Harry Potter: Sectumsempra Chapter 06 | Seven Years of Chaos Book 2

Harry’s first week back at Hogwarts feels less like school and more like survival. Still furious over Ron’s attack and increasingly on edge around Lockhart’s too-bright smile and grabby hands, Harry starts doing what he does best: adapting, calculating, and removing problems before they can touch him.

Herbology brings Mandrakes, dirt, and a reminder that even “safe” lessons can make him feel vulnerable. Defense brings Lockhart’s ego, a humiliating quiz, and a classroom disaster that proves, beyond any doubt, that their new professor is both incompetent and dangerous. Meanwhile, fame becomes its own kind of threat when an overeager first-year corners Harry for photos, and old enemies sense an opening.

But the week isn’t only tension. It also delivers a win Harry actually wants. When Slytherin Quidditch tryouts turn political, Draco gambles on Harry anyway… and Harry answers in the only way that matters: performance. By the time the dust settles, Harry has a place on the team, Draco gets his own reward, and the shape of their alliance becomes impossible to ignore. 

Transcript

**Chapter 6: The First Week**

Harry never got far in Muggle primary school, mainly because he had been rather homeless. But he never considered dropping out of Hogwarts until this term began.

If his first few days back were any indication of how the rest of the year would go, he thought he might just try his luck at becoming a permanent resident of the Leaky Cauldron. Griphook had a lot of his gold tied up in investments and some other “fruitful financial expenditures,” assuring him that he would never need to work a day in his life.

Besides, he hadn’t yet figured out how to drain a wizard of their magic. So really, he could probably drop out and be just fine.

If things didn’t start looking up, that would be the first thing he’d bring up to Snape on Sunday. First, Lestrange had attacked Ron, which made Harry’s blood boil just watching.

Then Professor Snape sent him a barrage of hateful looks and muttered rude comments about him as he healed Dolohov. To top it all off, Snape declared that Harry wasn’t allowed to carry his knife anymore when he examined Lestrange’s face, even though he hadn’t wasted his knife on that prat.

He still had it safely tucked in his pocket. If Snape thought he wouldn’t carry it anymore, he clearly didn’t know Harry as well as he thought.

The next morning, on their first day of classes, Harry nearly arrived late to Herbology because he had to duck and dodge around the lawns to avoid Lockhart. Draco huffed and rolled his eyes at him, but there was something about the new professor that made Harry uneasy.

Lockhart was creepy with his blinding white smile and his habit of grabbing people. Plus, his eyes always seemed to linger on Harry just a bit too long, which made Harry want to both scream and vomit.

It was much easier to just avoid him altogether. When they finally trailed into Herbology, arriving exactly on time despite Draco’s mumbled worries, Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse.

In the greenhouse, about twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were scattered across the bench. Once everyone had their earmuffs in place, Professor Sprout announced, “We’ll be repotting Mandrakes today.

Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

None of the Slytherins were surprised when Theo's hand shot up first. “Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative,” he said, his voice sounding as if he had memorized the textbook.

“It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Slytherin,” Professor Sprout replied.

“The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. However, it is also dangerous.

Who can tell me why?”

Theo's hand shot up again, narrowly missing Harry's glasses. Harry shot him a glare, making Theo take a small step back.

“The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,” Theo said confidently. “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, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look.

There were about a hundred tufty little plants, purplish-green in color, growing in neat rows. To Harry, they looked rather boring, and he had no idea what Theo meant by the “cry” of the Mandrake.

He thought that if the cries were truly fatal, they might be useful to have on hand. “Everyone take a pair of earmuffs,” Professor Sprout instructed.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to grab a pair that wasn’t pink and fluffy. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle when Draco ended up with the pink ones.

“When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered,” Professor Sprout continued. “When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up.

Right — earmuffs on.” 

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears, and the world around him fell silent. He hated how vulnerable it made him feel, as if anyone could sneak up on him without him knowing.

He focused on his breathing: in two, three, four, five; out two, three, four. He tried to blink away the white sparkles that threatened to cloud his vision.

Professor Sprout placed a large, fluffy pair of earmuffs over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, and grasped one of the tufty plants firmly. With a strong pull, a small, muddy, and extremely unattractive baby Mandrake emerged from the earth.

Leaves sprouted directly from its head. It had pale green, mottled skin and was wailing at the top of its lungs.

Professor Sprout quickly grabbed a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying it in dark, damp compost until only its tufted leaves remained visible. Dusting off her hands, she gave the class a thumbs-up and removed her earmuffs.

“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill you yet,” she said, her tone calm as if she had merely watered a begonia. Harry felt a bit more respect for the dowdy Herbology professor.

“However, they can knock you out for several hours, and I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back. So, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work.

I’ll signal when it’s time to pack up. “Four to a tray—there’s a large supply of pots here.

The compost is 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, causing it to retract the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Harry teamed up with Susan, Theo, and a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy he had never spoken to before. The boy stood close to Susan and chatted as they worked.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” he said, offering his hand to Harry. Harry ignored the gesture, giving him only a curt nod of acknowledgment.

The Hufflepuff boy continued to talk, clearly eager to make friends. Justin didn't seem deterred by Harry's silence; he continued to chatter away.

"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 some of my books, I think she’s begun to see how useful it’ll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family..."

Harry wondered if Muggle families were nicer when they thought about how they could benefit from their kids’ magic. It was just another reason he believed Muggle-borns shouldn’t have to stay at home before starting Hogwarts.

Thankfully, after Justin's initial rambling introduction, they didn’t have much chance to talk. With their earmuffs back on, they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes.

Professor Sprout had made it look incredibly easy, but it was far from that. The Mandrakes resisted coming out of the earth and didn’t seem eager to go back in, either.

They squirmed, kicked, flailed their tiny fists, and gnashed their teeth. At one point, Harry nearly punched a little fat one that refused to settle into its pot.

By the end of the class, like everyone else, Harry was sweaty, aching, and covered in dirt. Everyone trudged back to the castle for a quick wash before the Slytherins hurried off to their first History of Magic class.

Harry's mood lifted slightly on their way to lunch when he spotted two first-year Gryffindor boys picking on a small blonde Ravenclaw girl outside the history corridor. He focused his magic, grinning as the two boys suddenly flew away from her and crashed into the wall, dropping the bag they had been keeping from her.

"Thank you, Harry Potter," she said softly as he walked past. He smirked at her but otherwise ignored her unnecessary gratitude.

Throwing bullies into a wall was the first bright spot in his day. Maybe he should have thanked her.

"What’ve we got next?" Ron asked at lunch, shoveling potatoes into his mouth. "Defense," Hermione replied.

studying her own timetable. “Why do you have our schedule memorized?” Draco asked, sounding scandalized.

“More importantly,” Blaise interjected, snatching the schedule from her, “why do you have your own defense lessons outlined in little hearts?” 

Hermione quickly grabbed the schedule back, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. After they finished lunch, Harry, Ron, Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Susan headed outside into the overcast courtyard, while Hermione and Neville made their way to their next class.

As Harry and Draco chatted about the upcoming Quidditch tryouts, Harry suddenly felt an eerie sensation that someone was watching him. Looking up, he spotted a small, mousy-haired boy—the same one he had seen trying on the Sorting Hat the night before—staring at him with wide eyes.

The boy clutched what appeared to be an ordinary Muggle camera, which looked less magical than the one Harry had received from Susan over the summer. The moment Harry met his gaze, the boy turned bright red.

“All right, Harry? I’m—I'm Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly, taking a hesitant step closer.

“I’m in Gryffindor. D’you think—would it be all right if—can I have a picture?” He raised the camera hopefully.

“A picture?” Harry echoed, his tone flat. “So I can prove I’ve met you,” Colin said eagerly, inching forward despite the not-so-inviting look Harry was giving him.

“I know all about you. Everyone’s told me.

About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you, how he disappeared and everything, and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead.” His eyes raked over Harry's hairline. “A boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move.” 

Colin took a deep, shuddering breath of excitement.

“It’s amazing here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic until I got the letter from Hogwarts.

My dad’s a—”

"Milkman, I can’t believe it either. I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him.

It would be really great if I could get one with you,” Colin said, looking imploringly at Harry. “Maybe your friend could take it, and I could stand next to you?

And then, could you sign it?”

Before Harry could decide whether to ask the boy about his Muggle relatives or consider catching his camera on fire, a shrill voice rang across the courtyard. “Signed photos?

Who would want a signed photo of Potter?” Pansy Parkinson had come up right behind Colin, flanked, as usual, by Millicent Bulstrode. “Piss off,” Harry said angrily, his fists clenching.

“Walk away now, Parkinson.”

“You’re just jealous,” Colin piped up, his reckless bravery stronger than Harry had first thought. “Jealous?” Pansy cried, looking around in glee as half the courtyard listened in.

“Of what? I don’t want an ugly scar right across my head, thanks.

Of course, Potter has a lot of ugly scars; it’s hard to tell which one people are even staring at.”

“I’d walk away while you still can,” Draco warned her coolly. Harry was pulling his knife out of his robe pocket when Gilderoy Lockhart strode toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him.

“What’s all this? Who’s giving out signed photos?” Lockhart boomed jovially.

Harry considered dodging behind Blaise, who was quite a bit taller, but Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and declared, “Shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!”

“Don’t touch me,” Harry said as firmly as he could, every nerve in his body on edge.

Lockhart looked down at him in shock, as if he had never seen him properly before. Taking advantage of the moment, Harry shoved the man’s arm off him and stepped quickly over beside Theo and Susan.

Lockhart was still gaping at him when the bell rang, signaling the start of afternoon classes. “Off you go, move along!”

“Hey there,” Lockhart called to the crowd, startled into speaking by the ringing bell.

“Harry, I’d like a word. Walk with me to class.” 

“C’mon,” Blaise murmured, nudging Harry forward.

“I’ll walk with you.” 

Harry, feeling light-headed at the thought of being alone with the man who kept insisting on touching him, shot Blaise a cold sneer. “I don’t need help.

I’m not weak,” he spat. “I’ll meet you guys in class.” With that, he turned and stomped away from his friends, keeping a safe distance beside Lockhart.

“A word to the wise, Harry,” Lockhart said, his tone shifting as they entered the building through a side door. “Offering signed photos to your classmates, while admirable, certainly isn’t going to gain you any fans, is it?”

“I wasn’t signing autographs, and it wouldn’t be your business if I was.

It’s not against the rules, is it?” 

Lockhart led him down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase, then stopped and looked at Harry with wide blue eyes. “I’m just looking out for you,” he stammered.

“There may come a time when, like me, you’ll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but…” He gave a weak little chuckle. “I don’t think you’re quite there yet.”

As they approached the Defense classroom, Harry spotted his friends waiting outside.

He took a deep breath and gave Lockhart his best ‘I’m Severus Snape and you are an imbecile’ look. “I’d bet my vault that more people know me now than will ever know you.

Did you defeat an evil murderer as a baby?” He glared at Lockhart from head to toe. “No?

I didn’t think so.” 

He tucked his trembling hands under his arms and tried to glide toward his friends, a move that looked brilliant when Snape did it. He’s going to kill you.

Lockhart is going to kill you. Harry pushed aside his shaking limbs and racing thoughts as he nudged Ron out of the corner seat.

In the back of the classroom, Ron shifted over a chair without a word, though he rolled his eyes when Susan asked him to move again so she could sit next to Harry. “I bet Snape knows a potion to make his teeth fall out,” Susan whispered, her voice barely rising above the chatter of students unpacking their books.

Harry snorted, appreciating her attempt at humor. “If he lays a hand on me one more time, I’m going to pull them out one by one,” he hissed back, shooting a glare at the man preening at the front of the classroom.

Ron, seated on the other side of Susan, leaned forward and whispered to Theo, “Ten sickles says Harry gets rid of Lockhart before the end of the year.” 

Once the entire class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly, and silence quickly fell. He reached forward, picked up Vincent Crabbe’s copy of *Travels with Trolls*, and held it up, showcasing his own winking portrait on the cover.

“Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking again. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award — but I don’t talk about that.

I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by just smiling at her!” 

He paused, expecting laughter, but not a single Slytherin even twitched a lip. “I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to Harry and Susan’s empty desk.

“I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you’ve read them and how much you’ve absorbed.” 

After handing out the test papers, he returned to the front of the class and announced, “You have thirty minutes — start now!” 

Harry looked down at his paper and read the first few questions: 

1.

What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color? 2.

What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition? 3.

What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date? The questions continued, stretching over three sides of paper.

Harry stared at his quiz paper, noting question 54: When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be? He considered crumpling it into a ball but decided he had already pushed his luck with the grown man enough for one day.

The last thing he wanted was a detention alone with that creep. Half an hour later, having spent the time crafting the wildest answers he could imagine, Lockhart began to collect their quizzes.

“Tut, tut! Hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac.

I mention it in *Year with the Yeti*,” he exclaimed. “And a few of you need to read *Wanderings with Werewolves* more carefully.

I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples. Though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!” He gave them another roguish wink.

Ron stared at Lockhart with undisguised disgust. “What a prat,” Susan murmured to Harry, who hummed in agreement.

“Those of you who turned in blank parchments—” Draco, Theo, and Blaise snorted with amusement, “—you may want to read your books carefully to prepare yourselves for the beasts I’ll be teaching you to control!” Lockhart bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. “Now—be warned!

It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room.

Know only that no harm can befall you while I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”

Despite himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage.

He didn’t think inferi were a second-year creature, but Lockhart was a moron, so he hoped there’d be one in the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover.

“I must ask you not to scream,” he said in a low voice. “It might provoke them.” 

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

“Yes,” he said dramatically, “freshly caught Cornish pixies.”

Harry couldn't help himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" he smiled at Draco. "Well, they’re not— they’re not very dangerous, are they?" 

Draco choked.

"I mean, Harry before coffee is scarier than pixies." 

Harry felt a bit offended until a Hufflepuff boy with glasses muttered, "Potter is scary after coffee." That brought a smile back to Harry's face. Maybe he wouldn’t drop out of Hogwarts just yet.

The nervous look Lockhart gave him only made his grin stretch wider. The pixies were electric blue, about eight inches tall, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a bunch of budgies arguing.

The moment the cover was removed, they started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the nearest students. "Right, then," Lockhart said loudly, apparently opting to ignore Draco.

"Let’s see what you make of them!" With that, he opened the cage. Pandemonium erupted.

The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Several darted straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass.

Harry had to react quickly, raising a shield to protect his friends from the shards. The rest of the pixies wreaked havoc in the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino.

They grabbed ink bottles, spraying the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, and upended the wastebasket. Bags and books flew out of the shattered window.

Within minutes, half the Hufflepuff class was sheltering under desks while Harry kept his shield up for the Slytherins he didn’t hate—so basically everyone except Parkinson and Bulstrode. "Come on now—round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies," Lockhart shouted.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" 

It had absolutely no effect. One of the pixies seized…

Harry picked up his wand and tossed it out of the window as well.

Ron and Susan burst into laughter, and Harry could have sworn one of the pixies shot them an approving glance. Meanwhile, Lockhart gulped and dove under his own desk.

Harry couldn't wait to tell their Head of House just how incompetent their professor was. Even Quirrell had more courage than Lockhart.

When the bell rang, chaos erupted as everyone rushed for the exit. In the brief calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, spotted Harry, Ron, and Susan still seated at their table, and said, “Well, I’ll ask you three to just nip the rest of them back into their cage.” He swept past them and quickly shut the door behind him.

The other Slytherin boys paused on their way out, giving Harry a questioning look. “Not a chance,” Harry snorted, striding out and leaving the pixies to wreak havoc in Lockhart's classroom.

For the rest of the week, Harry found himself dodging Lockhart, avoiding Colin Creevey from Gryffindor, and steering clear of Ron’s younger sister, Ginny. Ginny was a peculiar girl.

When she had been sorted, Ron had groaned softly and whispered to Harry that he’d never get another moment's rest. Yet, since their first night, Ginny had started turning a horrible shade of pale at the sight of Harry and running away.

It was annoying, but at least it was better than her blushing and stammering when they first met over the summer. He felt somewhat relieved after Professor Snape spent a good portion of their first lesson lamenting about incompetent teachers and the senile old men who hired them.

Even Neville chuckled when they overheard Snape grumbling about "morons with the vanity of a peacock and the brains of a dead troll."

On the first Saturday of term, Draco woke Harry up early and dragged him to breakfast the moment the doors opened. “Tryouts are at seven thirty!” Draco reminded him as Harry blearily sipped a hot cup of coffee.

“I know. You know how I know?

Because you’ve told me every five minutes since you woke me up!”

“Up at six,” Harry retorted. “I don’t know why I’m bothering.

Flint is friends with Lestrange; he’s never going to let me try out.” His dreams of playing Seeker for the Slytherin team, which Draco had encouraged, were quickly dashed the first night when he spotted Flint whispering with Dolohov and shooting him dark looks. “Don’t worry about that,” Draco said, puffing out his chest.

“I’ve already got a plan.” 

When the boys arrived on the pitch, Nimbus 2001s in hand, Harry tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter. Flying was exhilarating, and he could do it without being on the team.

Sure, it would be cool to be part of it, and training with Draco would be fun, but in the grand scheme of things, it really didn’t matter. Or at least, he thought he had convinced himself, until he felt a pang of disappointment when Flint saw him and burst out laughing.

“No way, Potter. Run along now.

Unless you’re trying out to be a bludger,” Flint said, shaking the bat he was holding menacingly. “Don’t curse him just yet,” Draco whispered to Harry, accurately reading the look on his face.

“Wanna make a bet?” Draco called out, drawing the attention of the Slytherin team and the other hopefuls. “What kind of bet?” Flint asked, narrowing his beady eyes.

“If you let Harry try out and don’t immediately put him on the team, I’ll buy you a Nimbus 2001,” Draco said confidently, casting a disdainful glance at Flint's worn broom. “Done,” Flint agreed quickly.

“What spot are you trying out for, Potter?” 

Draco smirked, a pleased look in his eyes, as Harry lined up with the other two older Slytherins vying for the Seeker position. “The flyer with the most apples after ten minutes gets the spot,” Flint called out once they were in the air.

“No cheating, Potter,” he added. After Harry caught the eighth apple in a row, deftly dodging around the other two, he felt a surge of hope.

It was clear that Harry didn't need to cheat to secure his spot on the team. When they landed, Flint looked furious enough to snap his broomstick in half.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Potter is the new seeker.”

Draco let out a loud cheer.

“WHOOP!” Harry couldn't help but beam at him. Draco had done something genuinely kind without expecting anything in return.

He could have easily feigned sympathy for Harry not getting to try out while taking the seeker position for himself. Harry promised himself he would find a way to repay him.

He didn’t expect his chance to come so soon. Draco was already in the air with eight other Slytherins, all vying for the one open chaser position.

Draco was a skilled flier and would likely become even better once he started training with the team. Still, some of the other students were already quite talented, and Draco had just irritated Flint on Harry’s behalf.

“I’ll buy the rest of the team brooms like mine and Draco’s if he makes the team,” Harry murmured, careful not to let anyone else hear. Flint turned his head so quickly it was almost comical.

“You mean it?”

Harry nodded. “But if you tell a single soul, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

Flint leaned in closer, a step away from Harry, and blew his whistle.

“I’ve made my decision! Land!” he shouted.

Harry listened to Draco brag about his ‘superior flying skills’ for the rest of the day, still smiling happily when he sent Sevvie off with an order form for five new Nimbus 2001s.