Adventures of Harriet Potter

The Rouge Bludger

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harriet to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harriet had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart claimed he 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 supposedly had dealt with him. Harriet was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. If she hadn't had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good mood, she would have refused to do it.
"Nice loud howl, Harriet — exactly — and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced — like this — slammed him to the floor — thus — 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 — go on, Harriet — higher than that — good — the fur 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 got to his feet. Harriet followed his example, a grumpy look on her face. "Homework — compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"
The class began to leave. Harriet returned to the back of the room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting. "Ready?" Harriet muttered. "Wait till everyone's gone," said Hermione nervously. "All right . . ." Harriet grumbled. She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harriet and Ron right behind her. "Er — Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to — to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. "But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it — I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms —"
"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?" Harriet rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes," said Hermione eagerly. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer —" Harriet seriously doubted this, mainly because she hadn't seen Lockhart perform an ounce of magic correctly at school. To use an engorgement charm on a tea-strainer and then enclose a ghoul in it would be quite the feat of magic. "Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving one of the best students of the year a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face. "I usually save it for book signings." He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.
"So, Harriet," said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player. 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. . . ." Harriet made an indistinct noise in her throat and then hurried off after Ron and Hermione. She doubted Lockhart had managed ten minutes on a broom let alone a whole Quidditch match. "I don't believe it," she said as the three of them examined the signature on the note. "He didn't even look at the book we wanted."
"That's because he's a brainless git," said Ron. "But who cares, we've got what we needed —" Harriet had to agree. "He is not a brainless git," said Hermione shrilly as they half ran toward the library. "Just because he said you were one of the best students of the year —" Ron muttered. They dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture. "Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go. "I was wondering if I could keep it," she said 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." Harriet had to agree, certain Lockhart had signed a few bubbies in his lifetime of fame. 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 moldy-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. Hermione had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but they were ignoring her, and she them. Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions 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, which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.
"Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed The Polyjuice Potion. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. Harriet sincerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces. "This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione as they scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves. . . . Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn — 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?" said Ron 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. . . ." she said. Ron turned, speechless, to Harriet, who had another worry. "D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good idea. . . ." Trying to sound thoughtful, and offer the solution of ordering the ingredients using her vault. Hermione shut the book with a snap.
"Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine," she said. There were bright pink patches on her cheeks and her eyes were brighter than usual. "I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggleborns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in —" Harriet was speechless. "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be persuading us to break rules," said Ron. "All right, we'll do it. But not toenails, okay?" Harriet nodded in agreement. "How long will it take to make, anyway?" said Harriet as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again. "Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the 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." Harriet swallowed, ducking into a stall as a cramp from Morgana's little gift rippled through her. "A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggleborns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, "But it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say." However, while Hermione was checking that the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harriet, "It'll be a lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow."