This is a joint fanfic written for a competition on a HP forum, namely Enchanted Sanctum. Chapter 1 is my work, Chapter 2 is draco-is-the-punk's. We had to write a story about a background character in our house (Ravenclaw!!!), so we did it about Terry Boot. Basically, his name suggests that his family are Christians (check the HP Lexicon for more info), so we elaborated on that. This story is about his struggle between his faith and his place in the wizarding world. Thanks to Kodiak for the idea!!!

The first rays of sunlight burst through the night, illuminating the room through rain-soaked windows. A long shadow was thrown across a worn wooden table, the culprit; a dog-eared book. It had a green leather spine, with the worn look most books in this library lacked. It was popular, after all.

Popularity was no good reason as far as Madam Pince was concerned. She stalked across from the doorway and took the book in her clawed hands, nails tapping the cover in suppressed frustration. She flicked through the pages, her eagle eyes searching for evidence of a misdemeanour. Evidently, they found nothing, for she paused on the front page, her beak-like nose swooping down into the parchment:

E. Macmillan - 12 August

Nine days ago now. The criminal must have been out after hours, the librarian thought, making a mental note to inform Mr. Filch. She closed the book carefully, and for a moment the newly risen sun illuminated the cover:

Quidditch Through The Ages

Kennilworthy Whisp

Before long, however, the book was swept away in her hands, returned to it's rightful place on a nearby shelf.

The bookshelf shook slightly as a boy crashed into it. He looked up nervously, watching the thick books on the top shelves shake, threatening to jump. He breathed a sigh of relief as the dust settled and the library slept once more.

He turned his attention to the next problem. His bag had split down the middle, and his school books were soaked in ink. He sighed, drew his wand, and magically cleaned the ink from the floor. He made his bag fit to carry books temporarily, and stuffed the sodden objects inside, thinking he would do best to get up off the floor quickly. The air seemed to breath in anticipation as he scrambled to his feet.

He paused for a moment, looking around nervously. He could hear Madam Pince rushing around in the restricted section, making enough noise to cover his disturbance. Relaxing, he scanned the shelf, searching for the book Anthony had mentioned. His fingers spotted the familiar green leather, and he slid it from between it's neighbours. He quickly decided to take it back to the common room; the idea of being alone in the library with only Madam Pince's hawk-eyes for company was not welcoming to any Hogwarts student.

He grabbed a quill from a worn wooden table and dipped the nib in an abandoned empty ink bottle, containing barely enough ink to sign his name and the date in the front cover:

T. Boot - 21 August

Terry walked into the Ravenclaw common room ten minutes later, cradling his bag in his arms for fear of it breaking again. He spotted his two best friends by the window and walked over.

"Have you got a baby in there or something?" Michael Corner was lying back in an armchair, looking as though he had only just woken up and did not want to be there.

Anthony Goldstein rolled his eyes. "Ignore him. Did you get it?" He asked, with the expression of an excited chimpanzee.

Terry laughed. "My bag split, right in the middle of the library. I'm lucky Pince wasn't there. I got it, though." He grinned, pulling the book out of his bag and placing it on the table.

The pair paused. Neither of them really knew what to do next. Well, neither of them wanted to do it. Michael sighed.

"Will you get it over with so we can get some breakfast?"

Terry and Anthony were shook from their thoughts. They both turned to look at Micheal, then the book, then each other. Micheal sat up and grabbed the book.

"All this for a bloody sickle!" He muttered, flicking through the pages. He paused, his eyes scanning the page. Then he smiled, and looked up at his friends, clearing his throat. "Basket were removed from Quidditch hoops in eighteen-thirty..." He paused, savouring the tension.

"Eighteen-thirty three! Anthony wins! Can we get some food, now?" He added, shouting over Terry's moans, Anthony's cheers, and the rumbling of his own stomach. Terry begrudgingly handed over a silver sickle from his moneybag, then stood up, leading the trio out of the room.

They sat at the Ravenclaw table as a hundred owls swooped down from what appeared to be the sky. They all looked up, but only one headed towards them, dropping a small letter neatly into Terry's lap. He picked it up, scanning the envelope and recognising the handwriting immediately. His stomach dropped.

Michael looked at him as Anthony poured jam out of the jar and onto his toast.

"You alright, mate?" Anthony looked up at Micheal's words. Terry muttered something about homework, and walked briskly from the great hall, his knuckles as white as the parchment they were gripping. He darted down the nearest corridor, heading for an empty broom cupboard, or an abandoned corridor; somewhere nobody would have business at this time in the morning. He looked both ways before slipping into an empty classroom.

He sat on the desk, the green leather book banging his thigh through his pocket as his weight shifted. Slowly, he pulled the envelope apart and opened the parchment, smiling sadly at his mother's handwriting.

Terry,

You have to understand that we have your best interests at heart, dear. We know your having fun there, but just because something's fun doesn't mean it's good for you. I love you, and I don't want you to throw your life away like this.

I know that your Dad and me may have over-reacted to begin with. Discovering this was a shock for all of us, and I'm sorry if you got upset last summer. The last thing we want is for you to be upset. I'm happy to live and let live, Christianity isn't about telling people off, it's about loving other people no matter what they are. I don't think witchcraft is right, I think performing magic is a sin, but it isn't my place to try to stop that school from doing what it's doing. God is the one to judge.

But I can't stop myself with you, Terry. I love you, and I can't let you do this anymore. I can't make you leave, darling, I wish I could. But I can do everything in my power to get you to come home, and I will. I have to. I love you too much to let you do this.

All my love,

Mum.