Wish Upon A Star

Deathday

After tea with Hagrid, they went back up to the castle. It was nearly lunchtime.  Ron hiccoughed occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs. They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, 

"There you are, Potter — Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. 

"You will both do your detentions this evening,"

"What're we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.

"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch," said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley — elbow grease."

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," said, Professor McGonagall.

"Oh no— Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?" said Harry desperately.

"Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "ProfessorLockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."

Harry and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom, Hermione behind them, wearing a well-you-did-break-school-rules sort of expression. Harry didn't enjoy his shepherd's pie as much as he'd thought. Both he and Ron felt they'd got the worse deal.

"Filch'll have me there all night," said Ron heavily. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning."

"I'd swap anytime," said Harry hollowly. "I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail . . . he'll be a nightmare. . . ."

Ashlyn and Hermione could only feel sorry for the boys. Hermione felt sadder for Ron, according to her, Harry had a wonderful opportunity to spend time with Lockhart. 

Ashlyn spent the rest of the Saturday afternoon, practising spells beforehand and reading books. She had finished her homework before and so had Hermione. The two girls would take breaks in between to talk and would start by talking anything that was not related to their subjects but would somehow end on the topic of studies, no matter how hard they tried not to. 

It was around seven when Ashlyn noticed Ginny scribbling away in a book. She took a deep breath. Ginny was writing in that cursed diary. Ashlyn swallowed her urge to snatch the book away from the young red-head and chuck it into the roaring fire. 

"Hey, Ginny," she called brightly, waving at her instead. Ginny looked up with a start and then smiled after seeing Ashlyn and Hermione.

"Come on, join us. We are having 'girl talk'.  Or rather trying to," Ashlyn called. 

Ginny nodded shyly, scribbled something in the diary. At this, Ashlyn's face darkened. 

Hermione noticed this. She nudged her. "What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," Ashlyn said. Hermione's face said that she didn't believe Ashlyn in the least.

 Hermione sighed. Ashlyn must have some reason that she is not telling her, but it didn't stop her from feeling slightly betrayed. 

Ginny came over and Ashlyn brightened up again. Hermione eyed her questioningly, which she ignored. The three girls had a fun evening by the fire, giggling and sharing anecdotes. They stayed up late talking until they couldn't get a single word without yawning. Slowly, the girls trudged upstairs and went to bed.