(DISCONTINUED) Magic is Might, Love is Power (Harry Potter Love Story)

Chapter 23

∞Bailey's POV∞

In no time at all, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become most people's favorite class. Only Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins had anything bad to say about Professor Lupin.

　　"Look at the state of his robes," Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Papa passed. "He dresses like our old house-elf. "

　　But no one else cared that Papa's robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. After Boggarts, we studied Red Caps, nasty little goblin like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed: in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps we moved on to Kappas, creepy, water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.

　　I only wished I was as happy with some of my other classes. Worst of all was Potions. Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood these days, and no one was in any doubt why. The story of the Boggart assuming Snape's shape, and the way that Neville had dressed it in his grandmother's clothes, had traveled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn't seem to find it funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Papa's name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever.

　　Harry, Ron, and Hermione dreaded those days in Divination. Their homework was ridiculous, and I was glad I had chosen another class.

　　Nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. They were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after Flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence.

　　"Why would anyone bother looking after them?" said Ron, after yet another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the flobberworms' throats. In early October, Quidditch started. Full of determination, the team started training sessions, three evenings a week. The weather was getting colder and wetter, the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind, or rain could tarnish the team's wonderful vision of finally winning the huge, silver Quidditch Cup.

　　Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room one evening after training, cold and stiff but pleased with the way practice had gone, to find the room buzzing excitedly.

　　"Hey, guys. What's going on?" he asked us. Ron and Hermione were sitting in the best armchairs by the fire and I lay sprawled on the floor, my homework surrounding me. All three of us were completing our Astronomy star charts.

　　"First Hogsmeade weekend," said Ron, pointing at a notice that had appeared on the battered old bulletin board. "End of October. Halloween."

　　"Excellent," said Fred, who had followed Harry through the portrait hole. "I need to visit Zonko's. I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets." Becca followed him and threw herself onto the sofa.

　　Harry threw himself into a chair beside Ron, his high spirits ebbing away. Hermione seemed to read his mind. Dad and Papa, being paranoid, refused to let Becca, Harry, and I go until the rat was caught. I told them that they were blowing this completely out of proportion, but they wouldn't hear of it.

"Harry, I'm sure you'll be able to go next time," she said. "They're bound to catch Pettigrew soon. He's been sighted once already."

　　"Pettigrew's not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade," said Ron. "Ask McGonagall if you can go this time, Harry. The next one might not be for ages —"

　　"Ron!" said Hermione. "They're supposed to stay in school-"

　　"They can't be the only third years left behind," said Ron. "Ask McGonagall, or Lupin go on, Harry. Maybe you can talk them into it!"