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"Gave you a taste for 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."

"Oh, no, Professor, see -"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping

his shoulder. "I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you've

had that first taste - and I blame myself for giving you that, be

cause 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? 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 in

ternationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was

just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, Id 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-\"o-Must-Not-Be-Named!" He

glanced at the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. "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 - but it's a

start, Harry, it's a start."

He gave Harry a hearty wink and strode off. Harry stood

stunned for a few seconds, then, remembering he was supposed to

be in the greenhouse, he opened the door and slid inside.

Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the cen

ter of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored ear

muffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place

between Ron and Hermione, she said, "We'll be repotting Man

drakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Man

drake?"

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

s1

"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?"

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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 trays as she spoke, and everyone

shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants,

purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite

unremarkable to Harry, who 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 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."

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound

completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own

ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants

firmly, and pulled hard.

*92*

Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

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 them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

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"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill 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.

"Four to a tray - there is a large supply of pots here - compost in the

sacks over there - and be careful of the Venemous 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, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly-haired

Hufflepuff boy Harry knew by sight but had never spoken to.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand.

"Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter... And you're

Hermione Granger - always top in everything"

* 9%

(Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too) "- and Ron

Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?"

Ron didn't smile. The Howler was obviously still on his mind.

"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said Justin happily as they

began fiIling their plant pots with dragon dung compost. "Awfully

brave chap. Have you read his books? Id have died of fear if Id been

cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and

zap - just fantastic.

"My name was down 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 they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were

80

back on and they 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; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a

particularly fat one into a pot.

By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty,

aching, and covered in earth. Everyone 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 Harry had learned last year

seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer. He was

supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed

* 94

to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the

desktop avoiding his 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 thick gray smoke

that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron

accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a

new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.

Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like a wrung

sponge. Everyone fiIed out of the classroom except him and Ron, who

was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.

"Stupid - useless - thing -"

"Write home for another one," Harry 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 wand got snapped

'"

81

They went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was not improved by

Hermione's showing them the handful of perfect coat buttons she had

produced in Transfiguration.

"What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily changing the

subject.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

"Why, "demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all

Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously.

* 95 *

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard.

Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in Voyages

with Vampires again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for

several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely

watched. Looking up, he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he'd

seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night staring at Harry as though

transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle

camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

"All right, Harry? I'm -I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking

a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think - would it

be all right if - can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera

hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging

further forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About

how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he

disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on

your forehead" (his eyes raked Harry's hairline) "and a boy in my

dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll

move." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said,

"It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do

was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he

couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home

82

to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you" - he looked

imploringly at Harry - "maybe your friend could take it and I could

stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the

courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always

was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and

Goyle.

"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's

giving out signed photos!"

"No, I'm not," said Harry angrily, his fists clenching. "Shut up,

Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was about

as thick as Crabbe's neck.

`jealous?"said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore: half the

courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right

across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open

makes you that special, myself."

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.

"Eat slugs, Malfoy," said Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and

started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

"Be careful, Weasley," sneered Malfoy. "You don't want to start any

trouble or your Mommy'll have to come and take you away from

school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice. "Ifyou put another toe

out of line' - "

A knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this.

"Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter," smirked Malfoy. "It'd

be worth more than his family's whole house -"

83

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut Voyages

with Vampires with a snap and whispered, "Look out!"

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding

* 97

toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giv

ing out signed photos?"

Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an

arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have

asked! We meet again, Harry!"

Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation, Harry

saw Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd.

"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at Colin.

"A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it

for you."

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell

rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd,

and he set off back to the castle with Harry, who was wishing he

knew a good Vanishing Spell, still clasped to his side.

"A word to the wise, Harry," said Lockhart paternally as they

entered the building through a side door. "I covered up for you

back there with young Creevey - if he was photographing me,

too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so

much . . . ."

Deaf to Harry's stammers, Lockhart swept him down a corridor

lined with staring students and up a staircase.

"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of

your career isn't sensible - looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be

frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to

keep a stack handy wherever you go, but" - he gave a little chor

tle - "I don't think you're quite there yet."

They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let Harry go at