There were still a few people in the common room. A sixth-year girl was reading by the fireplace, and a fourth-year boy was doing his homework. Fred and George were nowhere to be seen—probably down in the dungeons again, tinkering with some new prank product. Ron sat on the sofa by the window with a copy of Quidditch Weekly in his hands. The cover showed a Chaser hanging upside down from a broomstick, his face hidden behind the magazine, leaving only a head of red hair visible.
Hearing footsteps, he set down the magazine and glanced at Harry. "Went to Lockhart's again?" His voice was quiet, but it carried a sour note he was trying, and failing, to hide.
"Yeah." Harry sat beside Ron, leaned back against the cushions, and closed his eyes.
"What did he say to you this time? 'Harry, your smile isn't bright enough. Come on, learn from me. Corners of your mouth up—yes, just like that'?" Ron imitated Lockhart's voice. It was not very convincing, but the tone was enough to make someone laugh.
Harry did not laugh. He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. A thin crack stretched from the chandelier to the corner of the wall, like a dried-up riverbed. He stared at it for a few seconds before saying, "He said Parseltongue isn't a curse. He said that the same tool can produce completely different results in different hands."
Ron fell silent for several seconds. His fingers unconsciously picked at the magazine cover, leaving a pale mark on it.
"I could say that too." His voice was muffled. "But you didn't." Harry's voice was quiet but flat, as though he were stating a fact he had confirmed countless times and no longer needed to verify.
Ron said nothing. He placed the