Disclaimer: We do not own the Harry Potter books, nor the films. I think
Neat has dibs on Alan Rickman, whereas I'm all for the guy who plays Oliver
Wood, but fangirl-ish obsessions aside, we are really two students, playing
about with JK.Rowling's world.
A/N: This would be set sometime between the fourth/fifth books, Harry, Ron and Hermione being around that age, but sidestepping the Voldemort issue, as this would be an event spanning an uneventful term, possibly the earlier parts of Book Four, and therefore not inclusive of the Triwizard Tournament.
***********************
Harry yawned, and stretched, blinking sleepily. His eyes met Ron's, blearily across Hermione's meticulous notes, and silently agreed on one thing. History of Magic with Professor Binns would have put an insomniac in a coma. Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry watched Hermione busily write, as the ghost teacher droned on. How she managed to withstand the soporific effect of goblin warfare, and complications with the treaty of wizards in 1678 was beyond him.
Professor Binns glanced up at the semi-dormant class over transparent pearly spectacles, and shuffled his notes. "Ah. There are only a few moments more," he said, in his thin, dry voice. "You may put away your quills."
"What have we got next?" Harry asked, tucking a stray piece of parchment back in his bag that wasn't covered in doodles of Snitches, and Quidditch maneuvers.
"Potions," Ron answered gloomily, with a sigh. "Snape seems to get nastier each lesson. I hope it's not poison antidotes again. He always chooses one that is really difficult."
"At least he doesn't test them on you," Harry pointed out. Hermione shook her head in exasperation.
"Oh honestly, Harry. You want to be an Auror, don't you? Poison antidotes is possibly the most useful thing you could be learning!'
"Not when it's Neville's potion, and more poisonous than the poison it's supposed to be an antidote for," Harry answered. He exchanged a look with Ron. "It's either that, or Snape failing me."
"Well," Hermione searched for a justification for the biting remarks of the Potions master, commenting on Harry's intelligence. "Oh, you'll just have to get on with him, that's all,' she said finally, giving up. "After all, if you want to be an Auror, you'll have to take Potions right up to the end. Even after OWLS."
"God, yeah, Harry. Urgh. Snape right up 'til you leave school." Ron scrunched up his face in disgust at the thought.
"You'll just have to make the best of it, Harry," Hermione said, not exactly comfortingly, but well-meant.
They walked into the Potions classroom, and hurried to desks; Ron and Hermione grouping nearby one cauldron, and Harry, his heart sinking, took the last empty place in the room, next to Neville.
"Mr Potter," Professor Snape began, his tone mild, his eyebrows raised as he regarded Harry. "Late as usual. You may be the first to answer. What is the purpose of a Thinking Draught?"
"To think, sir?" he offered, not really expecting anything. Snape glared at him.
"Wrong, Potter. Two points from Gryffindor. A Thinking Draught can disguise your thoughts for a brief time, when an attack from an enemy might include Legilimency. However, it is only of use once one is warned."
The remainder of the lesson went a great deal too slowly for Harry's liking, especially when Snape informed them icily that he and Neville had brewed up a Gibberish Potion instead of the Thinking Draught, would reduce the drinker to burbling rubbish for the next two days, and then withdrawn ten points from Gryffindor, each.
~ * ~
"I'm starting to really, *really* hate that git." Harry huffed over dinner that night, clearly still incensed by the Potions master's actions. "I mean, really, instead of actually TRYING to teach the people that need it like, let's say, Neville, he ENJOYS watching them flounder and drag their partners who just happen to be the son of his deceased childhood tormentor down with them!"
Taking a deep breath to calm himself after his rant, The Boy Who Lived frowned and looked in Neville's direction. "I don't mean anything by it to you, of course." He said, looking rather sheepish. "It's just-"
"Nah," Neville cut him off, with a wave of his hand. "I know I'm crap at Potions. And Professor Snape shouldn't hold my mistakes against you."
"That's just it, though." Harry replied, banging his fist on the table at the injustice of it all. "It's not YOUR mistakes that I'm really paying for, in the long run, is it? It's more or less my dad and his friends'. They went to school with Snape, you see, and-"
Neville laughed, "You've mentioned this before, Harry."
The other boy took on a sheepish expression once more. "Oh." He said, looking back at his mashed potatoes. "Right."
"You know," Hermione broke into the conversation, causing the boys to all groan. She scowled, and they stopped their external complaining. "Professor Snape's methods might be a little unconventional-"
Ron threw a bread roll at her. " Hermione," he began, taking on a tone of mock disappointment. "When are you going to learn that not all teachers are good at their jobs? Take Binns for example-"
"Binns?" the know-it-all echoed, arching an eyebrow in a very Snape-like manner. Ron shuddered.
"Yes, Binns," he stated matter-of-factly. "He's probably the most boring-"
"But he's SO determined to teach! He *DIED* for Merlin's sake, and STILL kept on at it."
"That doesn't make him GOOD at teaching, though, does it?" The redhead shot back, "Just makes him a ghostly bad teacher."
The girl folded her arms over her chest, and narrowed her gaze further. "Just because you have the attention span of a goldfish, Ronald Weasley, your finding the subject boring does NOT make Binns a bad teacher. Am I right, Harry?" She asked, pinning the boy with her stare.
He swallowed. "Er...." For his part, he agreed wholeheartedly with Ron on the topic. However, he knew what Hermione's temper could be like, and didn't really fancy being on the receiving end of it on this particular evening. "I think I'll just stay out of this one..... " He placed his knife and fork back onto his plate, and spun quickly to speak to Neville again. "So, Nev, you're finished then? Good. Fancy a game of Exploding Snap? Yeah? Great."
The other boy sat there, looking stunned as Harry bid his best friends -who were too busy arguing with each other to notice him- goodbye for the time being.
~ * ~
"Are we all here, then?' Dumbledore coughed, bringing the teachers' attention to himself. Snape sighed. No good, he had learnt, came from Dumbledore's announcements. It usually involved volunteering for something.
"Good, good," Dumbledore beamed at them, looking no more harmful than a particularly friendly grandfather would, but Snape knew the steel behind the kindly-looking old man. Dumbledore would be a part of Hogwarts long after his death.
"Professor Binns has been discussing something with me," Dumbledore continued, smiling brightly in the direction of the -only- dead member of staff. "It appears that a conference has come up, on which he has been invited to attend, both as a subject, and as a respected professor of history of magic. As you can imagine, I am most encouraging of his attendance."
Ah. So this was it. Dumbledore wanted someone to cover the ghost's lessons. Not a fizzing whizzbee's chance in hell, as far as Snape was concerned. He'd found History of Magic deathly dull when he had taken it, let alone teach another lot of Gryffindor students the boring facts. Personally, he'd rather be dosed up on Veritaserum, and asked about his personal life, at the end of term banquet.
"We were hoping that a professor already on staff would be able to cover Professor Binns' three week absence," Dumbledore said encouragingly. "His most impressive lesson plans cover any eventuality, and it would really be a case of sitting with a class."
The entire staff-room was silent. Everyone present, who had at some point in the last seventy years, attended Hogwarts, and therefore unavoidably, Binns' lessons, knew exactly what they were dealing with. An ecstatic class that couldn't believe their luck that Binns had gone.
"So, who would be willing to do it?" Dumbledore looked around the room. More silence. Then a woman stepped forward.
"I'll do it." Snape's lips curled into an automatic sneer at the sight of her. Sinistra was potty. More insane than Binns, if possible.
"I must protest, headmaster," he drawled, casting a disparaging eye over the other teacher. "Surely you wish the students to learn from a sane, and qualified member of staff?"
Sinistra scowled. "Then there's a reason for your employment, Severus? Or have you managed to get over your little vendetta against Potter?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "I would offer the post to you, Severus, but with your NEWT classes, you do not have the time. Professor Sinistra has very few daylight classes," he smiled in her direction. "If you are happy to take it, Professor, I am happy to pass History of magic to you for the time of Professor Binns' absence."
The Potions Master scowled, and waited a moment, allowing Sinistra to accept the position. A few seconds later, he rose from his seat, and met Albus' eyes. "I trust that is all?" He enquired, his tone curt. "It is getting rather late, and I have other duties to which I must attend. Besides," he added, glancing once more at Sinistra with barely concealed distaste, "The bats of the castle must miss their leader so."
"Then hurry along, Severus." Sinistra was quick to retort, examining her nails casually. "We wouldn't want for them to come looking for you, now, would we?"
"Children!" The headmaster interrupted, eyeing his former students wearily. "I trust you can resume this discussion at a later time? As....entertaining....as your banter is, I fear we have further issues to discuss yet." Snape's frown deepened, causing Albus' eyes to twinkle merrily. "So, unfortunately, my dear boy, I must ask you to take a seat once more. I hope your 'other duties' are not of extreme urgency."
Sinistra sniggered blatantly, and the sound escalated as the Head of Slytherin silently dropped back into his chair, looking every bit like a obnoxious child who had just been admonished by an authority figure. Once she had actually processed the thought properly, her sniggers became laughter, earning her the attention of most of the staff.
She blushed, and ducked her head. "Sorry," she muttered, looking back at the headmaster, avoiding Snape's glare. "I.... remembered an amusing anecdote..... I didn't mean to disrupt."
"Quite all right, my dear. Quite all right." Albus beamed, tilting his head to the side. "Though you must describe the tale to me some time. I always enjoy a good chuckle."
Smiling serenely, and wishing for her face to stop burning, she nodded. "Of course, Headmaster."
Dumbledore grinned back at her before continuing to discuss issues of Quidditch and Yule Balls with the staff.
Sinistra sighed to herself, satisfied that she had escaped any further interrogation from her colleagues, and kept her eyes on Albus as he spoke, even though she knew she was being watched. With another sigh, she shifted uneasily in her seat. She hated being observed by..... others. It made her edgy. Incredibly edgy.
" ....So, thanks to Professor Sinistra-" Albus was saying.
She jumped. "What?" She asked nervously, before realizing that the Headmaster had been talking ABOUT her and not TO her. For the second time that evening, she felt her cheeks burn and cursed herself. She was behaving like a first year, for Merlin's sake, and NOT the esteemed Professor that she actually was.
Minerva glanced at her former pupil curiously from across the room. "Are you quite alright?"
The Astrology professor nodded. "I'm fine, Minerva. I assure you."
"Indeed," Severus sneered from a few feet away, also addressing The Head of Gryffindor. "Whereas the mental health of Professor Sinistra is, as always, questionable, I believe," he glanced in the direction of the staff-room clock, not allowing either woman time to retaliate. "Albus was summarizing the events of the meeting?"
He smirked wickedly at the furious looks on their faces.
Sometimes the staff meetings weren't completely awful after all.
~ * ~
The pile of Snap cards exploded, sending cards flying all over the half empty common-room. The first years had been hustled upstairs by the prefects, the second and third years following soon after. The embers of the fire glowed still, dying slowly.
"Oh no," Neville sighed, sliding off his chair to scramble about for the cards, "Gran will kill me if I have to buy another packet. I forgot those were the new ones. They're really temperamental to begin with."
Obediently, Harry got down onto his hands and knees, hunting the cards across the floor of the common room, observed amusedly by the older students, looking up from books, or conversation, or even the occasional game of chess.
"That's nearly all of them," Neville said, counting the last two into the pack. "One more. Did you see where it went?" Harry's eyes searched the floor, and fell on the large bookcase, an ancient oak carved thing, stacked with mildewed textbooks, and items on Godric Gryffindor, the house, and of course, the school's rules, and charter, which he very much doubted anyone -bar Hermione- read. Beneath it, a tiny corner of white was poking out.
He bent down, and pulled out the card, and noticed something behind it. Something bigger, darker. He tugged on it, and out slid a slim book, bound in rather faded black leather. He flicked through the pages, thick with damp, and covered in writing, loopy and swirly.
"What you found, Harry?" Neville called cheerfully. Harry inspected it, cautiously. Things found at Hogwarts fell into one of two categories. Suspicious, with a degree of evil, and suspicious, with a degree of weird. Another diary kept on springing into mind.
At least this one's got writing on, he thought, wryly. He tucked it into his pocket, and stood up, holding out the card.
"Just a book. Thought Hermione might find it interesting," he shrugged, suddenly wondering where the two were. It wasn't like Hermione to stay out this late. He looked at the grandfather clock, ticking mildly away in a corner of the common-room. Ten. He and Neville had been playing on and off since seven.
Neville nodded. "Alright then. Better get to bed, Astronomy tomorrow," he reminded Harry. He shook his head dolefully. "I can never stay up without falling asleep in History of Magic the next day. Why do they put it the day before History? It's torture."
"Mm," Harry agreed, surreptitiously sliding a hand into his pocket to check the diary was still there. He yawned. "Better get to bed, too," he said, with a look toward Neville. "See you up there. I'm going to wait for Ron."
The boy nodded again, shuffling his cards into a stack, and left for the dormitories, while Harry settled down into a chair, to wait.
It wasn't long before the two made their oh-so-distinct entrance. Ron stormed in, glaring, his freckles standing out against his livid face as Hermione followed, pink-cheeked, her hair mussed.
"Well, Ron, if you will insist to bait Malfoy, expect him to fight back. Honestly, you're like children," she shook her head. "And anyway, why are you so upset? It's not like he got away with cursing you. Ginny got him with her Bat-Bogey Hex."
"It's the principle of it, Hermione," Ron protested, annoyed. "Malfoy cursed me, not her. Why did you stop me turning him into a slug?"
"Well, for one thing, you have very bad luck with slugs and Malfoy around," Hermione shot back, flustered. Ron snorted, and stalked towards the stairs. "Oh Ron, I didn't mean it," Hermione protested, following him to the foot of the stairs. She glanced around, her eyes falling on Harry.
"Oh. Have you been waiting for us?" she asked.
* ~ *
A/N: And that's the first chapter. REVIEW!!
A/N: This would be set sometime between the fourth/fifth books, Harry, Ron and Hermione being around that age, but sidestepping the Voldemort issue, as this would be an event spanning an uneventful term, possibly the earlier parts of Book Four, and therefore not inclusive of the Triwizard Tournament.
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Harry yawned, and stretched, blinking sleepily. His eyes met Ron's, blearily across Hermione's meticulous notes, and silently agreed on one thing. History of Magic with Professor Binns would have put an insomniac in a coma. Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry watched Hermione busily write, as the ghost teacher droned on. How she managed to withstand the soporific effect of goblin warfare, and complications with the treaty of wizards in 1678 was beyond him.
Professor Binns glanced up at the semi-dormant class over transparent pearly spectacles, and shuffled his notes. "Ah. There are only a few moments more," he said, in his thin, dry voice. "You may put away your quills."
"What have we got next?" Harry asked, tucking a stray piece of parchment back in his bag that wasn't covered in doodles of Snitches, and Quidditch maneuvers.
"Potions," Ron answered gloomily, with a sigh. "Snape seems to get nastier each lesson. I hope it's not poison antidotes again. He always chooses one that is really difficult."
"At least he doesn't test them on you," Harry pointed out. Hermione shook her head in exasperation.
"Oh honestly, Harry. You want to be an Auror, don't you? Poison antidotes is possibly the most useful thing you could be learning!'
"Not when it's Neville's potion, and more poisonous than the poison it's supposed to be an antidote for," Harry answered. He exchanged a look with Ron. "It's either that, or Snape failing me."
"Well," Hermione searched for a justification for the biting remarks of the Potions master, commenting on Harry's intelligence. "Oh, you'll just have to get on with him, that's all,' she said finally, giving up. "After all, if you want to be an Auror, you'll have to take Potions right up to the end. Even after OWLS."
"God, yeah, Harry. Urgh. Snape right up 'til you leave school." Ron scrunched up his face in disgust at the thought.
"You'll just have to make the best of it, Harry," Hermione said, not exactly comfortingly, but well-meant.
They walked into the Potions classroom, and hurried to desks; Ron and Hermione grouping nearby one cauldron, and Harry, his heart sinking, took the last empty place in the room, next to Neville.
"Mr Potter," Professor Snape began, his tone mild, his eyebrows raised as he regarded Harry. "Late as usual. You may be the first to answer. What is the purpose of a Thinking Draught?"
"To think, sir?" he offered, not really expecting anything. Snape glared at him.
"Wrong, Potter. Two points from Gryffindor. A Thinking Draught can disguise your thoughts for a brief time, when an attack from an enemy might include Legilimency. However, it is only of use once one is warned."
The remainder of the lesson went a great deal too slowly for Harry's liking, especially when Snape informed them icily that he and Neville had brewed up a Gibberish Potion instead of the Thinking Draught, would reduce the drinker to burbling rubbish for the next two days, and then withdrawn ten points from Gryffindor, each.
~ * ~
"I'm starting to really, *really* hate that git." Harry huffed over dinner that night, clearly still incensed by the Potions master's actions. "I mean, really, instead of actually TRYING to teach the people that need it like, let's say, Neville, he ENJOYS watching them flounder and drag their partners who just happen to be the son of his deceased childhood tormentor down with them!"
Taking a deep breath to calm himself after his rant, The Boy Who Lived frowned and looked in Neville's direction. "I don't mean anything by it to you, of course." He said, looking rather sheepish. "It's just-"
"Nah," Neville cut him off, with a wave of his hand. "I know I'm crap at Potions. And Professor Snape shouldn't hold my mistakes against you."
"That's just it, though." Harry replied, banging his fist on the table at the injustice of it all. "It's not YOUR mistakes that I'm really paying for, in the long run, is it? It's more or less my dad and his friends'. They went to school with Snape, you see, and-"
Neville laughed, "You've mentioned this before, Harry."
The other boy took on a sheepish expression once more. "Oh." He said, looking back at his mashed potatoes. "Right."
"You know," Hermione broke into the conversation, causing the boys to all groan. She scowled, and they stopped their external complaining. "Professor Snape's methods might be a little unconventional-"
Ron threw a bread roll at her. " Hermione," he began, taking on a tone of mock disappointment. "When are you going to learn that not all teachers are good at their jobs? Take Binns for example-"
"Binns?" the know-it-all echoed, arching an eyebrow in a very Snape-like manner. Ron shuddered.
"Yes, Binns," he stated matter-of-factly. "He's probably the most boring-"
"But he's SO determined to teach! He *DIED* for Merlin's sake, and STILL kept on at it."
"That doesn't make him GOOD at teaching, though, does it?" The redhead shot back, "Just makes him a ghostly bad teacher."
The girl folded her arms over her chest, and narrowed her gaze further. "Just because you have the attention span of a goldfish, Ronald Weasley, your finding the subject boring does NOT make Binns a bad teacher. Am I right, Harry?" She asked, pinning the boy with her stare.
He swallowed. "Er...." For his part, he agreed wholeheartedly with Ron on the topic. However, he knew what Hermione's temper could be like, and didn't really fancy being on the receiving end of it on this particular evening. "I think I'll just stay out of this one..... " He placed his knife and fork back onto his plate, and spun quickly to speak to Neville again. "So, Nev, you're finished then? Good. Fancy a game of Exploding Snap? Yeah? Great."
The other boy sat there, looking stunned as Harry bid his best friends -who were too busy arguing with each other to notice him- goodbye for the time being.
~ * ~
"Are we all here, then?' Dumbledore coughed, bringing the teachers' attention to himself. Snape sighed. No good, he had learnt, came from Dumbledore's announcements. It usually involved volunteering for something.
"Good, good," Dumbledore beamed at them, looking no more harmful than a particularly friendly grandfather would, but Snape knew the steel behind the kindly-looking old man. Dumbledore would be a part of Hogwarts long after his death.
"Professor Binns has been discussing something with me," Dumbledore continued, smiling brightly in the direction of the -only- dead member of staff. "It appears that a conference has come up, on which he has been invited to attend, both as a subject, and as a respected professor of history of magic. As you can imagine, I am most encouraging of his attendance."
Ah. So this was it. Dumbledore wanted someone to cover the ghost's lessons. Not a fizzing whizzbee's chance in hell, as far as Snape was concerned. He'd found History of Magic deathly dull when he had taken it, let alone teach another lot of Gryffindor students the boring facts. Personally, he'd rather be dosed up on Veritaserum, and asked about his personal life, at the end of term banquet.
"We were hoping that a professor already on staff would be able to cover Professor Binns' three week absence," Dumbledore said encouragingly. "His most impressive lesson plans cover any eventuality, and it would really be a case of sitting with a class."
The entire staff-room was silent. Everyone present, who had at some point in the last seventy years, attended Hogwarts, and therefore unavoidably, Binns' lessons, knew exactly what they were dealing with. An ecstatic class that couldn't believe their luck that Binns had gone.
"So, who would be willing to do it?" Dumbledore looked around the room. More silence. Then a woman stepped forward.
"I'll do it." Snape's lips curled into an automatic sneer at the sight of her. Sinistra was potty. More insane than Binns, if possible.
"I must protest, headmaster," he drawled, casting a disparaging eye over the other teacher. "Surely you wish the students to learn from a sane, and qualified member of staff?"
Sinistra scowled. "Then there's a reason for your employment, Severus? Or have you managed to get over your little vendetta against Potter?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "I would offer the post to you, Severus, but with your NEWT classes, you do not have the time. Professor Sinistra has very few daylight classes," he smiled in her direction. "If you are happy to take it, Professor, I am happy to pass History of magic to you for the time of Professor Binns' absence."
The Potions Master scowled, and waited a moment, allowing Sinistra to accept the position. A few seconds later, he rose from his seat, and met Albus' eyes. "I trust that is all?" He enquired, his tone curt. "It is getting rather late, and I have other duties to which I must attend. Besides," he added, glancing once more at Sinistra with barely concealed distaste, "The bats of the castle must miss their leader so."
"Then hurry along, Severus." Sinistra was quick to retort, examining her nails casually. "We wouldn't want for them to come looking for you, now, would we?"
"Children!" The headmaster interrupted, eyeing his former students wearily. "I trust you can resume this discussion at a later time? As....entertaining....as your banter is, I fear we have further issues to discuss yet." Snape's frown deepened, causing Albus' eyes to twinkle merrily. "So, unfortunately, my dear boy, I must ask you to take a seat once more. I hope your 'other duties' are not of extreme urgency."
Sinistra sniggered blatantly, and the sound escalated as the Head of Slytherin silently dropped back into his chair, looking every bit like a obnoxious child who had just been admonished by an authority figure. Once she had actually processed the thought properly, her sniggers became laughter, earning her the attention of most of the staff.
She blushed, and ducked her head. "Sorry," she muttered, looking back at the headmaster, avoiding Snape's glare. "I.... remembered an amusing anecdote..... I didn't mean to disrupt."
"Quite all right, my dear. Quite all right." Albus beamed, tilting his head to the side. "Though you must describe the tale to me some time. I always enjoy a good chuckle."
Smiling serenely, and wishing for her face to stop burning, she nodded. "Of course, Headmaster."
Dumbledore grinned back at her before continuing to discuss issues of Quidditch and Yule Balls with the staff.
Sinistra sighed to herself, satisfied that she had escaped any further interrogation from her colleagues, and kept her eyes on Albus as he spoke, even though she knew she was being watched. With another sigh, she shifted uneasily in her seat. She hated being observed by..... others. It made her edgy. Incredibly edgy.
" ....So, thanks to Professor Sinistra-" Albus was saying.
She jumped. "What?" She asked nervously, before realizing that the Headmaster had been talking ABOUT her and not TO her. For the second time that evening, she felt her cheeks burn and cursed herself. She was behaving like a first year, for Merlin's sake, and NOT the esteemed Professor that she actually was.
Minerva glanced at her former pupil curiously from across the room. "Are you quite alright?"
The Astrology professor nodded. "I'm fine, Minerva. I assure you."
"Indeed," Severus sneered from a few feet away, also addressing The Head of Gryffindor. "Whereas the mental health of Professor Sinistra is, as always, questionable, I believe," he glanced in the direction of the staff-room clock, not allowing either woman time to retaliate. "Albus was summarizing the events of the meeting?"
He smirked wickedly at the furious looks on their faces.
Sometimes the staff meetings weren't completely awful after all.
~ * ~
The pile of Snap cards exploded, sending cards flying all over the half empty common-room. The first years had been hustled upstairs by the prefects, the second and third years following soon after. The embers of the fire glowed still, dying slowly.
"Oh no," Neville sighed, sliding off his chair to scramble about for the cards, "Gran will kill me if I have to buy another packet. I forgot those were the new ones. They're really temperamental to begin with."
Obediently, Harry got down onto his hands and knees, hunting the cards across the floor of the common room, observed amusedly by the older students, looking up from books, or conversation, or even the occasional game of chess.
"That's nearly all of them," Neville said, counting the last two into the pack. "One more. Did you see where it went?" Harry's eyes searched the floor, and fell on the large bookcase, an ancient oak carved thing, stacked with mildewed textbooks, and items on Godric Gryffindor, the house, and of course, the school's rules, and charter, which he very much doubted anyone -bar Hermione- read. Beneath it, a tiny corner of white was poking out.
He bent down, and pulled out the card, and noticed something behind it. Something bigger, darker. He tugged on it, and out slid a slim book, bound in rather faded black leather. He flicked through the pages, thick with damp, and covered in writing, loopy and swirly.
"What you found, Harry?" Neville called cheerfully. Harry inspected it, cautiously. Things found at Hogwarts fell into one of two categories. Suspicious, with a degree of evil, and suspicious, with a degree of weird. Another diary kept on springing into mind.
At least this one's got writing on, he thought, wryly. He tucked it into his pocket, and stood up, holding out the card.
"Just a book. Thought Hermione might find it interesting," he shrugged, suddenly wondering where the two were. It wasn't like Hermione to stay out this late. He looked at the grandfather clock, ticking mildly away in a corner of the common-room. Ten. He and Neville had been playing on and off since seven.
Neville nodded. "Alright then. Better get to bed, Astronomy tomorrow," he reminded Harry. He shook his head dolefully. "I can never stay up without falling asleep in History of Magic the next day. Why do they put it the day before History? It's torture."
"Mm," Harry agreed, surreptitiously sliding a hand into his pocket to check the diary was still there. He yawned. "Better get to bed, too," he said, with a look toward Neville. "See you up there. I'm going to wait for Ron."
The boy nodded again, shuffling his cards into a stack, and left for the dormitories, while Harry settled down into a chair, to wait.
It wasn't long before the two made their oh-so-distinct entrance. Ron stormed in, glaring, his freckles standing out against his livid face as Hermione followed, pink-cheeked, her hair mussed.
"Well, Ron, if you will insist to bait Malfoy, expect him to fight back. Honestly, you're like children," she shook her head. "And anyway, why are you so upset? It's not like he got away with cursing you. Ginny got him with her Bat-Bogey Hex."
"It's the principle of it, Hermione," Ron protested, annoyed. "Malfoy cursed me, not her. Why did you stop me turning him into a slug?"
"Well, for one thing, you have very bad luck with slugs and Malfoy around," Hermione shot back, flustered. Ron snorted, and stalked towards the stairs. "Oh Ron, I didn't mean it," Hermione protested, following him to the foot of the stairs. She glanced around, her eyes falling on Harry.
"Oh. Have you been waiting for us?" she asked.
* ~ *
A/N: And that's the first chapter. REVIEW!!