I don't own anything except the laptop I'm writing on.
So, um, ouch.
!!
Harry whistled quietly as he walked down the halls of Hogwarts. He couldn't seem to help it; he was, perhaps for the first time he could remember, happy and content with his life. Coming into the magical school felt like coming home. He was learning the things that his parents had learned, he could do magic and fly, and he had friends. He was just shy of two months into his first year, but he could tell that this was where he was meant to be, this was who he was.
He was walking towards the Great Hall for the Halloween feast with Gregory Goyle of Slytherin of all people, coming from a tutoring session in the library. The mammoth first year didn't speak much, he never seemed to pay attention in class (or anywhere else for that matter) and he didn't seem to have the intelligence to string two words together, but Harry was pleasantly surprised by what Greg actually was. He was partially deaf, which was why he looked at people funnily when they spoke to him, he was trying to read their lips to supplement what he lost when they spoke too fast for him to hear. His family was twelfth generation on his father's side, but only four on his mothers, and his favorite aunt on his mother's side was a squib married to a muggle-born, so while he was often thought to be a pure-blood fanatic (the label came with the green and silver patch on his robes) blood never really seemed all that important.
He also knew more about magical creatures than Harry thought possible for an eleven-year old. His love of creatures was an easy match for Harry's overall love of magic. So while Harry helped him with his essays and some transfiguration and charms, Greg integrated Harry into the world of mythical beasts and taught him what sign language he knew.
They were late for the feast, but Harry was confident that if nothing else Susan and Hannah would save him something to eat. He had bonded surprisingly fast with his two female house-mates, and they had taken it upon themselves to act as his caretakers and guardians.
They were passing the girls lavatory on the second floor when Harry paused, he could have sworn he heard something. Greg stopped several steps ahead and turned back to Harry with a confused look. Harry held up one finger, wait, and then tapped his left ear with another finger, listen. Greg shifted his eyes, listening intently for a moment, then he narrowed them, also hearing something. He cocked his head to the side in an unasked question.
Harry frowned and dropped his hands, "Someone's crying."
Greg stomped his foot and Harry realized that he had spoken too softly for the Slytherin to hear and in the other direction so his lips couldn't be read. He looked at Greg; he could see the frustration plainly on his face and wondered how Goyle would turn out if no one took the time to help the boy. "Someone is crying in the loo." He spoke louder and shaped the words with his mouth. Greg nodded in understanding, looked around and gestured for Harry to enter the bathroom first.
!!
When Ron finally woke up again it was three days later and to the face of his mother. He couldn't help it. He screamed.
The last time he'd seen her she'd been dueling Death Eaters in a Hogwart's courtyard, she looked to be winning, but you never knew how things would turn out once you turned in the other direction.
"Mum!" he threw his arms around her, once he got over his initial shock, tears rising unbidden to his eyes. To say Molly Weasley was shocked would be a gross understatement. Ever since her youngest son had returned from his first year he'd shied away from her hugs, vehemently stating he was too old to be coddled and he absolutely did not initiate them. But Molly was also one to never look a gift Hippogriff in the mouth, so she hugged back with all her might, almost six years of pent up mothering overwhelming her.
It wasn't until her youngest boy wheezed out a "Mum, need – air!" that she released him. He coughed feebly and Molly waved her hands about worriedly, wanting to help him but not knowing how long this good mood of his was going to last.
Ron, for his part, was just as concerned but for severely different reasons. His memories of what had happened were forefront on his mind and he was beginning to get scared. He was in a world that he knew nothing about, a world that was so different from his own that he didn't know what to do with it. He looked at his mother. She was watching him with watery eyes, she looked haggard and worried, but not the type that came from fighting a war. It was what she had always looked like that to him; it was the look of a woman who had raised seven children, six of them boys. She was plumper, but her eyes were more vibrant, more expressive and her hair was a brighter red than he remembered.
She continued to wring her hands in a manner that reminded him sharply of Hermione, with a pang he looked around and noticed that besides his mother and Madam Pomfrey (who was treating a younger year a few beds down) no one was in the room but him.
His friends weren't there. Harry and Hermione weren't there.
His mother, seeming to read his train of thought, smiled in a slightly relived manner, "Your friends stayed as long as they could, dear, but it is Tuesday, and they had to get to class."
Ron blinked, "Tuesday?"
The red-headed matron nodded sympathetically, "Yes, you were out for almost three days. Poppy was beginning to get worried, no one thought you had hit the ground that hard, but you're sister mentioned you said you were saying some queer things and then you wouldn't wake up."
"Hit the ground? What happened?"
"You don't remember?" Both Weasleys jumped as the Mediwitch seemed to appear out of no where with her question. Ron realized his precarious situation. By saying no, he would be making his accident seem worse than it really was, it was the truth but his memory loss was not a result of a header to the turf, it was because this wasn't his life. He remembered Hermione's speeches from after third year and her warnings about messing with a time line. He also didn't want to give up too much of his hand, lest they see him fit to be carted off to St. Mungo's.
He went with the safer route, "Uh, no. Everything is a little fuzzy."
He gazed at him critically. Ron resisted to urge to fidget and wondered how the hell Harry dealt with it as often as he did. Finally she nodded, "Well, that's to be expected. Head wounds can be tricky, but I expect your memory should return to you within a couple of days. If it doesn't let me know, but we won't worry about it until it's something to worry about." She smiled kindly at him and offered him an anti-head-ache potion.
He took it and swallowed it in a single gulp, all the while keeping an eye on the iron-gray haired witch. She looked like Madam Pomfrey, talked like her and walked like her. But what happened to the animated she-demon that guarded the infirmary like a watered-down Fluffy? What happened to the woman who was all business and no smiles, whose sense of humor meant hanging a bronze plaque over the sixth bed on the southern wall saying 'Property of Harry Potter'?
Reflexively he looked at 'Harry's' bed, as he did every time he entered the Hospital Wing, and had to do a double-take. Hanging over the sixth bed from the door on the wall opposite him was a bronze plaque. He could barely make out the words, but in truth he didn't need to.
'Property of Harry Potter'
Ron smiled faintly as a tension he didn't know he had slowly uncoiled itself from between his shoulder blades. Some things would never change, and he took solace in that knowledge. His mother appeared next to him, one of his uniforms and school robes folded neatly in her hands.
He smiled as he took it from her, and then entered one of the changing rooms at the far end of the infirmary. As he was coming out he saw his mother putting on her coat and preparing herself to leave.
"Where are you going, mum?"
She looked up, startled at the sincerity in his voice, "Home, dear. Minerva fire-called me yesterday to tell me about your accident and I've been here since. I wanted to be here when you woke up, and you're awake so I should be getting back."
Ron shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, "Well, couldn't you, um, I dunno, stay for lunch or something?"
She gave him a strange look like she was trying to figure out the angle, raising seven little hellions made it automatic. But his face and eyes were open and sincere, and in response her face morphed into a tender look as she surged forward to hug him once more. "Oh, I'm sure you don't really want to eat with your mother when all of your friends are there. Don't worry, dear," she smoothed down his hair with some difficulty (he was almost a foot taller than her), "I really must be getting back home, and I just know that the Burrow would fall down around his ears if your father were left in charge for too long."
He nodded his understanding and offered to walk her to the Entrance Hall on his way to the Great Hall for lunch. With a wave of permission from the Mediwitch Ron Weasley left the Infirmary and entered a world he knew next to nothing about.
!!
Before he entered the Hall for lunch, Ron stood in an alcove opposite it in order to orient himself. He had already decided to play up his injury, so that if he were to act out of character or forget certain 'facts' of this world he could blame the bump on his head. Looking into the Hall he had to forcibly work the surprise out of his system.
The House tables were set up the same as he had known them. Gryffindor was on the far right, then Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin on the far left and the Staff table on the wall opposite the doors, so that wasn't the cause of his concern. It was the absolute amount of intermixed colors at all four tables. In his own world very seldom did a member of one house drift to sit at the table of another, and even then it was usually a 'Puff or a 'Claw, but here that didn't seem to be the case. The tables were still dominated by a general color, but each table had some mixing of red and gold, green and sliver, bronze and blue, and yellow and black.
And in the middle of the biggest group of mixed students sat Harry Potter, proud in yellow and black.
Ron pinched himself, but the vision didn't change.
Harry was in Hufflepuff.
What the hell had he done?!
!!
Harry Potter sat across from Sue Bones of his own house, next to Millie Bulstrode of the Snake House and cattycorner to Neville Longbottom of the House of Lions discussing Stunner techniques.
"The Beta twist is the only method used by Aurors, and you're saying that you could do better?" Susan, whose entire family was somehow involved with the DMLE, took it as a personal slight.
Harry smacked his forehead with his palm, "I didn't say better, I said it could be improved upon. It's true that the Beta twist gives the strongest Stunners, but the angle your wand is left at leaves you at a disadvantage. By taking out the twist and instead flicking at 15 degrees left, yeah you lose some power-"
"Like 12 percent," Neville interjected, and Susan nodded emphatically next to him. On his other side Neville's girlfriend of almost three years, Hannah Abbot, rolled her eyes and continued to quiz Luna Lovegood for her potions test next period. She had long since accepted the fact that her boyfriend and best friend would never learn when it came to arguing with Harry and Millie.
Harry rolled his eyes, but Millie finished for him, "Yeah, but look at the position your wand would be at. What we're saying is that you lose some power but you're suddenly in perfect position to start a high-powered cutting hex."
Sue and Neville looked at one another, "Are you talking about chaining spells?"
Harry shrugged, "Yeah, your spells may be marginally weaker, but you gain so much time when you no longer have to stop and re-orient yourself between movements. Just let one flow directly into the next."
"And," Millie looked sly, "If you mince languages you can cut your speaking in half. Gains time and confuses your opponent."
The Gryffindor boy sighed, lent back and slipped his arm around Hannah's shoulders, "Well, Sue, I think we officially lost that argument."
The red-headed Badger nodded weakly, "Why is it we never seem to win when those two agree on something?"
Across the table, Harry winked at her to which she replied by sticking out her tongue. Her housemate and possible best (male) friend laughed until he was pulled into a conversation with Millie and Hermione Granger (who sat on his other side) about the ramifications of language on spell casting.
Susan sighed, on her one side Neville had joined Hannah in helping Luna (and now Andrew Harper of Slytherin) go over potions, on the other side Padma Patil was shuffling through transfiguration notes for the test at the end of the week. Near the end of the table Blaise Zabini, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Anthony Goldstein were flicking a piece of parchment folded into a triangle at each other and through the doors to the Great Hall Ron Weasley stood, looking like he was steeling himself for a fight.
Choosing to trust in Harry (and hope he would go for level-headed) rather than give into panic, Susan kicked her friend under the table. He stopped mid-sentence, which caused the entire conversation to halt and drew the attention from the entire group onto Harry and Susan, whom Harry looked at with a confused and faintly bemused look, "Um, ow?"
She rolled her eyes at him, but nodded towards the doors that Weasley has just walked through. Harry flicked his eyes toward the entrance and grimaced. He looked around at his friends, the people that mattered most to him in the world, and he noticed the way that they all had their hands either on their wands or in a position which could have their wands in their hand in a matter of seconds. They were ready for a fight, and Ron Weasley had never disappointed before. Across from him Susan shook her head, "It was a legal move, Harry, he's got nothing on you."
He took her words with a nod, but noticed the way she casually twirled her yew wand between her fingers. He closed his eyes, and stretched his magic out in all directions, smiling at what he felt when it snap back to him. With a sigh he made a subtle and quick gesture with his hand and the people around him relaxed slightly and removed any obvious measures for a fight.
Harry stood, blinking open his eyes and turned to face Ron just as the redhead stopped by his seat.
"Look, Weasley, it was a fair game and a fair move, you have no reason to start anything."
Ron, far from looking pissed off as most everyone who knew him thought he would, just paused and looked at Harry from a slightly tilted point of view. To the dark haired Badger, Ron looked as lost and confused as his sister did when Harry found her on the train before his third year. He felt a pang in his chest and searched Ron's eyes, but found none of the malice or boastful pride that he had previously been full of.
This Ron was different from the one he shook hands with before the match Saturday morning, Harry was sure of it.
For his part, Ron was not feeling an ounce of the Gryffindor courage that was supposed to be his constant companion. "What?" His eyes unfocused in thought, then, "Oh, the Quidditch thing. No, I, uh, yeah it's was a legal move from what I was told of it. A Crawford Shift, right? I'll be sure to keep my eyes open for that in the future."
Harry pulled back slightly, quickly reoriented himself around the shift in the usual conversation pattern. "Oh, well," he flopped back in a seemingly careless manner, resting his back against the Hufflepuff table, but Ron wasn't fooled. He could see the way Harry tapped his fingers in a specific design with his right hand, waved small sparks of lightning between the fingers of his left, and how the people at his table responded to these actions. Harry grinned at Ron, "What can I do for you, Ronald?"
He felt the tips of his ears burn at his given name, "Uh," he looked at the people that surrounded his (former?) best mate. While no one was giving him outright hostile looks, no one was inviting him to sit either. There were Slytherins, Ravenclaws,
Hufflepuffs and even some of Ron's own Gryffindors (he felt pride swell in his chest at the Head Girl Badge pinned just above the red and gold crest on Hermione's robe). "I was hoping to talk to you," Susan shifted behind Harry as both his hands stilled.
"Oh, I wasn't aware that there was anything that needed to be discussed between us."
This was not his friend Harry. While Ron was sure that this boy before him had the potential to become the warrior he had left behind in another reality, that the two were likely fundamentally the same, he was not Harry.
Nevertheless, Ron could not have changed reality that much. Harry was still The-Boy-Who-Lived, he was still the object of the prophecy, and he was the only one who could defeat Voldemort, wherever and whatever the bastard was. Ron had to do this diplomatically because he did not know the facts about this reality, but he could certainly make some assumptions, "Perhaps you aren't aware, but that doesn't change how things are. We need to have a conversation," he stated knowing he sounded more arrogant than confident, but lacking the time to care.
Three people separated Neville and Blaise as they stood at the same time to voice their objections.
"Like we're going to make it that easy for you, Weasley!"
"You've had it out for Harry since day one!"
But Padma and Hannah, their more level-headed counterparts, pulled them back down when Harry raised his eyebrows and grinned, "Well now, it would seem that perhaps we do have something to discuss."
It was the simple motion of smiling in a manner that caused his eyes to shine that Ron was suddenly stuck by the physical differences between his Harry and the one that sat in front of him. Before Ron was content to look at him and superimpose what he knew Harry to look like over what was there. He couldn't do that anymore.
Harry wasn't wearing glasses. His hair was cut short enough to have lost that windblown look he'd inherited from his father, but could now be better controlled. Ron's eyes flicked almost instinctually to the lightning bolt shaped scar and realized that if he had not been looking for it, he probably would never have noticed it. A far cry from the open and bleeding wound that Ron had last seen it as, and even from the pink and fresh one that Ron was used to seeing for the last seven years, this scar was just that. Three thin white lines connected at right angles, it didn't look cursed and based on the way Harry was acting, it probably wasn't.
Before Ron could say anything, and indeed whatever he would have said was likely to incriminate himself, Millicent nudged Harry in the side whispering, "Incoming."
With a smoothness and strength Ron didn't expect from him, Harry reached out and grabbed the front of the Gryffindor's robes. He felt himself jerked quickly to the left just in time to see a red-headed blur slam into the bench he was previously standing in front of. He realized with a start that it was Ginny, mostly because of her hair and voice, but he could only pick up a few words from her lox, but fast mutterings.
"Stupid transfigurations, stupid McGonagall. Late! Fail this stupid quiz, fail potions, fail out of Hogwarts, have to work – Knockturn Alley! Gah!"
Ron blinked widely at his sister as she piled random food stuffs onto a plate without seeming to pay attention to what she was doing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry and Hermione having a silent conversation with their eyes and a few small hand gestures, something he was all too familiar with.
Hermione then sighed as she reached behind Harry (who was still sitting backwards, facing Ron) and grabbed hold of Ginny's forearm. The younger girl startled at the touch but the brunette did not let go. She made sure to talk slowly and calmly, "Take a deep breath, Gin. You need to relax while you eat or you're going to make your self sick. You won't be late, you won't fail, and you won't have to take a job in Knockturn Alley. Sit down like a civilized person and eat, you can study with Luan and Drew and everything will be ok. OK?"
Ginny nodded, wide-eyed at her friend, and forced herself to calm down and slow her own breathing. Hermione kept her hand on Ginny as her eyes flicked to Harry with a question. The boy nodded, so Hermione squeezed her younger house-mate's arm, "Now say hello to your brother and ask him how he is."
"Why? What's wrong?" Whatever calm she had achieved flew out the proverbial window as she wretched her arm from Hermione and grabbed Harry by the cheeks, "Are you sick?"
She looked around in confusion as her friends at the table erupted in laugher, including the boy whose face she was holding as he gently took hold of her wrists. Behind Harry Blaise scoffed, "I think she was talking about your actual brother, not our communal one."
She made a move to flip him off but in the process came face-to-face with said actual brother, "Oh!"
Ron for his part was staring around at the people who continued to chortle and finally gazed at her only to see that she was watching him with something like trepidation and some underlying anger. "Ron," her tone was slightly cold, unsure.
"Hey, Gin. How's it going?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head out of awkwardness.
She stepped back and regarded him warily, hands in front of herself as if in protection, "You must have hit your head harder than we thought," he blinked at her in question, "Uh, people were really worried that you wouldn't wake up."
"Yeah," he flushed, "That's what mum said."
Suddenly she couldn't meet his eyes, "Oh? How is she?" Ron didn't know what to make of the miserable tone in her voice but he had the desired to just reach out and hold her like he'd done when they were kids.
"RON!"
The siblings jumped at the loud high-pitched voice.
"Ron!"
Padma groaned and muttered, "Here comes Lav-Lav," to the amusement of the people around her.
Ron had barely turned in time to catch an armful of Lavender Brown, "Won-Won!" He flushed hotly in embarrassment as Harry and his group suddenly burst into loud laughter. Lavender pulled back, completely ignoring the noise around her, "We were just up in the Hospital Wing looking for you, but Madam Pomfrey said you had already left."
"Oh, yeah, I came down with my mum," behind her Ron could see Pavarti, Seamus, Dean, Michael Corner and a girl that looked familiar but whose name escaped him approach.
Seamus clapped him on the shoulder, then flicked his eyes over Harry's group with clear distain, "Glad you're better mate, but what the hell are you doing being seen talking to these weirdoes for?"
"Starting with the name-calling so early, Finnigan?" Padma sniffed, "What a neophyte."
The Irishman blazed, "what did you call me, slag!"
The dark Slytherin sitting next to the pretty Ravenclaw jumped to his feet, "Say that again, Mick!"
Before Ron could blink both boys had their wands drawn with the tips glowing bright. Ron grabbed Lavender around the waist and spun her out of the way, but he could see the way that several members of the group at the table had their wands drawn and posed for a fight. Behind Seamus only Michael had his wand drawn as the other three merely fingered their holsters nervously. He began to feel very sick.
Harry stood and loomed darkly before the mostly Gryffindor gang. With a shifting of his fingers Corner's wand reverted and tucked itself back into the pocket he'd pulled it from. The dark-haired 'Puff stood directly in front of the Irish Lion and purposely between him and the five wands pointed that way.
"Why don't you put that away before you attract any more attention and go get something to eat before Defense, Finnigan."
They stood toe-to-toe and Ron could see the cogs turning in his house-mates head, trying to figure out the best way to win this fight. From where he stood, Ron was pretty sure that was impossible.
Seamus apparently agreed.
He pushed Harry roughly in the chest but was more successful in moving himself than Harry, "Get out of my face, faggot."
"So, it's true then?"
The aristocratic voice was female and resigned, and Ron could see the way Harry's face went from serious and foreboding to bright and expressive. He turned from Seamus and Ron caught sight of a short girl with long dark tresses dressed in Slytherin robes. She stood with arms crossed over her chest and tapped her foot expectantly on the floor, but her amusement shown clearly in her eyes. Behind her was Draco Malfoy looking as smug and calculating as Ron had ever seen him. Almost unconsciously the red-head reached for his wand.
"Is what true?" Harry asked.
She nodded her head towards Seamus, "You cheating on me with this Gryffindor."
"Him?" Harry jerked his thumb back at the infuriated boy. "Nah, we both know Ced was more my type."
Before Ron's fingers could wrap around the handle of his only weapon he felt cold, slender fingers enfold over his wrist. He blinked and looked down in surprise as the Slytherin girl sighed dramatically, "I guess I owe Cho those ten galleons after all."
Ron supposed he expected to see Lavender, or even Hermione, as the one who stopped him. What he did not expect were the wide, luminous blue eyes of Looney Luna Lovegood watching him unblinkingly.
He missed Harry's reply but caught the motion of him reaching for the girl to press a kiss to her lips from the corner of his eye.
"Stay you instincts, Rook," she spoke softly, "Now is not the time to draw undue attention."
Not sure what possessed him to do so, Ron nodded and Luna untangled her fingers from his person. Ron returned to himself just in time to see Draco shooing his apparent friends over to the Gryffindor table. Lavender grabbed his hand and started to pull him over to the table, but he remembered quickly that he still needed to speak with Harry.
He told Lav that he'd be a minute and turned back to the Hufflepuff table just in time to see the Slytherin girl slid her hands though his best friend's hair and pull him by the back of the head into a kiss. Beside her Draco made a gagging sound as he slipped into the seat next to Ginny and stole a chip from her plate. On Harry's other side Hermione rolled her eyes and shifted so that Justin could rest his chin on her shoulder and read the book in front of them.
Quite suddenly, Ron wasn't hungry anymore.
Dean Thomas appeared beside him, "Kind of makes your heart hurt to think that some people really are that happy, huh?"
Ron startled at the voice, and forced himself to ignore the words and implications and instead focus on the profound sadness that seemed to melt from the darker boy's eyes and into his words, "Are you not happy, Dean?"
He shrugged, "Some days." He motioned weakly behind them where Michael was making wide gestures to punctuate whatever story he was telling, "You really should eat something, it's Dueling Day in Defense and you know how Snape is with us Gyrffs."
Ron groaned, "Why couldn't I have woken up tomorrow?" to which Dean laughed.
"You've never really been lucky, now have you?"
Ron could only shrug, because in reality he didn't actually know.
!!
Inside of the bathroom, Harry found only one locked door and floating outside of it was a small female ghost with pigtails and ethereal Hogwarts robes. She was glaring at the closed stall and turned sharply as the two boys entered.
"What do you think you are doing!?" she shrieked, "This is the girls' toilet!"
Harry held his hands before him in a motion to show he meant no harm, "We heard a ruckus outside and came to see if everyone was alright."
The ghost sniffed in an irritated manner, "Well, of course not everyone is ok! Some of us are dead! Some of us have the right to be absolutely miserable!" and with that painful reminder she threw herself through the floor and out of the lavatory.
Harry raised an eyebrow at Greg but the bigger boy just shrugged, he understood animals not the unresolved spirits of emotionally unstable teenage girls. A small whimper sounded from the stall behind the locked door and Harry turned his attention back to it, "Are you alright in there?"
There was a pause and then a weak voice commanded him, "Go away, Harry."
He frowned, recognizing the voice from some of his classes. She was in Gryffindor, but had the knowledge of a Ravenclaw. She also sat alone during lunch and spent all her spare time in the library. He said hi to her in the hall, but had not had a real conversation with her since the train ride.
"Hermione? What's wrong? You're missing the feast."
"I'm fine, please, just go away."
"Yeah, ok, because I believe that."
"Harry…"
"What do you think, Greg, should we leave her?"
Greg Goyle recognized the offer for what it was. Not that long ago Harry had made a choice to sit by a hulking silent Slytherin, and now he was going to make his own. "No," he sat down solidly, "We sit through feast here."
Harry smiled fondly at his friend, "Well put, Greg," and he too sat down. "Are you going to tell us what's wrong, or will you make us sit here throughout the whole feast, we are growing boys you know, need our energy and all that."
Greg patted his stomach loudly to emphasize Harry's words. Behind the door, there was a faint giggle. And then slowly the door creaked open and Hermione Granger emerged in all her bushy-haired glory, sniffling and rubbing at her eyes, "Ron Weasley said I was a know-it-all and that I would never make friends with anyone."
Harry looked back at Greg, pointed at the Slytherin, tugged at his ear then jerked a thumb back at the girl. Greg nodded sagely, "Silly girl does not know everything. Sits alone in toilet and cries, proves the jerk is right."
"Well, there you go. Greg says you don't know everything and I think the fact that we are both sitting in the middle of the girl's bathroom instead of eating a feast pretty much proves you have friends. So what do you say we go to the Great Hall and you can sit with us."
"Really?"
"Greg?"
The boy nodded quickly and stood with the help of both Harry and Hermione. He seemed to freeze and waved a hand to cut off the question from the Hufflepuff, "Something wrong. Smell is off. We go quickly, now." He ushered them out the door and with the speed that he thought necessary towards the Great Hall.
!!
So, I suppose its one thing to think that I suck, but to have it thrown in my face is kind of painful.
I mean seriously, no reviews?! again, ouch. That really hurts.
Although I'm not quite sure who I'm talking to because apparently no one is reading this.
Until next time, maybe, hopefully but without any promises-
Bazzer