In Between Two Worlds (HP/PJO Crossover)

Chapter 85: Flight Of The Fat Lady.

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 Uncle Rem. And they never said it in front of me. But Harry and Mione would tell me that he was saying his clothes were in terrible condition and that they looked like house-elf clothes.

But no one else cared that his robes were patched and frayed. The 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 Uncle Rem's name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever.

I was also growing to dread the hours I spent in Professor Trelawney's stifling tower room, deciphering lopsided shapes and symbols, trying to ignore the way Professor Trelawney's enormous eyes filled with tears every time she looked at me. I couldn't like Professor Trelawney, even though she was treated with respect bordering on reverence by many of the class. Parvati and Lavender had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney's tower room at lunchtimes and always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they knew things we didn't. They had also started using hushed voices whenever they spoke to me, as though I were on my deathbed.

Nobody liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. We 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.

At the start of October, however, I had something else to occupy me, something so enjoyable it more than made up for my unsatisfactory classes. The Quidditch season was approaching, and Wood called a meeting on Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season.

Wood was now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed us in the chilly locker rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch field.

"This is our last chance -- my last chance -- to win the Quidditch Cup," he told us, striding up and down in front of us. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it. "

"Gryffindor hasn't won for seven years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world -- injuries -- then the tournament getting called off last year. " Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've got the best -- ruddy -- team -- in -- the -- school," he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye. "We've got three superb Chasers. "

Wood pointed at Katie, Angelina, and me.

"We've got two unbeatable Beaters. "

"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," said Fred and George together, pretending to blush.

"And we've got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!" Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. "And me," he added as an afterthought.