceased laughing, menacingly cracking their knuckles. "Be careful, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "You don't want to start any trouble or your Mummy'll have to come and take you away from school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice. "If you put another toe out of line—" A group of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this.

“Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter," Malfoy smirked, "it'd be worth more than his family's whole house."

Ron whipped out his spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut her book with a snap and whispered, "look out!"

“What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them. "Who's giving out signed photos?" He flung an arm around Lisa's small shoulders, thundering joyously. "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Lisa!"

“Get. Off. Me."

Pinned to Lockhart's side— again, and burning with humiliation, Lisa saw Malfoy slide smirking behind the crowd.

"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," Lockhart said, beaming at Colin, "a double portrait, can't say fairer than that, and we'll both sign it for you."

Colin fumbled for his camera, he took the picture and Lisa managed, somehow, to wiggle out of Lockhart's grasp and made a run for it, just as the bell rang, signalling the start of afternoon classes.

"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd and he set off, managing to catch up to Lisa, grabbing the back of her robe.

“A word to the wise, Lisa," said Lockhart in a paternal sort of way that made her feel uneasy. "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey, if he was photographing me too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much.." deaf to Lisa's stammers of protest, Lockhart swept her down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase.

“Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible, looks a tad bigheaded, Lisa, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but," he gave a little chortle, "I don't think you're quite there yet."

They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he, finally, let Lisa go. She fixed her uniform, straightened her tie and took a seat, busing herself with piling all of Lockhart's books in the corner, along with the rest of her supplies. 

The rest of class came clattering in and Ron sat down beside Lisa.

“You could've fried an egg on your face," Ron joked, trying to lighten her mood, "you'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, they'd start a Lisa Potter fan club."

“Shut up," Lisa hissed. The last thing he needed was for Lockhart to hear the words 'Lisa Potter fan club'.

Once the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

“Me," he said, pointing at it and winking too. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times 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 waited for them to laugh but a few people smiled weakly.

"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."

Once he had handed out the test papers, he returned to the front of the class and said, "you have thirty minutes. Start...now!"

Lisa looked down at her paper and read:

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date? 

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be? 

Ron groaned beside her and whimpered, "please tell me you've read all his books."

"Of course I did," said Lisa, dipping her quill in her ink pot. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron taking a peek at her quiz and pushed his face away. "Eyes on your own parchment, Ronald," she sighed.

“Aw, c'mon Lisa, let me have a few answers."

"No."

"Why? You don't even like him."

"Your right, I don't," said Lisa, dipping her quill again, already on the second page. "But I'm not about to let you copy— the last thing I need is for Lockhart to suspect one of us cheated and ruin my chances at getting full marks." 

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class. "Tut, tut, hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in Year with a 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 gave them another roguish wink, Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face, and Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, shook with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention, and nearly jumped when he mentioned name.

"...but Miss Hermione Granger remembered my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions— good girl. In fact—“ he flipped her paper over, “full marks! Where is Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised her trembling hand.

"There you are!" beamed Lockhart, "take ten points for Gryffindor! And so, to business..."

Lockhart bent behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. "Now— be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind. You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

In spite of herself, Lisa leaned closer, curious to know what could be in the in the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover, Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now and Neville was cowering in his front-row seat.

"I ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice, "it might provoke them."

As the whole class sat there with bated breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically, "freshly caught Cornish pixies."

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself, he let out a snort of laughter which even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" he smiled at Seamus.

“Well, they're not— they're not very— dangerous, are they?' Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies in question were eight inches high and electric blue with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The second the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling bars and pulling bizarre faces.

"Right, then," Lockhart said, "let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

In an instant the pixies are everywhere, shooting around like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass, the rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino.

They spilled ink bottles and shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, upended the waste bin, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the candelabra in the ceiling.

"Come on now, round them up, round them up, they're only pixies!" Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

It...did absolutely nothing, it did not work. One of the pixies seized Lockhart's wand and threw it out of the broken window. He gulped and dived under his desk, narrowly being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later when the candelabra gave way. The bell rang and there was a mad rush towards the exit, in the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Lisa, Ron and Hermione, who were almost at the door and said, "well, I'll ask you three to just nip the rest of them back into their cage." He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.

"Can you believe him?" Ron roared as one of the remaining pixies bit him on the ear.

"Yes, Ron!" Lisa shouted, squishing one under one of his books, making sure to flip it around to the portrait side. "Yes, I can!"

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

"Are you kidding me!" Lisa shrieked, running back to her bag for her wand, curling her fingers around the handle. “Hermione, that arsehole hadn't a clue what he was doing!"

"Rubbish," Hermione said, "you've read his books, look at all those things he's done."

"Says he's done," Lisa clarified, shoving three singed pixies in the cage by their feet.

Slowly, but surely, Lisa and Hermione had rounded them all up and left the classroom. And Lisa, irate and bleeding in a few places, found herself on a manhunt with Ron and Hermione trailing behind. They found Lockhart, talking with a few students and teachers in the Great Hall.

"Miss Potter, are you all right?" Flitwick asked, sounding concerned.

"You!" Lisa growled and stomped toward Lockhart, pointing a finger in his chest. "How dare you! You left us! In a classroom! Alone! With Cornish pixies! Are you insane?!" She shrieked, jabbing him repeatedly with each word.

"Miss Potter, please, calm yourself!" Professor Flitwick implored, reaching up to pull her arm away, looking to Professor Snape for help, but he could only stand there, amused. Lisa stopped her tirade, breathing heavily. She took a breath in and turned on her heel, grunting and yelling angrily out of the room.

"Well," Lockhart cleared his throat and straightened his robes, "I don't think she was a fan of today's lesson."

Chapter Text

It was a nightmare.

Lisa spent days trying to avoid Gilderoy Lockhart outside of classes, the moment she saw him turn down the corridor she would hide behind statues and disappear into empty classrooms. Harder still to avoid Colin Creevey. Lisa was convinced he had memorized her timetable and nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to pop out saying, "all right, Lisa?" six or seven times a day to hear "hi, Colin," back, however exasperated Lisa sounded when she said it.

Hedwig was still angry with Lisa about the car incident and no amount of owl treats was going to fix it. Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, leaving a large, throbbing green boil behind.

By the time the weekend came around, Lisa was relieved to have a chance to relax. She, Ron and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Lisa, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than she would have liked by Angelina.

"Whassamatter?" Lisa mumbled groggily.

"Quidditch practice," said Angelina and Lisa rolled over onto her side, tucking her arms under her pillows.

"No," she said, curling up into a tight ball and mumbling something about it being Saturday. 

"C'mon, Lisa, up you get," Angelina sighed, pulling her blankets off, snorting at her orange polka-dot pyjamas and pink socks.

After a few minutes, Lisa relented, she got out of bed, yawning and shivering, pawing around in her dresser for her Quidditch robes. 

"Oliver expects you on the pitch in fifteen," said Angelina, turning to leave when Lisa waved her off with another yawn.  

Lisa tossed her khaki-coloured trousers and maroon-gold jumper onto her rumpled covers and grabbed her toiletry bag, shuffling into their shared lavatory. Minutes later she reemerged, with her hair pulled back in a loose braid behind her head. She dressed and pulled a second jumper on for extra warmth, grabbing her Nimbus from where it leaned against the wall. Lisa found a spare bit of parchment and scribbled a note for Hermione before she left, to explain where she had gone and set it on her side table, on top of one of Lockhart's books.

She had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind her and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.

"I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Lisa! Look what I've got here! I had it developed, I wanted to show you—"

Lisa looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under her nose; a moving black-white Lockhart tugging hard on her arm. She was hardly in the frame. It was a better outcome than she had expected, the last thing she needed to see was another photograph of herself looking uncomfortable. As Lisa watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

"Will you sign it?" asked Colin eagerly.

"No," Lisa replied, glancing around to check that the common room was really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry— Quidditch practice," she showed him her broom and climbed out of the portrait hole.

"Oh wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!" Colin scrambled through the hole after her.

"It'll be really boring," said Lisa, picking up the pace. Colin ignored her, his face shining with excitement.

"You were the youngest house player in a hundred years, weren't you, Lisa? Weren't you?" said Colin, trotting alongside her. "You must be brilliant, I've never flown, is it easy?"

"Kinda," she muttered, "it's a lot like walking." Lisa didn't know how to get rid of him, it was like having an extremely talkative shadow.

"I don't really understand Quidditch," said Colin breathlessly. "Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?"

"Yeah," Lisa sighed heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated rules of Quidditch. "Those are Bludgers. There are two Beaters on each team, Fred and George are ours, their job is to whack the Bludgers around and keep them from hitting us." 

"And what are the other balls for?" asked Colin, tripping down a couple of steps because he wasn't paying attention, gazing open-mouthed at Lisa.

"There's the Quaffle— it's the big red one, it's— well, it's a bit like a football, same sort of idea. Except instead of a net, the Chasers throw the Quaffle through the other team's hoops to score points."

"And the fourth ball—"

"Is the Snitch, yeah," said Lisa, "about the size of a hummingbird, very fast and hard to catch. But that's what the Seeker does, a Quidditch game doesn't end until it's been caught. And whichever team's Seeker gets the Snitch earns their team an additional hundred and fifty points." 

"And you're the Gryffindor Seeker, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Lisa sighed again, opening the heavy door with a grunt. There was a thin mist hanging across the blue-pink sky. Oh God, it's so early, she thought. Oliver's out of his mind. She started across the dew-laden grass, Colin following close behind. "Lastly; the Keeper. They guard the goalposts. That's it, really."

But Colin didn't stop questioning Lisa all the way down the sloping hills down to the Quidditch pitch, Lisa only managed to shake him off when she reached the changing rooms. Colin called after her in a piping voice, "I'll go and get a good seat, Lisa!" and hurried off to the stands.

The rest of her team were already in the changing room and Wood was the only person truly awake. Lisa pulled off her extra jumper and pulled on her Quidditch robe. Lisa fiddled with the clasp while passing Alicia, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Lisa managed to wiggle her way between Fred and George (puffy-eyed and tousle-haired) when Oliver caught sight of her.

"There you are, Lisa, what kept you?" said Wood briskly. "I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the pitch, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training programme, which I really think will make all the difference..."

Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch pitch, on which were drawn many lines, arrows and crosses in different-coloured inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley's head dropped right atop Lisa's and he began to snore. Lisa was definitely awake now, hazel eyes wide and her face was nearly as red as his hair. She tried to focus on what Oliver was saying with her blood pounding in her ears.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that and a third under that one. 

"So—" Wood cut himself off when he finally noticed the predicament Lisa was in, stiff as a board with Fred snoring in her hair. "Hey, Fred," he called and the auburn-haired boy stirred a little, "Fred," he said a little louder and George reached over to give him a clumsy shove on the shoulder. Fred forced his eyes open. It took him a few seconds to register that his cheek was squished against Lisa's hair, the smell of her shampoo in his nose. He looked down at her with an apologetic smile. 

"Sorry, Lis," he said.

"It's okay," Lisa squeaked, still pink-cheeked.

With that resolved and everyone paying some semblance of attention, Wood took a few steps back toward his diagrams, "does anybody have any questions?"

George lifted his arm, "I've got a question, Oliver, why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"

George's question made Wood frown, "now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at them all, "we should have won the Quidditch Cup last year. We're easily the best team. But unfortunately, owing to circumstances beyond our control..."

Lisa shifted uncomfortably in her seat, she had been in the hospital wing, recovering from her near-death experience in the dungeons during the final match. As a result, Gryffindor suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years. It was a miracle she was still on the team. Wood took a moment to regain control of himself, their last defeat was clearly still torturing him. "So, this year, we train harder than ever before...okay, let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the changing rooms.

Stiff-legged and a few still yawning, they followed their captain. They had been in the changing room so long that the sun was up properly now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As Lisa walked onto the pitch, she saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

"Aren't you finished yet?" Ron called incredulously.

"Haven't even started," said Lisa, looking enviously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves." She mounted her broomstick and kicked at the ground. The crisp morning air whipped her face. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch pitch. She soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they hurtled around the corner, the three of them came to a stop, looking around for the source of the noise. Lisa spotted Colin, sitting in one of the highest seats with his camera raised, he was taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

"Look this way, Lisa! This way!" He cried shrilly.

"Who's that?" asked Fred, his head moving in Lisa's direction, she adverted her gaze almost immediately, choosing to look down at her boots.

"Dunno," she mumbled, warmth flooding her face again. She took off again, faster this time and the twins followed.

"What's going on?" Wood asked with a frown, skimming through the air to catch up with them. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training programme."

"It's fine, he's Gryffindor," Lisa told him.

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," George chimed.

"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.

"Because they're here in person," said George, pointing down. There were several people in green robes walking into the Quidditch pitch, dark broomsticks in their hands.

"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the pitch for today! We'll see about this!" He shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Lisa, Fred and George followed.

"Flint!" Oliver bellowed at the Slytherin captain, "this is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood, he had a look of troll-ish glee on his face as he replied, "plenty of room for all of us, Wood." 

Angelina, Alicia and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team— who stood, shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering.

"But I booked the pitch!" said Oliver, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," the left side of Flint's mouth twitched into a sort of smirk, "but I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today on the Quidditch pitch, owing to the need to train their new Seeker'."

"You've got a new Seeker?" Oliver questioned, "where?"

From behind the six larger figures came a seventh, smaller boy, a haughty expression on his pale, pointed face.

Lisa couldn't stop herself from scoffing, "Malfoy."

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" asked Fred, he was standing behind Lisa, eyeing Malfoy with extreme dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," Flint said, as the whole Slytherin team's smiles grew sickeningly wider, "let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team." All seven of them held out their broomsticks, seven highly polished, brand new handles and seven sets of fine silver lettering spelling the words 'Nimbus Two Thousand and One' gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun.

"Very latest model, only came out last month," Flint said carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps," he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives, "sweeps the board with them."

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment.

"Oh look," Flint snorted. "A pitch invasion."

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

"What's happening?" Ron asked Lisa. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?" He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," Malfoy explained, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father bought our team."

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" Malfoy continued. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," Hermione said sharply. "They got in on pure talent." 

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Lisa knew immediately that Malfoy had said something truly awful because all around her there was an uproar, Fred had squeezed her shoulders and shoved her behind him to get to Malfoy, Flint had to dive in front to stop Fred and his brother from jumping him. Alicia shrieked, "How dare you?!" and beside Lisa, Ron plunged his hand into his coat, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" He pointed his wand furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

"Ron, don't!" Lisa said, tugging on his sleeve, "Ron, your wand is broken it's going to—"

A loud bang echoed around the pitch and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling back onto the grass, making Lisa stumble and fall flat on her arse.

"Backfire," she finished with a groan, picking wet grass off her hands.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione, Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap. Lisa gagged and had to turn away to keep herself from throwing up while the Slytherin team was paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging on to his new broomstick for support and Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching up large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's closest," Lisa told Hermione, who nodded bravely and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What happened, Lisa? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had come down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they exited the pitch. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front. "Oooh," Colin exclaimed, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Lisa?" 

"Oh, get out of the way, Colin!" Lisa shouted exasperatedly. She and Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds towards the edge of the Forest.

"Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione, as Hagrid's hut came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute... almost there..."

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the front door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of the palest mauve today, came striding out.

"Quick, behind here," Lisa hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly.

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was saying, loud enough for the three of them to hear. "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!" And he strode off towards the castle. Lisa waited until Lockhart was out of sight before she pulled Ron out of the bush with a grunt and directed him toward Hagrid's front door. They knocked urgently. 

Hagrid opened the door at once, looking very grumpy but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me– come in, come in– thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again." 

Lisa and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold, into the one-roomed hut, the quilt was rumpled on the large bed in a corner and there was a fire crackling in the other. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Lisa hastily explained as she lowered Ron into a chair. 

"Better out than in," Hagrid said 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," said 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 was bustling around, making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Ron's knee. "What was Lockhart doing here?" asked Lisa, wrapping her arms around her middle.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," Hagrid growled, 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 was most unlike Hagrid to criticise a Hogwarts teacher and Lisa stared at him with delighted surprise.

Hermione, however, said 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," Hagrid said, offering them a plate of treacle toffee while Ron coughed squelchily into his bucket. "An' I mean the on'y one. Gettin' very difficult ter find any- one fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," Hagrid said, jerking his head at Ron, "who was he tryin' ter curse?"

"Malfoy," Lisa answered, "he called Hermione something. It must've been really bad, because everyone went mad."

"It was bad," Ron said hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop, looking pale and sweaty. "Malfoy called her 'Mudblood', Hagrid—" Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance.

Lisa had never seen Hagrid look so outraged, "he didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she confirmed, "but I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course."

“It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," gasped Ron, coming back up. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who was Muggle-born– you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards— like Malfoy's family— who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin and continued, "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," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta. 

“It's a disgusting thing to call someone," Ron explained, 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 retched and ducked out of sight again.

"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," Hagrid said 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."

"Yeah, well, trouble couldn't be worse than barfing up slugs," Lisa muttered, picks leaves and bits of grass out of her hair.

"Lisa," said 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?"

Lisa closed her eyes and huffed loudly, "I have not been giving out signed photos!" She shouted, "if Lockhart's still putting that about I swear I'll—"

But then she saw Hagrid was laughing.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Lisa genially on the back, almost knocking her over. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more famous than him with-out tryin'."

"Oh, I bet he didn't like that."

"Don' think he did," Hagrid said, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go."

"I wonder if Madam Pomfrey knows how to treat bruised egos," Lisa joked and Ron reappeared.

"Treacle toffee, Ron?" Hagrid asked.

"No thanks," he said weakly, "better not risk it."

"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid as Lisa and Hermione finished the last of their tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house, we're a dozen of the biggest pumpkins Lisa had ever seen. Each was the size of a large bolder.

“Gettin' on well, aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween feast...should be big enough by then."

“What've you been feeding them?" Lisa asked, running her hand over the skin. Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone.

"Well, I've bin givin' them– you know– a bit o' help." Lisa noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against the wall of the hut.

"Ah," she said with a slight smile, "I see." She remembered Hagrid telling her he wasn't allowed to do magic since being expelled, but that didn't seem to stop him. But what she didn't know and never dared to ask was why.

"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose," said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on them."

"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding at Ron. "Met her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at Lisa, 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 winked at Lisa. 'If yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed—"

"I'm never signing photos," said Lisa and Ron snorted with laughter then suddenly the ground was sprayed with slugs.

“Watch it!" Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.

It was nearly lunchtime and as Lisa had only a bit of treacle toffee, she was more than keen to go back up to school and eat something warm. They said goodbye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two, very small slugs.

They had barely set foot in the Entrance Hall when a voice rang out. "There you are, Potter, Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking towards them, looking stern. "You will both do your detentions this evening."

"What am I doing, Professor?" asked Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.

“You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch," said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley— elbow grease."

Ron gulped.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," Professor McGonagall said.

A look of horror crept across Lisa's face, "oh no, please Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?" She asked, desperately.

"Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows.

“Why?"

"Why what, Potter?"

"The car thing wasn't my fault, why do I get the harsher punishment?"

"Professor Lockhart suggested you particularly."

"Oh, God."

"Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."

Lisa and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of the deepest gloom. Hermione behind them, wearing a well-you-did-break-school-rules sort of expression.

Lisa let out a small whimper and slumped down at the Gryffindor table. "I don't feel like eating anymore," she mumbled resting her cheek on the polished wood, "too depressed."

"Filch'll have me there all night," said Ron heavily. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning."

"It's not hard," said Lisa, "I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail...he'll be a nightmare..." 

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight and Lisa was dragging her shoes along the second-floor corridor to Lockhart's office. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and knocked.

The door flew open at once and Lockhart beamed down at her. "Ah, here's the scallywag!" He said. 

Lisa's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, "excuse me?"

"Come in, Lisa, come in!" Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles were countless framed photographs of Lockhart, he had even signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his desk.

"You can address the envelopes!" instructed Lockhart, sounding as if this was a huge treat. He took her by the shoulders and plopped her down at his desk. "This first one's to Gladys Gungeon, bless her, she's a huge fan of mine."

The minutes snailed by, at first the names and addresses started neat and tidy but were slowly turning into legible scribble. Lisa let Lockhart's voice wash over her, occasionally saying things like; "uh-huh," and "right" and "yeah". Now and then she caught a phrase like, "fame's a fickle friend, Lisa," or "celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that".

The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many insufferable faces of Lockhart's portraits. Lisa moved her aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley's address. This hell has to be over soon, right? Lisa thought to herself, please let it be almost time...

And then she heard something— something quite apart from the spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart's prattle about his fans.

It was a voice, a voice to chill the bones, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

A familiar voice.

“Come...come to me...let me rip you...let me tear you...let me kill you...”

Terrified, Lisa stumbled to her feet, knocking her chair over and nearly spilling the pot of lilac ink on the envelope.

“What?" She whispered, looking around.

"I know!" said Lockhart, paying Lisa no attention, "six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"

"No!" Lisa shouted, near frantic, "shut up about your stupid books! Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That voice!"

Lockhart was puzzled, "what voice?" 

"That— you— you didn't hear that voice?"

"What are you talking about, Lisa? 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?"

Lisa didn't hear him, trying to hear that voice again but there was no sound now apart from Lockhart telling her she mustn't expect a treat like this every time she got detention.

Feeling dazed, she stumbled and ran out of the classroom. It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was empty and Lisa ran straight for her dormitory, closing the door behind her. She stood there for a moment, waiting for her breathing and heart to slow before she got ready for bed. 

In the morning she got up early and curled up in a squishy chair, waiting for either Ron or Hermione to wake up. It was Ron, he came down the stairs and spotted her immediately, nearly throwing himself down on the sofa and groaned loudly. "My muscles ache all over," he complained. "Fourteen times Filch made me buff up that Quidditch Cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School award. Took ages to shift the slime."

Lisa crawled from the chair onto the sofa and sat facing Ron, hands on her knees.

"How was it with Lockhart?" She told Ron what she had heard, occasionally glancing past him at the stone staircase.

"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" Ron asked. "D'you think he was lying?"

"No, I don't think he hears anything but the sound of his voice," Lisa sighed.

"But I don't get it...even someone invisible would've had to open the door."

"I know," said Lisa, "I don't understand it either." 

Chapter Text

October arrived with howling winds and pouring rain, spreading a damp chill over the grounds. Madam Pomfrey was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterwards.

Lisa Potter was one of her first patients, dragged to the hospital wing by Hermione Granger and Lavender Brown. She spent nearly half an hour insisting she wasn't sick. Eventually, after sneezing up a storm, she relented and took the potion.

Ginny Weasley, who had been looking peaky, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from her ears from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.

Rain poured in streams down the castle windows for days on end, Lisa could hardly see the trees from the library windows, their bright colours a blur. The lake rose, the flowerbeds turned into muddy streams and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

Oliver Wood's...enthusiasm, for regular training sessions, was not dampened by the weather. It was why Lisa could be found, late one stormy afternoon a week before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower drenched to the bone and splattered with mud. Lisa was walking down a corridor, sopping wet from another muddy, wet practice when she came across someone, well, someone who used to be someone but was now merely a floating spectre.

Nearly Headless Nick.

He was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, "...don't fulfill their requirements...half an inch, if that..."

"Hello, Nick," said Lisa, approaching the ghost.

"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, he wore a dashing plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke and Lisa could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

"You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, he folded the transparent letter as he spoke, tucking it inside his doublet.

"No more than usual," Lisa shrugged, "and no more than you."

"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance...it's not as though I really wanted to join...thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfil requirements'." Despite his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.

"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"

"Oh...yes?" Lisa said, who was obviously supposed to agree even if she didn't understand what he was harping on about. 

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However..." Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously. "'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfil our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore'." Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.

"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Lisa! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."

Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So– what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"

"No," Lisa sighed, "that's okay. It's just...Gilderoy Lockhart is insufferable— Colin Creevey constantly wants to take my picture— Oliver's gone insane and unless you know where I can get seven Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Slytherin, I'd pay—" the rest of Lisa's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched meowing around her ankles. She looked down and found herself gazing into a pair of lamp-like eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal grey cat who was used by the caretaker, Mr. Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.

"Hello," Lisa cooed, squatting down to scratch Mrs. Norris behind the ear, she was startled at first, not used to receiving such attention from students, but after a moment she leaned into it.

"You'd better get out of here, Lisa," said Nick quickly, "Filch isn't in a good mood. He's got the flu and some third-years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five; he's been cleaning all morning and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place..."

"Right, yeah," Lisa said, she straightened up but wasn't quick enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his old cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Lisa's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was red and irritated.

"Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Lisa's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!"

Lisa groaned at the ceiling and waved a gloomy goodbye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor.

Lisa had never been inside Filch's office before, it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered in the air, wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, she could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire cabinet to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk, it was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment. "Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies...frog brains...rat intestines...I've had enough of it...make an example...where's the form... yes..."

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot. "Name...Lisa Potter. Crime..."

"Are you really going to punish me because of the weather?" Lisa complained, leaning back in her chair, "it's only a bit of mud."

"It's only a bit of mud to you, girl, but to me, it's an extra hour scrubbing!" Filch shouted, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "Crime...befouling the castle...suggested sentence..." Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Lisa, who waited, almost impatiently, for her sentence to fall. But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of his office, it made the oil lamp rattle.

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a moment of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!" And without so much as a glance at Lisa, Filch ran flat-footed from his office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.

Lisa couldn't help but feel grateful for Peeves' timing. Hopefully, whatever he had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch and give her time to escape.

Glancing at the door, Lisa stood from her moth-eaten chair and saw it, sitting on his desk next to his half- completed form: a large, glossy, people envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a glance at the door to check, she picked up the envelope and read:. 

KWIKSPELL

A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic

 
Intrigued, Lisa flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:

Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork?

There is an answer!

Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!

Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:

"I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the centre of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!"

Warlock D.J. Prod of Didsbury says:

"My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!" 

Unsure whether she should be fascinated or amused at the fact that it sounded like every Muggle infomercial she'd seen, she thumbed through the rest of the contents of the envelope. Ridiculous as it sounded, why did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard?

Lisa was just reading 'Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)’ when shuffling footsteps outside told her Filch was coming back. Stuffing parchment back into the envelope, Lisa placed it back on the desk just as the door opened.

Filch was looking triumphant, "that vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet." His eyes fell on Lisa and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope which, she realized too late, was lying two inches away from where it had started. Filch's pasty face went brick red and Lisa braced herself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope and threw it into a drawer.

"Have you– did you read– ?" he spluttered. 

"No," Lisa lied quickly.

Filch twisted his knobbly hands together, "if I thought you'd read my private...not that it's mine...for a friend...be that as it may...however..."

Lisa stared at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks and the tartan scarf didn't help.

"Very well...go...and don't breathe a word...not that...however, if you didn't read...go now, I have to write up Peeves' report...go..."

Wasting no time, Lisa scurried out of his office, up the corridor and back upstairs. To make it out of Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.

“Lisa! Lisa! Did it work?" 

Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Lisa could see the wreckage of a large black and gold cabinet which seemed to have been dropped from a great height.

"I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," Nick said eagerly. "Thought it might distract him —"

"That was you?" said Lisa with a sigh of gratitude, "yes, it worked, I didn't even get detention. Thank you, Nick." They set off up the corridor together and Lisa noticed he was still clutching his rejection letter. "I wish I could do for you, to thank you for getting me out of trouble."

And then, Nearly Headless Nick went very still, his ghostly eyes widened and he said, "there is something you can do for me! Lisa would be asking too much...no you wouldn't want to do that..."

"Do what?"

"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," he said, drawing himself to look dignified.

“Okay," said Lisa, waving her hand for him to continue.

"Well, I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honour if you would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome too, of course, but I dare say you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Lisa on tenterhooks.

“Are you really asking me if I'd rather go to the school feast over a ghost party? I mean, I'm sure the Great Hall will look wicked cool with all the decorations but why would I pass that up?"

"My dear girl! Lisa Potter, at my Deathday Party! And..." he hesitated, looking excited, "do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"

"Sure."

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at her. 

"A Deathday Party?" said Hermione keenly when Lisa had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room next to the fire. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those, it'll be fascinating!"

“Right?"

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" asked Ron, halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me."

“Sounds spooky," said Lisa, correcting Ron on one of his answers. 

Rain was still lashing at the darkened windows, no doubt cold and icy, a stark contrast to the bright and cheerful warmth inside. The fire in the hearth glowed over squishy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework, or in the case of Fred and George, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster Firework to a salamander. Fred had ‘rescued’ the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious Gryffindors.

Lisa was about to tell Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell letter when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly around the room. Watching Percy bellow himself hoarse at Fred and George the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander’s mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from Lisa’s mind.

 
By the time Halloween rolled around, Lisa found herself regretting the promise she made to go to the Deathday Party. She stood in front of the Great Hall in a big blue-purple geometric jumper tucked into denim overalls, to take a peek at what she was missing. The inside had been decorated with the usual live bats and floating pumpkins. Hagrid's had been carved and were big enough for three men to crawl inside. And there were rumours that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for entertainment.

"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Lisa, "you said you'd go to the Deathday Party."

"Am I really about to miss what looks like the best Halloween ever to go to a ghost party?" 

"Yes, you are," said Hermione, dragging Lisa away from the Great Hall.

"They're taking pictures in Hagrid's pumpkins— Hermione!"

Hissing complaints under her breath, Lisa opened the door to the dungeon's and they went down the spiral stairs. The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles too, though the effect was far from cheerful. They were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. As Lisa crossed her arms and shivered, she heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

“Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered.

"Yeah, I think so," said Lisa, "must sound nice to the ghosts, though."

They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes. "My dear friends," he said mournfully, "welcome, welcome...so pleased you could come..."

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside. It was an incredible sight, the dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

"So...shall we look around?"

"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar— the cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead.

Lisa wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

"Oh no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly, "turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle."

“Who?" Ron asked as they backtracked quickly.

"She haunts the girls' toilet on the second floor," Hermione explained in a whisper.

"It's been out of order for weeks because Myrtle keeps having tantrums and flooding the place," said Lisa.

"I never go in there anyway if I could avoid it," Hermione said, "it's awful trying to go the loo with her wailing at you."

"Hovering over your shoulder when you're washing your hands—" 

"Look, food!" said Ron, leading them that way.

On the other side of the room was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached, Ron excitedly, Hermione and Lisa curiously, but the next moment stopped dead in their tracks. The smell wafting from the table was nothing less than horrific. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned to charcoal, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mould and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words:

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington 

died 31st October, 1492

 
Lisa watched a portly ghost approach the table crouched low, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

"Can you taste food if you do that?" Lisa asked him.

"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and drifted away.

“I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavour," said Hermione, pinching her nose to look at the putrid haggis.

"Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron.

They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in mid-air before them.

"Oh look, Peeves is here," said Lisa, voice dripping with sarcasm. Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow-tie and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

“Nibbles?" He asked sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

“No thanks," said Hermione.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," Peeves said, his eyes dancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"

"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her— er, hello, Myrtle."

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over, she had a glum face half-hidden behind lank hair and thick spectacles.

"What?" She asked sulkily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" Hermione asked in a false bright voice, "it's nice to see you out of the toilet."

Myrtle sniffed.

"Miss Granger and Miss Potter were talking about you," said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear.

"Just saying— how nice you look tonight," said Lisa, glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyed Lisa and Hermione suspiciously. "You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

"No, honestly, didn't we just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" Hermione asked, nudging Ron with her elbow.

"Oh, yeah, she did..."

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"You've missed out 'spotty'," Peeves hissed in her ear. Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts, yelling, "Spotty! Spotty!"

"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd. "Enjoying yourselves?"

"Yes," they lied.

"Not a bad turnout," Nearly Headless Nick said proudly. 'The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent...it is nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra..." The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They and everyone else, fell silent, looking around in excitement as a hunting horn sounded.

"Oh, here we go," Nearly Headless Nick muttered bitterly. Through the wall burst a dozen ghostly horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Lisa started to clap too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted. A large ghost held his bearded head under his arm, he leapt down and held his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?" He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder. 

"Welcome, Patrick," he said stiffly.

"Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Lisa, Ron and Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment so that his head fell off again— the other ghosts howled with laughter.

“Very amusing," Nearly Headless Nick said darkly.

"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say– look at the fellow!"

Nearly Headless Nick shot a meaningful look at Lisa, "well, I think he's frightening, especially when he pulls his head back to show you what's underneath—"

"Ha!" Sir Patrick's head yelled, "bet he asked you to say that!"

"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" Nearly Headless Nick announced, striding towards the podium and climbing into an icy-blue spotlight.

"My late lamented lords, ladies and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow—"

But nobody heard much more, Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd turned to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered in Lisa's ear, teeth chattering as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.

"Let's go," Lisa agreed, chilled to the bone and hungry. They backed towards the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way towards the steps to the Entrance Hall.

And then Lisa heard it.

“…rip...tear...kill...”

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice she heard in her dream, in Lockhart's office. She stumbled to a halt, clutching the stone wall, eyes wide as she looked around.

"Lisa, what are you—?"

"Shh! It's that voice again...it...it's coming from somewhere."

“...soo hungry...for so long...I have waited...”

“Listen!" Lisa hissed urgently, Ron and Hermione watched her with concerned faces.

“...kill...time to kill...”

“Why?" Lisa asked in a whisper, "why do you want to kill?" 

The voice was growing fainter, moving away, moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped her as she stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upwards? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter?

“This way," she said and began to run up the stairs but was no good to hear anything once they left the dungeons, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Lisa sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind her.

“Lisa, what are we—"

Lisa shushed them, but it sounded more like a serpent hiss. She listened, distantly, from the floor above and growing fainter still, she heard the voice.

“...I smell blood...I SMELL BLOOD...”

Lisa's stomach lurched, "it's going to kill someone," she said, ignoring Ron and Hermione's bewildered faces. She ran up the next flight of stairs, straining to listen over the sound of her boots. Lisa sped down the second floor, Hermione and Ron panting behind her, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"Lisa, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping the sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything..." 

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor, "look!"

Something was shining on the wall ahead, they approached, slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot- high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimming in the light cast by flickering torches:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

 
“It's blood," said Lisa.

"Are— are you sure, Lisa?"

“Yeah, definitely, too dark and streaky to be paint."

"What's that thing, hanging underneath?" Ron asked, a slight quiver in his voice.

As they edged nearer, Lisa's shoes slipped in the water soaking the floor. Ron and Hermione grabbed onto Lisa's arms to keep her from falling and they inched towards the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once and leapt backwards with a splash. Hanging from her tail from the torch bracket was, Mrs. Norris. She was stiff, unmoving with her eyes wide and unblinking.

For a few seconds, they didn't move and then Ron said, "let's get out of here."

"Shouldn't we try and help—"

"Trust me," said Ron, cutting Lisa off. "We don't want to be found here." 

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs. The loud, happy talk of well-fed people crashed into the passage from both ends. The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front saw it; the message and Filch's cat, hanging there without so much of a twitch.

Lisa, Ron and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students, pressing forward to see the grisly sight. Someone shouted, their voice echoing in the quiet.

"Enemies of the heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" It was Draco Malfoy, he had pushed to the front of the crowd, his pale eyes alive, his pale face flushed as he grinned at the sight of the hanging cat. 

Chapter Text

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Lisa's heart seized inside her chest and she instinctively tried to hide behind her friends. And then he saw Mrs. Norris and staggered back, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?!" he shrieked, his eyes falling on Lisa, clutching onto Ron's sleeve.

"You!" he screeched, grabbing her by the bib of her overalls, Lisa yelped as he started to shake her violently, "You! You’ve killed her! I'll kill you! I'll—"

“Argus!"

Immediately, he relinquished his hold on Lisa and she stumbled back into Ron, who in turn had to stop them both from crashing to the floor.

Professor Dumbledore, having heard a sudden silence amongst his students came to investigate, along with several teachers. He swept past them all and gingerly detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch, "you too Miss Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly, "my office is nearest, Headmaster, it's just upstairs, please feel free—"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass and Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore. So did Professor Dumbledore and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Lisa saw several Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in curlers and rolled her eyes. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back, Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her.

Lisa, Ron and Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank onto chairs, watching the tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris' fur, he was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed and Professor Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making unhelpful suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her– probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her..."

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk with his face in his hands, unable to look at Mrs. Norris. Lisa felt sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as she felt for herself. If Dumbledore believed Filch, she would be expelled for sure.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: she continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

"...I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," Lockhart said, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets which cleared the matter up at once..." The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked — one of them had forgotten to remove his hairnet.

At last, Dumbledore straightened up, "she's not dead, Argus," he said softly

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" choked Mr. Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs Norris. "But why's she all– all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been petrified," said Dumbledore (“Ah! I thought so!” said Lockhart), "but how I cannot say."

"Ask her!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotchy, tear-stained face at Lisa.

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced—"

“She did it! She did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what she wrote on the wall! She found— in my office— she knows I'm a— I'm a Squib!" 

Anger bubbled up inside Lisa's chest and she stood from her chair, leaning across the desk, "it wasn’t me!" She shouted, "I did not touch Mrs. Norris, I love cats! And I don't know what a Squib is!"

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch, "she saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," uttered Professor Snape from the shadows and Lisa’s sense of foreboding increased; she was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do her any good. "Potter and her friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, "but we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"

Lisa, Ron and Hermione looked at each other for a moment and collectively launched into an explanation about the Deathday Party, "...there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there—"

"But why not join the feast afterwards?" Snape inquired, dark eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Ron and Hermione glanced at Lisa, "because— because we—" Lisa started picking at her cuticles, her heart thumping very quickly. Something told her it would sound very far-fetched if she told them she had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but she could hear. "Because we were tired and wanted to go to bed."

"Without any supper?" Snape asked, a triumphant smile flickering across his face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," Ron answered before Lisa could, his statement was echoed by the sound of his stomach, grumbling loud enough for them to hear and Snape's smile widened. 

"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," said Snape. "It might be a good idea if she were deprived of certain privileges until she is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel she should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until she is ready to be honest."

"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the girl playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick, there is no evidence at all that Lisa has done anything wrong."

Dumbledore was giving Lisa a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Lisa feel as though she was being X-rayed. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.

"My cat has been petrified!" Filch shrieked, "I want to see some punishment!"

“We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore, "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes, as soon as they have matured, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart insisted, knocking Lisa into Professor Snape, "I must have done it a hundred times, I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Excuse me," said Snape icily, pushing Lisa off, "but I believe I am the Potions master at this school." An awkward silence fell over the darkened office, after a beat, Dumbledore spoke.

"You may go," he said to Lisa, Ron and Hermione and they scurried out of the room as quickly as they could.

When they were far enough from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Lisa squinted at her friends' darkened faces. "Do you think I should've told them about that voice I heard?"

"No," said Ron without hesitation, "hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."

Something in Ron's voice made her ask, "but you believe me, don't you?"

"'Course I do," he said, "but you've got to admit, it's weird..."

"You don't think I don't know it's weird? The whole thing is weird. What's with that writing on the wall about? The Chamber has been opened…what the hell does that mean?"

"You know, it rings a sort of bell," said Ron slowly, "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once...might've been Bill..."

"And what on earth's a Squib?"

To her surprise, Ron snorted, trying not to smile.

"Well, it's not funny really, but as it's Filch, a Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch's trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot, like why he hates students so much." Ron gave a satisfied smile. "He's bitter." 

A clock chimed somewhere.

"It's midnight," said Lisa, "we'd better go back to the common room before Filch comes along and tries to frame us for something else." 

Over the next few days, the school could talk about little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing around the blood-stained wall where she had been petrified, as though he thought the attacker might come back. When he wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like 'breathing loudly' or 'looking happy'.

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris' fate, according to Ron, she was a cat-lover. "But you hadn't really got to know Mrs. Norris," Ron told her bracingly, "honestly, we're much better off without— ow!"

Lisa smacked Ron on the shoulder and Ginny's lip trembled. "She's just a cat, Ronald, she doesn't do what she does maliciously, she does what Filch tells her to do," she said.

"So you've said," Ron rubbed his arm and sighed, "don't worry Ginny, they'll catch the nutter who did it and have them out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to petrify Filch before they're expelled. I'm only joking–" Ron added hastily.

Lisa had been held back in Potions, where Snape had made her stay behind to scrape tubeworms off the desks. After a hurried lunch, she went upstairs to meet Ron and Hermione in the library. She was a foot or so away from the doors when she saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, coming toward her. She raised her hand to wave at him but when he saw her, Justin turned abruptly and sped off in the opposite direction.

That was weird, Lisa thought to herself with a frown. She entered the library and found Ron at their usual table by the back window. She strolled over, eyeing the roll of parchment he was measuring.

“You're eight inches short."

"I know!" Ron huffed, he let go of his parchment and it sprang back into a roll. Professor Binns had asked for a three-foot-long composition on The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards.

"Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writings tiny— where's yours?"

"It's in my bag," said Lisa, "I've finished it ages ago, it's due today." She watched Ron go pale.

“No," he said with his eyes wide as dinner plates.

"Yeah."

"No."

"Yeah."

"No! I thought it was due tomorrow!"

"Yeah, Hermione and I had already moved on to that essay Lockhart assigned us yesterday." She watched Ron unfurl his role of parchment and start scribbling frantically with a hint of amusement. 

Lisa sat down, "speaking of Hermione, where is she?"

"Somewhere over there," said Ron, gesturing vaguely along the shelves. "Looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas."

Lisa told Ron about what happened outside the library while she took out her books. Ron looked up in time to watch her pull out her copy of Lockhart's autobiography. Like all of his books, they were battered and vandalized. Lisa had at some point drawn an arrow going through his head, a snake biting his neck, X's over his eyes and a frown over his dumb smile. That was all fine and good, Ron expected nothing less from Lisa when it came to Professor Lockhart, but what caught him off guard was seeing Fred's name written on the inside cover with little hearts all around it. Ron nearly dropped his quill from the shock. Lisa had a crush on Fred? Since when? And most importantly, why?

"Dunno why you care about Justin," Ron mumbled, making his writing look as large as possible, "I thought he was a bit of an idiot—"

Hermione emerged from between the shelves, she looked irritable and sat down next to Lisa. "All right?" She asked.

"All the copies of Hogwarts: A History have been taken out, and there's a two-week waiting list, I wish I hadn't left my copy at home but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the other books."

“You can borrow mine," said Lisa, opening her pot of  blood-red ink. 

"You brought it?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, just in case, why do you need it?"

"The same reason everyone else wants it, to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets." 

"Does it have something to do with what happened on Saturday?"

"You know it does, I've read about it before but I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip, "and I can't find the story anywhere else—"

“Hermione, let me borrow your composition," said Ron desperately.

"No," said Hermione, sounding severe when she saw he hadn't finished the assignment for Binns' class. "You've had ten days to finish it."

"I only need another two inches, go on..."

The bell rang, Lisa gathered her books and shrugged at Ron, "it's your fault," she said and followed Hermione out of the library. Eventually, Ron caught up and he and Hermione bickered all the way to History of Magic.

Lisa and Hermione set their rolls of parchment on his desk and went to sit at their usual desk, in the middle and two from the front. Before Lisa sat down she noticed a few uneasy glances her way and frowned, she lowered herself onto the bench and felt the urge to glance back but they had all looked away by now.

Lisa liked history, she just thought Professor Binns was incredibly...dull. The most exciting thing he ever seemed to do was enter the room through the blackboard. Today was just as dull; Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming round long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss– er–?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione said in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms and Neville's elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, "in September of that year, a sub-committee of Sardinian sorcerers—"

He stuttered to a halt, Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

“Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, that Lisa was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

"Well," Professor Binns droned slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale..."

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word, he looked dimly at them all, completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see...the Chamber of Secrets...

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago– the precise date is uncertain— by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room and continued, "for a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them, a rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, "reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said, "but these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until a student of his own blood arrived at the school. His heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

There was silence as he finished his story, but it wasn't the usual sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more but Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Hermione's hand shot back in the air. "Sir— what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," he said shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," Seamus Finnigan piped up, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing—"

“But, Professor," came Parvati Patil's voice from somewhere in the room, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it—"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic, doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore–"

“But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't–" Dean Thomas began but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

And within minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor. 

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron said as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their books before dinner. "But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back—" he stopped when he saw the look on Lisa's face, she didn't say anything, just stared unblinking ahead of them while she picked at her cuticles again.

Lisa had never told Ron and Hermione that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting her in Slytherin. She could remember, as though it was yesterday, the small voice that had spoken in her ear when she placed the hat on her head a year before.

“You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that..."

But Lisa, who had already heard of Slytherin house's reputation for turning out dark witches and wizards, had thought desperately, "Not Slytherin!" and the hat had said, "Well, if you're sure— better be Gryffindor..."

As they were shunted along in the throng, they ran tiny Colin Creevey.

"Hiya, Lisa!"

"Hi...Colin," Lisa mumbled.

"Lisa— Lisa— a boy in my class has been saying you're—" but Colin was so small he couldn't fight against the tide of people in the corridor, they heard him squeak, "see you, Lisa!" and he was gone.

"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" Hermione wondered.

"That I'm Slytherin's heir probably," Lisa grumbled, remembering the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from her at lunchtime.

"People here'll believe anything," said Ron in disgust. The crowd thinned and they were able to move properly.

“D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione.

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be, well, human."

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. It was strange, being back here. There was an empty chair against the wall, where the message had been written.

The Chamber has been opened, enemies of the Heir, beware. Lisa thought bitterly.

"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered and they looked at each other.

"Can't hurt to have a look around," said Lisa, dropping her bag to search for clues. She squatted down and ran her fingers along the stone, "scorch marks," she said, "here and there."

"Come and look at this!" said Hermione, "this is funny..."

Lisa straightened up and crossed to the window, Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack in the glass. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Weird," said Lisa.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" Hermione asked and Lisa pulled Filch's chair over to get a closer look at them, scooping one into her hands and stepping down. She watched it try to escape but she kept it in her clutches to observe its behaviour.

"Ron, come look at this," she said, "Ron?" Lisa looked over her shoulder, Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting his impulse to run. "What's the matter with you?"

"I don't like spiders," he said tensely.

"I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise.

"What's there to be afraid of?" said Lisa, "they're no bigger than the pad of your thumb, besides, you've used them in potions loads of times," she set the spider back on the windowsill and watched it scurry up the glass.

“I don't mind them dead," said Ron, who was looking anywhere but the window. "just don't like the way they move..." Hermione and Lisa giggled.

“It's not funny! If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my-my teddy bear into a dirty great spider because I broke his toy broomstick. You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and..." He broke off, shuddering. 

To take his mind off the spiders, Lisa changed the subject, "there was water on the floor that night, remember?"

“It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces where Filch's chair had been, "level with this door." He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he had been burned.

"What's the matter?"

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly, "that's the girls' toilet."

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione, coming over.

"That's Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," said Lisa.

"Let's have a look."

"See what we can find," ignoring the 'Out of Order' sign, Lisa opened the door. It was just as gloomy and depressing as ever, "huh, that hasn't been fixed yet," she whispered, staring at the wooden door nearly hanging off the cubicle.

Hermione set off toward the one on the end. "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?" She asked. Lisa and Ron went looking around, Moaning Myrtle was floating on the cistern of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

"This is a girls' bathroom," she said, eyeing Ron suspiciously. "He's not a girl." 

"No," Hermione agreed. "We just wanted to show him how, er, nice it is in here." She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

"Ask her if she saw anything," Lisa mouthed at Hermione.

"What are you whispering?" Myrtle asked, staring at her.

"Nothing, Myrtle," said Lisa, "we wanted to ask—"

“I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" Myrtle said, in a voice choked with tears. "I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead."

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Lisa only—"

“No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" Myrtle howled. "My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!"

"We wanted to ask you if you'd seen anything strange lately," Lisa huffed, turning to Myrtle with her hands on her hips, "because a cat was attacked right outside your door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" Hermione asked.

"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically, "Peeves upset me so much I came here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm— that I'm—"

"Already dead," said Ron helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, she rose in the air, turned around and dove head first into the toilet, splashing water all over Hermione and vanishing from sight. Following the sound of her muffled sobs, she came to rest somewhere in the U-bend. Ron stood there with his mouth open, Lisa and Hermione shrugged wearily. 

“Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle," Hermione said, "we should go."

Lisa had barely shut the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all three of them jump. "RON!"

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the top of the stairs, prefect badge agleam and an expression of complete shock on his face.

"That's the girls' bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you—?"

"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, you know...?"

Percy started to stomp up the stairs, "get away from there!" He strode for them and Lisa barely had time to get her bag before he started to chivvy them along, flapping his arms. "Don't you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner..."

"Why shouldn't we be here?" Ron asked hotly, stopping short to glare at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"

“That's what I told Ginny," said Percy fiercely, "but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled; I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out. You might think of her, all the first-years are thoroughly over-excited by this business—"

"You don't care about Ginny," Ron said, whose ears were as red as his hair. "You're just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy."

"Five points from Gryffindor!" said Percy tersely, fingering his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work or I'll write to Mum!" He strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears. 

Lisa, Ron and Hermione chose to sit far away from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a bad temper and kept blotting his over-due Charms homework. When he reached absentmindedly for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut and to Lisa's surprise, Hermione followed suit.

"Who could it be, though?" She wondered in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation they had just been having. "Who'd want all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

“Let's think," said Ron in mock puzzlement, "who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?" He looked at Hermione and Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

"If you're talking about Malfoy—"

"Of course I am!" Ron argued. "’You heard him: 'You'll be next, Mudbloods!' Come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him—"

"Malfoy, the heir of Slytherin?" Hermione questioned sceptically.

"Look at his family," said Lisa, defacing another one of Lockhart's photographs, giving him devil horns. "The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin, he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants and his father's definitely evil enough."

“They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" said Ron. "Handing it down, father to son..."

“Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible..."

"If there is even the slightest chance Malfoy is related to Salazar Slytherin, how do we prove it?" Lisa questioned, dipping her quill in the pot so she could black out Lockhart's stupid teeth, ignoring Hermione's brief glare of disapproval.

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect."

“If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?" said Ron irritably.

"All right," Hermione huffed, "what we'd need to do is get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it's us. What we need is Polyjuice Potion."

"Polyjuice Potion? Hermione, we've only just covered Strengthening Solution."

"What's Polyjuice Potion?" Ron questioned. 

"Professor Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago, it's a potion that allows you to turn into somebody else," Hermione explained. "Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins, no one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron, frowning. 'What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?"

“It wears off after a while," said Hermione with a wave of her hand. "But getting hold of the ingredients will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."

“There's one problem, we'll need a note and no teacher would give us one," Ron argued.

“I think," said Hermione, "that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance."

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," said Ron, "they'd have to be really thick."

And then, Lisa's eyes lit up and she looked down at Lockhart's toothless face with a grin of her own, "I think I know just the man to help us." 

Chapter Text

Since the disastrous lesson and a verbal beating from an angry, pixie-bitten preteen girl, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures into class.

Instead, he read pages from his books to them and sometimes re-enacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Lisa to help him with those reconstructions; so far, she had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head-cold and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him, or her in this case.

Lisa was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting as a werewolf. If she hadn't had a very good reason to keep Lockhart in a good mood, she would've refused to do it.

"Nice loud howl, Lisa— exactly! And then, if you'll believe it, I pounced, like this, and slammed him—"

"Wait," Lisa interrupted, "Professor, I'm wearing a skirt."

A look of realization crossed Lockhart's face, "I see, right, well— uh, let me just..." he carefully put Lisa on the floor and there was a bit of laughter from her classmates. He cleared his throat and got back into it.

"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— higher than that, Lisa, good— the fur that covered his body 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."

The bell rang and Lockhart stood, he reached out and helped Lisa to her feet. "Homework: compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga werewolf! Signed copy of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"

Lisa gathered her things and headed to the back of the room where Ron and Hermione were waiting. "Ready?" Lisa asked.

"Are we really going to do this?" asked Hermione, glancing nervously at Lockhart. 

"It'll be fine," she assured, nudging Hermione forward.

"Okay..." she approached Lockhart's desk but turned back around, "I can't do this," she whispered and Lisa rolled her eyes.

"Fine, give it to me," said Lisa and Hermione pushed the slip of paper in her hand. Lisa exhaled and put on a fake, pleasant smile as she approached the desk, turning back to glare at Hermione.

"Excuse me, Professor Lockhart," she said and he spun around.

"Lisa! What can I do for you? I wasn't too rough with you today, was I?"  

"No, it's not that, I, uh, well, there's this book I wanted to check out from the library, just for some light reading," she smoothed out the slip in her hand and held it out for him, looking up at him with big eyes, "the only problem is, it's in the Restricted Section so I need a teacher to sign it. And I'm sure it'll help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms."

"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the slip of paper from Lisa, smiling brightly at her. "Possibly my very favourite book. You enjoyed it?"

"Yes— second only to Voyages with Vampires," said Lisa, really laying it on thick, "I thought it was clever, the way you trapped that last ghoul with the tea strainer."

"Well, I'm sure no one would mind me giving one of my best students a little extra help," said Lockhart with a wink and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, "I usually save it for book signings." He scrawled an enormous loopy signature in lilac and handed it back to Lisa.

"Now while I have you here, tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're the Seeker, I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try 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."

Lisa hummed pleasantly, "I'll keep that in mind," she said, "thanks, Professor." She turned, immediately dropped the smile and rejoined her friends.

"You got it?" Ron asked as they walked out of the classroom.

"Obviously," Lisa snorted, showing them the signed permission slip. "He didn't even take a moment to look at the book we actually wanted."

"That's because he's a brainless git," Ron said, "but who cares, we've got what we needed."

"He is not a brainless git!" Hermione said shrilly, taking the slip from Lisa, as they half-ran toward the library.

"Moste Potente Potions?" Madam Pince repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione but she wouldn't let go.

"I was wondering if I could keep it," said Hermione breathlessly.

"Oh, come on," said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if it stands still long enough."

Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and mouldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom once again.

Lisa had waved off Ron's objections by pointing out that this was the last place anyone in their right mind would go, giving them the privacy they needed. Moaning Myrtle was still crying noisily in her cubicle, but they were ignoring her, and she them.

Hermione opened the book carefully and the three of them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about and there were some very unpleasant illustrations, including a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.

"Fascinating," Lisa whispered with a curiosity, she was hoping they would flip through it more but the next page held why they went to the trouble of getting this book to begin with.

"Here it is," said Hermione excitedly, all over the page there were depictions of people halfway through transforming into other people. And Lisa hoped the artist had simply imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces.

"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," Lisa muttered, twisting her head to get a better look at the recipe.

"Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed and knotgrass," Hermione murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough to find, most of this is in the student store cupboard, we can help ourselves. But look here; powdered horn of a Bicorn? I 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?" Ron said sharply, "what d'you mean 'a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe's toenails in it!"

Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him. "We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last."

Ron turned, speechless, to Lisa, who didn't look nearly as worried as she ought to be.

"We might have to break into Snape's private storeroom for some of this," she told Hermione. "How long will it take to make, anyway?"

"Well, as the fluxweed has got to be picked on a 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?" said Ron, "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!" Hermione and Lisa narrowed their eyes dangerously and he added swiftly, "but it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say."

"We should probably get out of here," said Lisa, "before Myrtle decides to pop out of her toilet and say 'boo'."

While Hermione was checking that the coast was clear for them to exit the bathroom, Ron muttered to Lisa, "it'll be a lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow." 

Lisa woke early on Saturday morning, legs tangled in soft sheets. She sighed up at the ceiling, thinking about the coming Quidditch match. What would Oliver say if Gryffindor lost? And the thought of facing a team mountain on the fastest racing brooms gold could buy made her stomach churn.

She never wanted to beat Slytherin so terribly. 

After half an hour of wallowing, she got up, dressed and went down to breakfast early, where she found the rest of her team huddled together at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch pitch. It was a muggy sort of day with a looming threat of rain in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Lisa good luck as she entered the changing rooms. The team pulled on their maroon-gold robes over their matching jumpers and sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.

"Slytherin has better brooms than us," he began, "no point in 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–"

"You can say that again," George muttered on Lisa's left, "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 turned to Lisa, "it'll be down to you, Lisa, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, because we've got to win today. We've got to."

"So, no pressure, Lisa," said Fred, he winked at her and she nearly dropped her Nimbus, cheeks burning.

A roar of voices greeted them when they emerged from the changing rooms; Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were anxious to see Slytherin beaten but the Slytherin's made their boos and hisses heard too. Madam Hooch asked Oliver and Flint to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

Madam Hooch forced them apart and they mounted their broomsticks. "On my whistle, three...two...one..." with a roar from the crowd to speed them upwards, the fourteen players rose towards the leaden sky. Lisa flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.

"All right there, Scarhead?" yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath her as though to show off the speed of his broom. Lisa had no time to reply, at that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward her; Lisa's eyes widened and she quickly tilted the handle of her broom down. It narrowly missed her.

"Close one, Lisa!" said George, streaking past her with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back towards a Slytherin. Lisa watched George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in mid-air and shot straight for Lisa again.

"What the hell?!" Lisa shouted and dropped quickly to stop herself from getting hit in the face. George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy but once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Lisa's head.

Lisa put on a burst of speed and zoomed towards the other end of the pitch but she could hear the Bludger whistling along behind her. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this, they were made to try and unseat as many as possible. Fred was waiting for the Bludger at the other end, Lisa ducked as Fred swung at it with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course.

"That's done it!" Fred yelled happily.

"Yeah, I think so," said Lisa but they both spoke too soon. As if it was magnetically attracted, the Bludger pelted after her still and Lisa was forced to fly at full speed, becoming a maroon blur as she zipped around and around the pitch. 

The sky opened up with a rumble of thunder, a fat drop of icy rain landed on her cheek, followed by another until she was soaked. Lisa didn't have a clue what was going on until she heard Lee Jordan's voice on her left, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero." 

The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, meanwhile, the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Lisa out of the air. Fred and George were now flying so close to her on either side that Lisa could see nothing at all except their flailing arms and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.

"Someone's— tampered— with— this— Bludger—" Fred grunted, tightening his grip on the club, sending the ball who knows where, not that it mattered where, it merely turned right around again.

"We need time out," said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Lisa's nose at the same time.

Wood had obviously got the message, Madam Hooch's whistle rang out and Lisa, Fred and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.

"What's going on?" said Wood, as the Gryffindor team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?"

"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger murdering Lisa, Oliver," said Fred angrily. "Someone's fixed it— it won't leave her alone, it hasn'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 practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then..." said Wood, anxiously.

Madam Hooch was walking towards them, over her shoulder, Lisa could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in her direction.

"Listen," said Lisa as she came 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."

"Are you mad?" George chastised and Lisa frowned at him. "It'll take your head off." Wood was looking from Lisa to the Weasleys.

"Oliver," huffed Alicia Spinnet, "you can't let Lisa deal with that thing on her own. Let's ask for an inquiry—"

"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match," Lisa argued, "and we are not losing to Slytherin just because of a mad Bludger. C'mon, Oliver, tell them to let me handle it!"

"This it all your fault," said Fred, poking Wood angrily in the chest, "'get the Snitch or die trying'— what a stupid thing to tell her!"

Madam Hooch reached them then, "ready to resume play?" She asked Wood, he looked at the determined look on Lisa's face. 

"All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Lisa— leave her alone and let her deal with the Bludger on her own."

On Madam Hooch's whistle, Lisa kicked hard into the air and heard the tell-tale whoosh of the Bludger behind her. Higher and higher Lisa sped, she looped and swooped, spiralled, zigzagged and rolled. She was dizzy and nauseated but she forced her eyes to stay open. Rain speckled her glasses and ran up her nostrils as she hung upside down avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. She could hear laughter from the crowd; she knew she must look ridiculous but the Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as she could.

She began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the sheets of rain for the Snitch. It had to be around here somewhere. A whistling in her ear let her know the Bludger had missed again; she turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy tauntingly, as Lisa was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in mid-air to avoid the Bludger.

The Bludger was trailing a few feet behind her: and then, glaring back at Malfoy, she saw it, the Snitch. It was hovering inches away from Malfoy's left ear— and he, too busy laughing at Lisa, hadn't heard it.

For an agonizing moment, Lisa hung in mid-air, not daring to speed toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.

WHAM!

She had stayed still a moment too long; the Bludger had hit her at last, striking her arm. Lisa felt her bones snap and she cried out. Dazed by the searing pain, she tucked her arm in, close to her chest and slid sideways on her rain-soaked broom, one knee still crooked over it. The Bludger came pelting back, this time aiming for her face. Lisa swerved out of the way with gritted teeth, one idea firmly lodged in her numb brain: get to Malfoy.

Through a haze of rain and pain, Lisa dived for the shimmering, sneering face below her and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Lisa was attacking him.

"What the—" he gasped, careering out of Lisa's way.

Lisa took her good hand off the handle and struck. She felt her cold fingers curl around the golden ball, now only gripping the broom with her legs and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out. With a splattering thud, she hit the muddy grass and rolled off her broom. Riddled with pain, she heard a good deal of whistling and shouting and it took her a moment to register that she had, in fact, caught the Snitch, still clutched in her good hand.

"Aha," she breathed, "I did it." Then, she fainted.

When she came to, it was still raining and she was still on the pitch. She saw someone kneeling in the mud and leaning over her, she caught a glitter of of pearly teeth. Her eyes widened and she scrambled away from Lockhart the best she could.

"Oh no, not you," she moaned. 

"Doesn't know what she's saying," said Lockhart loudly, to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors around them. "Not to worry, Lisa, I'm about to fix your arm."

"No, no, no," Lisa mumbled, panicking, "I want Madam-Madam Pomfrey, I want Madam Pomfrey." She heard a familiar clicking noise nearby and squeezed her eyes shut, "no, no pictures, Colin, go away!"

"Lie back, Lisa," said Lockhart soothingly and Lisa whimpered, "it's a simple charm I've used countless times."

"Why won't you just let me go to the hospital wing?"

"She should really, Professor," a muddy Oliver Wood said, grinning wide even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture, Lisa, really spectacular, your best yet, I'd say." Through the thicket of legs around her, Lisa spotted Fred and George, wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.

"Stand back," Lockhart warned, rolling up his jade-green sleeves. Lisa protested feebly, he twirled his wand and a second later was pointing it at her arm. A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Lisa's shoulder and spread down to her fingertips. She opened her eyes, they widened in horror as she looked down, she took a deep breath in and screamed.

"Ah," said Lockhart, tight-lipped, "yes, well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Lisa, just toddle up to the Hospital Wing— ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort her? And Madam Pomfrey will be able to— er— tidy you up a bit."

Glaring at Lockhart, Ron helped Lisa to her feet, looping her good arm around his neck, his other hand on her ribs. He led her off the pitch, Hermione trailing behind. Lisa dared to look again and nearly passed out. Ron stopped and scooped her off the ground, deciding it would be easier on both Lisa and himself if he carried her the rest of the way. Lisa tried to move her fingers but nothing happened. Lockhart hadn't mended Lisa's bones— he had removed them completely.

Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.

"You should have been brought straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp reminder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm. "I can mend bones in a second but growing them back—"

"You will be able to, won't you?" Lisa squeaked desperately. 

"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," she said grimly, setting a pair of pyjamas on a small table. "You'll have to stay the night."

Ron waited outside the curtains drawn around Lisa's bed, listening to her sniffle and hiccough while Hermione helped her into her pyjamas and Madam Pomfrey gently bent her boneless arm and wrapped it in a sling.

"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" said Ron through thinly veiled anger. "If Lisa had wanted de-boning she would have asked."

"Anyone can make a mistake," said Hermione, "and it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Lisa?"

"No," she murmured and wiggled into the bed.

Ron came around the curtain and Madam Pomfrey returned, holding a large bottle of something labelled, Skele-Gro. 

"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a smoking, bubbling beakerful and handing it to her. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business." So was taking the Skele-Gro, Lisa discovered, it burned her mouth and throat as it went down, making her cough and sputter. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving Ron and Hermione to help Lisa gulp down some water.

"We won, though," said Ron after a while, "that was some catch you made— should've seen Malfoy's face, he looked ready to kill!"

"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly.

"We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," said Lisa, sinking back onto her pillows, "I hope it tastes better than this stuff."

"If it's got bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be joking," said Ron.

The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment, filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Lisa.

"Unbelievable flying, Lisa," George said. "I've just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing, Malfoy didn't seem too happy."

"How are you doing, Lis?" Fred asked, brushing her over-grown bangs out of her eyes.

"Fine," she answered and Ron observed her with mild disgust, staring at Fred with an enamoured look on her face.

They had brought cakes, sweets and bottles of pumpkin juice. They all gathered around Lisa's bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "this girl needs rest, she's got thirty-three bones to regrow tonight! Out! OUT!"

Quickly, they shuffled out, forced to take everything they brought with them. Lisa let Madam Pomfrey lay her down and fluff her pillows and force more of that awful potion down her throat. She left Lisa with nothing to distract her from the stabbing pains in her arm. 

Lisa woke in the dead of night, quite suddenly with a a cry of pain: her arm now felt like it was being stabbed with thirty-something knives. For a moment, she thought it was that which had woken her but then she realized that someone was sponging her forehead in the dark. "Stop," she breathed, and then, "Dobby?"

The house-elf's huge eyes were peering at Lisa through the darkness, a single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.

"Lisa Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Lisa Potter. Ah, miss, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Lisa Potter go back home when she missed the train?"

Lisa heaved herself up onto her pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away. "What are you doing here?" she asked, "and how did you know I missed the train."

Dobby's lip trembled and Lisa was hit by a sudden suspicion.

"It was you," she said slowly, "you stopped the barrier from letting Ron and me through, you nearly got us expelled."

"Indeed yes, miss," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, "Dobby hid and watched for Lisa Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterwards–" he showed Lisa ten, long, bandaged fingers, "but Dobby didn't care, miss, for he thought Lisa Potter was safe and never did Dobby dream that Lisa Potter would get to school another way!" He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his head.

"Dobby was so shocked when he heard Lisa Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his Master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, miss..."

Lisa couldn't help but laugh, eyes fixed near baleful on Dobby, "you'd better make yourself disappear before my bonesss come back and I strangle you."

Dobby smiled weakly, "Dobby is used to death threats, miss. Dobby gets them five times a day at home." He blew his nose on a corner of his filthy pillowcase, looking so beyond pitiful that Lisa felt her anger ebb despite herself.

"Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?" She sighed, leaning back.

"This, miss?" said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "'Tis a mark of the house-elf's enslavement, miss. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, miss. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, miss, for then he would be free to leave their house forever." Dobby wiped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Lisa Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make —"

"Your Bludger?" said Lisa, ire bubbling up once more. "You made that Bludger try to kill me?"

"Not kill you, miss, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Lisa Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, miss! Dobby only wanted Lisa Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"

"They wouldn't send me home, you idiot! Look at where I am! Did you really think that a school with a hospital wing and a very capable matron, would send me home to be treated? At a Muggle hospital?" She hissed, "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why it was your plan to send me home in pieces?"

"Ah, if Lisa Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If she knew what she means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, us dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He Who Must Not Be Named was at the height of his powers, miss! We house-elves were treated like vermin, miss! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, miss," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase.

"But mostly, miss, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He Who Must Not Be Named. Lisa Potter survived and the Dark Lord's power was broken and it was a new dawn, miss, and Lisa Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the dark days would never end, miss...and now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already and Dobby cannot let Lisa Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more—"

Dobby froze, horror-struck, then grabbed Lisa's water jug from her bedside table and cracked it over his head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby..." 

"So there is a Chamber of Secrets?" Lisa whispered with interest. "And you said it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!" She seized his bony wrist as Dobby's hand inched towards the water jug. "I'm not Muggle-born, how can I be in danger from the Chamber?"

"Ah, miss, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," he stammered, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Lisa Potter must not be here when they happen. Go home, Lisa Potter. Go home. Lisa Potter must not meddle in this, miss, 'tis too dangerous—"

"Who is it, Dobby?" Lisa asked, keeping a firm hold on his wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the jug again. "Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?"

"Dobby can't, miss, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf, "go home, Lisa Potter, go home!"

"I'm not going anywhere," said Lisa fiercely, "one of my best friends is Muggle-born, ssshe'll be first in line if the Chamber really has opened—"

"Lisa Potter risks her own life for her friends! So noble! So valiant! But she must save herself, she must, Lisa Potter must not—" Dobby froze, his ears quivering and Lisa heard it too. There were footsteps in the corridor outside.

"Dobby must go!" he breathed, terrified of being seen. There was a loud crack and Lisa's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. She sighed and slumped back into bed, eyes fixed on the door.

Must be Madam Pomfrey, she thought, probably going to force more of that bone-growing potion down my throat.

Then, Dumbledore came in with his back to Lisa, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying the feet. Together, they heaved it into a bed.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall hurried past the end of Lisa's bed out of sight.

Lisa lay still, pretending to be asleep. She heard urgent voices and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, pulling a cardigan over her nightdress. She heard a sharp intake of breath.

"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, bending over the statue.

"Another attack," Dumbledore said, "Minerva found him on the stairs."

"There was a bunch of grapes near him," said Professor McGonagall, "we think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."

Lisa's stomach gave a horrible lurch, oh, but she said 'he' not 'she' so it can't be Hermione. Slowly and carefully, she raised herself a few inches so she could look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its face.

It was Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera. "Petrified?" Madam Pomfrey whispered. 

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall, "but I shudder to think...if Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate, who knows what might have..."

The three of them stare down at Colin, Dumbledore leaned forward and prised the the camera out of his rigid grip.

"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" asked McGonagall eagerly.

Dumbledore didn't answer, he opened the back of the camera.

"Good gracious!" gasped Madam Pomfrey.

Steam hissed out of the camera and Lisa, three beds down, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic. "Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly, "all melted..."

"What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.

"It means that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again," said Dumbledore.

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth and Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore. "But Albus...surely...who?"

"The question is not who," Dumbledore said, his eyes on Colin. "The question is, how?" 

Chapter Text

Lisa woke up Sunday morning to find the hospital wing bathed in cold sunlight, her arm re-boned but very stiff. She sat up and looked at Colin's bed but it had been blocked from view by high curtains. Seeing that she was awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and undid the sling to do some tests. She began stretching and bending Lisa's arm and fingers.

"All in order," she said as Lisa clumsily fed herself porridge left-handed. "When you've finished eating, you may leave."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," said Lisa. She finished her breakfast and left, running up to Gryffindor Tower. She uttered the password and ducked through the portrait hole. Lisa went up the stairs two at a time and was relieved to find her dormitory empty. Lisa grabbed her toiletry bag and slipped into the lavatory. There were four showers along the rounded wall but the one by the window had good water pressure. Though unfortunately, there was a draft. After weeks of arguing over it their first year, Hermione had drawn up a schedule on the wall detailing who could use it and when. Lisa's turn wasn't until Wednesday and normally she would abide by the schedule but not today. 

Lisa set her bag on the little shelf and drew the curtain and turned the tap. She stepped out exactly twenty-three minutes later, squeaky clean and her hair free of dried mud. It was another twenty-five before she exited the common room through the portrait hole.

Lisa tried the Great Hall first, but they weren't there, she needed to tell them about what happened to Colin and Dobby's second visit, trying not to feel hurt they didn't come and see her this morning to see whether or not she had her bones back or not.

As Lisa approached the library, Percy strolled out of it, looking as self-important as always with his prefect badge pinned to his jumper.

"Oh. Hello, Lisa," he said, "excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup— you earned fifty points!" 

"Thanks— you haven't seen Ron or Hermione have you?"

"No, I haven't," said Percy, his smile fading. "I hope Ron's not in another girls' toilet." Lisa forced herself to laugh and waited for Percy to turn the corner before she straight for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Lisa opened the door and slipped inside.

It wasn't nearly as bright in here as the rest of the castle, dim and damp as it always was. She heard voices coming from a locked cubicle but turned to the mirror first. While she fixed her bangs, thinking about how to tell them what happened last night, she couldn't help but stare at the crack in the glass. Frowning, she took a step back. A ray of light coming through one of the small windows brought her attention to something else. A coiled snake fused into the side of the faucet.

I wonder who did that? she thought, kind of an odd thing to put this in a girls' bathroom.

Stepping away from the sink, Lisa knocked on the wood and heard a clunk, a splash and a gasp coming from inside. "It's me," she said and looked down to find Hermione's eye peering at her through the keyhole. "Are you going to let me in or should I just wait outside?"

"Lisa!" Hermione said, "you gave us such a fright, come in, how's your arm?"

"It's fine, feels a little strange having all my bones back, though," said Lisa, wiggling into the cubicle. There was an old cauldron perched on the toilet and a fire crackling under the rim— portable, waterproof fires were a specialty of Hermione's.

"We'd've come to meet you, but we decided to get started on the Polyjuice Potion," Ron explained as Lisa, with difficulty, locked the cubicle again.

"We've decided this is the safest place to hide it."

"Speaking of safety— Colin Creevey was attacked last night—"

"We know, we heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick about it this morning," Hermione interrupted. "That's why we decided we'd better get going—"

"The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," snarled Ron.

"There's something else," said Lisa, watching Hermione tearing bundles of knotgrass and throwing them into the cauldron. "Dobby came to visit me again." She told them everything Dobby had said and they stared at her with their mouths hanging open.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?" said Hermione, looking at Ron.

"That settles it," said Ron in a triumphant voice, "Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious."

"It's not," said Lisa, "but I'm not going to argue with you this time, I just want to get this potion brewed and find out who opened the Chamber before whatever is in there decides to attack Hermione."

"Wish Dobby'd told you what kind of monster's in there, though. I want to know how come nobody's noticed it sneaking around the school."

"Maybe it can make itself invisible," suggested Hermione, prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. "Or maybe it can disguise itself— pretend to be a suit of armour or something. I've read about Chameleon Ghouls."

"You read too much, Hermione," said Ron, pouring dead lacewings on top of the leeches. He crumpled up the empty lacewing bag and looked round at Lisa.

"So Dobby stopped us getting on the train and broke your arm," he shook his head. "You know what, Lisa? If he doesn't stop trying to save your life he's going to kill you." 

The news of Colin Creevey's attack had spread through the entire school by Monday. The air was suddenly thick with rumour and suspicion, the first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone. Ginny, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught. Fred and George were trying to cheer her up but Lisa thought they were going the wrong way about it: they took turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write their Mother and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom had purchased a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger: he was a pure-blood and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

"They went for Filch first," said Neville at breakfast, his round face fearful, "and everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."

"Technically, it went for Mrs. Norris but I think she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," said Lisa, grabbing a handful of red grapes.  

In the second week of December, Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Lisa, Ron and Hermione signed her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck the three of them as suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him. Unfortunately, the potion was only half-finished. They still needed the Bicorn horn and the Boomslang skin, and the only place they were going to get them was from Professor Snape's private stores.

"Call me crazy but I'd rather face Salazar Slytherin's legendary monster than have Professor Snape catch me robbing him," said Lisa.

"What we need," said Hermione briskly, as double Potions loomed nearer, "is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and take what we need."

"Not it," Lisa was quick to say with her hands up.

"I think I'd better do the actual stealing," Hermione continued, in a matter-of-fact tone. "You two will be expelled if you get in any more trouble, and I've got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so."

Lisa smiled feebly, deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's Potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye. She turned to Ron and patted him on the shoulder.

"I'll let you do that, I'm sure Fred and George've got something you can use." 

"Why do I have to do it?" He complained and Lisa shrugged. 

"Because I'm going to get caught in the crossfire, I can't have Snape thinking I've got something to do with this— he's just itching to find a reason to have me expelled. Also, I'm stuck sitting near Malfoy as per the new seating arrangement so..."

"Right, yeah."

Thursday afternoon's lesson proceeded in the usual way; twenty cauldrons stood steaming over tables, accompanied by brass scales and jars of ingredients. Professor Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors' work. Malfoy kept flicking pufferfish eyes at Ron, a few found their way into Lisa's hair much to his delight. Lisa rolled her eyes and stepped on her tiptoes to peer inside her cauldron; her Swelling Solution was near-perfect. She wondered how Ron's potion was getting along and by the look on his face, not very well. Lisa sat back on her stool, waiting for Hermione to give Ron the signal.

When Professor Snape had his back turned, she watched Hermione nod at Ron and he ducked under his cauldron pulled one of Fred's Filibuster fireworks out of his pocket and gave it a quick prod with Hermione's wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter, landing exactly where it was supposed to, in Goyle's cauldron.

His potion exploded, showering the whole class, people shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them, Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of dinner plates, and Lisa, unfortunately, got it in her mouth. Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened and through the confusion, she saw Hermione slip quietly out the door.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared, "anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught. When I find out who did this..."

Malfoy's head drooped with the weight of his nose and Lisa tried to laugh but it was difficult with her tongue swollen to the size of an eggplant. As she and half the class lumbered up to Snape's desk, some weighed down with arms like clubs and others unable to talk through gigantic puffed-up lips, Lisa caught Hermione slide back into the dungeon, the pockets of her robes bulging.

When everyone had taken the antidote and the various swellings subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework.

"If I ever find out who threw this," Snape whispered dangerously, "I shall make sure that person is expelled."

"He knew it was me," Ron told Lisa and Hermione as they hurried back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, "I could tell."

"He wasn't looking at you directly," said Lisa, "if that helps."

"How does Swelling Solution taste?"

"Like what you'd expect a mixture of pufferfish eyes, nettles and bat spleens to taste like."

Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir feverishly. "It'll be ready in a fortnight," she said happily as the potion frothed and bubbled.  

A week later, Lisa, Ron and Hermione were walking to the library when they saw a gaggle of people gathered around the noticeboard, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

"They're starting a Duelling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind duelling lessons, they might come in handy one of these days."

"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said Ron, reading the sign with interest.

"But it could be useful," he said to Lisa and Hermione. "Should we go?"

Lisa turned to Hermione, who shrugged, "yeah, okay."

At eight o'clock that evening, they met inside the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young, maybe it'll be him."

Lisa hummed, rubbing her left thumb along her wand, right hand gripping the bark-like handle tightly, "if I had to guess..." Lisa began but she ended with an annoyed groan, "Lockhart."

Gilderoy Lockhart walked onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Professor Snape, wearing his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, "gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions– for full details, see my published works." He winked cheekily.

"Let me introduce my assistant Professor Snape," he said, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry— you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered in Lisa's ear.

"I'm just hoping Snape knocks Lockhart on his arse."

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Lisa murmured, eyeing Professor Snape as he bared his teeth.

"One– two– three–"

Both of them swung their wands up and over their shoulders and Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered, Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" She squealed through her fingers.

"Who cares," said Lisa and Ron together with huge smiles.

"That was better than I expected!" said Lisa.

"Lisa!"

"Oh, he deserved it," she said, waving her right arm, "I hope Professor Snape managed to knock out a few of his tee— ow!" 

Lisa rubbed the spot Hermione pinched with a pout and Lockhart had gotten unsteadily to his feet, his hat had fallen off his wavy hair and was standing on end. "Well, there you have it!" He said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm, as you see, I've lost my wand— ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see."

Professor Snape was looking murderous, possibly Lockhart has noticed because he said, "enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me..."

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch- Fletchley, but Snape reached Lisa and Ron first.

"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered and they turned to each other.

"Dream team?" Ron questioned and Lisa shrugged.

"Weasley, you can partner with Finnigan, Potter—"

Lisa immediately side-stepped toward Hermione and reached for her sleeve "I don't think so," said Snape.

"Oh, c'mon Professor," Lisa complained when he pulled her away from Hermione by the arm. "Mr. Malfoy, come here, you will be partnered with Miss Potter. And you, Miss Granger, you can partner Miss Bulstrode."

Malfoy strutted over with Millicent Bulstrode right behind him. Hermione gave her a weak smile which she did not return, she looked at Lisa who gave her a thin-lipped smile and pat her on the shoulder.

"Good luck and you'll need it," she said, eying Bulstrode up and down.

"Face your partners!" Lockhart called, "and bow!"

Lisa and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.

"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart shouted, "when I could to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent– only to disarm them, we don't want any accidents. One...two...three..." 

But Malfoy started on 'two': his spell hit Lisa so hard she felt as though she'd been hit over the head with a saucepan. She stumbled back and pulled her cardigan back over her shoulder.

Lisa pointed her wand at Malfoy, "Rictusempra!" A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing.

"I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd as Malfoy sank to his knees, he could barely move from laughing. Lisa hung back, feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the floor but that was a mistake.

Gasping for breath, Malfoy pointed his wand at Lisa's overalls, and choked, "Tarantallegra!" Immediately, her legs began to jerk out of her control in kind of a quick step.

"Stop! Stop!" Lockhart shouted but Snape took charge.

"Finite Incantatem!"

Lisa's feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing and they were able to look up. A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the room. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving, Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain. Both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Lisa leapt forward and pulled Millicent off her friend, difficult seeing how she was so much bigger than Lisa.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you get, Macmillan...careful there, Miss Fawcett...pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot...I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair— Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round pink face somehow went pinker. "How about Malfoy and Potter?" he asked with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, pulling Lisa and Malfoy onto the platform.

"Now, Lisa," he said, "when Draco points his wand at you, you do this." He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action and dropped it.

Lisa blinked, should I say "bibbidi bobbidi boo" too, or?

Snape smirked as Lockhart picked up his wand, saying, "whoops, my wand is a little over-excited." Lisa rolled her eyes and fixed her gaze on Malfoy, who was smirking deviously at her.

"Scared, Potter?" Malfoy asked and Lisa frowned.

"You'd like it if I was, wouldn't you?"

Lockhart cuffed Lisa merrily on the shoulder, "just do what I did, Lisa."

"Absolutely not, no." 

But Lockhart wasn't listening. "Three...two...one...go!" He shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!" The end of his wand exploded and Lisa watched as a long, black snake shot out of it in a coil on the golden platform. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape drawled lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Lisa standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it—"

"Allow me!" Lockhart shouted, he brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack.

Enraged and hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed and poised to strike. Panicked, Lisa took a few steps forward and called out, "stop! Leave him alone." The snake heard her, it hissed and thumped its tail on the platform but it didn't take its eyes off of Justin. 

"I said leave him alone!" Lisa repeated with a louder, more commanding tone. Reluctantly, the snake obeyed. It slumped to the floor, docile and nonthreatening with its eyes fixed on Lisa, who hadn't so much as blinked since it shot out of Malfoy's wand. She sighed and relaxed, feeling the fear drain out of her. Lisa turned her head to look at Justin, she had expected to see him look relieved or perhaps a bit puzzled, what she didn't expect was to find him looking at her in terror. 

"What do you think you're playing at?!" He shouted and before Lisa could speak, he turned and stormed out of the room. Snape stepped forward, waved his wand and the snake vanished in a whirl of black smoke.

With the snake gone, Lisa became privy to the ominous muttering all around her, then she felt someone tug on the back of her cardigan and grab her hand.

"Come on," Ron's voice said in her ear, "move, come on..."

Ron steered her out of the hall, Hermione hurrying after them. As they went through the doors, the others on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. Neither Ron nor Hermione said a word until they dragged her into an empty classroom.

"You're a Parselmouth? Why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm a what?"

"A Parselmouth!" Ron repeated, "you can talk to snakes!"

"I know," said Lisa, "I've always talked to them. Most of the time they were happy to just sit and listen but I've only ever..."

"Ever what?"

"It...it's a long story, I...accidentally set an python on my cousin Dudley at the zoo. I started talking to him and he understood to me and I set him free without meaning to. He was the first snake I've talked to that said something back. Then there was that snake in the garden on my birthday— she slithered up to me and I told her about well...everything; what happened with Quirrell, my nightmares...but I don't see what the big deal is, I'm sure other people do it."

"Most people can't," Ron argued, "it's not a very common gift, Lisa. This is bad."

"What's bad?" said Lisa, starting to feel quite angry. "What is wrong with everyone? If I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin—"

"Oh, that's what you said to it?" 

"Yes! You were there! You heard me!"

"I heard you speaking Parseltongue," said Ron, "snake language. You could've been saying anything. No wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something. It was creepy, you know."

Lisa gaped at him and then she started to laugh, "this is ridiculous," she muttered. "You mean to tell me that all this time I've been speaking another language? Without knowing?" 

Ron shook his head, both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. 

"Can you stop looking at me as if I've done something horrible?" snapped Lisa, "I told the snake to leave Justin alone, so what? Would you rather he end up in the hospital wing or— or dead? What does it matter?"

"It matters," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin house is a serpent."

Lisa stared at her friends, teary-eyed and overwhelmed.

"Exactly," said Ron, "and now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great- granddaughter or something..."

"But I'm not!" 

"You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione, "he lived a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be."  

Lisa lay awake for hours that night. Through a gap in the hangings around her four-poster, she watched snow starting to drift past the tower window, and wondered.

Could I be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin?

Her mother's magic had to come from somewhere...or maybe it was her father's side? The Dursleys had forbade all questions about her wizarding relatives. Quietly, she tried to say something in Parseltongue but all that escaped her lips was a pitiful squeak. No words would come.

But I'm in Gryffindor, Lisa thought. The Sorting Hat wouldn't have put me in here if I had Slytherin blood...

Ah, said a nasty little voice in her head, but the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin, don't you remember?

Lisa turned over with a huff and buried her face in her pillow. She would see Justin in Herbology tomorrow and explain that she had been calling the snake off, not egging it on, which any fool should have realized, able to understand her or not.

Slowly, her breathing evened out and she managed to fall asleep. 

She found Professor Quirrell in her dreams, looking down at her with his eye torn open and festered with maggots. He snarled and grabbed her by the throat. She twisted and struggled, and he dropped her in a pit of writhing snakes. She turned her head toward the hole in the ground, looking up at the moon. Then, quite suddenly she was surrounded by faces. Twisted and wrong with too-wide smiles and red snake-like eyes. They were all looking down at her and hissing, pointing with claw-like fingers. "Parselmouth! Parselmouth! Potter's a Parselmouth!" They shouted in sing-song over and over again as they laughed. Their taunting voices faded, replaced by crunching footsteps. A familiar face peered down at her, Lisa's face, eyes deep dark pits, she watched the many hundred snakes slither and twist, coiling around her body. "Something is rotten inside you." 

Lisa woke with a start, shooting up in her bed. Blindly, she fumbled for her diary and a pen.  

She wouldn't have a chance to talk to Justin and explain what happened because the light snow that started during dinner, turned into a blizzard overnight and the last Herbology lesson of term was cancelled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.

Lisa had sat herself down on the sofa, close to the fireplace. She sat, fretting about her dream and what happened yesterday in the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione were with her too, using their free lesson to play a game of wizard chess. 

"For heaven's sake, Lisa," Hermione sighed, exasperated, as one of Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board. "Go and find Justin if it's so important to you."

Lisa got off the sofa without a word and left the common room, the portrait swinging shut behind her. The castle was darker than it usually was. Colder too. Shivering, Lisa walked past classrooms, catching glimpses of what was happening inside. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger. Resisting the urge to take a peek, Lisa walked on, thinking that Justin might be using his free lesson to catch up on some work.

She found a group of Hufflepuffs sitting in the back of the library, but they didn't seem to be working on anything. Between the high bookshelves, Lisa could see their heads were close together and they were having what looked to be an absorbing conversation. She couldn't see if Justin was with them.

Lisa took a step closer when something of what they were saying met her ears, and she paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section.

"So anyway," a stout boy was saying, "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as her next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter that he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told her he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?"

"You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?" A girl with blonde pigtails said anxiously.

"Hannah," said Ernie solemnly, "she's a Parselmouth. She has all the makings of a dark witch. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? And they called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue."

There was some heavy murmuring at this and Earnie went on, "remember what was written on the wall? 'Enemies of the Heir Beware'. Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Filch's cat's attacked. That first year, Creevey, was upsetting Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of her when she was lying in the mud. Next thing we know, Creevey's been attacked."

"She always seems so nice, though," said Hannah uncertainly, "and, well, she's the one who made You- Know-Who disappear. She can't be all bad, can she?" 

Earnie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, "no one knows how she survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, she was only a baby when it happened, she should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark Witch could have survived a curse like that."

He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, "that's probably why You-Know- Who wanted to kill her in the first place. Didn't want her competing with him for power. I wonder what other powers Potter's been hiding?"

A tear rolled down her cheek and splattered on her shoe. She wiped the rest away hastily and took a moment to calm herself and emerged from behind the bookshelves. If she hadn't been feeling so upset, she would have found the sight that greeted her funny: the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been petrified by the sight of her and the colour was draining out of Ernie's face.

"Hello," Lisa sniffed, then cleared her throat, "I'm looking for Justin."

The Hufflepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie.

"What do you want with him?" Ernie asked, in a quavering voice.

"I need to talk to him about what happened yesterday, with-with the snake at the Duelling Club."

Ernie bit his pale lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, "we were all there. We saw what happened."

"And then you noticed that after I spoke to the snake, it backed off? Right?"

"All I saw," said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, "was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake towards Justin."

"I didn't chase it at him!" Lisa shouted, her voice shaking with anger. "It didn't even touch him."

"It was a very near miss," said Ernie, "and in case you're getting any ideas," he added, "I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so—"

"I could care less about what sort of blood you've got, Macmillan," Lisa spat, "why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"

"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with," said Ernie swiftly.

"I don't want to hate them— they're my only family but it's kind of hard not to," said Lisa. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the library, earning herself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.

Lisa blundered out of the corridor, breathing heavily. She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to go somewhere. Not paying much attention to her surroundings, she walked into something large and solid, knocking her onto the floor.

"Oh...hi, Hag-Hagrid," she whispered, looking up.

Hagrid's face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava with a dead rooster hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands. "All righ', Lisa?" He said, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak, "why aren't yeh in class?"

"Cancelled," she said, getting up. "Why are you here?"

Hagrid held up the limp rooster, "second one killed this term," he explained, "it's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin' Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission ter put a charm round the hen-coop." He peered more closely at Lisa from under his thick, snow-flecked eyebrows.

"Yeh sure yeh're all righ'?"

Lisa couldn't bring herself to tell Hagrid what happened at the Duelling Club or repeat what Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about her. "I'm fine, it's nothing," she lied with some semblance of a smile, "I'd better get going, Hagrid, I've got Transfiguration next and I've got to get my books."

She walked off, her mind still reeling from what Ernie had said about her. "Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born..."

Lisa ran down the stairs and turned the corner, stepping into a dark corridor. It shouldn't be this dark. The torches on the wall had been extinguished, an icy draught blowing through a loose window pane. Lisa was hallways down the corridor when she tripped, falling over it on her hands and knees. She turned her head and opened her mouth to scream but it got caught in her throat.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying there on the rich carpet, his face twisted in terror, staring blankly at the ceiling. He wasn't the only one. It was a peculiar thing, Nearly Headless Nick was no longer pearly-white and transparent but black and smoky, floating immobile six inches off the floor in the same manner as Justin with his head hanging like a door off its hinge.

Lisa scrambled to her feet, muttering, "no-no-no-no-no-no," in fast, shallow breaths. She looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. And the only sounds Lisa could hear were the muffled voices of teachers in classrooms and her heart thumping wildly against her ribs.

She had to run, she had to get out of there before someone saw. She needed to go get help...but if she did, would anyone believe she had nothing to do with this? As she stood there, panicking, a door next to her opened with a bang and Peeves the poltergeist came shooting out.

"Why, it's potty wee Potter!" cackled Peeves, pulling her tie as he bounced past her. "What's Potter up to? Why's Potter lurking—"

Peeves stopped, halfway through a mid-air somersault. Upside-down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Lisa could stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"

Crash— crash— crash: door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Lisa found herself pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet.

Professor McGonagall came running, the class she had been teaching not far behind. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat, Ernie Macmillan pushed through. 

"Caught in the act!" Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Lisa.

"That will do, Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:

"Oh Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done? You're killing off students, you think it's good fun— "

"That's enough Peeves!" Professor McGonagall barked and Peeves zoomed away backwards, with his tongue out at Lisa.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft, leaving Lisa and Professor McGonagall alone.

"This way, Lisa," she said.

"Professor," Lisa swallowed, she fixed her tie with trembling hands, "I-I didn't, I-I swear I didn't—"

"This is out of my hands, Potter," she said curtly. They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle. 

"Sherbet lemon!" she said, the gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside as the wall behind it split in two. There was a spiral staircase which was moving smoothly upwards, like an escalator.

As she and Professor McGonagall stepped onto it, Lisa heard the wall close behind them, dread washed over her as they rose upwards in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Lisa could see a gleaming oak door ahead with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffon.

She knew where she was being taken, this must be where Dumbledore lived. 

Chapter Text

They stepped off the stone staircase at the top and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered, she told Lisa to wait and left her there, alone.

Lisa looked around. One thing was certain, of all the teachers' offices she had visited so far, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting.

If she hadn't been scared out of her mind, she would look around with a bit more enthusiasm. Dumbledore's office was a large and beautiful room, full of funny little noises. Several curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. Lisa stood in front of an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat— the Sorting Hat.

Lisa hesitated, she cast a wary eye on the sleeping witches and wizards on the walls. Surely it couldn't hurt if she took the Hat down and tried it on again? Just to see— to make sure it had put her in the right house. Quietly, Lisa walked around the desk and approached the Hat. She felt an urge to throw it in the fireplace and watch it burn but she was already in enough trouble as it is. Sighing, she picked it up and put it on, slowly it slid down until it covered her eyes, just as it had done the first time she'd put it on.

"Bee in your bonnet, Lisa Potter?" the hat inquired, springing to life.

"Erm— yes," said Lisa, "sorry to bother you— but I wanted to ask—"

"You've been wondering whether I put you in the right house," the Hat finished for her. "Yes...you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand by what I said before—" Lisa's heart leapt, "— you would have done well in Slytherin."

And then her stomach plummeted. She grabbed the point of the hat and ripped it off with a grunt. It hung limply in her hand, grubby and faded. Exhaling sharply, Lisa pushed it back onto its shelf, feeling sick.

A strange, gagging noise behind her made her turn around. She wasn't alone after all.

Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird, more resembling a half-plucked turkey than what it had been before. Lisa stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, gagging again. Lisa assumed it was ill or old or both. Its eyes were dull and she watched a few more tail feathers fall. Lisa was just thinking that all she needed was for Professor Dumbledore's bird to keel over and die while she was alone with it, when the bird burst into flames. Lisa let out a shriek and stumbled away from the perch and onto the desk. She looked around feverishly for a glass of water or something to put it out but couldn't find anything. The bird, meanwhile, has become a fireball; it gave one loud screech and became nothing but a pile of smouldering ash on the polished floor.

The office door opened and Dumbledore came in, looking very sombre.

"Professor," Lisa gasped, "your bird! I couldn't do anything, it-it-it-it just caught fire —"

And then Dumbledore did something that wasn't on her list of possible reactions, he smiled. "About time, too," he said, "he's been looking dreadful for days. I've been telling him to get a move on." He chuckled at the look on Lisa's face.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Lisa. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and they are reborn from the ashes. Watch him..."

Lisa looked down with wide eyes to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was just as ugly as its previous self.

"It's a shame you had to see him on a burning day," said Dumbledore, seating himself in the large chair behind his desk. "He really is very handsome most of the time: wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes, they can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers and they make highly faithful pets."

In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Lisa had forgotten what she was there for but it all came rushing back when Dumbledore settled and fixed Lisa with his piercing blue stare.

But before Dumbledore could speak, the door of his office burst open with an almighty bang and Hagrid came stomping in with a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his head and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.

"It wasn' Lisa, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently. "I was talkin' ter her seconds before that kid was found, she never had time, sir..."

Dumbledore tried to say something but Hagrid went on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere. "It can't've bin her, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to—"

"Hagrid, I—"

"Yeh've got the wrong girl, sir, I know Lisa never—"

"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly, putting an end to his ramblings, "I do not think Lisa attacked anyone."

"Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side, "right...I'll uh, I'll wait outside then, Headmaster." He stomped out, embarrassed.

"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Lisa asked hopefully as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.

"No, Lisa, I don't," he said, though his face was sombre again. "But I still want to talk to you."

Lisa's stomach flipped and she looked anxiously at her Headmaster who considered her carefully, pressing the tips of his long fingers together. 

"I must ask you, Lisa, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me," he said gently, "anything at all?"

Lisa's thoughts rattled inside her head as she stared at Professor Dumbledore.

I should tell him about the voice I keep hearing, I know Ron says it's a bad sign but maybe he can help me...

Would he know if I'm related to Salazar Slytherin somehow? I should tell him what the Sorting Hat said...

Why did Voldemort try to kill me?

Why can I speak Parseltongue?

Am I the heir of Slytherin?

Who am I?

What am I?

What if they're right about me?

Oh God, he's still staring at me. Say something stupid! 

Slowly, Lisa blinked and smiled at Professor Dumbledore, "no," she said, "there isn't anything at all, Professor." 

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people the most. What could do that to a ghost, they asked one another; what terrible power could harm someone already dead?

There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express to go home for the holidays.

"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told Lisa and Hermione. "Us, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it's going to be." Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did (because they hadn't a mind of their own), signed up to stay for the holidays too.

Lisa was glad everyone else was leaving, not that she would say so. She was growing tired of people skirting around her in the corridors as if she was about to spout fangs and spit venom at them if they dared get too close. She was tired of the pointing and hushed whispers. And Fred and George of course were making things worse by joking about it. They marched ahead of Lisa down the corridors, shouting, "make way for the heir of Slytherin! Seriously evil witch coming through!"

Percy disapproved immensely of this behaviour, "it is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred, "Lisa's in a hurry."

"Yeah, she's nipping off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with her monster," said George, chortling. Ginny didn't find it amusing either.

"Oh, don't!” she wailed every time Fred asked Lisa loudly who she was planning to attack next or when George pretended to ward Lisa off with a large clove of garlic when they met.

Fred and George had their reasons of course, they had good intentions. All of this was to try, somehow, to cheer Lisa up— to make her laugh. It didn't have to be a full laugh or anything, a small chuckle or a little smile would do just fine. It didn't work.

Nothing they were doing seemed to be working. But to their credit, Lisa had tried to smile a few times, to make them feel like what they were trying to do was working but she just couldn't make her mouth work. 

Fred and George were walking her to Charms one day when they approached the middle courtyard. The chatter stopped almost abruptly when they saw her, no less than two dozen heads turning in their direction. Some glared while others whispered and Lisa had barely made it out of sight before she started to cry. Fred and George panicked, they didn't know what to do— what joke they could crack to make her stop. Fred met his twins eye before he did something he should have been doing all along. He grabbed Lisa's shoulders and pulled her into a hug. George followed his lead, covering her back while she cried into Fred's robes. 

Percy Weasley wasn't the only one they aggravated with their antics; Draco Malfoy looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it. Lisa caught his eye from across the hall one morning during breakfast and Ron had noticed, turning around the moment Lisa brought attention back to her toast.

"It's because he's bursting to say it's really him," said Ron knowingly. "You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you're getting all the credit for his dirty work."

"Not for long," said Hermione in a satisfied tone, "the Polyjuice Potion's nearly ready. We'll be getting the truth out of him any day now."

The moon cast a soft, silver glow through her dormitory, not that Lisa could see it with her curtains drawn. She sits with her back up against the headboard, no light apart from the glow at the tip of her wand. Lisa had her headphones over her ears, Fleetwood Mac on low, with her diary on her lap. 

                 December 18th, 1992 10:52 p.m

Dear Diary,

They think it’s me. Everyone thinks I opened the Chamber of Secrets, that I’m Slytherin’s heir. All because I can talk to snakes, because I stopped one from attacking Justin. Maybe I should’ve just let it, at least no one would hate me if it did.

Fred and George have spent the last few weeks trying to cheer me up and I try to smile for them, especially Fred. But it’s so hard, to try and force myself to be fine, because I’m not fine. I’m not fine and I hate it. I hate Slytherin. I hate Ernie MacMillan, he’s the one who started this whole thing!  Sometimes I wish I were the heir of Slytherin so I could sic the monster on him!

The holidays are coming soon, and I’m staying at Hogwarts again. Malfoy is staying too, which works perfectly because if Hermione and I timed it right, the Polyjuice Potion should be ready on Christmas.

I don’t think Draco Malfoy is the Heir of Slytherin, despite what Ron thinks, but maybe he knows who it is. I hope he knows who it is so we can stop them, before they hurt Hermione or anyone else.

Or maybe the monster is finished, maybe Slytherin’s heir called it off. I haven’t heard it since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick were attacked. Or it could just be resting, gathering its strength before it strikes again. I wish I could figure out what it is, I can hear its voice but nothing else, just its disembodied voice inside my head. 

I should be getting to bed now, it’s late.

                            Love, Lisa

  P.S. I hope I don’t dream about snakes again.

At last, the term ended and a silence deep as the snow descended on the castle. With everyone gone, Lisa improved somewhat, she smiled but the sadness in her eyes was still there. Fred, George and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with their parents. Percy stayed too, but only because it was his duty as a Prefect to support the teachers during this troubled time.

Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Ron, the only one left in his dormitory, was woken up very early by Hermione and Lisa, bundled up in soft housecoats and fuzzy slippers. 

"Wake up," said Hermione loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window.

"Lisa— Hermione— you're not supposed to be in here," said Ron, shielding his eyes against the light.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," Hermione replied, "Lisa and I have been up for nearly an hour. We've added more lacewings to the Potion. It's ready." 

Ron sat up, suddenly wide awake, "are you sure?"

"Positive," said Hermione, shifting Scabbers so she could sit at the end of his four-poster. "If we're going to do it, I say it should be tonight."

At that moment, Hedwig swooped into the room, carrying a very small package in her beak.

"Hello," said Lisa happily as she landed on her lap, "are you happy with me again?" Hedwig nibbled her ear in an affectionate sort of way, which was a far better present than whatever she had brought; it was from the Dursleys. They had sent Lisa a toothpick and a note telling her to find out whether she'd be able to stay at Hogwarts for the summer holidays, too.

The rest of Lisa's Christmas presents were far more satisfactory, Hagrid had sent her a large tin of treacle fudge, which Lisa decided to soften by the fire before eating; Ron had given her a book called Flying with the Cannons, a book of interesting facts about his favourite Quidditch team; and Hermione had bought her a luxury eagle-feather quill. Lisa opened the last present to find a new, hand-knitted jumper from Mrs Weasley, she sent her a large plum cake too and a card. Lisa read it with a fresh surge of guilt, thinking about Mr. Weasley's car, which hadn't been seen since its crash with the Whomping Willow, and the bout of rule-breaking she and Ron were planning next. 

The Great Hall looked magnificent, not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, above their heads. Immediately after opening them, Ron threw on the Chudley Cannon robes Lisa bought him and hasn't stopped smiling since he put them on an hour ago, declaring this was the best thing anyone had ever given him. 

Dumbledore led them in a few of his favourite carols. Fred had ended up between George and Lisa. He's never heard her sing before and he wasn't sure what to expect, certainly not for her voice to be soft and haunting as moonlight. Fred got to enjoy it for a while until she was drowned out by Hagrid, who got louder and louder with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. 

Malfoy sat alone with Crabbe and Goyle at the Slytherin table. He stared at Lisa from between their fat heads, watching her with the Weasleys. Bathed in warm candlelight, she drank hot cocoa and rum-free eggnog, she made jokes and laughed, pulled wizard crackers with Fred, played chess with Ron and even danced a little with Ginny and Hermione while Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall clapped in time with the song the twins made up on the spot.

It was then, that Draco Malfoy, despite being with his friends, felt that uncomfortable twinge of loneliness. 

The festivities didn't last, however. Lisa and Ron had barely finished their third helpings of Christmas pudding when Hermione ushered them out of the hall to finalize their plans for the evening. "We still need a bit of the people you're changing into," she said matter-of-factly, as though she was sending them to the supermarket for laundry detergent.

"I guess I'll be Goyle," Lisa sighed, "Ron can be Crabbe."

"Wait, why do I have to be Crabbe?"

"Because I'd rather throw myself in the lake than be Crabbe?" Lisa replied sarcastically.

"Flip a sickle?"

"No."

Ron heaved a sigh, accepting his fate.

"I've already got mine," said Hermione, pulling a little vial out of her pocket, there was a single hair inside, "Millicent Bulstrode. She left this on my jumper when she was trying to strangle me." 

"Wait— I thought Bulstrode went home for the holidays?" said Lisa. 

"I'll just have to tell the Malfoy I've decided to come back," said Hermione, ignoring the look of doubt in Lisa's eyes.

"Do you really think that'll work?" 

"It might," Hermione said, "besides, I doubt Malfoy pays her much attention anyway."

"Yeah, you're probably right," said Lisa, "so...what do we do with the real Crabbe and Goyle? It'll be a problem if they burst in while we're interrogating Malfoy."

"I've got it covered," said Hermione, holding up two plump chocolate cakes, "all you'll have to do is make sure Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode find these. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom cupboard."

Lisa took the cakes from Hermione, "so this is what you wanted me to brew Sleeping Draught for, good thinking Hermione."

Ron glanced between Lisa and Hermione then back to the cakes in her hand, "this could go seriously wrong—" Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.

"The Potion will be useless without Crabbe and Goyle's hair," she said sternly. "You do want to investigate Malfoy, don't you?"

"Oh all right," Ron sighed.

When Hermione bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion again, Ron turned to Lisa with a doom-laden expression.

"Have you ever heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong?"

"It'll be fine, Ron."

And surprise to no one but Ron, stage one of the operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. They lurked in the deserted Entrance Hall after Christmas tea. Malfoy had gone already but the pair of them sat at the Slytherin table, helping themselves to a third helping or trifle. Lisa perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banisters and when she spotted them, she and Ron hid quickly behind a suit of armour.

"How thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe gleefully pointed out the cakes to Goyle. Grinning stupidly, the boys took several bites. Without so much as a change in expression, they keeled over onto the floor.

The difficult bit was hiding them in the cupboard down the hall. But once they were stowed safely amongst the buckets and mops, Lisa yanked out a couple of hairs on Goyle's head. "We should take their shoes," she said before they left the cupboard.

"What? Why?"

"Well, for one, Goyle is nearly a foot taller than me, he can't wear mine."

"Oh, right, good thinking." 

Then, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. They could hardly see because of the thick black smoke coming from the cubicle in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Lisa and Ron knocked softly on the door.

"Hermione?"

They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shiny-faced and looking anxious. Behind her, they heard the gloop gloop of the bubbling, treacle-thick Potion and three glass tumblers stood ready on the toilet seat.

"Did you get them?" Hermione asked breathlessly and Lisa held up Goyle's hair.

"Good, and I snuck spare clothes out of the laundry," said Hermione, holding up a small sack. "You'll need bigger sizes once you're Crabbe and Goyle."

The three of them stared at the cauldron, it looked like thick, dark mud up close, bubbling sluggishly.

"I'm sure I've done everything right," Hermione said, nervously re-reading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. "It looks like the book says it should...once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves."

"Now what?" Ron whispered.

"We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs."

Hermione ladled large dollops of the Potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode's hair out of its bottle into the first glass.

The Potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.

"Urgh! The essence of Millicent Bulstrode," said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting."

"Add yours, then," said Hermione.

Lisa whined and dropped Goyle's hair into the middle glass and Ron put Crabbe's into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned a khaki colour and Crabbe's a dark, murky brown.

"Oh, hang on," said Lisa as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses, "we barely fit in here as ourselves, can't imagine trying to wiggle our way out as Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode."

"Good thinking," Ron said, unlocking the door. "We'll go in separate cubicles."

"I call the one that's not broken," said Lisa and shut the door behind her. She took a moment to take off her glasses and tuck them in her pocket for safe keeping. "Ready?"

"Ready," came Ron and Hermione's voices.

"One...two— oh God— three..."

Pinching her nose, Lisa drank the Potion down in two large gulps— it tasted like overcooked cabbage. Immediately, her insides started writhing as though she just swallowed live snakes, for a moment she wondered if she was going to be sick but then a burning sensation spread rapidly from her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes. Next came the horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over her body bubbled like hot wax and before her eyes, her hands began to grow, and the nails broadened, her shoulders stretched painfully, her chest expanded like a barrel bursting its hoops and as suddenly as it had started, everything stopped.

Lisa stood in her cubicle, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end toilet. She stumbled out and shivered. 

"Ugh, that was awful!" Goyle's low rasp of a voice tumbled out of her mouth, "you two okay?"

"Yeah," came the deep grunt of Crabbe from her right. Lisa turned on her heel and stepped in front of the mirror. Goyle stared back at her out of dull, deep-set eyes. Lisa touched her cheek and so did Goyle.

"Freaky," she said, poking at her face.

Ron's door opened and Lisa squinted at him, he was indistinguishable from Crabbe. "This is unbelievable," he said, approaching the mirror and prodding Crabbe's nose.

Lisa stood next to him with her hands on her hips, "so this is what it feels like to be a boy," she said in disgust, "ugh— I didn't think he would be this sweaty...and awkward."

Lisa looked at Ron, "anyway, we've only got an hour so we should probably— what?"

"This is creepy," said Ron, "watching Goyle act like you, you need to act like Goyle."

"We don't have time for that," she said knocking on Hermione's cubicle.

A high-pitched voice answered her, "I— I don't think I'm going to come after all, you go on without me." 

Lisa frowned, "that doesn't sound like Bulstrode," she said, "are you okay in there?"

"I— I'm fine, you two hurry up, you're wasting time."

Lisa looked at Ron, bewildered.

"That looks more like Goyle," said Ron. "That's how he looks every time a teacher asks him a question."

"Shut up," Lisa snorted, "Hermione, we'll meet you back here, okay?"

Lisa and Ron opened the door of the bathroom carefully, checked if the coast was clear and set off. "Don't swing your arms like that," said Lisa. 

"Eh?"

"Crabbe holds them sort of stiff."

"How's this?"

"Better."

Lisa and Ron made their way across the Entrance Hall, she opened the door and nudged Ron through first, grabbing onto his sleeve. She kept one hand on the wall as they ventured down the winding stairs, Ron whimpering occasionally about the spiders lurking in the dark, their footsteps echoing particularly loudly as Crabbe and Goyle's feet hit the floor.

At the bottom the labyrinth of corridors was deserted, illuminated by green flames. Lisa checked her watch every so often to see how much time they had left. After a quarter of an hour, just when they were getting desperate, Lisa walked right into someone.

"What're you doing down here?" said Ron in surprise, it was his brother, Percy. 

Percy looked affronted. "That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business, it's Crabbe isn't it?"

"Wh— oh, yeah," Ron said.

"Well, get back to your dormitory," Percy said sternly. "It's not safe to go wandering around dark corridors these days."

"You are," Ron pointed out.

"I," said Percy, drawing himself up, "am a Prefect. Nothing's about to attack me." Lisa rolled her eyes as a voice echoed behind them.

"There you are," it was Malfoy. "Have you two been in the Great Hall all this time? I've been looking for you, I want to show you something really funny." He glanced witheringly at Percy. "And what're you doing down here, Weasley?"

Percy looked outraged. "You want to show a bit more respect to a school Prefect!" He said. "I don't like your attitude!"

Malfoy sneered and motioned Lisa and Ron to follow him. "That Peter Weasley—"

"Percy," Ron corrected him automatically.

"Whatever," said Malfoy, "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed."

Malfoy gave a short, derisive laugh and Ron looked excitedly at Lisa. He stopped before a stretch of bare wall. "What's the new password again?" He asked Lisa.

"Er—"

"Oh yeah— pure-blood!” said Malfoy, not listening, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it, Lisa and Ron followed him. The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them.

"Wait here," Malfoy motioned them to sit on the sofa, "I'll go get it, my father's just sent it to me." Lisa and Ron sat down, doing their best to look at home.

Malfoy returned a moment later, holding what looked to be a newspaper courting. He thrust it under Ron's nose. "That'll give you a laugh," he said. Lisa watched Ron's eyes widen in shock, he read it quickly and gave a very forced laugh then shoved it at Lisa.

It had been clipped straight out of the Daily Prophet and it said:. 

ENQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, was today fined five hundred Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car. Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley's resignation.

"Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."

Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them. 

"Well?" said Malfoy impatiently as Lisa handed the cutting back to him. "Don't you think it's funny?" 

"Ha, ha," she said bleakly.

"Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go and join them," said Malfoy scornfully. "You'd never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave."

Ron's— or rather, Crabbe's face was contorted with fury. "What's up with you, Crabbe?" Malfoy snapped. 

"Stomach ache," Ron grunted.

"Well, go up to the hospital wing and give those Mudbloods a kick from me," Malfoy said, snickering. "You know, I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he went on thoughtfully. "I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place, he loves muggle-borns. A decent Headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in."

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and made a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: "'Lisa, can I have your picture, Lisa? Can I have your autograph? Lisa? Can you sign my picture? Please, Lisa?'" He dropped his hands and looked at Lisa and Ron, "what's the matter with you two?"

Lisa and Ron forced themselves to laugh. "I can see why Creevey is obsessed with Potter, pretty as she is," Malfoy went on, "it's a shame, really, she's another one with no proper upbringing, she wouldn't hang around with that jumped-up Granger Mudblood. And people think she's Slytherin's heir!"

Lisa and Ron waited with bated breath. 

"I wish I knew who it is," Malfoy said petulantly. "I could help them."

Ron's jaw dropped so that Crabbe's face looked even more gormless than usual. Fortunately, Malfoy didn't notice, and Lisa, thinking fast, said, "do you...think Potter could be the heir of Slytherin?" 

"You know I don't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?" Malfoy snapped, "even if the entire school thinks so."

"You must save some idea who it could be," Lisa prodded. 

"Father won't tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened, either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing: last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it's only a matter of time before one of them's killed this time...I hope it's Granger," he said with relish.

Ron was clenching Crabbe's gigantic fists, feeling that it would be a bit of a giveaway if he punched Malfoy, Lisa shot him a warning look and said, "d'you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?" Lisa asked.

"Oh, yeah...whoever it was was expelled," said Malfoy. "They're probably still in Azkaban." He shifted restlessly across from them, "Father says to keep my head down and let the heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our Manor last week?"

Lisa tried to force Goyle's dull face into a look of concern.

"Yeah..." Malfoy said. "Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing room floor—"

"Ho!" said Ron and Malfoy looked at him, and so did Lisa. His hair was turning red and his nose was slowly lengthening– their hour was up. Ron was turning back into himself and from the look he was suddenly giving Lisa, she must be too.

They jumped to their feet.

"Medicine for my stomach," Ron grunted and without further ado, they sprinted out of the Slytherin common room, hurled themselves through the stone wall and dashed up the passage, hoping against hope that Malfoy hadn't noticed anything. Lisa could feel her feet slipping around in Goyle's shoes and had to hoist up his trousers and she shrank down a foot.

They crashed up the steps into the dark hall, full of a muffled pounding coming from the cupboard where they'd locked Crabbe and Goyle. Leaving their shoes outside the cupboard door, they sprinted in their socks up the staircase towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Well, it wasn't a complete waste of time," Ron panted, closing the bathroom door behind them. "I know we still haven't found out who's doing the attacks, but I'm going to write to Dad tomorrow and tell him to check under the Malfoys' drawing room."

Lisa barely heard a word of what he said, checking her face in the mirror. She was completely back to normal.

"I never want to do that again," she shivered, scooping up her clothes and slipping into a cubicle. She changed out of Goyle's clothes while Ron knocked on Hermione's door.

"Hermione, come out, we've got loads to tell you—"

"Go away!" Hermione squeaked while Lisa fixed her hair in the mirror. "What's the matter?" Ron asked, "you must be back to normal by now, we are..."

Moaning Myrtle glided through the door, Lisa had never seen her look so cheerful, "ooooh, wait till you see!" She squealed, "it's awful!"

They heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her jumper pulled up over her head.

"What's up?" said Ron uncertainly, "have you still got Millicent's nose or something?"

Hermione pulled down her jumper and Ron backed into the sink. Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had gone yellow and there were long pointed ears poking through her hair. Lisa covered her mouth immediately, she couldn't trust herself not to laugh.

"It was c-cat hair!" Hermione howled. "M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have a cat! And the P-Potion isn't supposed to be used for animal transformations!" 

"Uh oh," Ron said.

"You'll be teased something dreadful," said Myrtle happily.

"It's okay, Hermione," Lisa soothed once she took a moment to calm herself, "we'll take you up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions, she'll have you fixed in no time." It took nearly an hour to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom, Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a hearty guffaw.

"Wait till everyone finds out you've got a tail!" 

Chapter Text

Hermione was in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a flurry of rumour about her disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had been attacked and of course, everyone thought it was Lisa who did it, despite them all knowing she and Hermione were best friends.

So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around Hermione's bed to spare her from the shame of being seen with a furry face. Lisa and Ron came to visit her every evening. When the new term started, they brought her each day's homework.

"If I'd sprouted whiskers, I'd take a break from work," said Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione's beside table one evening.

"Don't be silly, Ron, I've got to keep up," Hermione said briskly. Her spirits had greatly improved when the fur had gone from her face and her eyes were slowly becoming brown again. "I don't suppose you've got any new leads?" She added in a whisper so that Madam Pomfrey couldn't hear her. 

"No," Ron mumbled, "because a certain someone also has an obsession with schoolwork," he said glaring at Lisa who scowled back at him.

"I'm not going to put off assignments to look for the heir of Slytherin, Ronald," she said dryly. She was sitting on the end of Hermione's bed, books and parchment spread across the sheets.

"I was so sure it was Malfoy," said Ron, for about the hundredth time.

"And you were wrong, just like last year," said Lisa and spotted something gold sticking out from under Hermione's pillow. "What's that?"

"Just a 'Get Well' card," said Hermione hastily, she tried to poke it out of sight but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open and read aloud:

To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award. 

Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted, "you sleep with this under your pillow?"

Lisa took the card and read it over, "unbelievable, Lockhart takes my bones and I don't get so much as an apology from him but Hermione turns into a cat and she gets a card?"

"Did you want a card from Lockhart?" Ron asks incredulously.

"I don't think, 'Dear Lisa, I'm sorry I made your bones disappear because I'm an egotistical half-wit who doesn't know how to do magic, from Professor Lockhart' is too much to ask for."

Madam Pomfrey opened the curtain with Hermione's evening dose of medicine.

"How many rat tails do you add to a Hair-Raising Potion?" Ron asked, going back to the mountain of homework he had abandoned.

"Guess," said Lisa— she had moved on to her Charms homework an hour ago.

"C'mon Lisa!" said Ron desperately, "Hermione?"

Hermione pointedly took a drink of water.

"Unbelievable," Ron mumbled and scribbled something down. Suddenly, there was an angry outburst from the floor above.

"It's Filch, I think," said Lisa, she shoved her parchment into her Standard Book of Spells. She and Ron left the hospital wing and hurried up the stairs, ducking out of sight.

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" Ron asked tensely. They stood still, their heads inclined toward Filch's voice, he sounded quite hysterical.

"...even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough work to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore..."

His footsteps receded and they heard a door slam. They poked their heads around the corner, Filch had been manning his usual lookout post and they saw what he had been shouting about; a great flood of water stretched over half the corridor and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Since Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear Myrtle's wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Now what's up with her?" Ron asked.

"Probably nothing," said Lisa.

"Let's go and see."

"What? I am not stepping in toilet water!" She whispered but took Ron's hand anyway, gathering her robe so it wouldn't get soaked.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before, hiding in her toilet. It was darker than usual, the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both the walls and floor soaking wet.

"Hi, Myrtle," said Lisa, making sure to smile.

"Who's that?" She glugged miserably, "come to throw something else at me?"

Still holding her robe, Lisa waded across to her cubicle, "why would I throw something at you? I'm not five."

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with another wave of water, crashing onto the already flooded floor. "Here I am, minding my own business and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me..."

"Myrtle, you're dead," Lisa deadpanned, "getting something thrown at you wouldn’t hurt, you don't have a body."

She has said the wrong thing, Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "let's all throw books at Myrtle because she can't feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha ha ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"

"Okay, okay, I get it— so who threw it at you?"

"I don't know...I was sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death and it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle, glaring at them. "It's over there, it got washed out."

Lisa and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there, it had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Lisa rolled up her many sleeves and groaned before stepping forward to pick it up, but Ron stopped her, flinging out an arm to hold her back.

"What?"

"Are you mad?" said Ron, "it could be dangerous!"

"Dangerous?" Lisa questioned, "it's a book."

"Some of the books at the Ministry's confiscated, dad's told me there was one that burned your eyes out and everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. Some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And—"

"Okay, I get it, you've made your point."

The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and waterlogged, Lisa waited until Ron had his back turned and scooped it up out of the water. "It looks like a diary," she said, "it's dated; 1942."

"That's...fifty years ago," said Ron.

"Fifty-one," Lisa corrected, "around the same time the Chamber was opened the first time." On the first page she could barely make out the name, 'T. M. Riddle' in smudged ink.

"Hang on," said Ron, looking over Lisa's shoulder. "I know that name...T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention."

"Was that the one you barfed slugs on?"

"Yeah, if you'd wiped slime off a name for an hour, you'd remember it, too."

Lisa carefully pried the wet pages apart only to discover they were completely blank. There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of them, not even 'Auntie Mabel's birthday', or 'dentist, half past three'.

"It looks like Mr. Riddle didn't write much," said Lisa.

"What?"

"The pages are blank, no ink spots, nothing."

"I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?" Ron said curiously.

Lisa turned the book over and saw the printed name of a newsagent's on Vauxhall Road in London. "He was probably Muggle-born," she said, "to have bought a diary in London."

"Well, it's not much use to you," said Ron and dropped his voice, "fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle's nose."

Lisa, however, pocketed it. 

Hermione left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less and fur-free, at the beginning of February. On her first evening back in Gryffindor Tower, Lisa showed her T. M. Riddle's diary and told her the story of how they had found it.

"Oooh, it might have hidden powers," said Hermione enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely.

"If it has, it's hiding them very well," Ron said. "Maybe it's shy, I don't know why you don't chuck it, Lisa."

"I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it, in Myrtle's bathroom of all places," said Lisa, "plus, I wouldn't mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services to Hogwarts, either."

"Could've been anything," Ron shrugged. "Maybe he got thirty O.W.Ls or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle, that would've done everyone a favour..."

But Lisa could tell from the arrested look on Hermione's face that she was thinking the same thing. "What?" Ron asked, eyes flitting between them.

"The Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, right?"

"Yeah..." said Ron slowly.

"And this diary is fifty years old," said Hermione, tapping it excitedly.

"I knew that," Ron said, "so?"

"Oh, Ron, wake up," Hermione snapped, "we know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago. We know T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. Well, what if Riddle got his special award for catching the heir of Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us everything: where the Chamber is, how to open it and what sort of creature lives in it. The person who's behind the attacks this time wouldn't want that lying around, would they?"

"That's a brilliant theory, Hermione," said Ron, "with one tiny little flaw. There's nothing written in his diary."

But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag, "it might be invisible ink!" She whispered, she tapped the diary three times and said, "Aparecium!" Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back in her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red eraser.

"It's a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley," she said, she rubbed hard on 'January the first'. Nothing happened.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing to find in there," said Ron, "Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn't be bothered filling it in." 

Lisa couldn't explain, even to herself, why she didn't throw Riddle's diary away. She knew it was blank, yet she kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it was a book she wanted to finish. And while Lisa was sure she had never heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to her, almost as though Riddle was a friend she'd had when she was very small and half-forgotten. But that was absurd, she'd never had friends before Hogwarts, Dudley made sure of that. The closest thing she had were the snakes she spoke to.

Nevertheless, Lisa was determined to find out more about Riddle, so, the next day at break, she headed for the trophy room to examine Riddle's special award, accompanied by an interesting Hermione and a thoroughly unconvinced Ron, who told them he'd seen enough of the trophy room to last him a lifetime. Riddle's burnished gold shield was tucked away in a corner cabinet. It didn't carry details of why it had been given to him ("Good thing, too, or it'd be even bigger and I'd still be polishing it," said Ron.) However, they did find Riddle's name on an old Medal for Magical Merit and on a list of old Head Boys.

"He sounds like Percy," said Ron, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Prefect, Head Boy– probably top of every class."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," said Hermione, in a slightly hurt voice. 

The sun had begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again, barely out of the thick white clouds. Inside the castle, the mood has grown more hopeful, there had been no more attacks since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick and Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood.

"The moment their acne clears up, they'll be ready for repotting again," Lisa heard Madam Pomfrey telling Filch kindly one afternoon. "And after that, it won't be long until we're cutting them up and stewing them. You'll have Mrs. Norris back in no time."

Perhaps the heir of Slytherin had lost their nerve, it must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years. Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn't take this cheerful view, he was still convinced Lisa was the guilty one, that she had 'given herself away' at the Duelling Club and Peeves wasn't helping matters: he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing 'Oh Potter, you rotter...', now with a dance-routine to match.

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop...somehow. Lisa overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while Gryffindor lined up for Transfiguration.

"I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. "I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught them. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on them. You know, what the school needs now is a morale booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing..." he tapped his nose again and strode off.

Lockhart's idea of a morale booster became clear at breakfast on February the fourteenth. The walls were all covered with large, pink flowers and heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Lisa scurried over to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Ron, who looked rather sickened and Hermione, who was rather giggly.

"Do you know what's going on?" Lisa asked, flicking confetti off her plate. Ron pointed in the direction of the High Table, apparently too disgusted to speak.

"Oh my God," Lisa snorted, covering her mouth.

Lockhart, wearing lurid, frilly pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where she sat, Lisa could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall's cheek and Professor Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all and it doesn't end here!" Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors marched a dozen surly-looking dwarves. Not just any dwarves, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids! They will be roving around the school today delivering your Valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!" Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands and Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

"Please, Hermione, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six," said Ron, as they left the Great Hall for classes. Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her new timetable and didn't answer.

All day long, the dwarves kept barging into their classes to deliver Valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon, as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms one of them caught up with Lisa.

"Oy, you! 'Isa Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Lisa, who suddenly went very pale, staring at him with wide eyes. She looked around and spotted Ginny Weasley standing in a queue of first years. She tried to escape and hide behind a few classmates. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people's shins and reached her before she'd gone two paces.

"I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Isa Potter in person," he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

"No, go away!" Lisa hissed, trying to escape again. Maybe it's from Fred, chimed the annoying voice in her head.

"Stay still!" The dwarf grunted, grabbing hold of Lisa's bag and pulling her back.

"Hey! Let go!" Lisa shouted, tugging. With a loud ripping noise, her bag ripped and its contents spilled out onto the stone floor: her wand, books, parchment and quill, her ink pot had smashed upon impact. Lisa scrambled, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a hold-up in the corridor. 

"What's going on here?" came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy, Lisa started stuffing everything feverishly into her torn bag, desperate to get away before he could hear her musical Valentine.

"What's all this commotion?" Another familiar voice said, belonging to Percy Weasley.

Losing her head, Lisa tried to make another run for it but the dwarf seized her around the knees and brought her crashing down.

"Right," he said, sitting on Lisa's legs, "here's your singing Valentine: 

"Her eyes are like a mossy log, 

Her hair is black as the nighttime sky.

I wish she were mine, she's really divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord."

Lisa would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. The moment her legs were free, she scrambled to her feet, Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

"Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now," he said, shooing some of the younger students away.

Lisa took a step toward Professor Flitwick waiting by the door but spotted something on the ground— Riddle's diary. She gasped and bent down to pick it up but Malfoy beat her to it.

"Give it back," she said, making a grab for the book but Malfoy held it out of her reach.

"What do we have here? Is this your dairy, Potter? Have you written about me?" He asked with a smirk and a hush fell over the onlookers, Ginny was staring from the diary to Lisa, looking terrified.

"And why would I write about you?" Lisa sneered, grabbing for the diary again.

"Give it back, Malfoy," said Percy sternly.

"When I've had a look," Malfoy said, "it's not every day someone gets a look into Potter's mind," he said, waving the dairy tauntingly at Lisa. She made a grab for it again but slipped in the spilled ink and sent them both tumbling to the floor. It knocked the wind out of Malfoy and she landed half on top of him.

"Ow," Lisa groaned. Nose to nose they stared at each other, too shocked to move, nearly forgetting they had an audience. Their eyes met for a moment and they glared at each other. Lisa snatched the diary that had fallen out of Malfoy's hand and pushed herself off of him. Before she got to her feet, she punched Malfoy in the stomach, he cried out and curled into himself.

Malfoy coughed and scrambled to his feet, glaring furiously at Lisa's retreating back. As Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her. "I don't think Potter liked your Valentine much!" Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran into class.

Lisa made it to Charms with a minute to spare and dropped her ruined bag on the desk she shared with Ron and plopped down beside him, looking absolutely mortified.

"I hate Valentine's Day," Lisa grumbled, carefully pulling everything out again so she could take out her wand and point it at her bag, muttering "Reparo!" under her breath.

It was then, while Lisa was putting her things back in, she noticed something particular about Riddle's diary. All of her other books were drenched in ink. The diary, however, was as clean as it had been before the ink bottle had smashed all over it. She tried to point this out to Ron, but he was having trouble with his wand again; large purple bubbles were blossoming out of the end, and he wasn't very interested in anything else. 

Lisa went to bed before anyone else that night, partly because she didn't think she could stand Fred and George singing, "her eyes are like a mossy log" one more time— safe to say it wasn't Fred who sent her that Valentine. She sat on her four-poster, books and fresh parchment strewn around the sheets. Slipping her headphones on, she pressed down on the play button and soon all she could hear was Peter Murphy's baritone in her ears. Lisa finished her Potions homework in record time and moved on to Transfiguration.

By the time she had finished that too and written another entry in her diary, her ink pot was half empty and her hand had started to cramp. Hermione and the others had come to bed at some point, the four of them fast asleep in their beds. With a sigh, Lisa pulled off her headphones and closed her ink pot. She put them on the side table and leaned against her headboard, stretching her arms above her head.

Riddle's diary called to her again, weighed down by one of Lockhart's defaced books. Lisa reached over with a groan and pulled it out, running her thumb over the leather cover, free of ink still. She glanced over at Hermione, a slumbering lump and swung her legs over. Lisa shoved her feet into her slippers and grabbed her ink pot. She snuck down into the deserted common room, embers burning in the fireplace. She sat down at a table and set Riddle's diary down. Lisa lit a lamp before she opened the cover and flicked through the yellowed pages, not one of which had a trace of ink on it.

Opening her pot, she dipped her quill in and hovered it over the pages. A blot splattered onto the parchment. The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished.

"Interesting..." she said and dipped her quill again and wrote: My name is Lisa Potter.

The words flashed momentarily on the page and they too sank without a trace. Then, at last, something happened. Oozing back out of the page, in her midnight ink, came new words. Hello, Lisa Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?

These words, too, faded away but not before Lisa dipped her quill again. Someone tried to flush it down a toilet.

She waited eagerly for Riddle's reply.

Lucky that I recorded by memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read.

Lisa scrawled back. What do you mean?

I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things which were covered up. Things which happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

That's where I am now, Lisa wrote quickly. Horrible things have been happening. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets? Her heart was hammering and Riddle's reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell her all he knew.

Of course, I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who'd opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned.  

Lisa nearly knocked over her ink pot in her hurry to write back, It's happening again. There have been three attacks and no one seems to know who's behind them. Who was it last time? 

I can show you, if you like, came Riddle's reply. You don't have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night I caught him.

Lisa hesitated, her quill suspended over the diary. What did Riddle mean? How could she be taken inside somebody else's memory? She glanced nervously around the common room and when she looked back at the diary, new words formed.

Let me show you.

Lisa paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote one word. Okay.

The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through. Lisa saw the little square for 'June the thirteenth' somehow turn into a minuscule television screen. Slowly, she raised the book to get a better look but before she knew what was happening, she was tilting forward, the window widened and she fell headfirst through the page, in a whirl of colour and shadow.

Lisa ended up in a room somewhere, somewhere familiar. It was a circular room with the sleeping portraits— the Headmaster's office. It wasn't Dumbledore behind the desk but a wizened, frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, reading a letter by candlelight. Lisa had never seen this man before. This must be Headmaster Dippet.

"Excuse me," she said but the wizard didn't look up, he continued to read, frowning slightly. "Hello?" No response. He didn't seem even to have heard her at all. "Freaky."

The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Lisa without glancing at her and went to draw the curtains at his window. The sky outside the window was ruby red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door. Then, there was a knock.

"Enter," he said in a feeble voice.

A boy of about sixteen entered, a Prefect's badge was glinting on his chest. He was tall, raven-haired and dark-eyed.

"Ah, Riddle," said the Headmaster.

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" said Riddle, he looked nervous.

"Sit down," said Dippet. "I've just been reading the letter you sent me."

"Oh," Riddle sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly.

"My dear boy," said Dippet kindly, "I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?" 

"No," Riddle said at once, "I'd much rather ssstay at Hogwarts than go back to that— to that—"

"You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?" Dippet said curiously.

"Yes, sir," said Riddle, reddening slightly.

"You are Muggle-born?"

"Half-blood, sir, Muggle father, witch mother."

"And are both your parents?"

"My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived jussst long enough to name me: Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather." Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically.

"The thing is, Tom," he sighed, "special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances..."

"You mean all these attacks, sir?"

"Precisely," the Headmaster said. "My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in the light of the recent tragedy...the death of that poor little girl...you will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the— er...source of all this unpleasantness."

Riddle's eyes widened, "sir, if the person was caught...if it all stopped..."

"What do you mean?" Dippet said, with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?"

"No, sir," said Riddle quickly. The way he said 'no' echoed the one she had given to Dumbledore. Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

"You may go, Tom..."

Riddle slid off his chair and stumped out of the room. Lisa followed him, taking a quick peek at the emblem on his robes; Slytherin. Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor.

"Tom?" Lisa tried but he didn't seem to hear her either. Riddle stopped and she could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking deeply about something, he was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed. And then, coming to a decision, hurried off.

Lisa glided after him, they didn't see another person until they reached the doors to the Great Hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and beard called to Riddle from the grand staircase.

"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?"

Lisa's eyes widened, "Dumbledore," she whispered.

"I had to see the Headmaster, sir," said Riddle.

"Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the kind of piercing stare Lisa knew all too well. "Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since..." He sighed heavily, bade Riddle goodnight and strode off. Riddle waited until he was out of sight and headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, Lisa following behind. But instead of following him to the Slytherin common room, he entered the Potions classroom.

The torches hadn't been lit and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Lisa could only just see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.

Nothing for her to do except wait in silence, Lisa paced inside a small square, waiting for what felt like hours. And just when she had stopped feeling expectant and tense, she heard something move beyond the door. Someone was creeping along the corridor. She heard whoever it was pass the room where she and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and Lisa wasn't far behind.

For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of the noise. Lisa heard a door creak open and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

"C'mon...gotta get yeh outta here...c'mon now...in the box..." There was something familiar about that voice. Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Lisa could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was crouching in front of an open door, a very large crate next to it.

"Evening, Rubeus," said Riddle sharply.

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

"What yer doin' down here, Tom?"

Riddle stepped closer. "It's all over," he said. "I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop."

"What d'yeh—"

"I don't think you meant to kill anyone but monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and—"

"It never killed no one!" The large boy said, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Lisa could hear a funny rustling and clicking. She stepped closer and squinted at his shadowy face, trying to make out his features. And then it struck her and she gasped.

"Hagrid?"

"Come on, Rubeus," said Riddle, moving closer. "The dead girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered."

"It wasn' him!" Hagrid roared, his voice echoing in the dark passage. "He wouldn'! He never!" 

"Stand aside," said Riddle, drawing out his wand. His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind Hagrid flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. And out of it came something that made Lisa let out a scream no one but she seemed to hear. A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers.

Riddle raised his wand again but he was too late, the thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, he raised his wand after it but Hagrid leapt on him, he seized his wand and yelled, "NO!"

The corridor whirled and Lisa felt herself falling. With a crash, she landed on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, Riddle's diary lying open on the table. Lisa sat there in shock and disbelief as she caught her breath.

"Oh no..." she whispered, "not Hagrid." 

Chapter Text

Hagrid has always had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures.

The dragon Norbert, whom he tried to raise in his hut, the three-headed dog he'd christened 'Fluffy' and if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, Lisa was sure he'd have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it. He probably thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up for so long and thought it deserved to stretch its many legs and feel the sun. Lisa sat quietly at breakfast, imagining a thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a lead and collar on it. And she knew, certain without doubt, that Hagrid would never mean to kill anybody.

Lisa wished she never found out how Riddle's diary worked. Again and again, Ron and Hermione made her recount what she'd seen until she was sick of telling them and sick of the long, circular conversation that followed.

"Riddle might have got the wrong person," said Hermione, "maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people..."

"How many monsters d'you think this place can hold?" Ron asked dully.

"We always knew Hagrid had been expelled for something," said Lisa, sounding as miserable as she felt, "and the attacks must've stopped after he was kicked out...otherwise, Riddle wouldn't have got his award."

Ron tried a different tack, "Riddle does sound like Percy— who asked him to grass on Hagrid, anyway?”

"But the monster had killed someone, Ron," said Hermione.

"And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts," said Lisa, "I don't blame him for wanting to stay here..."

Ron bit his lip, then said tentatively, "you met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn't you, Lisa?"

"He was buying Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent," said Lisa quickly, walking away from them to watch Hagrid from the window, playing fetch with Fang near the edge of the forest.

"It's absurd to think about," Lisa continued, "I mean, Hagrid? The heir of Slytherin?"

The three of them fell silent, after a long pause, Hermione voiced the difficult question in a hesitant voice, "do you think we should go and talk to Hagrid about it?"

"That'd be a cheerful visit," said Ron. "'Hello, Hagrid, tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?'"

In the end, they came to an agreement that they wouldn't say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled.

It's been nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been petrified and nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Peeves had finally got bored of his 'Oh Potter, you rotter' song, Ernie Macmillan asked Lisa quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day, and in March several of the Mandrakes threw a loud and raucous party in Greenhouse Three, which made Professor Sprout very happy.

"The moment they start trying to move into each other's pots, we'll know they're fully mature," she told Lisa. "Then we'll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing."  

The second years were given something new to think about during their Easter holidays. It was time for them to choose their subjects for the third year— a matter that Hermione and Lisa took very seriously, they sat shoulder to shoulder at the Gryffindor table, poring over the parchment with great interest.

"This could affect our whole future," said Hermione.

"The problem is I don't know what I want to do with my life yet," said Lisa, "but I can say for certain I'm not taking Muggle Studies, that would be both boring and too easy."

"I wish I could give up Defence Against the Dark Arts," Ron said gloomily.

"We have to keep all our old subjects," Lisa reminded him.

"And it's very important," Hermione added hastily.

"Not the way Lockhart teaches it," said Ron, "I haven't learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose and how to sign autographs."

Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from different members of his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose. Confused and worried, he sat reading the subject lists with his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought Arithmancy sounded more difficult than Study of Ancient Runes.

"What do you think, Lisa?" said Neville.

"Ancient Runes sounds fascinating," she said. 

Dean Thomas, who, like Lisa, had grown up with Muggles, ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picked the subjects it landed on. Hermione took nobody's advice and signed up for everything. Lisa, while she didn't sign up for everything, chose three, unable to decide between Care of Magical Creatures, Divination and Ancient Runes. And Ron, who thought they were both out of their minds, went with the standard two. 

 
Gryffindor's next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff. Wood was insisting on team practices every night after dinner, so Lisa barely had time for anything but Quidditch and homework. Fortunately, the conditions were better. The evening before the match, she returned to Gryffindor Tower to drop off her broom, feeling their chances for the Quidditch Cup had never been better.

But her cheerful mood didn't last long, at the top of the stairs to the dormitory, she ran into Lavender Brown, who was looking frantic.

"Lisa— I don't know who did it. I just found—"

Watching Lisa fearfully, Lavender pushed open the door, the contents of Lisa's trunk had been thrown everywhere, the bedding had been pulled off her four-poster, and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside table, the contents strewn over the mattress. Lisa walked over to her bed, open-mouthed, treading on a few loose pages of Travels with Trolls. As she and Lavender pulled the blankets back into her bed, Hermione and Parvati came in.

"What happened, Lisa?" Parvati asked.

"I don't know," Lisa answered, Hermione picked up one of her robes and then another and another; all of the pockets were turned out.

"Someone's been looking for something," said Hermione, "is there anything missing?"

Lisa started to pick things up and put them back in her trunk, it was only after she checked the lock on her dairy and put it away that she realized what wasn't there.

"Riddle's diary is gone," she said in a whisper to Hermione.

"What?"

Lisa jerked her head toward the door and Hermione followed her out. They hurried back down to the common room, which was half-empty and joined Ron by the fireplace.

"But— only a Gryffindor could've stolen it," said Ron after they told him what had happened, "nobody else knows our password."

"Exactly," Lisa sighed, rolling her earring between her fingers, "what I want to know is, why?" 

They woke the next morning to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.

"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" Wood exclaimed enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team's plates with scrambled eggs. "Lisa, buck up there and eat your breakfast— no. No toast, you need protein," Oliver smacked her hand and dumped a mountain of sausages on her plate, "get your energy up." Lisa looked mildly outraged at her captain, hand still hovering over the toast rack.

Wood clicked his tongue when she took a piece of toast anyway, nudging her plate in Fred's direction to help himself, "well, at least tell me you've slept a full eight hours." While Lisa didn't answer him verbally, the dark circles under her eyes supplied Wood the answer. He shut his eyes and took a deep, calming breath, making a mental note to lecture Lisa on the importance of a full nights sleep and a proper breakfast. Again. 

Lisa finished her buttered toast in silence, staring down the Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of Riddle's diary was right in front of her eyes. Hermione had been urging her to report the robbery, but Lisa didn't like the idea. She'd have to tell a teacher all about the diary and how many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? She didn't want to be the one to bring it up again.

As she left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, another, very serious worry was added to Lisa's ever-growing list.

"Kill this time...let me rip...tear..."

"The voice!" She said in a panic, looking over her shoulder, "I just heard it again!”

Beside her, Hermione clapped a hand to her forehead. "Lisa, I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!"

"What does she understand?" Lisa mumbled, trying to listen for the voice.

"Loads more than I do," said Ron, shaking his head.

"But why's she got to go to the library? And why do I keep hearing that voice? And why can't anyone else hear it?"

Before Ron could get a word in she continued, "last year, I-I knew Professor Quirrell was after the Stone, something was off about him and I was right. Now there's something wrong with me and I can't figure out what or why or-or-or-or what that stupid monster is." Ron watched Lisa pace up and down slowly, hissing strangely under her breath. 

"Only I can hear the-the voice— the monster. Why can I hear it? What is it? Ugh! This is driving me insane!"

"Lisa—" there was a sense of urgency in Ron's voice and Lisa stopped pacing. Just now people were emerging from the Great Hall behind her, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch.

"You better get moving," said Ron, "it's nearly eleven— the match."

"Right," Lisa exhaled forcefully and rubbed her hand over her face, "right, yeah." She returned to Gryffindor Tower, collected her Nimbus Two Thousand and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds, but her mind was still in the castle, along with the bodiless voice, and as she pulled her robes over her jumper in the changing room, her only comfort was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.

She walked out onto the pitch behind Fred to the sound of tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goalposts and Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in dandelion yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics.

Lisa was just about to mount her broom when Professor McGonagall came half-marching, half-running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.

Lisa's heart dropped like a stone.

"This match has been cancelled," Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, the crowd erupted into boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, landed and ran towards Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.  

"But Professor!" he shouted. "We've got to play...the Cup...Gryffindor..."

Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone: "all students are to make their way back to the house common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!"

Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Lisa over to her. "Potter, I think you'd better come with me..."

Wondering how she could possibly suspect her this time, Lisa saw Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd; he came running up to them as they set off toward the castle. To Lisa's surprise, Professor McGonagall didn't object.

"Yes, perhaps you'd better come too, Weasley."

Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about the match being cancelled, others looked worried. Lisa and Ron followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the main stairs. But they weren't taken to anybody's office this time.

"This will be a bit of a shock," Professor McGonagall said in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the hospital wing, "there has been another attack— another double attack." Professor McGonagall pushed the door open and she and Ron entered. Madam Pomfrey was bending over a sixth-year girl with long curly hair. And there, on the bed next to her was...

Lisa gasped, covering her mouth in horror.

"Hermione," Ron groaned.

"They were found near the library," said Professor McGonagall, "I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them." She held up a small circular mirror, a crack in the glass. Lisa shook her head, trembling with wide eyes fixed on Hermione.

"I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower," said Professor McGonagall heavily. "I need to address the students in any case." 

"All students will return to their house common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence, she rolled up the parchment from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed, it is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."

McGonagall climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and they all turned to one another.

"That's two Gryffindors down— not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw and one Hufflepuff," Lee Jordan said, counting on his fingers. "Haven't any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn't it obvious all this stuff's coming from Slytherin? The heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin— why don't they just chuck all the Slytherins out?" He roared, to nods and scattered applause.

Percy was sitting alone in a chair close to the fireplace, it was strange. For once he didn't seem keen to make his views heard, for once he was looking pale and stunned.

"Percy's in shock," George told Lisa quietly, "that Ravenclaw girl— Penelope Clearwater— she's a Prefect. I don't think he thought the monster would dare attack a Prefect."

Lisa was only half-listening, guilt looming over her like a storm cloud. She couldn’t shake the image of Hermione, laying in a hospital bed, stiff, as if carved from porcelain. And if the culprit wasn’t caught soon, she was looking at a lifetime back at the Dursleys. Tom Riddle had turned in Hagrid because he was faced with the prospect of a Muggle orphanage if Hogwarts closed. Lisa now knew exactly how he felt. 

“What’re we going to do?” said Ron quietly in Lisa’s ear. “D’you think they suspect Hagrid?”

"I don't know, but we've got to go and talk to him," Lisa whispered, "I can't believe it's him this time, but if he set the monster loose last time he might know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets and that's a start." 

"How? We can't leave the castle, we can barely leave our common rooms."

"I think it's time to get my cloak out again." 

“Now?” said Ron and Lisa shook her head, glancing at the portrait hole.

“Tomorrow,” she said, “after everyone else has gone to bed.” 

Lisa sat alone on the sofa after everyone else had gone upstairs for the night, her arms wrapped around her knees, watching the fire slowly die in the hearth.

"Lisa?"

She jumped at the sound of her name and turned her head toward the stairs, Fred stood in his pyjamas at the bottom, that mischievous glint in his warm brown eyes had gone, worry had taken its place. Lisa hadn't said a word all afternoon. Slowly, he sat down beside her, and although the light was dim he could see her eyes were puffy and red and her cheeks were tear-stained. 

"You all right?" He asked gently, "Lisa?"

The dam broke and Lisa crumpled, her shoulders shaking. She didn't fight it when she felt Fred grab her, pulling her closer and moving her limbs so she would at the very least, be comfortable while she cried. She ended up sideways on his lap, holding onto his arm while the other rubbed up and down her shoulder. "It's okay," he was saying, "it's okay— everything's going to be okay."

Minutes ticked by and Lisa calmed down enough to talk, but she hadn't moved, clutching onto Fred like a lifeline.

"'S my fault," she croaked, "Hermione went to the library because of me."

Fred frowned and looked down at her, "what d'you mean?"

Inhaling sharply, Lisa wiggled until she was looking up at him, trying to look as serious as possible, "I'm going to tell you something but you have to promise me not to tell anyone else— except for George, you can tell George. I've been...hearing things— the monster— for months— no one else seems to be able to hear it. I heard it in Lockhart's office, then before Mrs. Norris was attacked and then again today, before Hermione and Penelope Clearwater were attacked. I think there's something wrong with me, Freddie."

"That's..." Fred wasn't sure what to say or what to think knowing Lisa had been hearing the monster all this time since the first attack and hadn't said a word about it. But what good would that have done? It would've added fuel to the fire Ernie MacMillan started, if anyone knew she was the only one who could hear the monster it would've been seen as irrefutable proof that she was Slytherin's heir.

"There is nothing wrong with you," he said firmly, tightening his grip on her, "none of what's happening is your fault, yeah? You didn't make the monster attack them." 

"But...I should've stopped Hermione from going to the library— I heard the monster— I should've suggested she wait until after the match and we could all go together— but I wasn't thinking and now she's been petrified and it's my fault—" 

"It's not," Fred assured, he could see fresh tears welling in Lisa's eyes again, she opened her mouth to argue but Fred was quick to diverge the conversation.

"What's your favourite colour?" He asked, watching Lisa close her mouth and scrunch her eyebrows, confused.

"What?"

"I said what’s your favourite colour?" He asked again, "I'm rather fond of orange myself."

Lisa stared at Fred in disbelief, a giggle bubbling up her throat. "I don't have one," she told him.

"What? Everyone has a favourite colour, Lisa," said Fred and she shrugged.

"I don't— just never gave it any thought really..." she said, "I guess purple is nice."

"Purple?" Fred sounded amused.

"Yeah, like a...dark purple." 

Fred hummed, "a dark purple," he echoed, "like...aubergine."

"Yeah, sure," Lisa snorted, "like aubergine." 

Ron and Lisa devised a plan on their way to dinner the following day, whispering quietly as to not be overheard. They followed the rules and went to bed at the usual time. Lisa stayed up and studied a bit, waiting patiently for the girls to fall asleep. As soon as it was safe, Lisa closed her books, tucked her parchment away and slipped off her bed quietly, shoving her feet into her boots. Kneeling on the rug, she kept her eyes on the lumps and pulled her cloak out from under her bed, bunching it up in her arms. She scurried down the stairs and met Ron in the common room.

"Ready?" She asked.

"Yeah," he said and she threw the cloak over their heads.

The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors wasn't enjoyable. Lisa, who had wandered the castle at night many times, had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teachers, Prefects and ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity. The invisibility cloak didn't stop them from making any noise, and there was one moment that made Lisa's heart seize. Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot where Snape was standing guard.

Thankfully, Snape sneezed at almost exactly the moment Ron swore, it was with relief that they reached the oak doors and eased them open. They hurried towards the warm windows of Hagrid's hut and pulled off the cloak only when they were right outside his front door. Seconds after they had knocked, Hagrid flung it open and they found themselves face to face with him aiming a crossbow at them, Fang barking loudly behind him. 

"Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them, "what're you two doin' here?"

"And what exactly is that for?" Lisa asked, not taking her eyes off the crossbow until they were inside. "Nothin'...nothin'," Hagrid muttered. "I've bin expectin'...doesn' matter...sit down...I'll make tea..."

Lisa and Ron sat together in a chair, Hagrid hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly extinguished the fire, spilling water from the kettle in it and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his hand.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" said Lisa, feeling fresh tears well up in her eyes, "did you— did you hear about Hermione?"

"Oh, I heard, all righ'," said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice. He kept glancing nervously at the windows, he poured them both large mugs of boiling water (he had forgotten to add the tea) and was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock on the door.

Hagrid dropped the plate, Lisa and Ron exchanged panic-stricken faces, they threw the cloak back over themselves and retreated into a corner. Hagrid checked that they were properly hidden, seized his crossbow and flung open his door.

"Good evening, Hagrid."

It was Dumbledore, Lisa had never seen him look so serious. He was followed by a second man. He was a short, portly man with grey hair and an anxious expression. He was dressed oddly: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak and pointed purple boots. Under his arm, he carried a lime-green bowler.

"That's Dad's boss!" Ron whispered in her ear. "Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!"

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty, he dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.

"Bad business, Hagrid," said Fudge, in a rather clipped tone. "Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things've gone far enough. Ministry's got to act."

"I never," said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore, "you know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir..."

"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.

"Look, Albus," said Fudge, shifting uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record is against him. Ministry's got to do something, the school governors have been in touch."

"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest," Dumbledore said. His blue eyes were full of a fire Lisa had never seen before.

"Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn't Hagrid, he'll be back and no more said. But I've got to take him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty—"

"Take me?" Hagrid asked, trembling. "Take me where?" 

"For a short stretch only," Fudge assured, not meeting Hagrid's eyes. "Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you'll be let out with a full apology..."

"Not Azkaban?" Hagrid croaked.

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door. Dumbledore answered it. Lisa let out an audible gasp and Ron clapped a hand over her mouth.

Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid's hut, swathed in a long black travelling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile.

"Already here, Fudge," he said approvingly. "Good, good."

"What're you doin' here?" said Hagrid furiously. "Get outta my house!"

"My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your— you call this a house?" Lucius Malfoy sneered as he looked around the small hut. "I simply called the school and was told that the Headmaster was here."

"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" Dumbledore asked. He spoke politely but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.

"Dreadful thing, Dumbledore," said Mr. Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, "but the governors feel it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension, you'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? At this rate, there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school."

"Oh, now, see here, Lucius," said Fudge, looking alarmed, "Dumbledore suspended...no, no...last thing we want now..."

"The appointment— or suspension of the Headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. "And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks..."

"Now look, Lucius, if Dumbledore can't stop them—" said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, "I mean to say, who can?"

"That remains to be seen," Mr. Malfoy said, with a nasty smile. "But as all twelve of us have voted..."

Hagrid leapt to his feet, his head grazing the ceiling. "An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?" he roared.

"Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid," Mr. Malfoy said. "I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won't like it at all."

"Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" Hagrid yelled, making Fang cower and whimper in his basket. "him away, an' the Muggle-borns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin's next!"

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," said Dumbledore sharply looking at Lucius Malfoy. "If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside."

"But—" Fudge stuttered. 

"No!" growled Hagrid.

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy's cold grey ones.

"However," Dumbledore said, speaking very slowly and clearly, so that none of them could miss a word, "you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it." For a brief moment, Lisa was almost sure Dumbledore's eyes flickered toward the corner where she and Ron were hidden.

"Admirable sentiments," said Mr. Malfoy, bowing. "We shall all miss your, er, highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any 'killin's'."

He strode to the door, opened it and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath and said carefully, "If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they'd have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That'd lead 'em right! That's all I'm sayin'."

Fudge stared at him in bewilderment.

"All right, I'm comin'," said Hagrid, pulling on his overcoat. But as he was about to follow Fudge through the door, he stopped again and said loudly, "An' someone'll need ter feed Fang while I'm away."

The door banged shut and Ron pulled the cloak off. "We're in trouble now," he said hoarsely. "No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There'll be an attack a day with him gone."

The moment the door had closed behind Hagrid, Fang had leapt out of his basket with blanket caught on his paw and scratched at the wood.