No Turning Back Now.

The next day, however, I barely grinned once. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy grey). Harry, Ron and I sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione, who had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug. There was a slight stiffness in the way she said ‘Morning’ which told us that she was still disapproving of the way we had arrived. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, greeted us cheerfully. Neville was a round-faced and accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone I had ever met.

“Post’s due any minute – I think my Gran’s sending a few things I forgot.”

I had only just started on my bacon and eggs when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy parcel bounced off Neville’s head and a second later, something large and grey fell into Hermione’s jug, spraying us all with milk and feathers.

“Errol!” said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.

“Oh no –“ Ron gasped.

“It’s all right, he’s still alive,” said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

“It’s not that – it’s that.”

Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to me, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode.

“What’s the matter?” I said.

“She’s – she’s sent me a Howler,” said Ron faintly.

“You’d better open it, Ron,” said Neville, in a timid whisper. “It’ll be worse if you don’t. My Gran send me one once, and I ignored it and –“ he gulped, “it was horrible. “

I looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope.

“What’s a Howler?” I said.

But Ron’s whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.

“Open it,” Neville urged. “It’ll be over in a few minutes...”

Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol’s beak and slit it open.

Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, I knew why. I thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

“...... STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT TRHOUGH WHEN WE SAW IT HAD GONE....”

Mrs Weasley’s yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swivelling around to see who had received the Howler and Ron sand so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

“.... LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU, HARRY AND COREY COULD HAVE ALL DIED...”

I had been wondering when my name was going to crop up. I tried very hard to look as though I couldn’t hear the voice that was making my eardrums throb.

“... ABSOLUTLEY DISGUSTED, YOU’RE FATHER’S FACING AN ENQUIRY AT WORK , IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.”

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron’s hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. We sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over us. A few people laughed and gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of Ron’s head.

“Well, I don’t know what you expected, Ron, but you –“

“Don’t tell me I deserved it,” snapped Ron.

Harry pushed away the porridge he had been eating. I know how he must be felling; the same as me. My insides were burning with guilt. Mr Weasley was facing an enquiry at work. After all Mr and Mrs Weasley had done for me over the summer...

But I had no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out timetables. I took mine, and saw that we had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one good thing: Hermione seemed to think that we had now been punished enough and was being perfectly friendly again.

As we neared the greenhouses we saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. We had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout’s arms were full of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt, I spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her cloths and her fingernails would have made Harry’s aunt, who I presumed was a posh, arrogant sort of woman, faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.

“Oh, hello there!” Lockhart called, beaming around at the assembled students. “Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don’t want you running away with the idea that I’m better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels...”

“Greenhouse Three today, chaps!” said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self, and I really couldn’t blame her.

There was a murmur of interest. We had only ever worked in Greenhouse One before – Greenhouse Three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. I caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer, mingling with a heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. I was about to follow Ron and Hermione inside, when Lockhart’s hand shot out and grabbed Harry. I froze.

“Harry! I’ve been wanting a word – you don’t mind if he’s a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?”

Judging by Professor Sprout’s scowl, she did mind.

“I’m coming to,” I said, before Lockhart closed the greenhouse door in her face.

“Harry,” said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head, totally ignoring me. “Harry, Harry, Harry.”

Completely nonplussed, we said nothing.

“When I heard – well, of course, it was my fault. Could have kicked myself.”

I had no idea what he was going on about.

“Don’t know when I’ve been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you’d done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, Harry.”

It was remarkable how he could show every one of those teeth even when he wasn’t talking.

“Gave you a taste of publicity, didn’t I?” said Lockhart. “Gave you the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper with me and you couldn’t wait to do it again.”

“You think it’s because of you? Honestly-“ I began to say, but he cut me off.

He looked at me in surprise, as if he had forgotten I was there.

“Corey, Corey, Corey,” he reached out and grasped my shoulder, while I was still shocked he knew my name. “I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you’ve that first taste – and I blame myself for giving you that, Harry, because it was bound to go to your head – but see here, young man, you can’t start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? And you too, young lady; it’s perfectly understandable to be jealous of your friend here, but your time might come some day. Plenty of time for all that when you’re older. Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking! ‘It’s all right for him, he’s an internationally famous wizard already!’ But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you both are now. In fact, I’d say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven’t they? All that business with He Who Must Not Be Named!” He glanced at the lighting scar on Harry’s forehead. “A you, with your family. I’m sure a fair few wizards and witches know you too.”

My last name, Samuels, was in fact, a name that was well known in the wizarding world. Apparently we were a strong and brave family, that helped around a lot when You Know Who rose into power. Sadly, it was only me and my Dad left in the Samuels family, that were magical, because they all got murdered by You Know Who’s followers.

“I know, I know, it’s not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have,” Lockhart continued, “but, it’s a start, children, it’s a start.”

He gave us a hearty wink a strode off. We both stood stunned for a few seconds.

“Can you believe him?” I nearly spat.

I then remembered we had to be in the greenhouse, I opened the door and we slid inside. Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different coloured earmuffs were lying on the bench. When we had taken our place next to Ron and Hermione, she said, ‘We’ll be re-potting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

To nobody’s surprise, Hermione’s hand was first into the air.

“Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative,” said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook. “It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor,” said Professor Sprout. “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?”

Hermione’s hand narrowly missed Harry’s glasses as it shot up again.

“The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,” she said promptly.

“Precisely. Take another ten points,” said Professor Sprout. “Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young.”

She pointed to a row of deep tray s as she spoke and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in colour, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to me, and I didn’t have the slightest idea what Hermione meant by the ‘cry’ of the Mandrake.

“Everyone take a pair of earmuffs,” said Professor Sprout.

There was a mad scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn’t pink and fluffy.
“When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered,” said Professor Sprout. “When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs up. Right – earmuffs on.”
I snapped the earmuffs over my ears. They shut out all sound completely. Professor Sprout put on a pink fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave us all the thumbs up and removed her own earmuffs.
“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cried won’t kill you yet,” she said calmly, as though she’d just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. “However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up. Five to a tray – there is a large supply of pots here – compost in the sacks over there – and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula it’s teething.”

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I were joined at out tray by a curly haired Hufflepuff boy I knew by sight, but had never spoken to before.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” he said brightly, shaking Harry’s hand. “Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter... and you’re Hermione Granger – always top in everything...” Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too. “You’re Corey Samuels, one of the prettiest girls in our year, and you’re Ron Weasley. Wasn’t that your flying car?”

Ron didn’t smile. The Howler was obviously still on his mind. I opened my mouth, starting to say that I wasn’t pretty at all, but Justin kept talking.

“That Lockhart’s something, isn’t he?” he said happily, as we began filling out pant pots with dragon dung compost. “Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I’d have died of fear if I’d been cornered in a telephone box by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and – zap – just fantastic. My name was done for Eton, you know, I can’t tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart’s books I think she’s begun to see how useful it’ll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family...”

After that we didn’t have much chance to talk. Our earmuffs were back on and we needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn’t. The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth, but didn’t seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists and gnashed their teeth; I spent most of the lesson trying to squash one into a pot.

By the end of the class, I, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching and covered in earth. We traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall’s classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult.

Everything I had learnt last year seemed to have leaked out of my head during the summer. We were supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all I managed to do was give my beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desk top avoiding my wand.

Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed Spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in think grey smoke which smelt like rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidently squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. McGonagall wasn’t pleased.

I was relieved to hear the lunch bell. My brain felt like a wrung sponge. Everyone filed out of the classroom except Harry, Ron and I; Ron whacking his wand furiously on the desk.

“Stupid... useless... thing...”

“Write home for another one,” I suggested, as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.

“Oh yeah, and get another Howler back,” said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag. “It’s your own fault your want got snapped –“

We went down to lunch, where Ron’s mood was not improved by Hermione showing us the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration.

“What’ve we got this afternoon?” said Harry, hastily changing subject.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” she Hermione at once.

“Why,” I demanded, seizing her timetable, “have you outlined all Lockhart’s lessons in little hearts?”

Hermione snatched the timetable back, flushing furiously.