The Knights Of Walpurgis

Chapter Eighteen: New Year, New Problems

It could have been worse.

Professor McGonagall, as Head of Gryffindor House, had given both Harry and Ginny a week's worth of detentions, as well as writing to the Weasleys and Remus. Ginny had received a Howler that Hermione reported had been truly memorable for the number of ways in which Molly had implied that Ginny was in danger of succumbing to the twin perils of adolescent lust and loose morals. Harry had received a short note from Remus in which the older man had mildly chastised Harry for being caught, whilst making no mention of his feeling any disappointment for Harry breaking the school rules. Ron had been less than impressed about losing two of his best players for an entire week's worth of practise, but had eventually been persuaded by Hermione that they probably didn't need as much training as some of the other players anyway. Harry was grateful for this, and even more grateful that Hermione had also somehow managed to stop Ron from giving Ginny and he strange glances whenever he saw them together.

Harry had resolved to keep his head down in lessons come the start of the term, but Draco Malfoy had apparently been forewarned about the events of Christmas night. He had returned to Hogwarts with a stack of badges that featured pictures of Susan, Ginny and Hermione, accompanied by the phrase "Which would you choose?" The badges became hot property for a short period of time, but even Snape seemed to think it wisest to confiscate them on sight. However, Seamus and Dean were quick to report a roaring trade in the badges - of which Malfoy possessed an apparently limitless supply - on the student black market. The same rationale that had applied to Harry's interview with The Quibbler the year before also seemed to apply here - if the story were false, why all the fuss?

Harry sat at the back of classes wherever possible and didn't even volunteer for Defence demonstrations. His detentions had no real set punishment for him to work at, so he instead spent the time catching up on homework and revision. In the meantime, Madam Marchbanks had returned from her short Christmas break, apparently recharged and pleased to once more be given the chance to throw long strings of hexes at him.

Ginny was quiet, and largely kept herself to herself. She spent a lot of time with Sian Peters, who returned to school mid-way through the first week of term. The younger girl was very withdrawn, barely communicating even with those who tried to engage her in a direct conversation, but Hermione said that that was perfectly normal. Harry recognised a lot of what Sian seemed to be experiencing in what he himself had gone through over the summer.

Susan had professed to take no notice of the rumours that Malfoy and his friends were spreading.

"I had about ten or fifteen people come up to me on the Express coming back here," she said, a few days into the term. "They all had this horrible news for me. By the time I'd listened to it a few times, I was just starting to feel sorry for each person telling me. They all tried so hard to be gentle," she laughed, and squeezed Harry's hand. "Of course, half of them wanted to see me break down and cry," she added, and her smile faded. Harry frowned. He wondered if there were anything that Malfoy couldn't ruin just by associating himself with it.

"Harry?" Susan asked as they turned away from the lake and began the walk up to the school.

"Yes?"

"If you don't mind me asking, what were you doing with Ginny in the clock tower at four in the morning that night?"

"Nothing like what Pansy's telling everyone," Harry said, surprised that she was asking.

"Oh, I mean, I knew that," Susan said, laughing. "But, what were you doing up there?"

Harry felt a twist in his stomach as he realised that he was going to have to do something he didn't want to.

"Susan, I can't tell you," he said. "I've been sworn to secrecy. It's important, but not anything for you to worry about."

"But Ginny knows about it?" Susan asked, the smile fading from her face. Harry felt his stomach twist again. She sounded hurt, and he wasn't surprised. He probably would have been as well, in the same situation.

"Ginny's one of my best friends," Harry said. "She's someone who can know certain things," he said, realizing as he said it that it didn't really explain anything much.

"I didn't think the two of you had been friends that long," she said.

"We haven't," Harry said, sighing. "It's hard to explain. She's just someone I can trust?"

"You can't trust me?" Susan asked. Harry winced.

"I'm sure that I can," Harry said. "But it's not my choice to make."

"I understand," Susan said. Despite the fact that it was already below freezing, Harry thought he felt the temperature drop even further.

*

"Sian?"

She looked up slowly, not wanting to engage the world around her, but recognizing the voice.

"Hi," Harry said, sitting down beside her. "Interesting book?"

She stared down at the History of Magic textbook and shrugged.

"You don't want to be here, do you?" Harry asked.

She shrugged again. "Where else can I be?"

"You didn't have family you could go to?"

"Some distant uncle and aunt," she said. "Muggles. I don't know them, and they don't know about me. It wouldn't be fair..."

She tailed off.

Harry looked around the common room, and wondered whether he was going to help her or make it worse.

"You know my parents were killed when I was a baby, right?"

"Sure. Everyone knows that."

"My godfather was killed last year, at the end of exams. He was killed by a Death Eater, trying to save my life."

Sian turned her gaze on him, looking him in the eyes for the first time.

"His name was Sirius Black," Harry said. He waited as recognition dawned slowly.

"The escaped convict?"

"The convicted murderer," Harry said, smiling in spite of himself.

"But..."

"He was innocent. He was trying to capture the person who set Voldemort on my parents. I only met him for the first time a little over two years ago."

"Why are you telling me this?" Sian asked.

"I never had much of a chance to get to know Sirius," Harry said. "I spent a few weeks at his house, but we didn't get much time alone. When he died, though, I felt like a part of me died as well. It was weeks before I could think of anything except for him, and it's only recently that I've been able to think of him without feeling down."

Sian forced a smile on her face. "Sounds like fun."

"My point is, you will be okay," Harry said. "I know it doesn't feel like that now, but you will start to feel better."

"I don't want to," Sian said. "Not while my parents are in hospital. They may be in there for months, or years. They may never recover, Harry."

"I know," Harry said, his shoulders sinking. He'd talked to Neville about his parents, and his own memory of Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom flashed painfully across his mind. "Are they in the ward with Gilderoy Lockhart?"

Sian sniffed, and looked up in surprise at him. "How did you know?"

"I saw him last year. Did he try and give you an autograph?"

"Yes. Five of them. He seemed to keep forgetting that he'd already done it. I've given them to some of the girls who still fancy him."

"Some things never change," Harry said.

They sat in silence for a moment, and then: "Thanks," Sian said. "I know that there are other people out there whose parents have been killed. I know that they have it worse than I do, but it's so hard watching them just sit there, staring blankly ahead. It was..."

She tailed off. Harry stared at the fire as she dabbed at her eyes.

"I thought that Mum recognised me. Then she asked me if I was a nurse."

Harry reached out and put a hand on her arm. "The people who did this... They'll be brought to justice."

Sian smiled a watery smile.

"I expect you're right, but it won't help my parents, will it?"

*

Harry and Ron were on their way to Charms when they heard a great uproar in the corridor ahead. Barely pausing to exchange a glance, they charged forward, wand drawn and pushed their way to the front of the crowd.

"Take it back!"

"I bloody well won't! Potter's a sneaky arse, and you're a fool for trusting hi--"

There was the meaty sound of fist hitting flesh, and Harry winced as he made his way through to the inside edge of the circle that had formed around the fight.

He came to an abrupt halt as he recognised the combatants, and barely even flinched as Ron slammed into him from behind.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed. "Neville?"

Neville was standing in the circle with Ernie, his shirt torn. Ernie had blood streaming from his nose. The two boys circled one another warily.

"You're a liar, McMillan," Neville said loudly. "And you're the fool for trusting Malfoy."

"Malfoy's got Potter's number. He's a dishonourable git."

"He's not the one spreading lies about people behind their backs!"

"They're not lies! Potter's just stringing you along, same as he's stringing--"

Harry stepped into the circle and grabbed Neville.

"Leave it," he said, although he would have liked nothing better at that moment than to see Neville knock Ernie's teeth down his throat. "He's not worth getting in trouble for."

Neville shot Ernie a filthy look, but by now Ron had clamped an arm around Neville's throat, effectively immobilising him.

"You don't want to face the truth, do you, Potter?" Ernie yelled, loudly enough that Harry was sure that people on the other side of the school would hear. "Why not just admit what a cheat you are?"

Harry spun angrily on his heel, and was about to fire off an angry reply, but Ron laid his free hand on his shoulder. Recognising Ron's unspoken warning, Harry took a deep breath and tried to push the anger away. He was partially successful, although he was still minded to turn around and punch Ernie as hard as he could.

"Harry's done nothing wrong, Ernie," Ron said. "If he's going out with the girl you like, then all that means is that she prefers him to you. That's all. Now, why not run home to Malfoy before he starts to wonder if you've started thinking for yourself?"

Ernie shot the three Gryffindors a filthy look of his own, but turned on his heel and stalked off, holding one hand to his injured nose. Justin gave them a miserable look, but trailed after his friend.

*

Harry was sitting with Ron in Transfiguration and attempting to transform their desk into a pig when they heard the bellow.

The entire class froze, and even Professor McGonagall paused part of the way through demonstrating the charm to Neville and Ernie. Their desk snorted loudly, and tried to walk with limited success, as it had no knees and its lack of a head seemed to make it unsure about which way was forward.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look that didn't need words to convey its meaning. They had heard the cry the year before, when Grawp had been fired on by the centaurs.

"What was that?" Ron asked, as the class slowly returned to its work.

"I think it was Grawp," Harry said under his breath.

"What's the matter with him now?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "But whatever it is, it doesn't sound good, does it?"

*

"Not now," Hagrid said brusquely, later that week.

"Hagrid, you may as well tell us," Hermione said. "You know that we'll find out somehow. We usually do."

"Aye, you do, and look at the trouble it gets yeh into," Hagrid said. "No, best if you don't pry this time."

"Is it serious?" Harry asked. "Hagrid, we might be able to help."

"Help? Why, there's nothing to help with," Hagrid said, chuckling unconvincingly. "No problems at all."

"Hagrid--"

"Must go. Bye now," Hagrid said, shutting the door of his hut in their faces. They waited for a few seconds, and the door opened a crack. It was just possible to see one of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes peering through the gap.

"Yeh might as well go. There really is nothing to talk about."

"You're a really bad liar, Hagrid," Ron said.

"What's that got to do with the price of fish, Ron?" Hagrid said, before shutting the door again. This time it didn't reopen, despite their waiting a full five minutes before walking away.

"What do you reckon is going on?" Ron asked, as they walked away.

"It must be something to do with Grawp," Harry said. "The only other time I've seen Hagrid like this was last year, before he told us about him."

"Yes, but we know about Grawp now," Hermione said. "So he can't be hiding something else about him, can he?"

"I dunno," Ron said. "I would have thought it'd be tough to hide Grawp in the first place, but Hagrid managed it, didn't he?"

"You don't think that Hagrid's found another brother, do you?"

"No, he would have told us if it was that," Hermione said. "I suppose it can only be the other giants, unless he's got another dragon's egg in there with him."

"Do you think that Grawp doesn't like the other giants?"

"I think that it must be that," Hermione said. "Hagrid must have to go in there and control him. He must feel terrible, after all the effort he's put into trying to teach Grawp."

"So Grawp might be going nuts because there's a load more giants in the forest and he doesn't want to share? That's a comforting thought," Ron said. "I suppose it could be worse, though."

"Really? How?" Hermione asked.

"Er..."

"He could have Aragog and his family on his side," Harry suggested. Ron shuddered, but then brightened up somewhat.

"Hey, maybe if Grawp goes on the rampage, he'll squash all those horrible things," he said, and began to whistle cheerfully as he led the way into the castle for lunch.

*

"So you have learnt something, Mr. Potter?" Madam Marchbanks asked later that week.

Harry was sitting on the floor and breathing heavily, and rubbing his left knee which felt as though it were encased in a block of ice. He nodded cautiously.

"The Freezing Hex is generally sufficient to stop most attackers in their tracks if you catch them on a leg," Marchbanks commented, as she hobbled forward to remove the spell. "It is a useful spell, and one that has saved my life on occasion. As it is generally not used in a duelling situation, most people will not expect it, as you did not."

Harry nodded as he struggled to his feet. His knee still felt cold, and barely able to support his weight, but the rest of him glowed as he realised that he had duelled Marchbanks to a standstill for five minutes before she had used a spell that he had never heard of before.

"How much more do I have to learn?" he asked loudly, as Marchbanks resumed her position in one corner of the room.

She looked at him intently, peering short-sightedly through her thick glasses.

"Well, that's up to you," she said. "It's unfair of me, or so I am told, to use spells on you that you're not ready for, so I can only let you learn a certain amount. If you mean how many spells have you learned that I could teach you, were I of a mind to," she smiled in a way that Harry had come to recognise. A thought had struck her as amusing, although she knew that he wouldn't find it funny.

"A small percentage," she said, her grin widening as Harry's shoulders dropped. "You haven't heard of the Reverse Imperio, the Mind, Body and Soul, the Half-Pipe, the Stool Pigeon, the Dolly Sisters or the Flambé Deluxe, I assume?"

Harry shook his head.

"At least you're honest," Marchbanks mused, leaning heavily on her cane. "None of those spells exist, to my knowledge at least. But I mean what I say, Potter. If you want to learn more than you will in our sessions together, you will have to do outside research as well. I am prepared to throw everything I know at you, but I am told that while you are good, you are not that good. You have an admirable teacher in the Weasley boy, and Dumbledore, I assume you realise, is prepared to move heaven and earth upon your saying so."

Marchbanks hobbled closer. "I find myself tiring easier these days, Potter," she said, no less loudly for being right beside him. "I suppose that it is a sign that I am becoming old."

Harry almost laughed. Marchbanks, Hermione had calculated, was around a hundred and eighty years old.

"You are excused, Potter. Here," she waved her wand, and a slip of parchment appeared in front of Harry. He grabbed it before it fell to the ground. "It will give you access to the Restricted Section of the Library. If you have trouble finding the right books, well, ask the librarian. She isn't just there to find people eating chocolate in the aisles."

Marchbanks cackled, and Harry sighed as he realised that yet another story about him and Ginny seemed to be doing the rounds.

*

Harry and Hermione stood before Madam Pince, smiling hopefully as she scrutinised the piece of parchment from every direction.

"Madam Marchbanks is not on the list of teachers who can grant access to the Restricted Section," she sniffed, glaring at the two of them as though they had been caught duelling in between the stacks. Magic was banned in the library, because so many of the books were magical themselves, and didn't respond well to provocation. Madam Pince had the permanent air of a teacher in charge of a class of hyperactive children, and about the same tolerance for mischief.

"I remember a few years ago, the two of you and your red-headed friend standing before me and asking for a book from the Restricted Section," she continued. "Moste Potente Potions, if I remember correctly. "I suppose you will tell me that that book was used entirely legitimately?"

"Well, we ended up saving the school from the Monster of Slytherin," Harry said, keeping his gaze locked on the librarian's. "I would say that that was a legitimate use."

"If I remember Professor Dumbledore's end of year briefing of the staff, you used information from the book to break into the Slytherin common room," Madam Pince said. "Now, Mr. Potter, I am sure that you would say that you are a special case, however--"

"However, if you know about our second year, then you will also know what it is that Madam Marchbanks is training Harry for," Hermione said. "And I am sure that we could go and get Professor Dumbledore and have him explain the whole matter to you in person, but I am also sure that you do not want to find yourself known as the person who obstructed the progress of the Boy Who Lived Twice when he most needed to learn more about how to defeat Voldemort, do you?"

Madam Pince shifted her gaze from Harry to Hermione. The two stared at one another as Harry and Pince had stared at one another, locked in a silent battle of wills with one crucial difference: After only a few seconds, Madam Pince looked away, and sighed.

"As you know," Pince, continuing as though she hadn't just lost a staring contest to a seventeen year old girl. "The Restricted Section is closely monitored at all times. I watch over it, and there are spells to prevent any... goings-on," she added, in a tone strongly reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley. "And the books are not always happy to be disturbed, either," she said, shooting them a ghoulish grin.

She was about to wave them off when Hermione held up her hand.

"It's not just us who are to be allowed access," she said. "Ronald and Ginevra Weasley and Neville Longbottom are to be allowed as well."

Harry stared at Hermione in shock until she stood on his foot and he nodded quickly.

"That's right," he said.

Madam Pince glared at them. "Very well," she said. "However, if there is any suggestion of wrongdoing..." she let the rest of the sentence go unspoken. With a wave of her wand, the gates marking the entrance to the Restricted Section glowed for a moment. Harry and Hermione thanked Madam Pince and walked away from her desk.

"Hermione," Harry said. "Why did you do that?"

"What?"

"Make Pince let in Ron, Neville and Ginny?"

"They may be able to help us. Between the five of us all looking, we should be able to find something useful for you."

"Good luck."

Blaise Zabini stepped out from a dark aisle, making Hermione jump.

"This place is a nightmare," he said. "I swear if you go in deep enough you end up walking around on the ceiling."

"Why are you in here?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I have permission from Professor Sinistra to look for a book on the aborted trip to Mars," Blaise said.

"There was a trip to Mars?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. 'Blast-Off' Bartleby," Blaise said, waving a slim volume. "He reckons he would have made it, but a Lethifold tried to eat him."

"Why's it in the Restricted Section?" Hermione asked.

"There's a sealed section in the back about how to rebuild Bartleby's ship," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. "Everyone else says that the mission failed because he showed up drunk for the launch and got the wrong mix of spells in the engines, but it was a Ministry project, so they hushed it up. Sounds like something that bumbling idiot Fudge would have done."

"When was this?" Harry asked. He didn't remember hearing anything about a mission to Mars.

"Oh, about a hundred years ago," Blaise said, shrugging his shoulders. "That was the last time they had a Hufflepuff in charge of the Ministry, well, until now. I suppose the Minister at the time thought that he had to be loyal to Bartleby, as he was his cousin, but it all ended up being a huge mess. Anyway, the next Minister was a Slytherin, and things got back to normal. No more foolish attempts to get into space, no more uncomfortable public holidays in support of integration of Purebloods and Muggle-borns, and no more misguided Ministers who couldn't see what the best thing for wizarding kind was. At least, not until Fudge came along."

"You don't support the integration of Purebloods and Muggle-borns?" Hermione asked.

"I don't think people should be forced to do anything," Blaise said, vehemently. "It was that sort of attitude that led to Grindelwald, and that in turn gave us the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord?"

"Yes, Granger, the Dark Lord," Blaise said, his eyes flashing. "Do you think I'm scared to say his name? You're right. I know exactly what he's capable of, and if you did too, then you'd be a bit more wary of him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Blaise took a deep breath, and seemed to calm down a bit. He looked at Harry and Hermione as though wondering whether he might have said too much. "Look, the integration of Muggle-born wizards was botched at the start. The Ministry at the time encouraged cross-breeding, which went down like a lead Hippogriff with the old wizarding families. The Blacks, the Malfoys, the Zabinis, the Notts, the Crabbes, the Goyles, the Parkinsons... All the old families objected to this blundering attempt to mix the two societies. It didn't take much for Grindelwald to position himself at the head of what became a Pureblood revolt, and a messy terror campaign that Voldemort, in time, turned into an all out war.

"No-one seems to remember that the government at the time had the best wishes of the wizarding world at heart, but they bungled things and that's what's led to this mess we have now. I know that you're having trouble with Draco Malfoy, Potter, but he's just following what Grindelwald did a hundred years ago."

Harry and Hermione stared at him in surprise.

"I thought that all this had been going on a lot longer," Hermione said.

"What, purebloods versus Muggle-borns? Oh, it has, but it was always quiet and in the background. It was understood that there was no mixing, and everything was fine. But like I said: The government blundered, and all the sentiment that had been building up over the centuries just exploded. Nearly a thousand years after Salazar Slytherin's followers gave up their cause, suddenly he was being presented as a visionary, and there were thousands of people willing to defend what they saw as a gross injustice by the government."

"And that's why things are so bad nowadays?" Harry asked. Blaise nodded.

"Exactly. For a hundred years, Purebloods had an excuse to kill and torture in the name of revolution and justice. Oh, it was never about that, not really, but that's how they would talk about it among themselves, that's how those who wavered could justify it when they were killing Muggle born children who didn't even know why they were targeted. That's how they justify it," Blaise repeated, bitterly.

He glared at them for a moment, but Harry thought that he wasn't seeing them exactly. Then his expression softened, and he smiled a little ruefully.

"Sorry," he said. "It all just strikes me as a colossal waste of time and life. What are you two doing here, anyway?"

"Looking for spells for the HA," Hermione said. Blaise nodded.

"Good luck," he said, looking a little gloomy. "Half of these books are in foreign languages. I was hoping to find something in Swedish for Luna, but then I realised that as I can't read anything other than English, I didn't know what was an interesting book and what was a guide to eviscerating Erumpents."

"Luna probably wouldn't mind whatever you brought her. She might even prefer the Erumpent book," Harry said.

"Well, quite," Blaise said, with a smile. "But I suppose I'm a traditionalist. No, I'll have to think of something else."

"Can Luna read many languages, then?" Hermione asked. She had taken a thick tome from the shelves and opened it to reveal page after page of hieroglyphs.

"Oh, yes, several," Blaise said, smiling again. "French, German, Swedish, a little Spanish I think. There're probably others as well. She's very intelligent," he added. His smile was so wide that it was hard to see him as the same person who had looked so angry only moment before.

"Sounds like we could use her help," Harry said. He smiled apologetically at Hermione, who nodded and set down her bag, before heading back into the main area of the library to argue the need to add Luna to Madam Pince's approved list.

*

Luna had taken Harry's request for assistance phlegmatically, and joined the Gryffindors in the Restricted Section each evening. Harry had trouble believing some of the spells that the study group was uncovering, and couldn't imagine how some of them could ever have practical applications.

"I mean," he said to Luna and Neville late one night. "Why would someone invent a spell to make root vegetables dance? It's all the book is about, so why is it in the Restricted Section?"

Neville shrugged. "I suppose it's to stop Dean or someone like that making a mess at dinner by having all the Slytherin's potatoes do the can-can or something. Not everything in the Restricted Section is here because it's powerful. Some of it will be here because a teacher or Headmaster decided it should be here. It might have been hundreds of years ago and no-one's ever looked for it since then."

"Great," Harry said. "So all this could be useless?"

Neville shrugged. "Sorry, Harry. I suppose that if finding the spells to defeat You-Know-Who were easy, it wouldn't be up to you to do it."

Harry slumped in his chair and sighed.

*

In between lessons, Quidditch practises, Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore - Harry was now able to hold the Headmaster at bay for several minutes, but still needed adequate preparation time to achieve this. Ejecting Dumbledore from his mind once he'd gained access still left Harry drained and disoriented - training sessions with Madam Marchbanks and trips to the Restricted Section, Harry was struggling to find time to spend with Susan. As much as he tried to tell himself that it was important that he continued seeing her, the fact remained that they had been alone - and touching, he thought, irritably - on several occasions since his last dream of the final battle, and nothing seemed to be happening.

And I still feel like I'm using her, he sighed. He had taken the evening off from studying in the Restricted Section. He didn't seem to have the knack for researching things, and while Neville was patience personified, and the other four all spoke at least one language other than English, Harry felt useless. He had been surprised to learn that both Ron and Ginny spoke some Italian, but apparently the Weasleys had Italian relations who sent them regular letters from which all the Weasley children had learned a little of the language. Hermione, Harry wasn't surprised to learn, was quite fluent in both French and German as a result of private lessons that she took during the summer holidays.

And I speak English and Parseltongue, Harry thought, as he waited by the Quidditch pitch. He had his Firebolt with him, and had planned to take Susan up for a flight, but as he watched a heavily wrapped figure approaching, he had a feeling that she wouldn't find it as enjoyable as he'd hoped when the idea came to him during Charms.

"Hi."

"Hi," she replied, leaning in for a quick kiss. She looked at him quizzically. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm fine," he said. "I just had to do a lot of work today."

"Still behind?" she asked. It had almost become a running joke between the two of them, although Harry thought that she wasn't as amused by it now as she had been on their first date.

"Are we going flying?" Susan asked, pointing at his broom. "You should have said. I'd have brought my broom with me if I'd known."

"Er..." Harry said. He couldn't bring himself to suggest that they both get on his broom. It seemed to be a horribly obvious ploy to ensure that they touched, and while Harry knew that it wasn't, he suddenly felt very tired of the whole business.

"No," he said. "I just went up for a bit, to clear my head."

"Oh. Am I running late? I'm sorry," Susan said.

Harry shook his head, his mind straying to Gryffindor Tower and the warm fire and comfortable bed that he was forsaking for the purposes of this date.

"Shall we go up in the stands?" he suggested. "We can sit down and put up a Heating Charm."

"That would be nice," Susan said. "We don't spend much time just talking. I feel as though I've barely seen you the last couple of weeks. Still," she said, as they climbed the stairs. "I suppose I'll see quite a lot of you on Saturday."

"Saturday?" Harry asked. "Why? Is there a Hogsmeade weekend or something?"

Susan laughed. "Very funny, Harry. As if you could forget about Quidditch. We have a match on Saturday, remember? Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff."

To be continued...