You shove the diary into Yogasa for the moment. Tom said not to do that, so you can only deduce that doing that very thing will be an inconvenience for him. Hopefully, he can't affect you from there. You feel a guilty twinge, which is then quickly overwhelmed by a surge of annoyance at the fact that you feel guilty in the first place. Tom is not your friend. If he's suffering, that can only be a good thing. The fear you're feeling right now can be traced back to that annoying little book.

The diary has broken your illusion of invincibility. Having your Existence drained like that has opened the door to the possibility that you could actually die. It's ironic, because you've never, ever been afraid of death. It was practically your duty to die as a Flame Haze. Every Blazing-Eyed Flame-Haired Hunter before you died in a blaze of glory, summoning Alastor the Crimson God to the field to obliterate a foe that no mortal could possibly match. It was only the fortunate circumstances of your birth that allowed you to survive using that suicide technique.

You have a life here that you don't want to relinquish. However you spent the rest of your days as Shana, you don't remember them. You're sure you treasured them, but by then the danger had passed. In this time and place, you have an uncomfortable feeling that even if you vanquish this diary, there will still be more dangerous times ahead.

A fiery spark of determination blazes behind your eyes. You won't be giving this life up without a fight. You've always known that to be brave isn't to be fearless, but to fight on despite your fears. Even if you haven't yet found a purpose for your existence, you still have value.

As for the diary.. you're going to take it to Professor McGonagall. You don't quite trust your own mind to be able to finish the thing off. You're operating without any real information on what this diary is and what it can do. To make a hasty judgment could prove fatal. If you bring others into your confidence, you can lighten your own burden. You feel guilty that you're imposing on McGonagall like this, but you suppose it is in her job description to help students when they ask.

It weights on your mind the longer you keep it on you. You have to remind yourself that your worry is coming from you, and not any external source. The book hasn't left your dimensional pocket; it shouldn't be able to touch you. Finally, your Transfiguration class ends and you stay after class to speak with McGonagall.

"I need your help with something important, Professor McGonagall."

She adjusts her glasses and stares across her desk toward where you're standing. "What is it, Miss Weasley?"

You grimace. You feel as if, the moment you take the diary out, it'll start shouting obscenities at you while hexing you into jelly. Your breathing is a little heavy with nervousness. "One moment," you say, holding up a hand for time.

You yank the diary out in one swift motion and slap it on the desk. Fortunately, it doesn't explode. "I need to destroy this."

She carelessly picks it up and turns it over, examining it. She flips through the pages idly, and you feel a mad urge to slap the thing out of her hands. She gives you a dubious look, which only serves to aggravate you. "Miss Weasley? This is a diary. Are you feeling alright?"

You force down your irritation with a force of will. Acting like that won't win you any favors with McGonagall. You put as much feeling as you can into your next words. "Please. I wouldn't ask if I thought I could do it myself. I'm afraid I won't be able to if I try. Just.. humor me." There's a faint note of desperation in your voice toward the end.

McGonagall heaves a sigh and takes out her wand, pointing it at the diary. "Evanesco." Whatever was supposed to happen, doesn't, because the diary's still lying on the desk untouched. McGonagall's eyes narrow at the paperback.

She taps her wand on the book's cover and says, "Diffindo." A jet of light strikes the cover of the diary head-on, but nothing else happens. McGonagall grimaces in irritation. She gives the book one last tap and murmurs, "Incendio."

A tightly controlled stream of flame passes over the diary, but it simply rolls over the book. She extinguishes her spell immediately when she notices it not having any effect. She sighs, then turns back to you.

"I'm afraid I'm out of ideas. You have one sturdy book there, I can tell you. Where did you find it?" She looks down at the item in question with curiosity. You want to shout at her. It's evil! Kill it!

Some of your aggravation leaks into your voice against your will. "I don't know! Are you sure you can't destroy it?"

She frowns at you. "If you want rid of it so badly, I can take it off your hands."

"No!" you shout vehemently. You won't be satisfied until this thing is dust. "It has to be destroyed. Can't you think of anything else? Anything at all?" you ask desperately.

McGonagall's patience has obviously stretched past its breaking point. You're surprised she even did this much, if you're to be honest with yourself. "Enough, Miss Weasley. I fail to see what has you so worked up, and unless you have an explanation for me, I suggest you leave for dinner." She gazes at you sternly over her rimmed glasses.

Perhaps you should've started from the beginning when you first came in. Your impatience to destroy it must've gotten to you. You accede to her request, and start from the top. "I've been writing in that diary; and it's been writing back. Only, I noticed the other night that it's making me weaker. Then I realized I would never keep a diary in the first place."

You look plaintively at McGonagall, willing her to agree with you, to see your side of the story. "Please believe me, Professor. There's something very wrong with this diary. I don't know how to prove it to you. I don't want to write in it again.. I've been keeping it in my extra pocket; it said it didn't like that, so I figured I'd be safe that way."

She stares at you for a moment longer in silence. "..."

Then, she speaks. "The only person who would know better than I would be Dumbledore. Are you saying that this diary is worth troubling the headmaster? If you cause a fuss over nothing, I won't go easy on your punishment."

You have to stop yourself from jumping in elation. "Yes! Yes, it is. Can we go see him?" you ask hopefully.

Her frown is back in full force again. "Miss Weasley, the headmaster is a busy man. I'll ask him to spare some of his time, but you can hardly expect Professor Dumbledore to come running any time a first year-"

McGonagall is interrupted by the voice of a familiar kindly old man. "Did someone say my name?"

Your head whips to the side so fast you hurt your neck. McGonagall looks no less surprised. "Headmaster!"

Professor Dumbledore peeks in curiously through the classroom door, chuckling. Then he enters and strides over toward where you and McGonagall are positioned. "What seems to be the problem?" he asks the room at large, his gaze alternating between you and McGonagall.

McGonagall doesn't immediately reply, so you take the initiative yourself. You pick up the diary and hand it out to Dumbledore, then repeat the brief explanation of events as you understand them that you just gave McGonagall.

He scratches his long beard with one hand while turning the diary over in the other. His expression never changes in the slightest; showing nothing but patient curiosity. You fidget in anticipation, waiting for the headmaster to say something. "Do you know where you found this, Miss Weasley?" Dumbledore finally asks.

You frown. "I don't know. I didn't buy anything like that. At first, I assumed my mum had packed it for me. The first time I saw it was in my luggage when I went up to the dormitories for the first time."

"Hmm.. a mystery, indeed," Dumbledore murmurs. He turns to look at you with his eyes twinkling. "I can't tell you how grateful I am that you came to Professor McGonagall with this, Miss Weasley. You may have saved a lot of lives in doing so."

McGonagall herself looks flabbergasted at the headmaster's pronouncement. She gives the diary a second visual inspection, but apparently can't find what it is the headmaster's seeing. After that, she shrugs it off, having long become used to the eccentricities of Albus Dumbledore. "Will you be able to handle her problem from here, Albus?"

"Indeed, Minerva. Follow me, Ginny."

He exits the room, and you leave McGonagall's classroom behind. You follow after him through the halls of Hogwarts until you reach a gargoyle standing sentinel in front of a door. "Sherbet Lemon."

The gargoyle stands aside and a spiral staircase rotates around, allowing you and Dumbledore entrance to what must be the headmaster's office. You trail behind Dumbledore, taking in the sight of his cluttered office, and the portraits of previous headmasters lining the circular walls. There's a phoenix perched on a raised platform staring at you with beady eyes.

Dumbledore coughs to bring your attention back to him. "If I'm not mistaken, you would like some closure on this matter. Understandable, but I'm afraid I won't be able to explain everything." He says remorsefully.

You feel your heart sink. This is now out of your hands completely, unless you want to go against Dumbledore. If he's not up to the task of destroying the diary, you've just made a huge mistake. "I can confirm what you already know; this is an immensely dark artifact of a kind that I've been seeking for some time now. I can assure you that I have the means to destroy it. Rest assured, you won't have to worry about it falling into anyone's hands ever again." You want to believe in his words; you should be able to, but you simply can't. You need to see it being destroyed firsthand. Nothing else will give you the peace of mind you're searching for.

"When are you going to destroy it?" you ask.

Dumbledore fields your question, and you're grateful he's still answering you. "It will take some preparation to perform." He leans back in his chair, folding his arms in front of him.

You hesitate before your next words, but you plow on regardless. "..I want to witness its destruction. It's the only way I'll know."

Dumbledore regards you with a serious face. "My word isn't good enough?"

You maintain eye contact as you reply. "No."

He looks taken aback for a second, perhaps at your sheer audacity. "..."

He recovers quickly enough. "I'm afraid I can't expose you to the dangers this diary poses. It will be most dangerous in the hour of its demise. I can send you a message when the deed is done, but I can't take you with me," he says, a definite tone of regret in his voice.

You grimace, but answer, "..Yes, sir."

That's what you say, but you have other plans in your mind. With Shinban, you can spy on even the headmaster's office if you feel like it. You'll see the diary destroyed, one way or another. You give your thanks to Professor Dumbledore and exit the headmaster's office, before he can tell you something absurd like 'don't spy on me.' You wouldn't put it past him to guess your thoughts like that.

Funnily enough, Dumbledore must have been lying about preparations being needed. That very night you use your flaming eye of sight to espy Dumbledore directing an intense fire toward the diary suspended in mid-air in his office. It takes the shape of a herd of wild animals; wolves, hyenas, and jaguars tear the diary piece by piece. You can hear the screams echoing off the walls. There has to be some kind of muffling effect around the room, or half the castle would be waking up to the racket.

Dumbledore himself stands calmly in a barrier of protection shielding him from the diaries increasingly feeble attempts to attack him. You very nearly shout in anger and give away your spying position when you notice the flame lashes it's sending at Dumbledore are composed of your power. That thieving little..

You're glad Dumbledore is able to protect himself. If the diary stole your power to kill him.. that would be about the worst possible result imaginable. Soon enough, its resistance falters and the screams die out. Nothing but a charred pile of ashes on the floor remains of the diary. Satisfied, you dispel Shinban, but not before you notice Dumbledore shooting a glance in your direction. You have the uncomfortable feeling he knew you were there the whole time.

Even so, you're satisfied. The diary is destroyed. Dumbledore is just as powerful as you've always heard, and you have new faith in the Hogwart's curriculum. Wizarding magic can be impressive, you'll just have to work towards it. You wouldn't mind learning how to conjure some of those flames Dumbledore was using. You look forward to your lessons, even if they might be boring.

Luna's happy that you're back to normal. You feel bad about excluding her in this. Even if it seemingly happened all at once, you should have made time to inform her of what was going on. You try to make amends by filling her in on your mild 'adventure' and spending more time by her side. It's not much; you were basically doing everything together, anyway. You can only hope she'll let go of any hurt feelings.

Classes have started to fall into a comfortable rhythm, now that all of the students have adapted to how things are done here at Hogwarts. You're finally starting to get into the meat of actual coursework that your teachers have planned for the year. The Levitation Charm is added to your repertoire, as is the Forgetfulness Potion and the Knockback Jinx.

You breeze through your assignments, acing all of them effortlessly. They just aren't challenging to your highly developed mind. You study ahead in the free time you have available. At the rate you're going, you'll probably finish all your first year studies in half the time.

In your other bits of spare time, you head out to the Quidditch pitch to do a bit of flying. All things considered, you haven't actually put a great deal of time into perfecting your skill at aerial maneuvering. Even if you used to be a natural at it, you're in a new body with slightly different capabilities.

Your frame isn't that far off from what you were before. A little shorter and smaller, but you weren't very big as Shana. In a couple years you'll surpass your previous size, unless you stop growing. A shiver of fear shoots through you. To be cursed to be tiny in two separate lifetimes..? No. No way is that going to happen. Even if your mum is barely five feet tall herself.. stop thinking about this. You came out here to fly.

Right. It shouldn't take too long to adapt. You were born to soar across the skies. You flare your wings into existence and accelerate lazily into the air, testing out the winds. It's a cold, late autumn afternoon. Luna is reading one of her father's magazines in the stand, but you can tell that she's paying at least peripheral attention to you.

You accelerate across the pitch in a burst of speed. Your wings beat behind you, but it's just for show. The propulsion is entirely driven by your Power of Existence. It lets you have a fine degree of control over what directions you can move while you're in the air. You can turn on a dime almost instantly as long as you dissipate your momentum crisply and evenly. You can break and accelerate from top speed to full stop in mere seconds.

The sky is your playground.

You lose yourself in practiced motions. Having mastered the art of combat from Alastor, Shiro, and Wilhelmina, your movements through the air are calculated and precise. You beat your opponents by being faster, smarter, and stronger than they are. When you have the Quaffle in your hands, you zoom down the pitch looking for the easiest path to the goal and shoot. Simple, but effective.

When the sun starts dipping below the horizon, you begin your descent. The hours have passed in what feels like minutes. You touch down on the ground gracefully and blink your wings out of existence. Luna's gentle clapping rings in your eardrums, and you turn to see her walking toward you with a smile. You can't help but smile in return. You weren't exactly trying to put on a show, but you did want her to be impressed, and you obviously succeeded. You walk back to the dorms arm in arm, chatting about flying, Quidditch, and school.

You repeat your performance once a week, making sure to take the pitch when no one else is around. You want to keep the surprise fresh for the rest of the students. By the end of September, you're supremely confident in your abilities in the air and fully ready for the Quidditch tryout.

You follow Oliver Wood onto the Quidditch pitch, flanked by your brothers Fred and George. Oliver's carrying an dented ornate case of Quidditch balls in his arms, and your brothers have their brooms slung over their shoulders as they walk. You're arriving early, but you don't have anything else to do and you don't want to miss the tryouts by accident somehow.

Stepping into the stadium, Oliver drops the case of Quidditch balls onto the ground and turns to face you. His eyebrows furrow and he scratches his head confusedly. "Where's your broom, Weasley?"

Fred and George wave their brooms around in front of Wood's face. "You blind, Oliver?"

Wood shoots an irritated glance in their direction and slaps away their hands away with barely a thought. "Not you.. oh." He trails off when he sees you hovering a foot off the ground, your crimson wings unfurled behind your back.

Fred and George snicker at the flabbergasted expression on Wood's face. You'd bet anything they distracted him at that moment for precisely this reaction.

His expression returns to normal rather quickly, however, and it soon becomes a look of anticipatory calculation. He shoots off a couple of rapid-fire questions, staring intently over your shoulder at the shimmering flames. "What's your top speed with those? How's the acceleration?"

You strain your brain for a response, but come up empty. It's not like you set up devices to measure yourself. You could estimate, but you don't want to get it wrong and look foolish later. "Um.. I don't know." You chuckle uneasily. That's not a great first impression.

It makes sense to Wood though, as he nods in understanding. "Right, you wouldn't be able to measure.. well. I suppose I'll find out in just a bit, won't I?" he asks rhetorically. There's excitement in his movements now as he starts opening the ball case. You can tell his passion for Quidditch is immense even in just the couple minutes you've spent with him.

The rest of the Quidditch team hopefuls straggle onto the pitch. Wood is filtering people as they arrive into groups based on what position they're trying out for. Amongst the chasers you're one of six hopefuls, five girls and one boy. Not a single seeker hopeful shows up, and only one keeper and three beaters. It's a rather low turnout. You theorize it's because the team is already very good. It'll be hard for anyone to land a spot with the competition as tough as it is. You don't think Harry's even here- not that his presence is really necessary. His spot is locked.

Still, reserves are needed in case someone gets injured. By attending tryouts, you put your name out there as a potential replacement. That's not for you; you plan to start.

Wood starts with the chaser group first, to weed out the largest pool of hopefuls right off the bat. You draw not a small amount of second, third, and fourth looks at your luminescent wings of flame sprouting from your shoulders. No one comments on it directly, but it's obviously in everyone's thoughts. The fact that Oliver is playing everything as if it were perfectly normal is dissuading anyone from saying anything.

You run a series of drills with different aims. In the first, you simply have to make a pass at the goal and score against the keeper. You're up first. You try your hardest to duck, feint and weave to hit the open hoop. Each goal gets progressively harder to score as Wood starts to adapt to your wily and quick movements. On the last one, Wood saves it by pretending to bite on a feint and then zipping in the opposite direction to snag your Quaffle with his fingertips. It's a highlight reel save, and it leaves you feeling miffed. Now all someone has to do is score five and your score will look unimpressive.

But you don't have to worry. Wood is an amazing Keeper, as the next two hopefuls after you don't make a single goal. The next two make three goals apiece, and the final contestant makes two. Your score stands as the highest.

That's not the end of the tryout. Fred and George are utilized in the next drill, and two sets of bludgers are released. You're confined to one half of the stadium and forced to dodge an endless onslaught of bludgers hit your way by the beaters. You go in reverse order this time, making you last. The goal of the exercise is to see how long you can maneuver before getting hit by a bludger.

Katie Bell, the girl who scored twice, makes it two minutes before being brought down. Alicia Spinnet, one of the three-goalers, reaches two and a half minutes. Angelina Johnson is the other three-goaler, and she makes it two minutes and fifty seconds. The ones who scored no goals don't even break forty seconds.

When you're up, the adrenaline spikes through your system. This is your kind of drill- how many times have you dodged projectiles while fighting? Not only that, it's a chance to show up your brothers, and that's an opportunity you never let slip away. When the drill starts, you dance and weave through the air, turning backward, sideways, forward, all the while making it look natural and without needlessly wasting any energy.

At the five minute mark, Wood himself takes to the air with an extra bludger and a bat of his own. It still doesn't make any difference. Given half the field to work with, there would have to be a complete bullet hell for you to fail to dodge the incoming projectiles. At the ten minutes mark, Wood calls truce and gives up. You give a cheeky thumbs up to the thoroughly exhausted Weasley twins moaning and massaging their arms and bounce over back to the Chaser group with a spring in your step.

The last drill is a combo offensive/defensive one. You're matched up against your best competition here; Angelina. Katie and Alicia are matched up, and the other two probable reserves are matched up against each other. The defending chaser has to stop the offensive chaser carrying the Quaffle from making it past half-court, starting from their own goal.

The offensive side for you is a breeze. Your top speed outclasses Angelina's by a significant margin and your acceleration is faster too. There's just no way she can get in your way to block you before you make it to half court, even with her best attempts to cut you off. Your five sets go by with flawless victory for you.

The defensive side isn't so easy. Angelina fakes you out with a convincing feint and blows by you on the first set. The second set, you don't let yourself get taken in, instead focusing squarely on the Quaffle and dive straight for it. Your small frame bounces off hers and she powers through, leaving you slightly dazed in the aftermath. You resolve yourself to get a stop on your third set.

Angelina breaks left in a mad dash to reach half-court but you sail down from below and punch the Quaffle with your fist, sending it toppling out of her grasp and toward the ground. You dive down to catch it and secure your victory. The fourth and fifth sets go similarly, despite Angelina's hardened attempts to keep the Quaffle secure. She has to keep at least one hand on the broom, which means she can only cradle the Quaffle with one arm, making it vulnerable.

Alicia bests Katie seven out of ten combined, and the reserves half-heartedly split theirs five to five, without a single defensive victory. The results of the tryout are pretty clear. You, Alicia, and Angelina are going to start. You cheer in jubilation and head to the stands to join Luna. You catch sight of Katie glaring angrily in your direction before she notices your scrutiny and wipes her face clean. She stalks off into the locker room by herself. An unpleasant feeling overtakes your earlier good mood. Is Katie alright?

The team is largely the same as last year; you're the only new addition. Once the tryout ends, you're bombarded by requests from the reserves to show off your wings some more. The Quidditch team members themselves don't look entirely disinterested either. You feel a little hesitant, your mind flashing to Katie's glaring visage, and you turn them down. "Just wait for our first match," you say confidently.

Once everyone clears out, you head down to the locker rooms yourself, sending Luna ahead to the castle. Katie never came out, but you don't think anyone else noticed. Well, Luna obviously did, because she's observant like that, but she's not going to meddle.

You nearly slam into the opening door as Katie exits right as you approach. When she spots you, she halt in the doorway and stares at you with a blank expression. Her eyes look slightly red, and you think you can spot the remnants of tear tracts running down her cheeks. "What do you want?" she asks in clipped tones.

You feel a jolt of nerves, suddenly feeling rather inadequate. What did you come here for again? "I just thought you might be mad at me, from how you were acting.. I wanted to know if you were okay."

Her mouth twists into a grimace, and you have to hold back from flinching at the tone of her voice. "I'm fine." It looks like she wants to say something else, but she holds herself back. She makes to move past you, and you panic slightly.

"Why are you mad at me?" you blurt out, before she can leave.

She halts mid-stride, almost tripping over her own feet as she turns a disbelieving look in your direction. She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. "Because you cheated?" she asks harshly.

The bold accusation puts you on the defensive, and you scowl. "What? I didn't cheat!" you say indignantly.

She matches your stare with her own harsh expression. "Really? The last time I checked, Quidditch was played on brooms. Not.. those." She waves toward the space behind you where your wings would be if they were active.

You're taken aback. Your initial reaction is to disregard what she's saying. But then you remember the haggard look she wore just before she spotted you as she left the locker rooms. You'd bet anything she'd been crying all by herself. You want to find something, anything that you can say to reassure her, but you can't find the words.

She snorts derisively. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. If you've got McGonagall on your side, I'm sure you'll be allowed to play," she says dismissively, waving her hand.

She starts to walk away, but then she stops. She shoots a glance over her shoulder and says in a quiet voice, "Just make sure you win." She disappears around the corner, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You meet up with Luna that night in the common room, and tell her about the confrontation with Katie, and what she said about you cheating. "Do you think she's right?" you ask. You can't trust yourself to be unbiased in this situation, so you want to know what Luna thinks. You value her opinion as an objective observer.

But Luna just turns the question back around, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. "Do you?"

"No!" you burst out in frustration. You don't cheat. You're a moral, upstanding person who doesn't resort to underhanded tricks. If you thought what you were doing was cheating, you wouldn't do it at all. Still, there's a seed of doubt planted in the back of your mind. "I mean.. well. I don't know," you trail off lamely.

Luna turns a page in her Quibbler idly. "If you don't think it's fair, maybe you should quit," she says airily.

You shake your head vigorously, denying her words. "No, that's not it!" And it's not. The root of your anxiety lies somewhere else. You try to articulate your thoughts out loud to Luna. "I guess I just felt bad. She's probably spent a lot of time training to make the team, and then I took her spot without even trying."

Luna closes her magazine and lays it on the table, then brings her hands beneath her chin in a thinking pose. "Hmm.." You sweat a little under her scrutiny, feeling the urge to look away.

She cracks a smile at you, and speaks in a gentle voice rather reminiscent of her mother's. "Ginny.. you're already better than everybody at everything. You'll have to get used to showing people up. I think.. a lot of people aren't going to like you because of it," she concludes sorrowfully.

You run a hand through your hair, staring into nothing and getting lost in her words. "..I see.." You can understand what she's saying, even if you don't have much experience in that area. You cast a curious look back to Luna, who's gone back to reading. "What about you, Luna?" You keep the worry that she'll abandon you out of your voice.

She doesn't look up as she says, "I wouldn't worry about it. You saved my mum's life. You'll have to try really hard to get me to dislike you. Your Luna Approval Rating is at least 90%."

You make a face at her. "Was that supposed to cheer me up?"

Luna looks up, her look effecting surprise. "..It didn't? Huh, I thought I did it right," she says, her face falling in disappointment. You bring a palm to your face partly in exasperation, and partly to conceal the smile on your face.

You consider how to frame your request of McGonagall, and decide to start with the diary that Dumbledore destroyed. However, McGonagall merely looks puzzled when you bring it up to her after class.

"The diary..?" she says, her face screwed up in remembrance. She takes the quill she was writing with and drops it in the ink pot, then turns in her chair to face you.

"Um.. you know, when I came to talk to you?" you prompt worriedly. Had she really forgotten already?

The light of realization dawns in her eyes. "Oh! Yes. Dumbledore took it, didn't he? That was nice of him," she says, smiling indulgently.

You're a little confused about what she's saying here, but you gloss over it and continue with your speech. "Well, it got me thinking about the dangers of the magical world, and what we can do to prepare."

McGonagall's expression turns neutral. You continue speaking, "Gryffindors are more likely than most to get into trouble of that sort, right? I was thinking that Defense Against the Dark Arts really isn't enough. We should be more prepared."

"Go on.." McGonagall says slowly. She folds her hands across her desk, waiting for you to finish your piece.

"I want to form a Defense Club: one where we could better learn to protect ourselves. But I'd probably need some help to get it off the ground. It's still my first year, after all, and I hardly know anyone yet. It'd be really helpful if you could offer any kind of support."

McGonagall's lips form a thin line and she closes her eyes as she sits in contemplation. "A Defense club, hmm..?" she murmurs to herself.

She opens her eyes and stares straight at you, speaking frankly. "Personally, I'd love to see students becoming more proactive in their education."

She shrugs helplessly. "I can't do anything for you but offer advice, however."

You can't stop the disappointment from showing on your face. "You can't help with recruiting? Why?" you ask in what you hope isn't a petulant tone of voice.

McGonagall reverts to her usual authoritative teaching voice, rather than her more personable one on one voice. "There is little point in exercising my authority as a teacher to encourage other students to join. They must do so because they share your enthusiasm for the subject. Clubs come and go as time goes by, it's up to the student body to determine whether or not there's enough valid interest for a club to reform," she says, as if reciting something from a rulebook.

Her lips curl up into a small smile at your resulting sigh. "I wish you luck in your pursuit, Miss Weasley."

A simple query to Fred and George reveals the location of the kitchens and the 'password'. The twins tell you that the house elves inside are more than happy to receive any visitors, so there's no need to sneak around or steal food. If you ask them for something, they'll bring it to you gladly.

Your mouth salivates at the prospect of melon bread. If you acquire a recipe from Akemi, the elves should be able to make some for you. You could also try making it yourself, but that's bound to go poorly. Cooking and you don't mix. But on the other hand.. you'll never get better if you don't try. Maybe if you had someone to help you through it.. yes, this winter break would be a good opportunity. A quick owl sent to Akemi with a request to visit over the holidays wraps up that little bit of business.