ACT II — CHAPTER IV
Bᴀᴄᴋ Tᴏ Hᴏɢᴡᴀʀᴛs

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The morning of the first day of classes, Quinn was rudely awoken by Morag, who was shaking her and screaming in her ear, "Did you hear what your crazy friends did!"

Contrary to Quinn and Hermione's belief, Harry and Ron were, in fact, stupid enough to miss the train. Instead of waiting for help like any sane person would, those idiots decided to take it upon themselves to find their own way to school, which was by stealing Ron's father's flying car. They flew from King's Cross to Hogwarts, being seen by dozens of muggles in the process. And, to top it all off, they crashed into the Whomping Willow, a historic tree just outside of the castle.

Harry and Ron had arrived not long after the Start-of-Term Feast ended, and the news of how they arrived spread like wildfire, which is how Morag ended up shaking Quinn awake at seven in the morning.

When Quinn entered the Great Hall and saw Harry and Ron sitting across from Hermione at the Gryffindor table, she marched over to the two of them and smacked them both on the back of their heads.

"Blimey, Quinn! What was that for?" Ron cried, rubbing the back of his head. Harry was also rubbing his, grimacing as he stared up at her.

"That was for being the densest people I have ever met!" Quinn answered, "I swear, there is not a single thought behind either of your eyes."

Quinn walked around the table and sat herself between Hermione and Neville Longbottom. Hermione was nose-deep in a copy of Voyages with Vampires, so Quinn gave a quick greeting to Neville, who smiled at her.

"Mail's due any minute — I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot," Neville told her. Quinn stared up at the ceiling and, sure enough, not even fifteen seconds later a hundred or so owls flew in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the student body.

A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head, followed by something large and gray falling into Hermione's jug, spraying the five of them with milk and feathers.

"Errol!" Ron said, pulling the disheveled owl out by its feet. Errol slumped down, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in its beak. Quinn's eyes widened upon seeing it, her jaw dropping slightly.

"Oh, no," Ron gasped.

"It's all right, he's still alive," Hermione said, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

"He's not worried about the owl, he's worried about that," Quinn said, pointing at the Howler. Quinn, Ron, and Neville all stared at it as if it would get up and strangle them, while Harry and Hermione stared at them as if they were insane.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"She's — she's sent me a Howler," Ron managed to stutter out, his voice faint.

"You'd better open it, Ron," Neville whispered, timidly, "It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and —" he gulped, "it was horrible."

"What's a Howler?" Harry asked. No one paid him any mind.

"You should just open it," Quinn said, "Better sooner than later. It'll just bug you all day if you don't."

Ron reached out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol's break, and slit it open. Quinn covered her ears, bracing herself, and Neville full-on stuffed his fingers in his ears. Not even a second later, a roar of sound filled the Great Hall, a roar so loud that it was probably shaking the stone walls.

"RONALD WEASLEY! HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT 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 WAS GONE —"

Quinn did not know that it was physically possible for someone's voice to be that loud. Mrs. Weasley's yells were gravity defying, as it made the plates and spoons on the table rattle and echoed deafeningly in the Great Hall. Everyone in the hall, even the professors, was turning in their seats to see who had received the Howler, and poor Ron sank so low in his seat that only his forehead, which had turned a bright crimson, 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 HARRY BOTH COULD HAVE DIED! I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, AND IT IS ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT! IF YOU STEP ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!"

Then, in a much calmer voice, "Oh, and Ginny dear, congratulations on making Gryffindor. Your father and I are so proud."

A ringing silence fell. The Howler, which had fallen out of Ron's hands, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Everyone just stared at the pile of ashes, everyone except for Ginny Weasley, whose face was buried in her hands.

Eventually, a few people laughed, and, slowly but surely, conversations began to start up again. Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of Ron's head, "Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you —"

"Don't tell me I deserved it!" Ron snapped, then focused his fiery gaze on Quinn, "And don't tell me I'm dense, I don't need to hear it!"

Quinn had no time to say anything, as the Heads of Houses had begun to hand out course schedules. She quickly got up and ran to the Ravenclaw table, securing a seat beside Kevin just in time to receive her schedule from Professor Flitwick. She was delighted to see that they had double Herbology with Hufflepuffs first, because that meant double Herbology with Justin.

Quinn and Kevin met up with Morag and then Justin. They all left the castle, crossing the vegetable patch and heading for the greenhouses where Herbology class was held.

As they neared the greenhouses they saw a large number of students standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Quinn, Kevin, Justin, and Morag had just joined them when she came striding into view across the long, followed by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages, Quinn grimaced upon seeing the Whomping Willow in the distance, with several of its branches now in slings.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair, and it wasn't uncommon for her to be covered in dirt and earth. Gilderoy Lockhart, on the other hand, was very put together in his turquoise robes, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned matching turquoise hat with gold trimming.

"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming at the assembled students, "Just showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that we were better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels —"

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" Professor Sprout announced, looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheery self.

Professor Sprout's words piqued interest amongst the students. They had only ever worked in one greenhouse before, and a lot of them had heard from older students that greenhouse three housed far more dangerous and therefore interesting plants. Professor Sprout took a large key off her belt and opened the door. Quinn caught the distinct smells of damp earth and fertilizer, and as she walked in she saw giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling.

The students filed in, standing on the other side of a trestle bench that was in the center of the greenhouse. There were about twenty pairs of different colored earmuffs lying on it. Once everyone was in, Professor Sprout said, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

At first, no one raised their hand, but then Michael Corner, Quinn's secret arch-nemesis, raised his.

"A mandrake is a powerful restorative," he explained, "It's used to help people who have been transfigured or cursed and get them back to normal."

Quinn did her best not to roll her eyes. He had solved more riddles than her (her score was 131-0 and his was 134-0) and he had studied the Herbology textbook more than her. At least she would still be better than him in Potions — she had read that textbook 3 times through.

"Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw," Professor Sprout said, "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Michael's hand went up again, "The Mandrake's cry is fatal if you hear it."

"Yes, good job, Mr. Corner. Take another ten points," Professor Sprout said, "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked like normal plants to Quinn, and she wasn't exactly sure how a plant could "cry".

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," Professor Sprout instructed.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy. Kevin, unfortunately, couldn't seize one, and the other three made fun of him as he looked down at the bright pink earmuffs with dismay.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," Professor Sprout said, "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right — earmuffs on."

Quinn placed the earmuffs over her ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put a pink, fluffy pair over her own ears ("You're matching," Justin whispered, and Kevin elbowed him in the side), rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Quinn couldn't help but gasp upon seeing the Mandrake. Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and weird-looking baby popped out of the earth, with the leaves growing right out of its head. It had pale green, mottled skin, and appeared to be bawling at the top of its 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 a thumbs-up, and removed her earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she told them in a calm voice, as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a daisy, "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 Venemous Tentacula, it's teething."

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Quinn, Kevin, Justin, and Morag all made their way to a tray. Quinn looked down at the plant in front of her, knowing that a screaming baby creature resided just beneath the soil.

"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" Justin asked as they filled 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 booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool — zap — just fantastic."

"I read all of his books. Once I started reading, I just couldn't put it down," Morag said, scrunching her nose when she accidentally got a big whiff of the compost, "Not to mention that he's really dreamy."

"Dreamy?" Kevin scoffed, "He's fifty years old!"

"He's thirty-five!"

"He's still old!"

"You understand me, don't you, Quinn?" Morag asked.

Quinn shrugged, patting her compost down, "No, not really."

"What? Why not?"

"I went to one of his book signings about a month ago, and he was kind of a prat," Quinn said, looking at her redheaded friend, "Plus, my mums are gay, so I think their distaste for him rubbed off on me."

After that, they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the soil and didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth. Quinn almost lost a finger trying to cover one back up with the soil.

By the end of the class, Quinn, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in dirt. Everyone trudged back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Ravenclaws hurried off to Charms.

Professor Flitwick was just as short as Quinn remembered. Luckily, he started them off with an easy lesson, only doing revisions of spells from last year. This was good, as it felt like everything Quinn had learned had just disappeared from her brain. She was not the only one — Kevin's feather didn't even leave the desk when they reviewed the Levitation Charm.

Quinn was overjoyed when she heard the lunch bell. They all made their way to the Great Hall, and Quinn went over to the Gryffindor table when she saw Hermione waving her over. Quinn told them what to expect from Herbology, as they had already had Charms, and Hermione told her about how in Transfiguration she would have to turn beetles into buttons. The Granger girl even showed her the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced.

"What've we got this afternoon?" Harry asked, looking between Hermione's buttons and Ron's wand, which had an excessive amount of tape around its middle. Quinn assumed the damage was due to crashing into the Whomping Willow.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione answered at once.

"We do, too," Quinn told them, receiving smiles from Harry and Hermione.

"Why," Ron suddenly demanded, seizing Hermione's schedule from the table, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously. Quinn glared at Ron, and when he looked at her confused, she just rolled her eyes.

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in Voyages with Vampires again. Harry and Ron questioned Quinn about Kevin and his plans to join the Quidditch team. Apparently, he was seen as a potential threat.

"What position is he trying out for?" Ron asked.

"Chaser," Quinn answered, "So, Harry has nothing to worry about."

"This isn't about Harry! This is about the whole team!" Ron argued.

"It's not that big of a deal, Ron. Besides, he's been writing to Oliver Wood all summer."

"He's been writing to Wood?" Harry asked, "Is he trying to get an upper hand?"

Quinn couldn't believe what she was hearing, "You two are ridiculous."

"All right, Harry?"

Quinn looked up, and there was a small, mousy-haired boy who she recognized from the Sorting Ceremony the night before. He was staring at  Harry, as though he were transfixed. The boy was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera his face was 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 alright if — can I have a picture?"

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," Colin said eagerly, edging further forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. Bout 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 amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do with magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you" — he looked imploringly at Harry — "maybe one of your friends could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

Quinn always forgot that people saw Harry as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and not just Harry. She even grew up in the Wizarding World, where he was seen as a celebrity, but it was still always so strange for people to talk to him like this. She couldn't imagine how strange it was for him.

"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 at Hogwarts, by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Everyone line up!" Draco roared to everyone in the courtyard, "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"

"No, I'm not," Harry said angrily, his fists clenching, "Shut up, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous!" Colin piped up, and Quinn wished he hadn't said anything at all.

"Jealous?" Draco questioned, but he wasn't shouting 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."

"Don't you have better things to do with your time than being the biggest prick on planet Earth?" Quinn asked, staring him down.

Draco sneered, "You should watch what you say, Fenwick, especially when you're you and you're talking to me."

The way Draco said that made her stomach drop. It was just how his father had called her "the Dearborn girl" in Diagon Alley and how Draco had said "someone like you" a year ago.

"Eat slugs, Malfoy," Ron said angrily. Crabbe started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

"Be careful, Weasley," Draco spat, "You don't want to start any more 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 knot 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 taped-together wand, but Hermione shut Voyages with Vampires with a snap and whispered, "Look out!"

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him, "Who's giving out signed photos?"

Upon seeing Harry, Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"

Quinn grimaced as she watched Harry's face burn with humiliation, hoping he didn't notice Draco slide smirking back into the crowd.

"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," Lockhart said, beaming at Colin, "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it for you."

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with poor Harry still clasped to his side.

"That was humiliating," Quinn remarked.

"It wasn't too bad," Hermione said, as the three of them followed the crowd back into the castle.

"How was that not too bad?" Ron questioned, "Lockhart just took the humiliation up a hundred for him."

"He was trying to make it better!"

"He didn't," Quinn said.

Eventually, they made their way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom where they saw Harry sitting in the very back row, all seven of Lockhart's books piled on the desk in front of him. Quinn and Hermione sat down on one side of him, while Ron sat down on the other.

"You could've fried an egg on your face," Ron told him, "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

"Shut up," Harry snapped, putting his face in his hands. Quinn placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to make him feel better, although she didn't think it was working.

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville'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 as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award — but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for them to laugh. A few people smiled weekly.

"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 —"

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes — start — now!"

Quinn couldn't believe the questions she was reading:

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
2. What is Gilderoy's Lockhart secret ambitions?
3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest accomplishment to date?

This had to be some kind of joke, Quinn thought. But it wasn't. The silly questions went on for three pages, ending with:

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

Quinn had read all seven of his ridiculous memoirs, and she had remembered him talking about himself a great amount, but she never paid that much attention to those details. After all, there was no world in which she would be quizzed on them, or so she thought.

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 favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year of the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves a bit 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 Firewhisky!"

He gave them another roguish wink. Quinn, Harry, and Ron were staring at Lockhart with expressions of disbelief on their faces; Kevin, who was sitting in the front next to two Gryffindors, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, were shaking with silent laughter. Morag, who was sitting on Kevin's other side, and Hermione were both listening to Lockhart with rapt attention. Hermione jumped in her when he mentioned her name.

"... but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions — good girl! In fact —" he flipped her paper over, "— full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so — to business —"

He bent down 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."

Quinn leaned forward to get a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Kevin, Seamus, and Dean had stopped laughing. Neville was cowering in his front row seat.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."

Kevin couldn't control himself. He burst into a fit of laughter, one that Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror. Quinn could see Morag hit his arm.

"Yes?" Lockhart smiled at Kevin.

"I mean, they're just pixies, and you're acting like they're trolls," Kevin said through fits of laughter.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!"

He opened the cage, and the class erupted into chaos.

The pixies shot in every direction 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 grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, 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 iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"Come on now – round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted.

One of the pixies had grabbed ahold of a piece of Quinn's hair, yanking on it. Harry picked up one of the books from his pile and hit the pixie as hard as he could.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Quinn nodded, trying to smooth her hair back out.

Lockhart rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Quinn, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at the door, and said, "Well, I'll ask you four 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 painfully on the ear.

"This has to be some sort of joke," Quinn remarked.

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," Hermione said, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm, stuffing them back in their cage.

"Hands on?" Harry repeated, as he was trying to grab a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out, "Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he was doing —"

"Rubbish," Hermione said, "You've read his books — look at all those amazing things he's done —"

"You know, this class is really making me doubt his 'accomplishments'," Quinn muttered, batting another pixie away from her hair.

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WRITTEN: february 2024
EDITED: june 2024
WORDS: 4,656

AUTHOR'S NOTE! did i name this chapter off of the hit song from the hit musical a very potter musical? yeah, i did.

so in the books it's actually the gryffindors and hufflepuffs who have herbology together but i changed that because the only reason they originally had it together was to introduce justin and i have already done that. also i aged up lockhart, sue me.

i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! have a wonderful day :)