A Potter Secret

Lockhart's Entrance

The Whomping Willow sulks in the courtyard, slings strung about its injured branches. Over the castle walls reveals the exterior of greenhouse three, where students hurry inside for the beginning of class.

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As Harry and Ron enter, Seamus, Neville and some of the other Gryffindors hover nearby. "Detention. On the first day?" Neville asks.

"That must be some kind of record," Seamus mutters.

"I should think you'd count yourself lucky that's all you got," Hermione reminds.

"I should think you'd mind your own business," Ron calls back. They glare at each other.

Professor Sprout, a squat little witch, taps her wand on a stack of pots. "Welcome to Greenhouse Three, Second Years. Today, we will be re-potting Mandrakes. Now, who here can tell me the properties of the Mandrake? Yes, Miss Granger," Sprout calls.

" Mandrake, or Mandragora, is used to return those who have been transfigured to their original state. It's also quite dangerous. The Mandrake's cry is fatal to anyone who hears it," Hermione recites.

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor. As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet. However, they will knock you out for several hours. That is why I have provided each of you with a pair of earmuffs. If you would then-" Sprout offers. Ron frowns. He's gotten a bright pink fluffy pair. When the class is ready, Professor Sprout leads them to the garden area. She grasps one of the tufty plants before her, and pulls. Harry gasps. Instead of roots, a small, muddy, extremely ugly baby pops out of the earth, leaves growing right out of its head. Neville's eyes roll back. He faints. Professor Sprout plunges the bawling creature deep into a pot, removes her earmuffs, and the others follow suit. Everyone save Neville, who lies stretched on the ground. "Hm. Looks as though Mr. Longbottom neglected his muffs."

"No, ma'am. He's just fainted," Seamus reveals.

"Very well. We'll just leave him then. Come now. Four to a tray, plenty of pots to go round-"

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Percy enters in the company of Penelope Clearwater, just as Nearly Headless Nick glides by. "There's Nearly Headless Nick," Penelope greets.

"Hello, Sir Nicolas," Percy greets.

"Hello, Percy. Miss Clearwater," Nick replies.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione has her nose buried in Gilderoy Lockhart's Travels with Trolls. Ron runs gobs of Spellotape over his broken wand, shakes his head grimly. "Say it. I'm doomed," Ron admits.

"You're doomed." Harry agrees.

Flash! A light blinds Harry. He blinks, finds a small boy, Colin Creevey standing before him with a camera. "Hiya, Harry. I'm Colin Creevey. I'm in Gryffindor too," Colin greets.

"Hello, Colin. Nice to meet-" Harry starts.

"They're for my dad, the pictures. He's a milkman, you know, a Muggle, like all our family's been until me. No one knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till we got my letter from Hogwarts. Everyone just thought I was mental," Colin interrupts.

"Imagine that," Ron mutters.

"Say, Harry. D'you think your friend could take a photo of me and you standing together? Ya' know, to prove I've met you?" Colin asks.

Harry glances at Ron. He looks positively homicidal. Mercifully, just then, owls stream into the Hall. "Post is here!" Dean calls.

One after another, the birds swoop gracefully down, clutching letters from home. All except one, who plops beak-first into Ron's soup. Errol. "Bloody bird's a menace, Oh, no," Ron mutters.