Dun dun duuuuun. Guess who's (tentatively) back! I know, I know, I'm a horrible, terrible person for not updating. I swear to god, I thought about it each and every time I received an e-mail about one of you revewing, and I actually finished this chapter awhile back, but refrained from posting it until I could get into the swing of things again. I'm hopefullyhopefullyhopefully going to have a more steady writing schedule set up now that university's back in session and I will do nothing more day in and day out than sit in front of my computer. So, here I am, thanking all of you for your admirable, outstanding patience, and hoping I haven't lost you yet.

On with the show!

Chapter Two: The Great Gilderoy Lockhart

"What were you doing in there, anyway?" Harry said once we'd safely escaped the creepy population of Knockturn Alley. They were severely lacking in teeth, and hair, and clean clothes, and hygiene and I wasn't quite sure what it was that made everyone who lived past the sign that told you which alley you were in quite so unpleasant, but I certainly wasn't sticking around to find out.

And so as we slipped back into bright and sunny and bolstering Diagon Alley, I wondered what we must look like to them. Just young twelve-year-olds, one slightly showered in dust, the other decidedly nervous, exiting a place they shouldn't be without their adult supervision—although in Harry's defense, it's not like the Weasleys had sent him there alone. Actually, that reminded me…

I turned to Harry, frowning a moment before socking him in the arm. "Ow!" he hissed, grabbing his shoulder. "What was that for?"

"This is the first time all summer I've seen you, let alone heard from you, Harry Potter!" I huffed. "What does it take for you to answer your owls, mister?"

He turned a rather bright shade of red. "Err, well, you see." And his hand came up to scratch at the back of his neck. "I didn't get any owls."

"You what?" I frowned, quite certain between us both; Hermione and I had sent enough owls to feed a small village. Or something. "But we sent—"

"I know," he held up his hands to stop my quickly forming outburst. "Listen, I would've written back if they'd gotten to me, only, there was this house elf named Dobby who stole them, and—"

"A house elf? Named Dobby?" I frowned, testing the name out on my tongue. It prickled with familiarity, something I did not like. The last time I'd felt like that was seeing the bracelet around my wrist, the one Draco had given me for my birthday—the one I'd left at Malfoy Manor as a child. I shuddered just thinking about it.

"Yes, he tried to convince me not to come back to Hogwarts."

"Well, that's a little strange," my frowned worsened as we made our way down the main street. "Did he say why?"

"Something dangerous was to happen."

"Wasn't that last year?" I laughed, and slowly, Harry did too. And then, there were three of us smiling and laughing as a mass of brown bushy hair swept in, arms wide, smothering Harry in a hug. "Hermione! Careful, you'll strangle the boy!"

"We were getting worried, you'd been gone for so long," she revealed, pulling away from him and turning to face me. "So I came to find you and—Harry, why do you look awful?"

"Floo Powder," he shrugged.

"Right," she wrinkled her nose. "Miss Weasley said something about that."

"You've seen her?"

"Of course! The whole family's in line at Flourish and Blotts with us, waiting to get our books signed by Gilderoy Lockhart!"

There was a moment where Harry frowned, and I could tell he was going to ask. I shook my head, but he never saw it. "Who?"

"Oh, Harry, you haven't heard of Gilderoy Lockhart?" she gasped, and I tried to push us along, down the street, sending her a quiet glare.

"Hermione, I really don't think he—" but it wasn't like I got to finish, as she was suddenly explaining away, her face lit up with glee. And I almost hated to ruin her fun—almost—but I cleared my throat, tugged at her sleeve and reminded her we had somewhere to be.

"Right," she nodded. "Right! Well, we'll just have to show you who he is, then." She beamed and I rolled my eyes. The man was a—well, not exactly a legend, per say, but more of a celebrity. He'd defeated great beasts, cured diseases and went on many grand, Wizarding adventures. He'd written about all of them, of course, and it was through these books that Hermione had familiarized herself with his every work and word and image. She was likely in love, at this point. And sure, the man was attractive, but he was a right loon. Not that I would ever tell her that, of course. I fancied keeping my own head, thanks.

As we pushed into Flourish and Blotts, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. I wasn't sure why, but it stuck with me until we reached the line where our parents were waiting and I was reunited with mum. Her eyes lit up at seeing me and she swept me into her arms, chuckling. "Wandered off, did you?"

"Found Harry," I beamed as beside us, Mrs. Weasley began fussing over him. The dust on his robes and in his hair. When they finally settled around us, it was quite the task to peer around everyone to get a good look at him. Gilderoy Lockhart sat at the front of the line, at a large table stacked with his own written works, scribbling into every book that landed before him, an enormous smile upon his lips. Dazzling even. And he had on bright blue robes that complimented his golden hair rather nicely.

I had mentioned I thought he was ridiculously attractive, hadn't I? No? Oh, well, now I had.

And I wasn't the only one either. "Mum fancies him," Ron was telling Harry, watching his mother pat her hair and straighten her robe. She shot her son a look before jabbing him in the shoulder, and I giggled. At least, I did until the wind was nearly knocked from my lungs as a short man with a camera stomped past and I was almost pushed to the floor. Hermione grabbed my shoulder, steadying me as he announced his presence: "Out of the way! This is for The Daily Prophet."

Figures.

Gilderoy Lockhart looked up then, rewarding the man with an absolutely brilliant smile. Only, his eyes weren't in it. No, instead, they were focused in this direction. On me? No, couldn't be. Past me. Which meant—

"It can't be…," I heard him say in wonder. "Harry Potter?"

And it was at that point that the line we were standing in became unbearably uncomfortable. Whispers erupted through the crowd and Mrs. Weasley excitedly pushed Harry forward and out of line, up towards the table where Lockhart stood. I never got to see them shake hands, of course, as the people in Flourish and Blotts were suddenly abuzz and bustling about, getting in the way and pushing one another around for a better view of Harry Potter meeting Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Nice big smile, Harry. Together, you and I make the front page!"

Ridiculously attractive, yes. A pompous loon, also.

I swore loudly as someone stepped on my foot, and squeezed Hermione's arm to get her attention. "Tell Mum I'll be around, alright?" She nodded, grin stretching wide on her lips. No doubt she'd stick around to get the best view and get every piece of parchment she owned signed by him. I'd nick one off her later, as a keepsake, or something.

"—extraordinary moment, this is, ladies and gentlemen, as young Harry here surely didn't expect when he stepped into this fine establishment this morning that he'd—"

The further I got from the line, the more Lockhart's voice faded away and I could think to myself. It was exciting, pondering what was to come this year at Hogwarts. No new courses, not until Third Year, but at least we'd be learning more in them. More spells with McGonagall and charms with Flitwick. More potions with Snape and jinxes with—well, I didn't exactly know who would be teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts, but surely they'd be an excellent teacher. Dumbledore would find only the best to replace—well, he'd find a great new teacher, I was sure.

I tried not to think about why we'd be needing another Professor, of course. It was better not to. As much as I could say last year had been eventful, and quite an interesting start to my education at Hogwarts, I was hoping, at least, the Second Year would pass more smoothly. After all, there was one big difference between First and Second Year I was looking forward to.

No more ruddy flying lessons.

It was this I thought of—the fact that I needn't be on a broom again for as long as I liked—that made me so giddy I didn't notice someone was at the top of the stairs I'd bounded up to hunt for books, required reading material list held firmly between my fingers. I ran smack into said someone and nearly knocked us both to the ground.

"Bloody hell, Elena, you think you could watch where you're going?" the person snapped, and I made note to kick myself later for not looking where I was going—or who I was running into, for that matter.

"Draco," I nodded, using the railing to steady myself as I watched him rub the spot on his chest, next to his Slytherin crest, where I'd slammed int—hang on. Chest? Since when did my head reach only his chest? I looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and frowned. His hair was slicked back, much as it had been last year, but it was longer, and his shoulders had adjusted to his new height accordingly. "See you've grown."

He smirked. "See you haven't."

Yet I ate all the bloody vegetables and foods Mum said would make me sprout up. Funny how that worked. I noticed, then, he too held paper in his hand. Only, it wasn't a school list on parchment, like me. No, instead it looked very much like the page from a book. "Draco…," I started. "Did you rip that out of a book?"

His eyes widened, just for a moment, and then it was gone, replaced by a roll of his shoulder and a shake of his head. "'Course not," he huffed, folding it and stuffing in his pocket before I could get a better look at it. Silence stung at my ears a moment, and my feet shuffled awkwardly against the wooden floor before I decided to speak up again.

"Excited to go back?" I asked, offering him a small smile.

"More than you know." His smirk intensified, making him look smug. "Second Years get to try out for their House Teams. Of course, I'm a shoe-in for Seeker, but I s'pose I'll be going anyway." Quidditch Tryouts? Why did that sound familiar to me? "After all, I'll have an audience to look out for, won't I, Elena?"

I nearly swore aloud. Bugger. That's right. He'd helped me last year with the Flying Final on one condition—that I attend the tryouts this year to see him. And I'd passed thanks to him, so… "Of course," I chuckled, idly rubbing the back of my neck with one hand. "I haven't forgotten."

"Good," he grinned, before his eyes flickered briefly to my hand, and he eyed the bracelet. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sounds of people cheering down below distracted us both, and the moment slipped away. Instead, his brow furrowed in a way I didn't like, and there was no kindness in his voice when he spoke again. "Potter's just loving it, isn't he?"

I rolled my eyes instinctively. "Really?" I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest. "You're on this a bit early, don't you think? We haven't even started school."

"And yet Saint Potter's already—"

"Stop," I snapped. "Just stop it." The smug look fell away from his face, and I shook my head, turning away. "I'll see you at Hogwarts, Draco." I could find my books later, with Mum, when he wasn't around. I didn't fancy getting a letter for underage magic outside of Hogwarts for hexing him this early on. He reached for my arm, and called my name, following me down the stairs towards the front of the shop, but I ignored him.

"Elena, listen—" but whatever excuse he'd had ready to go left him when we arrived at the base of the stairs and found Harry dumping a pile of books into Ginny's cauldron, accompanied by the rest of the Weasleys, Hermione and Mum. He bumped my shoulder as he skidded to a stop. "My, my, if it isn't Lockhart's new best friend."

I muttered, "Shove off, Draco," at the same time that Ginny, Ron's little sister, told him, "Leave Harry alone!" Her grip tightened on the handle of her cauldron as beside me, Draco sneered.

"Got yourself a girlfriend, have you?"

"Will you—" the rest of my threat came out a shrill yelp as a something slammed into the railing of the stairs beside me. My eyes focused on it—a cane? Oh bugger. I knew that cane. I'd seen it not half an hour ago inside Borgin and Burkes with a particularly unpleasant customer. A customer whose son I was standing beside.

"Silence, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said sternly, and I watched his lips purse as he narrowed his eyes at his father, who smiled down at me. "Ah, Elena, so you found Draco afterall." Beside me, Draco's brow rose in question, and his earlier smirk returned. I practically groaned. Thanks so very much for putting it like that, Mr. Malfoy. Because, y'know, now your son believed I wanted something to do with him, when right now I'd rather hex him into another dimension. How nice of you.

And then, of course, because he had to make things more mortifying, he pulled a very small and very familiar telescope from his robe, and offered it to me. "I believe you left this behind at the shop." He said, and I stared down at the StarSeer like it was poisonous or something. Briefly, my eyes flickered up and met Mum's, and she gave me a questioning look. Oh, Mum, would that I could shrug and tell you I hadn't a clue what was going on.

Reluctantly, I took it, thanking him quietly as his attention turned away and onto Harry. Draco elbowed me, but I didn't look up. No thank you, can of worms, you could stay shut for now. "Mr. Potter, I don't believe we've met," Lucius stated, extending his hand towards Harry. I wondered, briefly, if Harry would shake it, realizing as he must that this was Draco's father. But it seemed that Lucius didn't intend to shake his hand at all—as he aimed high and brushed Harry's bangs away to look at his scar. "Forgive me, Mr. Potter, but your scar is legend. As, of course, is the wizard who gave it to you."

"He was a murderer."

"Yes, pity about your parents. Curious that you yourself should escape with a mere flesh wound, of course. Curious, too, that you speak of him in the past. Surely, you don't think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone forever."

And then I remembered the box of questionable things he'd brought into Borgin's shop, and how astonished the man had seemed. Hadn't he been about to say whose things they were? Suddenly I felt very very awkward.

"His name is Voldemort."

Oh, look, more awkward. Anyone within earshot had suddenly gone quiet, some with hands over their mouths to dispel their gasp, and if I listened hard enough, I could almost hear chirping in the empty space left behind. I'd told him last year that it made me—and anyone else who'd grown up in the magical community since the war, heck during the war—rather uncomfortable. It set my teeth on edge, personally.

"You must be very brave, Mr. Potter, to dare speak his name. Or foolish."

Or both. I almost snorted. If only he knew. But the things that had happened last year in the Third Floor Corridor were, naturally, our secret.

"Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself," Hermione spoke up then, and as her eyes drifted my way, I grinned, before they flickered back up to stare defiantly at Lucius. That's my best friend right there, folks. With impeccable timing and a witty rejoinder. Draco's father seemed to hum derisively.

"You must be Miss Granger. Draco's told me all about you…and your parents." He looked past us and further into the store, where they were talking with Ron's father, Arthur. The skin on the back of my neck prickled unpleasantly. We needed to leave. Now. "Muggles, aren't they?"

"Yes," she said quietly, and I stepped forward, grabbing hold of her arm.

"And just leaving," I added with a tight smile, and noticed Mum turn away to retrieve the Grangers. "It was nice seeing you, Mr. Malfoy."

Not.

Without waiting for an answer, I dragged Hermione out of the shop, and hoped to Merlin we didn't have to cross the Malfoys again through the rest of our shopping.