Who is Nyxzal Être? (Harry Potter Fan Fiction)

Mudbloods.

&*&*

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry’s schedule. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, “All right, Harry?” six or seven times a day and hear, “Hello, Colin,” back, however exasperated Harry sounded when he said it. I had something to do with that though. I slipped Colin Harry’s timetable when Harry wasn’t looking and made him swear that he’d never tell anybody.

Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disastrous car journey and 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, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. So with one thing and another, we were all quite glad to reach the weekend. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. I, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than I would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Harry was woken up by Wood, and since Alicia Spinnet, one of the chasers last year, wasn’t returning to Hogwarts, Harry had volunteered me as a replacement. They had also got the bright idea to Accio me downstairs while I was asleep.

“Whassamatter?” I said groggily pushing myself off the stairs. “Quidditch practice!” said Wood, Harry was grinning in the corner. “Come on!” I squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that I was awake, I couldn’t understand how I could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

“Oliver,” I croaked. “It’s the crack of dawn.” “Exactly,” said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. “It’s part of our new training program. Come on, grab a broom, and let’s go,” said Wood heartily. “None of the other teams have started training yet; we’re going to be first off the mark this year —” Yawning and shivering slightly, I got up and Oliver threw me some Quiditch robes. “Good girl,” said Wood. “Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes.”

When I’d put on my new scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry and I scribbled a note to Ron and Hermione explaining where we’d gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on Harry’s shoulder and a new Nimbus I had ordered on mine. We had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind us 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, Harry! Look what I’ve got here! I’ve had it developed, I wanted to show you —”

Harry and I looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose. A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognized as his own. Harry later told me was pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As we watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

“Will you sign it?” said Colin eagerly. “No,” said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. “Sorry, Colin, we’re in a hurry — Quidditch practice —” We climbed through the portrait hole. “Oh, wow! Wait for me! I’ve never watched a Quidditch game before!” Colin scrambled through the hole after him.

“It’ll be really boring,” Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement. “You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren’t you, Harry? Weren’t you?” said Colin, trotting alongside him. “You must be brilliant. I’ve never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there is?”