So, it was time for the next Peer Meditaion class. Ron Weasley was dreading this class as little over a week ago Neville had told him that he was told by Mr. Malfoy that...oh my gosh...hang on a sec...I'm confused...oh, yes! Neville was told by Lucius that Ron was next in line to be killed...at least he had a formal warning. Poor Harry didn't even get to finish his rant!

Neville and Ron plodded along side-by-side up the long winding stair case to the former Divination class room. Neville was panting the whole way up as he had just caught up with Ron in the great Hall after being chased by two second years.

"Ron? Why do people enjoy hurting my face? I mean, I know I'm not a looker but there's no need for them to make it worse."

"I don't know, Neville. Maybe, they just don't understand you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly, Neville"

"I didn't state anything. I asked you a question."

"Of course you did, Neville."

Neville stoped in the middle of the step and shot Ron a confused, yet slightly angry glare. Ron wasn't interested in Neville's foolishness, he was supposidly going to be killed today and didn't want anyone else's burdens following him around.

"Ah! Mr. Weasley. Mr. Longbottom. Having a nice day are we?"

"Of course we are Mr. Malfoy."

"Professor!"

Neville got such a shock that he fell backwards down the stairs. Poor Neville. Clumsy fool!

"It's Professor Malfoy, thank you very much."

"Right. So, what are we doing in class today."

"Oh-ho! Mr. Weasley...ever inquisitive. You have to stop asking so many questions. I once heard that a little boy, kind of like yourself, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, asked so many questions that his tongue fell out."

"His 'tongue'?"

"No, his nose-hair! Yes, his tongue. That's what I said isn't it."

Ron stuck his tongue slightly out of his mouth and started poking it.

"It was either that it fell out or his Mandrake in Herbology pulled it out."

"How old did you say he was?"

"Oh, I'd say around nine...ten...ish."

"But Professor, I'm seventeen."

"Nine...seventeen...what's the difference?"

"I'd say about six years...give or take a few!"

"Ron..."

"Yes..."

"That was a retorical question!"

Neville had sort of recovered and had slowly half-crawled his way up the giant, winding, stone staircase. He was groaning the entire way up and Mr. Malfoy couldn't hear himself think. This wasn't good news for Neville.

He ran down and grabbed Neville by the neck of his shirt and pulled a 'Ms. Trunchbull' on him. He released the shirt collar from his grip and instead he took hold of Nevilles tie. He lifted his books gently out of Neville's hands and threw them to the bottom of the tower, where they eventually hit a little first year on the head and knocked him out. He then dragged Neville all the way to the class room where he had room enough to swing Neville around his head and through the stained-glass windows.

Neville landed in the lake.

Ron looked on in horror as Mr. Malfoy glanced out the window for a brief moment to see how far his student had flown. He turned and shot a smile at Ron which made him cringe in fear.

Let's just take a few moments to let Ron compose himself. Oh, I have an idea. Let's check in on the Cullens in Forks, Washington.

Carlisle had had enough of the children's foolish, eratic and very expensive behaviour. He decided to take matters into his own hands. He called everyone to a family meeting and told them all to bring a notebook and a pen.

Decipline 101.

"Now, all of you are idiots in your very own, special way. Since none of you can learn to behave like normal children I..."

Emmett. Always interupting.

"Carlisle, we're not normal. We're vampires. And it's not even like we are real vampires because we don't turn to ash, we sparkle. And we don't sleep in coffins, we sit there on the couch...awake. And we don't suck human blood, we just go for animals, which by the way, I'm getting a bit sick of."

"Emmett Cullen!"

Jasper looked like he had just wet himself. His eyes got bigger than ever before. He had never heard Carlisle get mad...ever.

"You see, this is what I mean. You interupt, you break my chandelier, Edward drank all of my Pepsi and Alice...you say you're 'sleepwalking' when really you are going downstairs in the middle of the night to dress poor Peaches up like a Paris Hilton lookalike...it's a dog not a person!"

"But she looks cute in the pink tutu."

"'She' is a He!"

"Oops! My bad. I'll get a blue one instead"

"A blue...a blue one! A blue one! Oh, I don't think so, missy! You won't be getting blue 'ones' for anybody! You are going to sit here, pay attention and learn! Okay?"

They were all too shocked to respond.

"Good. I'm glad we've reached an understanding. Now, I'm going to teach you "The Let's All Get Along Song" song. I've had a good day today, I ate a pancake, a pancake hoo-ray..."

The singing went on for hours...and hours...and hours. Everytime Harry sang a bum-note Carlisle would go nuts. Everytime Rosalie started going all Mariah Carey with the highs and the lows and whatnot, he would pick up her hands and get the sheet music and start pointing agressively to the notes she was meant to sing. Eventually he got so riled up that he had a minor mental-breakdown and started tearing at his hair. The children, all eleven of them, gently slipped ouit of the room, two at a time. But remember, the number eleven is an odd number so there was always that risk of one poor unfortunate being caught.

"Jasper!"

Carlisle called. He waved his arms to signal to Jasper that he was to come over.

"Em...ahem...Car...Carli...Ca-a-a-arli..."

By the way, Jasper doesn't speak that much. He tries but sometimes he tries so hard that it upsets him and he runs off crying...just like now.

Jasper, ran off sobbing at his failure. Carlisle fell to the floor, curled himself up in a ball and wimpered.

Back in Hogwarts...

"You just flung Neville out the window!"

"So?"

"'So?' You just flung Neville out the window!"

"Yes, you said that. What's your point?"

"My point is that you just..."

"Flung Neville out the window. Yes, Mr. Weasley, we've established that. I don't see what the problem is."

"He could be dead!"

"Ah, yes. He could, but he is not. I checked. Just to be polite. Well, that and because that's the furthest I ever thrown anybody before."

"So, you mean to tell me that you don't care if he is safe, you just care if he went a far distance...and that you've thrown other people out seven-storey windows before?"

"Well, that first part is true but the bit about other people is a load of nonsense. He's the furthest I've ever thrown someone before because I haven't thrown anyone before."

That day ron avoided being killed as Lucius was too pleased with himself over the distance he threw Neville. If you want to know what happened to Neville, just imagine a seventeen year old, scrawney and rather goofy looking boy, lying on a bed in the hospital wing, with strips of seaweed trapsing over his torso, legs and his forehead. That's what happened to him.