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Chapter 161 — You Two Need a Lesson
By the time their stomachs were finally full, Harry and Ron trudged toward the portrait of the Fat Lady, ready to collapse into bed.
The Fat Lady eyed them sharply.
"Password!"
"How are we supposed to know?" Ron muttered.
"Then you're not going in," she snapped.
Ron stared at her, stunned. She usually only complained a little, even when woken in the middle of the night—never this furious.
"It's like we committed some horrible crime," Ron grumbled.
Harry nodded weakly, but the moment he spotted Hermione hurrying toward them, his spirits lifted. Angry Fat Lady or not—Hermione mattered more.
Except… Hermione looked even angrier than the Fat Lady.
Her expression was so stormy she resembled a miniature, wand-wielding Mrs. Weasley.
"Did you really come to school in a flying car?" Hermione demanded, marching up to them.
"Oh, come on—you're not going to scold us too, are you?" Ron groaned. "We've already had McGonagall and Snape on our backs about sending an owl. If we'd remembered, do you think we'd still be standing out here?"
Hermione's expression darkened further.
"I don't know what you two use your brains for—assuming you have any left after nearly crashing—"
"We've been lectured all night!" Ron snapped. "Just tell us the password!"
"It's 'honeyeater,' but that's not the point—honestly, you two never listen—"
But Harry and Ron had already slipped inside.
Hermione huffed and finished anyway:
"…and you need to learn to listen when people teach you a lesson!"
They barely had time to register the warmth of the common room before Ginny came at them—wand raised.
She was aiming mostly at Ron, but for the first time ever she threw Harry a furious glare as well.
"I don't know what you were thinking! Do you realize you almost got Darren killed today? Why didn't you write to us? Harry, you have an owl!"
Ginny couldn't cast proper spells yet, but her swats with the wand were hard enough to sting.
"Stop it! Ginny—unless you want me to tell Mum!" Ron yelped, shielding his head. He shot Percy a desperate look for help.
Percy did not help.
Percy looked like he wanted to lecture them too, fists clenched.
"You don't even care that Dad could be punished over this—he might lose his job! And Darren—when he was on the ground bleeding, you two were flying around without a care in the world—"
Harry wasn't being yelled at directly, but somehow he felt even worse than Ron.
When they finally staggered deeper into the room, it didn't get better.
Everywhere they turned someone was scolding them, or glaring, or lecturing. Even Fred and George—usually thrilled by chaos—gave them looks of disapproval. A few upper-years seemed amused, but not enough to save them.
By the time Harry and Ron reached their dormitory, they felt wrung out.
Neville stood near the door, lips pressed together, clearly wanting to say something… but one look at their faces made him retreat.
Seamus and Dean, at least, seemed excited.
They clapped Harry on the shoulder.
"It was wild! But… yeah, maybe you should've warned Darren," Seamus said.
"But you were still brilliant," Dean added.
Their attempts at comfort helped—slightly.
The next morning destroyed whatever was left of their good mood.
Darren was nowhere to be seen at the Slytherin table.
Still in the hospital wing.
Ron paled.
And then Mrs. Weasley's Howler arrived.
A bright red envelope smoking in Ron's hands.
Neville nervously claimed he'd received one once and advised Ron to destroy it while he still had the chance.
Harry didn't believe him—Neville couldn't lie to save his life—but it didn't matter.
The envelope exploded open.
"THE CAR IS GONE! DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED YOUR FATHER AND I WERE?"
"DUMBLEDORE WROTE THAT YOU ALMOST GOT DARREN KILLED—"
"YOU SET A TERRIBLE EXAMPLE FOR GINNY—"
"YOUR FATHER IS BEING INVESTIGATED BY THE MINISTRY AND COULD LOSE HIS JOB—AND ALL BECAUSE OF YOU—"
"IF YOU CAN'T FOLLOW THE RULES, WE'LL BRING YOU HOME THIS INSTANT!"
The Howler shredded itself into scraps.
Ron looked like he'd been clubbed over the head.
Harry wasn't far off.
The Slytherins were howling with laughter.
Even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables had scattered giggles.
No one—absolutely no one—seemed impressed by their dramatic entrance.
Harry felt miserable. He didn't even want breakfast anymore.
Hermione sniffed at them disapprovingly.
Mercifully, Professor McGonagall arrived with timetables, distraction sweeping through the hall.
"Our first class is Herbology," Ron mumbled, barely above a whisper.
Every Weasley sibling within sight glared at him.
They shuffled out toward the greenhouses, heads low.
Inside the greenhouse, magical plants filled every corner.
Professor Sprout stomped toward them, bandages wrapped around her arms and soil smeared across her patched hat.
She'd clearly just come from tending the Whomping Willow.
Beside her stood Gilderoy Lockhart, grinning widely.
"Just finished showing Professor Sprout here how to bandage a Whomping Willow," Lockhart said proudly, as if he'd saved a life.
He launched into one of his cheerful speeches before adding, "By the way—Harry Potter! Step forward, my boy."
Harry blinked in confusion as Lockhart hauled him aside.
"I understand completely," Lockhart said sympathetically. "Snape told me everything. You just wanted attention, didn't you? Your brother Darren's been getting all the praise, and you must feel overshadowed—Don't worry! I was the same at your age. It's all part of the journey to greatness!"
Harry felt nauseous.
As far as he could tell, he now officially had another professor to dislike besides Snape.
Lockhart.
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