The Jaded Brothers: Trials of Magic

By Blueberry Blaster

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. Any and all infringement is unintended.

Chapter III: History in the Making

September 4, 1991

In the midst of the Scotland wilderness, protected and shielded from prying eyes, there stood a tall, majestic castle.

Its stone walls gleamed in the sunlight, rising higher than the tallest tree. Its battlements were often shrouded in the early morning mist, along with its conical towers. The windows (small and dark in contrast to the fortified building itself) allowed glimpses of sunlight to peek in.

The occupants, though many, still barely managed to occupy even a quarter of the castle at any one time. The occupants ranged in ages from eleven to 150-plus years of age, both female and male.

Most of them were teenagers – nearly all of them, in fact.

They were still humans; capable of speech, sight, hearing… but they were different to the normal, usual people you would find in a boring London street. These people – all of them – were witches and wizards.

Currently, as the sun began climbing and spreading across the horizon, the adults of the castle began their early morning rituals – freshening up, tidying and last minute preparations for the day ahead. These witches and wizards were experienced, and were to use their experience to teach the teenagers that were still (mostly) burrowed under their comforters.

One such child that was awake at such an early hour was Harry James Potter, under the alias of Evan Matthew Reeds.

Lily Evans-Potter stared out the window silently, clasping a mug of steaming hot tea in both hands. She was awake, already thinking and planning, while she watched the small, brown-haired boy sitting at the edge of the lake. She sighed and sipped her hot drink contemplatively.

At first glance, she had mistaken the boy for another, black-haired, green-eyed boy from afar, before she had seen his short brown hair. Evan – Evan Reeds, first year Gryffindor, quiet, polite, excellent with magic, decent with his academic studies. Often found in the library pouring over second-grade material. Even Madam Pince said the boy was quieter than all the others whom had taken to lingering in the library for studies.

Today, Lily was going to find out exactly if Evan Reeds was what the other Professors made of him, although the look in McGonagall's eyes when she spoke of the young boy was rather disconcerting. What had it been? Concern – pity?

Either way, she pushed it to the back of her mind. A more pressing – well, not really, more so dreaded – matter was brought to her attention.

Her son, Hayden, was having his first Potions lesson today. With Professor Snape, bitter rival of the Marauders.

She was worried about how the Potions Master would treat her son, and how Hayden would respond to the Professor. James had told Hayden everything negative about Snape, and Hayden had soon started referring to the man as 'Snivellus', no matter how many times she scolded him.

The Potions Professor had been indifferent with her, as if they were merely colleagues, and ignored her or walked away whenever she plucked up the courage to speak to him about their rocky end of friendship. Whenever she thought back to the end of their fifth year OWLs, she would feel guilty and woeful, as Snape had waited all through the night outside the Gryffindor common room just for her to come out. When she did, reluctantly, after her friends told her about him sitting obstinately outside the portrait hole, she was cold towards him and stubbornly rejected his apologies.

Only now, did she realise how it must have been killing the pallid man, as Snape had never, not once in all the years she had known him, apologised for anything, let alone for half-an-hour straight. Her eyes glazed over as her mind drifted back to the night that marked the beginning of their strained relationship.

"Lily, please –"

"I don't want to hear it, Severus," Lily interjected coldly. Her green eyes burned into his onyx eyes, an unfamiliar emotion swirling inside the emerald depths.

He shivered, but ploughed on determinately. "Please, hear me out! I'm sorry, Lily, I-I didn't mean it when I called you that!"

"Just like you don't mean it when you call all those other muggleborns, just like me, a 'mudblood'?" she snapped.

Severus flinched, but didn't react beyond that. "I…"

"How am I any different from them, Severus? If you call them filthy animals, does that make me a filthy animal as well?"

"No! No, you're not!"

"But am I not a muggleborn as well? Am I not just like the others, with a muggle family?"

Severus choked, but could not find words to protest.

"What makes me so different in your eyes? What is it that makes me so special?"

"It's not –"

"Not what? Not what I think it is?"

"It's complicated!" Severus screeched at last. "I-I don't know what came over me, Lily! It –it just – it's James-Bloody-Potter and his – his friends! I just, didn't want to look…" he trailed off, suddenly uncertain and uncomfortable.

While Severus was trying to catch his breath, Lily continued to stare at him coldly.

That was her second clue: Severus never let anyone know what he was thinking or feeling. The way the dark-haired teenager always kept his feelings guarded (besides anger) as if it was his only possession; his chest of gold. But she didn't take notice of it; ignored it. And that was what cost them their friendship.

"Go away, Snape. I don't want to see you again." With that final declaration, the red-haired witch turned and stalked back into the Gryffindor common room.

Severus stared after her, watching the portrait swing open, allowing entrance for Lily. "I'm sorry," he whispered, before the hole was sealed once again.

He stayed that way for a long time, ignoring the Fat Lady's pointed looks and loud snorts and huffs of impatience.

Lily closed her eyes wearily, letting her forehead rest against the cool glass of the window. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

She stayed there, in a hunched sitting position, staring out the window at the boy who was slowly getting up and walking back to the castle. For another fleeting second, she thought she glimpsed a head of unruly black hair, which quickly faded from her mind.

She glanced at the clock, and leapt up, restraining from swearing.

She grabbed her outer robe, her hat, a pile of papers and books and her bag before dashing from her room.

XxX

The group of first year (Just Gryffindors, thank Merlin) were seated around the History of Magic classroom casually, chatting away excitedly. The bell had yet to go, but they had all learned their lesson from turning up late for class when they got lost. A few latecomers ducked in hurriedly, glancing around the room sheepishly before sighing in relief to find they weren't late.

Hayden sat with Ron, Seamus and Dean behind them arguing about a muggle sport.

"Hey, Hayden, is your Mum nice?"

"Yep," Hayden leant back. "But Dad said she was the best witch of her age at Hogwarts and was a Gryffindor with a Ravenclaw's mind. I think he meant she's studious."

"Hope she favours Gryffindors," Ron muttered. "I can't believe Snape keeps giving points to his snakes for absolutely nothing and McGonagall does absolutely nothing about it!"

"Actually, Mum's quite fair, meaning she'll give points to hard workers and dock points from slackers (Hermione perked up at this). I'm just worried about how the Slytherins will act around her. Sure, she's a Professor now, but they won't react well to having a muggleborn witch teaching them."

"Hey, don't worry mate," Ron slapped Hayden on the back. "She can just dock points."

"I sincerely hope it will not come to that, Mr. Weasley," a dry voice from behind them surprised the class into startled silence.

Ron Weasely was wide-eyed, slightly intimidated as Professor Potter's green eyes burned into his. "N-no, Professor."

Harry, sitting near the back next to Neville, smirked in amusement.

"Right then," Lily, now at the front of the class, clapped her hands together. "Good morning class. I'm Lily Evans-Potter, but you can just call me Professor , since I've got my work cut out for me for all the other year levels, we'll just start off simple today: everyone write down five - or how every many you can - major events in magical history. For the muggleborns, if you don't know any – and that's fine – just write down five major events in muggle history. All clear? Right then, off you go.

They all set about their assigned task, Hermione Granger being the most eager. She hurriedly dipped her quill in ink and began scrawling hastily on the parchment on her desk. Lily could tell that she was going to write more than five and chuckled inwardly.

When everyone had settled down and was working relatively quietly, Lily took the time to observe her new class.

Hayden was looking bored as he wrote in his sloping handwriting, paying more attention to his new friend Ron Weasley than his work. He looked comfortable with the other red-head, smiling as they chatted about Quidditch, no doubt. The second-youngest Weasley, however, still looked vaguely in awe whenever he looked at Hayden's 'X'-shaped scar, and seemed to be a bit nervous. Lily smiled, looking at her son, wondering sadly if Harry would've been sorted into Gryffindor as well.

'Probably not,' she thought wryly, 'he's taken after Remus and I, after all.'

Her eyes slid over several other students, some muggleborn, some half-bloods, and a few pure-bloods. Her eyes stopped briefly on Hermione Granger, who was still writing feverishly and had filled up at least a third of her parchment. She worried about the girl slightly – she seemed to bury herself in her books and looked awkward talking to people, and could see from the look on other people's faces that she came across as a bossy know-it-all. She could sympathize – at her old muggle primary school she was excluded quite often and had taken to following her sister Petunia around like a puppy, desperate for friends, until her letter came.

At the back, two boys sat alone: Neville Longbottom and Evan Reeds.

Neville, a bit on the heavy side of the scale, was a soft, friendly, shy boy. He had befriended Harry at three years of age while the brown-haired boy was intimidated by Hayden. The boy used to have low self-esteem, but Frank and Alice would always comfort and encourage him, and over the years, it began to show. Now, he was fairly confident but still shy. Most of the Longbottom family had believed him too weak to be able to go to Hogwarts, some of them even deeming him a squib, but they were all pleasantly shocked when he received his letter.

His Great-Uncle (Algie, or something similar) had died protecting the boy from some of the remaining loyal Death Eaters and his older cousin Robert had suffered under a prolonged amount of time under the Cruciatus Curse and had subsequently gone insane. Robert was staying in St. Mungo's long-term care but had never, not once in ten years, responded to anything.

And then there was Evan.

Evan Reeds was a mystery; an enigma. His brown eyes shone with barely concealed pain and suffering, as if haunted by ghosts, and was immensely agitated around large crowds of people – at least, she assumed so, as the boy was always tense and wary in the Great Hall. He was even sitting stiffly now, working slowly as his quill moved steadily across his parchment with a scritch-scratch.

He looked thin; underfed, and his cheeks were hollow and pinched, but it was less pronounced than when she first saw him in Ollivander's. He was extremely quiet, and woke up early. The boy was an orphan – had been for a long time, or so Hayden had told her, from what he said. The boy excelled in spell-casting and his essays were decent enough for an Acceptable, although Madam Pince said she often couldn't get him out of her library; he was always poring through thick tomes and dusty books.

At times, she caught him sneaking peeks at her, staring at her face, her eyes, her hair – it was as if he was drinking in her details like a sponge, soaking up every little thing. She wondered why, and figured it had to do with having no mother figure or a source of comfort. She resolved to talk with him as soon as possible, and filed it away before calling out to the class, "That's enough time. Let's move on now."

The rest of the lesson seemed to fly by in a blur, but for Harry, it seemed to crawl by with an agonizing slowness. He fought the urge to squirm in his seat, and would often feel his gut twist with every look his mother – Professor Potter sent his way. The hairs on the back of his neck would prickle, but at the same time, he felt a warmth seep into his bones when the Professor praised him.

He was uncomfortable, shifty, and extremely tense during the whole of the lesson. But in that moment – that brief, fleeting moment when his mother praised him and a feeling of absolute joy filled him – he felt it was almost worth it.

And he desired more.

XxX

Lunch would end soon, and then the Gryffindors and Slytherins would be trooping out to the Quidditch pitch for their first flying lesson of the year.

Along the way, the two groups sent glares and sneers at the other, not speaking a word. Hayden found himself surrounded on all sides by Gryffindors thinking that the Snakes would attack him. He struggled through the crowd, Ron by his side, but the jostling movements and hurried paces of the other students made it difficult.

Once outside, they immediately saw two rows of brooms and a short, grey-haired witch with a no-nonsense type of posture. Her hands were on her hips and her yellow eyes watched the first years like a hawk. All in all, Harry thought she could rival McGonagall in intimidation. The only feature that encouraged the first years slightly was the small smile on her face.

"Welcome to your first flying lesson," she called out. "I'm Madam Hooch, and this can be dangerous if you're not careful, so there'll be no messing about. Now, we'll start off slow today. Come one, everyone, don't be shy."

When no-one moved but three paces, she sighed.

"Well, what are you waiting for," she barked, making it sound more like a statement rather than a question. "Come on, hurry up now. Stand next to a broom."

She waited as they hurried forward, before striding down the space between the two rows of brooms. The shafts were pointed at another opposite it, and the first years were divided by their House – the Slytherins had gravitated to the right and the Gryffindors immediately took up the left row.

"Now, stick your hand over your broom, and say 'up'!"

"UP!"

A dozen or so voices resounded, some timid, some fearful, some excited, and some bored. Only a few brooms leapt into their respective hands – namely, Hayden and Harry. Ron's broom had come up so fast that it whacked him square on the nose, Neville's rose half-way to his hand, but Hermione Granger's broom remained obstinately on the ground. Malfoy's leapt into his hand almost reluctantly after several forceful commands.

Eventually, when everyone's broom was clutched tightly in their hands, they listened attentively to Madam Hooch.

"Good. Now I want you to mount your brooms, but do not kick off! Swing a leg over the shaft, don't be afraid!"

She moved down the two aisles, correcting a few postures. Hayden and Ron couldn't hide their glee when she told Malfoy he had been holding his broom incorrectly for years. She merely gave Harry a satisfied nod as she passed, but had to convince Hermione to relax so that she could correct her hands.

At last, they were ready.

"Now on my whistle everyone," Madam Hooch spoke clearly, glaring sharply at those whose attentions drifted. "On the count of three, kick off gently, hover for a few minutes, lean forward gently, then touch back down. Ready? Three – two – one –"

The whistle pierced the air, and the first years all kicked off. Some rose slower, far slower than others while some kicked off too sharply and shot up steeply, their startled yelps rising above the raucous laughter. Some kicked off a little late, nervous and apprehensive, but Hayden and Ron (And to Hayden's surprise, Evan), Malfoy, Neville (Although his broom was shaking, whether from nerves or simply because of the faulty broom) and a few others.

They hovered, at varying heights, until Madam Hooch called for them to come back down.

"Very good," she said, her eyes flashing.

Neville dismounted awkwardly, almost tripping in the process, but was looking pleased with himself. His knuckles were fairly white, though, and he was trembling ever-so-slightly, but apart from that, he looked normal. Hayden, of course, dismounted with flair, eliciting a few chuckles from the Gryffindors and sneers from the Slytherins.

"Now then, I want you to do that again. This time, however, you may fly around slowly at no more than five feet. To turn, grip your brooms and lean slightly in whatever direction you wish to turn while you pull the shaft of the broom in that same direction. Please be careful and no mucking about," she warned, her eyes flicking in Malfoy's direction briefly.

Upon hearing the shrill blast of the whistle, the first years flew up once more, flying around with varying speeds. Hayden chose to zip around the group, and it was easy to see that Malfoy Jr. was hard-pressed to do just as well, determined to beat the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry felt a thrill of exhilaration as soon as he kicked off, and flew around slowly to adjust to the sudden feeling of blossoming joy. He grinned widely, feeling truly happy and carefree for the first time in years. He didn't dare to go as fast as he would have liked, for fear of being the centre of attention.

He weaved around the other first years, the wind rushing through his short brown hair. He glided by Ron Weasley easily, and ducked under a wildly spinning Patil. A sense of belonging settled over him like a blanket, and he sighed in contentment.

Lavender Brown screamed in terror when her broom hit the ground with a crack and she toppled off none-too-gently. She landed in a sprawled heap on the ground, and Madam Hooch was immediately at her side. She helped the girl to her feet and blew her whistle loudly.

"Everyone come back down at once! While I take Ms. Brown to the Hospital Wing, you are all to plant both feet firmly on the ground. When I return, there had better not be a single broom in the air."

Then she turned and supported Lavender into the castle. Everyone slowly began drifting back down, excepting a few of the first years, Hermione Granger among them. Hayden and Ron looked put-out, as they reluctantly began to fly back down. Malfoy was completely disregarding Madam Hooch's instructions, instead conversing with a pair of bulky boys.

Harry dismissed them and floated downward slowly, deep in thought, Neville not too far behind him. He let his mind wander as he flew closer to the ground, not noticing the commotion behind him as Malfoy snatched a glass sphere out of Neville's open pocket. He didn't notice when Neville gave a muffled cry in protest and fly after the blond-haired aristocrat.

He did notice, however, when a frightened yell rose above the excited chatters, and Harry whipped his broom around sharply. His mind took a moment to comprehend what his eyes had seen in half a beat and his body reacted long before his mind even had a second to take everything in.

Neville Longbottom was dangling precariously nearly forty feet in the air, hanging onto his broom tightly. Malfoy was flying above him, his eyes laughing as he tossed a small, transparent ball into the air and caught it again.

"What's the matter, Longbottom? Can't stay on a broom, let alone stand without tripping over yourself?"

The Slytherins on the ground laughed coldly, as Neville struggled to pull himself up. The next moment, even as Harry and Hayden soared upwards to them, Ron following Hayden after a moment's hesitation, everything fell into a disorganised chaos.

Malfoy saw them coming, and a fearful look crossed his face fleetingly before he hurled the remembrall as hard as he could, calling out to Hayden as he did so, "Catch it if you can, Potter!"

Hayden immediately darted after the remembrall, Ron stopped dead in the air as he watched Hayden in awe, and Harry zoned in on Neville, who at that moment, lost his grip.

With one last shout, the brown-haired boy tumbled downwards in a heart-stopping descent, even as Harry soared through the last few metres between them and reached out to snatch at the sleeve of Neville's robes. The fabric slipped through his fingers and Neville continued his descent, until Harry rolled himself right under his broom and grasped the other boy by the back of his shirt with both hands, hanging onto his broom with only his legs.

Harry released the breath he didn't realize he had been holding and watched from his position as Hayden just barely caught the remembrall before dismounting from the broom. Ron immediately started cheering, and the rest of the Gryffindors rushed at Hayden, clamouring around him wildly.

"Mr. Potter!"

Everyone fell silent and whipped around to see Professor McGonagall, her hair and glasses askew as she marched towards the group breathlessly. Her eyes were flashing, and everyone backed away.

"Never, in all my years as a teacher –"

"Professor, please –"

"– it wasn't his fault, Professor! It was Malfoy, he took –"

"That will be enough, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Patil!"

She stopped in front of Hayden, who was starting to look slightly scared.

"Follow me, Mr. Potter."

Without another word, she marched back up to the castle, Hayden following hesitantly.

Harry and Neville had been unnoticed during the entire spectacle, and now the short-haired boy glanced down at Neville wryly. "Well this is bloody fantastic."

XxX

"Seeker?" Ron hissed at Hayden disbelievingly as they settled into their seats. "But first years never… you must be the youngest Seeker in about –"

"A century," Hayden grinned as he shovelled a steak and kidney pie into his mouth. "I know. Dad's told me all about it. Oh! I need to owl him about it! Wait 'til Sirius hears about it, they'll be ecstatic! Pass the potatoes, please."

Ron numbly handed over the platter of potato, watching Hayden dumbly as the other red-head piled it onto his plate.

"But still, I am a little disappointed," Hayden commented as he chewed on the end of his fork. "I wanted to be a Chaser, but I guess that wouldn't even work next year, since the Gryffindor team already has three 'bloody fantastic' Chasers, as Wood calls them. Ah well, I can try next year or something."

Harry sat a few seats down, eating slowly as he listened in on the conversation. He felt a slight pang of jealousy but it was quickly overcome by a flood of happy emotions, and pride in his family. He squashed it down quickly when he saw Lily Potter making her way over to Hayden and dropped his head as low as he could.

"Mr. Potter, please follow me," Lily spoke to Hayden sternly, frowning deeply enough that Hayden's face lost all of its previous excitement.

"Yes, Mu – Professor Potter," he swallowed.

Harry smirked as he turned back to his meal, relaxed once more. He snatched one last treacle tart and wolfed it down before gathering his books and leaving for Potions. He passed Hermione Granger on the way and didn't miss the fact that the bushy-haired girl was frantically pouring through the Potions textbook.

He had reached the doors when someone shouted out his alias' name.

"Evan!"

Harry turned, and saw Neville running up to him with his book bag clutched firmly in both hands. The boy skidded to a halt in front of him, and doubled-over as he panted, "Can… I… tag along? I don't want to get lost," he said straightening up.

"Sure."

They walked steadily in amiable silence, until Neville tripped and nearly went careening into a suit of armour were it not for Harry's quick reflexes.

"Thanks," said Neville, flushing in embarrassment.

Harry shrugged.

"What do you think about Hayden being the Seeker?"

Harry paused, his pace slowing before resuming its normal speed. "Dunno."

"Oh… um, thanks for, you know, saving me and all," Neville flushed. "During flying lessons…"

Harry stared at him steadily before his gaze returned to the front. "You're welcome."

The temperature dropped steadily as they went deeper and deeper into the dungeons of the castle. Neville shivered and wrapped his robe around himself. The boy glanced across at Evan, who seemed oblivious to the cold. The short-haired boy was thin, and his skin was drawn tight across his face. The school robes hid how truly thin Evan was, as Neville guessed. The brown hair was cropped fairly short, and allowed all to see the brown eyes. The shadows under his eyes weren't as prominent as the first night, although the eyes held a haunted look behind the aloofness.

Then the sound of talking voices reached their ears, and they shared a wary glance – up ahead, clustered around the door to the dungeons were the first year Slytherins.

As they neared the group, a pug-faced girl clutching Malfoy's arm noticed them and sneered as she nudged Malfoy. The aristocrat noticed them and soon, all the Slytherins turned to face the two Gyffindors.

"Well, well, well," Malfoy drawled. "Look what the troll dragged in: Weedy and Fatty."

Soft laughter rose from the green-clad students as Neville tensed. Harry squeezed his arm and tugged him to the side. "Ignore them," he hissed.

Neville inhaled deeply and followed, aware of the Slytherins' mocking stares. Evan led the way to the other side of the dungeon door, a respectable distance away from the Slytherins. He leaned against the wall casually, and ignored the Slytherins. This brought about a few stares from the first years to Malfoy, who glared at them until they returned their gazes to the two Gryffindors.

Neville stood as far away as possible from the Slytherins, glancing at them warily. He stood stiffly, his hands clenching the strap of his bag tightly. The silence (Minus the low mutterings between the Slytherins) was thick with tension, weighing down heavily on their ears. Eventually, Malfoy snapped.

"What's the matter Longbottom? Afraid of your tongue running away?"

Neville bit his lip to restrain himself from reacting openly as the group laughed collectively. A hand on his arm squeezed gently, and he glanced at Evan. The other boy was still leaning against the wall, as relaxed as could be.

"What, you deaf, Weedy?"

Addressed directly, Harry's head shifted to face Malfoy, a stone-cold look on his face. "I don't bother listening to spoilt, arrogant brats."

The blonde coloured, a pink tinge growing in his pale cheeks. "Watch what you say, Reeds. I am a Malfoy and you are nothing compared to me, filthy mudblood."

Several reactions occurred at once: the Slytherins laughed, Neville inhaled sharply and plunged his hand down his robe, and the rest of the Gryffindors heard as they arrived and whipped out their wands.

Before the situation could deteriorate into chaos, the door to the dungeons smashed open and a tall, darkly-clad man scowled at them – mainly, the Gryffindors.

"Inside," he barked, and stepped aside to allow them in. "And five points from Gryffindor."

Snickering, the Slytherins entered, followed warily by the Gryffindors. They wisely remained silent, and immediately filled the spaces near the back.

When Harry passed Malfoy, he muttered low enough for the aristocrat to hear, "Sticks and stones, Malfoy," before he claimed a seat.

Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master, swept past the desks to the front where he promptly began taking the register. No-one dared to speak as he called out their names. The Professor exuded a dangerous aura, giving all an impression that he was not one to cross. When the man reached Hayden's name, he stopped and stared at Hayden intensely.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Hayden Potter – our new celebrity."

The Slytherins snickered. Hayden glared at the Professor but didn't say anything. Harry felt a twinge of annoyance – on behalf of his twin, perhaps?

Snape resumed taking the register and when he was done, he stared at them with dark eyes. His pallid skin contrasted immensely with his oily, black hair and his hooked nose looked as if it had been broken a few times.

Harry studied the man carefully; fully aware of the past he shared with the Marauders and his mother. Snape began speaking again, in a soft, silky voice that captured their attentions effortlessly.

"You are here to learn the subtle sciences and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving, many of you will hardly believe this is magic." At this, the onyx eyes flickered in Hayden's direction. "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses."

The soft, silky voice floated in Harry's mind, and he listened in fascination – he had never heard someone speak with so much passion about any one thing, and found himself enraptured despite his earlier irritation with the Professor.

"I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Hermione Granger was listening as intently as Harry, leaning forward eagerly and Harry guessed that she was determined to prove that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" Snape barked suddenly, and Harry forced himself not to react ('I am not Harry, I am not Harry.'). "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry frowned – that wasn't first year material. He racked his brain for the answer as Hayden stared at Snape in confusion and Hermione Granger's hand shot up into the air eagerly. 'Sleeping potion… powerful sleeping potion… how does he expect Hayden to know this?'

"Um… a foul-tasting potion?"

The Gryffindors chuckled, but were quickly silenced by Snape's glare. Harry groaned inwardly. 'Didn't Mum at least think to teach him some Potions?'

"Incorrect, Mr. Potter. Answer me this: where would I find a bezoar?"

'Stomach of goat! Stomach of goat!' Harry shouted in his mind, trying to will the thought to Hayden.

Hermione's hand rose higher, her head bobbing up and down comically.

"I don't know, sir. But I know where I'd shove it if I find one."

Harry nearly screamed at Hayden's stupidity as the class gasped collectively. Snape looked absolutely livid, and his eyes flashed dangerously. The class waited as Snape glared at Hayden, who returned it with equal loathing. 'Looks like Dad passed on his loathing of Snape to Hayden,' he sighed.

"One more try, Potter," Snape glowered. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

'Isn't it called aconite as well?'

"The names, sir?"

This time, Harry groaned out loud softly, but no-one seemed to hear. He thought he saw Snape's eyes flicker to him briefly, but it happened so quickly.

"Tut, tut, Mr. Potter. It seems fame isn't everything. For your information, asphodel and wormwood make a powerful sleeping Potion called the Draught of Living Death, a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant also known as aconite. Well? Why aren't you all writing this down?"

There was a sudden flurry of movement as everyone rummaged for their quills and parchment. Above the noise, Snape snapped to Hayden, "Thirty points from Gryffindor will be taken for your insolence, Potter."

Hayden opened his mouth to protest angrily, but closed it on second thought.

Things didn't get any better as the Potions lesson progressed, and Snape paired everyone up to begin with a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around the dungeon criticizing almost everyone with the blatant exception of Malfoy.

Harry found himself quite enjoying the lesson, excepting the facts that Snape was obviously biased. At first, he was wary and immensely shifty when everyone lit the fires underneath their cauldrons, but forced himself to relax.

'It's all in the past; it's all in the past.'

He was paired with Dean Thomas, a muggleborn with a borderline obsession with football. They worked well, taking turns alternating between stirring the cauldron and adjusting the temperature of the fire, and the cutting and adding of the 'ingredients'. Harry found himself more often than not using the knife, with which he was proficient and precise with – years of practise had their advantages, he thought.

The class had been stopped for what must have been the third time as Snape told everyone to look at Malfoy's potion, at how the texture was perfect when a sudden hissing sound and acid green smoke wafted above them.

Neville's potion had somehow melted Seamus' cauldron into an unrecognizable blob of pewter. Snape immediately towered above the boy as boils sprang up all over Neville's skin, elicitng a whimper of pain from the boy. Everyone had quickly hopped onto their stools as the potion spread across the floor, melting their shoes.

"Idiot boy!" Snape hissed. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville stared up at the Professor fearfully, who rounded on Seamus.

"Take him to the Hospital Wing!" he snapped, before whirling to stare down at Hayden. "Potter! Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought it'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another five points from Gryffindor."

Harry clenched his jaw tightly, grounding his teeth together as he forced himself to put down the knife. Hayden, meanwhile, opened his mouth to protest when the bell sounded and Ron dragged Hayden back to their desk where they held a whispered argument. Harry shook himself as he shoved his equipment away. He slung his bag over his shoulder and left quickly.

XxX

Before Harry knew it, the first week was over, and he immediately snagged a quick sandwich before heading off to the library.

He soon fell into a routine at Hogwarts: wake up, go for a walk or run, breakfast, classes, lunch, more classes, library, dinner and sleep.

With all this, he surprised himself by still finding time to check on Hayden frequently, attending the Quidditch practises that occurred three nights a week. He occupied himself in the Quidditch stands with homework which was getting increasingly tedious. Often he brought along a different book each week just to pass the time.

There was a minor issue when he realised that Hayden and Ron were late, and he skipped class to find them on the third floor trying to budge a door open, which, coincidentally, happened to be the forbidden door in the third-floor corridor. Filch showed up at that moment and threatened the two with torture-by-chains until Quirrel showed up and intervened.

What Harry found strange was that his scar flared just moments before the Defence Professor appeared and that the turbaned-man had just happened to be passing when his classroom was no-where near the third-floor.

History of Magic was an extremely tense period for him at first; until he started welcoming the praise he received and began working almost feverishly in that subject for more. His mother was surprised by his eager attitude in the class and homework but merely took it with a smile.

Defence Against the Dark Arts seemed doomed to forever-more be a complete and utter joke. The stuttering of the Professor more often than not had a student leaving the class rubbing their temples, but Harry had to suffer through those days with a massive migraine, and he suspected it had nothing to do with the stuttering.

After weeks of virtual inactivity compared to the stressful and active years he spent on the streets, he became increasingly restless and agitated, searching for an outlet of frustration. He found himself wishing for a disturbance in his boring routine. He became increasingly restless and spent quite a few nights tossing and turning until his patience snapped and he crept out to the Quidditch pitch. He snuck out a school broom and took to the air, feeling calm and at ease upon kicking off.

And so it was with a few nights a week that Harry snuck out to fly, incorporating it into his otherwise boring routine.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks soon turned to months, and soon he awoke on the morning of Halloween.

There was a festive mood in the air when Harry returned to the castle for breakfast and wolfed down his sausages, eggs and toast before heading for Charms.

Everyone was looking forward to the lesson, as Flitwick announced that they were ready to begin Levitation Charms.

"Now, remember everyone – swish and flick! Don't forget to pronounce the spell correctly."

Harry's lips quirked upward slightly in wry humour – the irony of re-learning the first every spell he had ever cast wandlessly.

They were in pairs, and today, Harry was working with Hayden. He wasn't sure how to feel about this and settled for smiling at Hayden when they sat down.

Ron was slightly disappointed about this, and scowled at 'Evan' darkly before he was paired with Hermione Granger. Ron glanced at the bushy-haired girl apprehensively – everyone in Gryffindor saw her as a bossy, know-it-all. For her part, the girl ignored the obvious disappointment that Ron displayed clearly and dutifully retrieved a feather from the front.

Harry leaned back in his chair and watched quietly as Hayden waved his wand smoothly and intoned the incantation precisely. There was a quiver, and then their feather spiralled upwards, high above the heads of the first years and turned heads. Professor Flitwick squeaked excitedly.

"Wonderful, Mr. Potter! See here, everyone, Mr. Potter's done it! And so quickly, too!"

Harry schooled his face into a carefully blank mask, and only offered a smile when Hayden turned to him, face flushed. "Here, your turn, Evan."

Harry gripped his wand gently and was about to wave it when an explosion of movement caught his attention.

Ron's face had turned the same shade as his hair, blushing deep into the roots as he waved his wand around wildly like a windmill. Granger caught his wrist and forced him still.

"You're doing it all wrong," Hermione snapped, "You shouldn't wave your wand around like that, you'll poke someone's eye out – and it's Win-gar-dium Levi-o­-sa. Make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

"Fine," Hermione responded curtly and picked her wand up. Clearing her throat, she flicked her wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa."

Her feather rose off the desk and continued rising, stopping only when she blushed under Flitwick's excited praise. Ron turned away.

"It's no wonder no-one can stand her," Ron complained to Hayden as they pushed their way through the jostling crowds. "She's a nightmare – honestly, "it's 'Wing-gar­-dium Levi-oooo­-sa'"!"

Harry, trailing behind them, had to restrain himself from reacting when a brown blur knocked past him. He caught sight of Hermione's tearful face, and sighed, leaning forward to mutter to the red-heads in front of him, "I think she heard you."

"So?" said Ron, but he looked slightly uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Harry sighed angrily and stalked away. He briefly considered the awkward idea of running after the girl and comforting her, but felt uncomfortable with the thought of having a hysterical girl sobbing into his robes. He cast one last lingering glance at the bushy-haired girl's back before pushing it out of his mind.

The rest of the day sped by, and all around the castle were Halloween decorations and knick-knacks, and the feast loomed closer and closer. Hermione Granger didn't turn up to any other lessons after Charms, and Hayden and Ron started looking guilty after they held a hushed conversation with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.

Finally, everyone piled into the Great Hall and clambered into their seats as jack-o-lanterns and live bats soared above their heads. Harry slipped into the seat beside Neville, feeling the surrounding positive emotions strongly enough to make him smile. Neville noticed and grinned through a mouthful of potatoes.

"Hey, Evan. What's got you so happy?"

"Oh, nothing," Harry responded lightly. "Hey, where's Hermione Granger?"

Neville glanced around before leaning in. "She hasn't turned up for any of her classes and Parvati and Lavender said she locked herself up in a girl's lavatory. She's been crying all day."

Harry glanced down the table to see Hayden and Ron, who were laughing happily as they heaped more food onto their plates. Harry turned back to his plate, frowning. He looked up again, at the Staff table and saw all the professors present minus Quirrel. His forehead creased as his eyes swept along the table.

"Where's Professor Quirrel?"

Neville looked up, surprised. "Dunno. Haven't seen him since lunch."

Harry glanced at the staff table once more but this time his eye caught Lily Potter's. She smiled at him and raised her goblet slightly. Harry couldn't help but do the same.

At that moment, the huge double doors burst open with a deafening bang and Quirrel rushed in, robes askew and his face portraying intense fear and panic.

"TROLL!" he screamed. "Troll in the dungeons!"

Everyone stared at the Defense Professor, unmoving, who stood in the middle of the Hall. The Professors had all stood up.

"Thought you ought to know," was the last audible thing the Professor said before he collapsed.

It was as if a switch had been flicked.

Everyone, every single student, rose and hurried around aimlessly, screaming in terror. Professor Dumbledore shot several sparks from the end of his wand but when that failed, he opened his mouth.

"SILENCE!"

Everyone became deathly silent, all eyes on Dumbledore.

"Thank you. Prefects, lead your Houses to your dormitories. Teachers, follow me."

Immediately, Percy Weasley began shouting orders and calling out for the first years. They all squeezed through the double doors, careful to avoid Professor Quirrel's inert body.

Harry felt a strange foreboding settle over him like a shadow and glanced back. He saw the rest of the students, but more importantly, he saw Hayden and Ron sneaking away. At first, he stared after them in disbelief, before he growled and took off after them, using a nifty disillusioning spell he had found in the library.

XxX

Hermione sniffed and rubbed her undoubtedly blood-shot eyes as she shuffled out of the toilet cubicle. All day she had been in there, and the tempting thought of food had finally brought her out.

There was a choking odour hanging in the air and she hiccupped softly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

'How did I miss that smell earlier?'

She wiped her eyes which were now watering slightly from the foul odour and glanced at the floor – and stopped dead.

A huge pair of puke-green, dirty, absolutely rank feet stood not three feet away from her. Her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes slowly traversed up from the feet, to the looming figure of a fully grown Mountain Troll.

It stared down at her dumbly, but primitive instincts flashed in its eyes – it grunted, and at last Hermione inhaled sharply.

And screamed.

The Troll roared in unison and raised its large, heavy club as easily as if it were a paperclip and swung it down. She faintly registered scrambling out of the way desperately, and could feel the floor tremor mightily as the club struck the floor. She ducked into a toilet cubicle, all rational thought gone and not thinking about the absurdity of her situation: she was in a cubicle, with only a thin piece of flimsy wood between her and the Troll's club –

- and then her world exploded into a reality of flying shards of wood. She threw herself to the ground and flung her arms protectively over the back of her head – fragments of wood clattered to the ground harmlessly and fell on her, but her thick school robes prevented any from cutting her skin.

She looked up when the rain of wood ceased and began crawling on her hands. The Troll was sniffing the air when she sneaked a look. At least half of the cubicles were in states of badly-needed repair, the top-half of the walls littering the floor.

She shifted along the ground frantically – the Troll probably couldn't see her among the wreckage but her hope was quickly dashed when it roared again and swung its club horizontally and into the remaining toilet cubicles.

The shattering and falling of wood caused her to scream again and curl into a protective huddle. She glanced up fearfully and saw the Troll staring straight back at her. A thrill of fear coursed through her veins and she attempted to crawl as far away as possible again, but the sheer amount of wood fragments littering – covering – the floor made it a difficult task.

Her frantic movements alerted the Troll and it bellowed – it raised the club and was just about to bring it down on her – she could only stare – where was the Gryffindor bravery she was supposed to have?

"OI! PEA-BRAIN!"

A broken tile soared through the air and hit the side of the Troll's head with a dull clunk. The missile didn't seem to bother the Troll at all, even when more flying objects were hurled at it – it was the voice.

'Weasley?' she could only stare in dumbfounded disbelief when the surprising but welcome sight of Hayden and Ron greeted her eyes. They were frantically hurling any solid object they could get their hands on towards the Troll and at that moment, Hayden caught sight of Hermione.

"Hermione, MOVE!"

The shout made her snap back to her sense.

With renewed energy borne out of fear and desperation, she resumed crawling as far away as possible – the sinks were within crawling distance and high enough for her to hide under – they were only two feet away –

- and then she was suddenly under a sink, huddling into a tight ball and trembling in fear as the Troll lumbered around in time to catch a glimpse of her crawling under. It roared again and swung the club downwards again.

She screamed and began to scramble forwards when a wall of rotting, mouldy wood erupted in her eyes – the club had hit the sink in front of her and she recoiled. She could vaguely hear the other two boys shouting incoherently and stared at them with wide, panicked eyes.

"Use your wands!" she all-but-screeched, and ducked her head when the Troll shattered another sink into a hundred smaller pieces. The pipe was also smashed and water was gushing out rapidly, steadily turning the bathroom into a swamp. The floor was now slippery enough to be treacherous, but the Troll seemed unperturbed about it as it smashed yet another sink.

'Then again, it's probably not even smart enough to realize,' Hermione thought.

She tried crawling forward again and stopped short with shriek when the Troll missed her by an inch.

Meanwhile, another Gryffindor had just reached the door of the girls' bathroom, disillusioned and breathless. Said boy skidded to a halt and grabbed the doorway tightly in order to prevent himself from slipping on the wet tiles.

Harry watched from his position, seeing Hayden and Ron holding their wands (Hayden was attempting a stunner while Ron stood with wand in hand, staring at the Troll and no doubt trying to think of a spell to use) and aiming them at a fully-grown Mountain Troll, which was looming over the sinks, under which Hermione Granger huddled.

The Troll roared again and Harry wandered how the Professors could not hear it, but pushed the thought out of his mind when the ugly brute lifted the club into the air. His breath caught in his throat and he forced himself to move.

Pushing off of the doorway, he skidded across the wet floor in a barely-controlled slide and waved his hand, pooling his magic and releasing it in what he would've seen as a brightly-coloured shower of sparks.

The Troll's club wrenched itself out of its large hands and hit the other wall with a tremendous thwump! The tremor shook everyone except the Troll, and Harry, losing his balance, slipped and fell. Harry was sure that his backside would be hurting badly if years of honed reflexes had not made him able to twist his body in mid-air and hit the floor in an awkward, half-crouching position.

The Troll stared at its hand, confused, and it waggled its ears before turning to lumber towards its club.

And Harry, while still disillusioned, was in its way.

His eyes widened when the Troll began stomping towards its club, and would no doubt step right on him! He scrambled to his feet and slipped spectacularly again. This time, he hit the wet tiles with his backside first.

He winced, but didn't spare his throbbing backside any thought as he tried, once again, to stagger upright.

He partially succeeded.

While he did manage to get on his feet, he soon lost his balance again when the Troll's foot hit the floor with a particularly strong shockwave and sent him sprawling. What he didn't expect was to hit the floor and slide across the room on his back, sending him shooting out from between the Troll's legs (He gagged on the putrid odour as he shot underneath the Troll).

Once clear of the Troll, he ended up slamming against the opposite wall – hard.

He winced and put a hand to his side gingerly. Then his head shot up when he heard a scream, a yell, and what sounded like an overrated war-cry.

He watched, open-mouthed, in disbelief as Hayden idiotically charged the Troll and grabbed onto the club just as it was lifting it up. His twin ended up sitting on the Troll's shoulders, looking alarmed and dizzy.

The Troll didn't notice the boy sitting on his shoulders, nor did it feel the hands grabbing at its ears – but it did notice when a twelve-inch long, cherry-wood wand went up its nostril.

It roared in pain and swung its head about wildly, attempting to dislodge the wand and in doing so, caused Hayden to fly off backwards. The red-head fell backwards in a slow, clean arc, and at the last moment, Harry returned to his sense enough to reach out with his magic and slow Hayden's descent dramatically. It didn't stop his brother completely, but it was enough to prevent him from cracking a few ribs.

At the same moment, Ron raised his wand and intending to aim at Hayden, shouted desperately: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

He missed, and instead, his spell hit the Troll's club and lifted it out of its grasp. The Troll looked up with what was probably a confused expression. It reached up and was about to grab its club out of the air (Ron stood stock still, wand still holding the cub up) when Harry pushed his magic towards the club and snapped Ron's levitation charm on the cudgel, sending it hitting the Troll's head with a clunk.

The Troll staggered, dazed, and began lurching towards Hayden and Ron. They scrambled out of the way and the Troll collapsed with a resounding thud where they had been standing not a second ago. Dust was sent flying, before it slowly settled once it became clear the Troll was not moving.

For a long moment, all four Gryffindors stared at the Troll. Hermione slowly stood up, using the wall to support her shaky legs. She licked her lips, still staring at the Troll cautiously.

"I-is it… dead?"

Hayden and Ron glanced at her, and Harry's twin stepped forward warily. "I don't think so. Just knocked out, I reckon." He stooped slowly and pulled his cherry-wood wand out of the Troll's nose. They grimaced when it came out with a sticky-sounding squelch, a lumpy, grey substance clinging to the wood.

"Urgh – Troll bogies," Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust.

The sound of running feet startled them into jumping slightly, turning to the door as Professors McGonagall, Snape and Quirrel burst in, breathless and wands at the ready. Quirrel took one look at the Troll and sat down with a whimper. McGonagall took one look at the three (visible) first-years, the Troll and the bathroom in general and paled further, her lips thinning in anger. Hayden and Ron visibly deflated.

"What on earth were you thinking?" she shook with suppressed anger as Snape knelt down close to the Troll. "You're lucky you weren't killed – why aren't you in your dormitories?"

Her face was fiercer than Harry had ever seen before, and her eyes were flashing dangerously. Hayden and Ron immediately started stuttering nervously, cutting each other off as they attempted to justify themselves.

"Professor, please –"

"We were just –"

"It's my fault, Professor."

Every inhaled sharply and turned to look at Hermione, who was pale and shaky, but looking resolute. Ron dropped his wand and Hayden nudged him sharply. They stared at her, dumbfounded. Hermione Granger, strict, rule-abiding know-it-all, confessing her fault?

"Ms. Granger!"

"I went looking for the Troll, because – because I'd read about them and thought I could deal with it. I was wrong," she took a deep breath and snuck a glance at Hayden and Ron. "If Hayden and Ron had not come, I'd probably be dead."

Hayden and Ron were trying to cover their surprise and attempting to look as if that had been what had happened all along. Harry felt similarly, but was also lightly amused.

"Well then," McGonagall straightened herself, looking at all three of them disapprovingly. "I'm extremely disappointed in you, Ms. Granger. I didn't expect you to be foolish enough to go after a Troll on your own."

Hermione hung her head.

"Five points will be taken from Gryffindor for your foolishness. As for you two, you were still extremely lucky. Not many first years could have taken on a fully grown mountain Troll and survived. Five points apiece will be awarded to Gryffindor. Professor Dumbledore will be informed about this. Now, if you are not injured, you may return to your House dormitories – the feast is being finished in the dormitories."

Hayden, Ron and Hermione left quickly.

Harry started after them, then stopped and hunkered down in a corner. He watched, still disillusioned, as McGonagall and Snape (Quirrel was staring at the Troll, transfixed in fear) conversed in low tones, before they left in a hurry. Quirrel remained.

Harry felt slightly anxious in the Professor's company alone, but forced himself to remain calm.

As soon as the footsteps of the two Professors faded away, Quirrel changed instantaneously. His fear and nervousness disappeared, replaced by a dark, scowling face. The Professor glared at the Troll's inert body.

"Incompetent," he muttered, barely audible. "Can't even bump off three idiotic Gryffindors…"

Harry's eyes widened. He snuck around the Professor and walked away as quickly and quietly as he could.

He'd heard enough.

XxX

"Snape's leg was bleeding."

Hayden's sudden statement broke the silence between the trio – Hermione was still shifting awkwardly, as if disbelieving that she suddenly had friends. The feast was still in full swing, but the three were sitting in a secluded corner with plates of food on their laps.

"Huh?" Ron looked up from his mouthful of food.

Hayden rolled his eyes. "I said, 'Snape's leg was bleeding'. I saw it back in the bathroom."

"Well, I hope it's hurting him real bad," Ron muttered.

"Ron!" Hermione glared at him disapprovingly.

Ron quavered under Hermione's intense glare. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered hastily.

"Anyway," Hayden rolled his eyes, "that was a real neat charm you pulled, Ron."

The other's eyes widened. "Y-you think so?"

"Oh, yes, it was perfect and – and…" Hermione trailed off shyly before looking up at the two. "Thanks for saving my life."

"No big deal, Hermione – right?" Hayden looked at Ron pointedly.

"Erm, yeah," Ron rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and winced when Hayden nudged him sharply. "Err, I'm sorry for, uh, hurting you?"

Hermione smiled. "Apology accepted," she answered primly and the three burst out laughing.

Hayden looked around the common room contentedly. People were milling about and chatting, no doubt, about the Troll incident. 'No doubt they'll find out all about it tomorrow,' he thought wryly. "Come on," Hayden stood, "I see treacle pudding."

Hermione shook her head but followed. "Boys."

Much later, the prefects ushered everyone into their dorms. In the first year dormitory, Hayden, Ron, Neville, Dean, Seamus and Evan were changing into their nightwear. Hayden and Ron were enthralling the four other boys about their mishap with the Troll.

"– and a club, at least five feet big and it must've weighed, what, a tonne? Anyway, so it was about to smash us in when I pointed my wand at it and levitated its club like, three feet above its head! It looked up at it, the big, stupid brute and the club dropped it like a Whomping Willow!"

"Whoa, awesome, man! Awesome!" Dean leapt onto his four-poster bed. "And you survived without a scratch!"

"Yeah, a fully-grown Mountain Troll against three eleven-year olds? Blimey, you make it sound so easy," Seamus whistled.

"Well, Trolls are stupid and Hayden used all these wicked, advanced spells against it to distract it so Hermione could get away. How did you know all those, anyway?" Ron glanced at Hayden.

"I started learning magic early. With a practise wand, though, but my Dad said I picked things up real fast. The downside is that Mum insisted on giving me homework as well," Hayden rolled his eyes.

Ron winced. "Speaking of which, my Mum's so gonna kill me! But still, I can't wait to tell my brothers. Fred and George'll be right gob smacked."

"You tell me," Hayden muttered. "Dad'll be ecstatic but Mum will probably ground me for a whole year. I bet she'll drag me away from the Gryffindor table tomorrow at breakfast. Well, 'night, guys."

A chorus of 'goodnight's and other bids followed, before retreating into their respected beds. The lights dimmed, and soon, all noise ceased.

Harry stared up at the ceiling for a long while, his ribs aching slightly, feeling exhaustion and fatigue catching up with his body. On second thoughts, he concentrated on warding the edges of his bed with a silencing ward. A sharp flare of pain centred around the area where his scar would be made him hiss in surprise but it faded away as quickly as it had come.

He frowned thoughtfully, debating whether or not to go to the Headmaster about it – it was the fifth time his scar had hurt at Hogwarts, but he soon dismissed the idea resolutely. With a sigh, his eyes fluttered shut and he fell into a blissful oblivion.

'Merlin Almighty, what a night.'

Author's Notes: There we go: fourth chapter up! Sorry it took three weeks, but I only had weekends, really, to work on it. Anyway, thanks for all your reviews so far, guys! I really appreciate it. Please keep 'em coming and please point out any mistakes or problems with my writing or story. Thanks to those that pointed out the lame-ness of the plot in chapter two, I realised it as well… but it's kinda instrumental to the rest of the plot, so yeah.

Expect the next chapter up within three to four weeks. I'll get started on the next chapter right away.

Toodles!

Edited: 15th December, 2008