A/N: I forgot to mention this last time, but some of the dialogue in the last chapter is taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I'm not sure of the exact pages, as I don't have the book right in front of me, but some of the dialogue from that chapter – as well as this one – was taken from there.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! This chapter has some filler in it as well, but hopefully it's entertaining filler, lol. I promise everything I write has a reason and is necessary to the plot of the story.

That being said, I hope you continue to stick with me, and enjoy this next chapter!

Chapter 6 – Classes, Quidditch, and Confusion, Oh My!

"The Ordinary Wizarding Level," begins Professor McGonagall on Monday morning, gazing sternly around the classroom, "is one of the most important examinations you will take here at Hogwarts. A substantial amount of effort and hard work is required to achieve an O.W.L. in Transfiguration, and I expect nothing less than an 'Acceptable' grade from each of my students."

I hear a snort come from the back of the room, accompanied by some indistinct muttering, though the word "Longbottom" carries clearly to the front.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asks loudly, glaring at my cousin.

Every head in the room swivels towards Draco. "Not at all, Professor," he responds carelessly, leaning back in his chair and grinning idiotically at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Then you will kindly refrain from speaking when I am addressing the class," McGonagall says tartly, her beady eyes narrowed. She glances around the room once more and continues on: "As I was saying, I see no reason why anyone in this class should not obtain an O.W.L. in Transfiguration. As long as you practice and put in the work, there is nothing on the exam you shouldn't be able to handle. Today, then, we will be working on a spell that oftentimes comes up in the O.W.L., the Vanishing Spell." Her gaze travels to the back of the room again, where Draco has resumed his hushed conversation with Crabbe and Goyle. "Malfoy! Since you're obviously in a rather talkative frame of mind today, I take it you're prepared to participate! Tell me, what incantation is required to Vanish an object?"

Draco pauses, his face blank. "Vanishio?" he suggests tentatively, as if adding a little "flair" onto the end of the word Vanish will somehow transform it into a spell.

"Ten points from Slytherin, Malfoy, and if I have to break up what I'm certain is a highly interesting discussion between the three of you again, it will be detention," McGonagall barks, her irritation obvious. She nods at Madeleine. "Miss Abgrall, dare I ask you for the answer?"

Madeleine bites her lip, racking her brain. "Evanesco," she says finally, sounding fairly confident in her answer.

McGonagall's mouth is set in a thin line. "Thank you, Miss Abgrall, for that fine, educated guess," she says sardonically, beckoning to Pansy and pointing at a box on her desk. "Miss Parkinson, please take this box of snails and hand one to each student." Pansy grimaces but obeys. "We'll be starting with small creatures; hence, the invertebrate snail. Now, watch the movement of my wand, it is critical to successfully Vanishing your target."

The rest of the lesson drags by. I'm unable to Vanish my snail, as is the rest of the class – save for Daphne, who manages it with about ten minutes of class left to go. "Bloody ridiculous amount of homework," grumbles Cass as we leave the classroom, McGonagall's orders to practice the spell for next class still ringing in our ears. "How are we supposed to come up with twelve inches on the properties of Vanishing spells? It vanishes things! What more is there to know?"

Madeleine shrugs. "The underlying principles of it, I suppose," she answers, as we round a corner and head towards the dungeons for Potions. "Wand movement and voice intonation, for instance."

"Like that'll fill up an entire roll of parchment," Cassie sneers, as her younger brother and a few of his second year friends pass us in the corridor. "Think fast, Cass!" he yells, pelting a wad of rolled up parchment at her.

Cassie catches it easily and crumples it in her hand. "Very mature, Jayden," she spits after him as he and his friends continue on, laughing. She tosses the parchment in her bag and makes a tsk sound with her tongue. "What an idiot, honestly. That's not even a funny prank, throwing parchment."

"He's twelve, Cass," I remind her as we join the line of students outside of Snape's classroom. "He doesn't know what the word 'maturity' means."

"Apparently," Cassie says acidly as Snape's classroom door creaks open. We file in behind the Gryffindors, a few of whom are discussing in whispers what they think Snape will set us for the first lesson of the year. My friends and I take our usual table in the middle of the room, where we pull out our books and wait for class to start.

"Settle down," says Snape icily, snapping the door shut behind him. Instantly, the class quiets, looking up at him expectantly. There is a not-so-slight trace of fear on Neville Longbottom's face.

"Before we begin today's lesson," says Snape, swooping over to his desk and glancing around the room, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' O.W.L., or suffer my…displeasure."

A tiny, almost inaudible squeak of fear issues from Neville.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape continues. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye."

His gaze falls on Harry Potter, nestled between Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger at the back of the room.

"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," Snape sneers, "So whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students."

"Brilliant," mutters Cassie darkly to my right. She isn't the best hand at Potions.

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at the Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation," the Potions Master goes on. "Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing." He flicks his wand and writing appears on the blackboard. "The ingredients and method are on the blackboard, and you will find everything you need in the store cupboard." He waves his wand again, causing the door of the store cupboard to burst open. "You have an hour and a half…start."

"Couldn't have given us anything easier, could he?" grunts Madeleine sarcastically about an hour into the lesson, stirring her potion feverishly.

I add a few more lacewings to my cauldron. "Oh, it isn't that bad," I say truthfully. Potions has easily always been my best subject.

Cassie and Madeleine exchange an exasperated look as Snape calls, "A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion."

I look down and sure enough, a silvery mist is emitting from my potion. Cassie gives my potion a dark look; hers is issuing a dark grey, heavy vapor. Madeleine's is a little better – the vapor is at least lighter than Cassie's. I glance around the dungeon and observe how the rest of the class has fared: Hermione Granger's potion, of course, is perfect, probably even better than mine. Ron Weasley's cauldron is showering green sparks, and the vapor rising from Harry's potion greatly resembles Cassie's. Neville's potion is literally sticking to his cauldron, his round face shining with sweat as he struggles to stir it.

"Potter, what is this supposed to be?"

My fellow Slytherins snigger; it's obviously time for Snape's weekly torture of the Boy Who Lived. "The Draught of Peace," replies Harry through gritted teeth, glaring at Snape.

"Tell me, Potter," says Snape, "Can you read?"

Draco laughs loudly. Harry gives Snape a death stare before replying, "Yes, I can."

Snape leers. "Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."

Harry squints at the blackboard. "Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore."

Snape folds his arms. "Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"

Harry hangs his head. "No…I forgot the hellebore…"

"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco," says Snape, clearing the contents of Harry's cauldron with a flick of his wand. He turns to the rest of the class. "Those of you have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."

I feel bad for Harry, but there really isn't much I can do. I fill a flagon with my Draught of Peace and take it up to Snape's desk, then head back to my table and gather my things. "More homework," groans Cassie as we exit the dungeons and head to the Great Hall for lunch. "My brain can't handle this. Think I could pay Hermione Granger to do it all for me?"

"Fat chance," giggles Madeleine as we take seats at the Slytherin table. Draco is a few seats down, chattering animatedly to a group of his friends about Snape's latest torment of Harry.

Cassie sighs and helps herself to a slice of shepherd's pie. "Shame," she says sadly. "But I suppose her time is better wasted on Potter and Weasley."

We hurry through lunch, and afterwards I head to Arithmancy while Cassie and Madeleine have a break. I'm one of the first to arrive; Hermione and a couple Ravenclaws are the only others in the room. I take a seat near the front, knowing probably no one will want to join me: I'm the only Slytherin in this class, and while it sometimes bothers me that the other three Houses will go out of their way to ignore me, it also makes it easier to concentrate on whatever Professor Vector is teaching.

Today, however, Hermione tentatively approaches me and slides into the seat to the right of me. "Hi, Ara," she greets me, somewhat nervously. "Can I sit here?"

I'm greatly surprised, but I try not to let it show when I answer, "Um…sure. Yeah, I guess."

Hermione gives me a small smile before taking out her book and burying herself in it. I have no idea why she's chosen to sit next to me, but I don't plan on finding out, and I can only hope she'll refrain from speaking to me during the lesson. I cringe slightly at the thought of what Draco would say if he saw me sitting next to his "pal", the "Mudblood Granger."

Arithmancy passes rather quickly, and once the lesson is over I don't linger to talk to Hermione, who looks as if there's something more she wants to say to me. "Ara!" she calls, but I'm already out the door and halfway down the corridor. I hurry to my next class – Ancient Runes – and quickly slip into the seat next to Madeleine, Hermione's bizarre behavior leaving me rather unnerved.

Madeleine gives me an odd look. "What's wrong with you?"

I pull my book out of my bag and set it in front of me. "Hermione Granger sat next to me in Arithmancy."

Madeleine's mouth drops open. "Really? Why?"

"How should I know?" I reply. It may seem like a small, insignificant incident, but I'm in no way overreacting; a Gryffindor – one of the Golden Trio, no less – willingly sitting next to a Slytherin is virtually unheard of within Hogwarts. "I was under the impression she hated all things Slytherin."

Mad frowns, her forehead creased. She twirls a lock of blonde hair around her finger. "Strange."

Further discussion on Hermione is cut short as Professor Babbling strolls in, immediately launching into a lecture about O.W.L.s. She too sets us a large amount of homework: twenty difficult translations, due next class. "And to think, I wanted to practice Quidditch before the tryouts this week," Madeleine says glumly on our way back to the common room.

"Pipe dream, Lady Marianne," Cass announces dolefully, coming up behind us and scaring the daylights out of me. "Trelawney gave us a load of homework, too. That's two essays, practice of the Vanishing Spell, and a stupid dream diary I have to do all before the end of this week."

"At least you don't have Arithmancy or Ancient Runes," I snap, envious of her somewhat lighter workload. "They're probably the two toughest subjects that exist. I'd trade you in a heartbeat."

"Thanks, but I'll have to decline your generous offer," Cass replies sarcastically. "Amor fati," she says to the blank stretch of wall concealing the common room. It immediately opens up to grant us entrance.

"What's on the agenda for tomorrow?" asks Madeleine as we plop into chairs near the fireplace.

I pull my schedule from my bag and consult it. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, and Astronomy."

Cassie moans and buries her head in her hands. "Another promising day."

Madeleine rolls her eyes. "This year's going to be a nightmare."

I can't help but agree.

Defense Against the Dark Arts is our first class the next morning. "Wonder what this Umbridge woman will be like," Cass muses at breakfast, pouring herself a cup of coffee. There are dark circles under her eyes; I know that neither Mad nor I can look much better. We were up until at least two working on our homework.

"I hope she's not in a foul mood after that row with Harry Potter yesterday," Madeleine whispers, glancing up at the staff table at Umbridge. Word had traveled quickly during dinner last night, and within minutes the entire school knew that Harry Potter had engaged in a shouting match with Umbridge, claiming he'd witnessed the return of the Dark Lord. Students were wildly trading rumors about his sanity, but luckily neither of my friends pressed the issue, saving me the trouble of having to act ignorant of the truth.

We finish breakfast and head to class, grabbing seats in the back. The rest of our House filters in, each of my classmates looking more tired than the last. "Start that dream diary yet, Moneroy?" Pansy asks Cassie, taking the seat in front of me. Daphne takes the one in front of Mad.

"I've had one night's sleep, Parkinson," Cassie answers irritably. "No – not even that. Do you really think I've had enough dreams to start that stupid diary?"

Pansy giggles, shrill and cold. "Nobody puts their actual dreams in there, Moneroy," she says snootily. "They make them up. That old bat never notices the difference."

"Oh, really?" says Cassie, folding her arms. "Then tell me, Parkinson, what do you 'dream' about? An 'Outstanding' on all your exams? Because I'm sure that's the only place you've ever seen an O, in your dreams –"

"You little bitch!" Pansy growls, pulling out her wand, but thankfully Umbridge chooses that moment to walk in. She's wearing the same pink cardigan she wore at the welcoming feast, and that ugly Alice band is back in her hair. "Wands away and books out, please," she says in that breathy, girlish voice, and Pansy reluctantly turns around in her seat, shoving her wand back into her pocket.

I quickly realize that this class is going to be a complete and utter waste of time: Umbridge launches into a long-winded speech about the "carefully structured, theory-centered" course of study the Ministry is implementing this year, effectively dashing any hope I'd had for her being a decent teacher. She has us copy down three "course aims," none of which have to do with the use of defensive spells. Blaise Zabini points this out to her, but Umbridge merely brushes him off, stating that there is no reason for us to have to use defensive magic in a "carefully controlled classroom setting."

Though everyone listens intently in case she brings it up, Umbridge says nothing about yesterday's incident with Harry Potter; I suspect she thinks it will die out on its own if she just acts like it never happened. She also makes no mention of our meeting at the Ministry, though I catch her studying me every so often, as if she's trying to get a more accurate judgment of my character by gluing her eyes to my face. I do my best to ignore her and concentrate on the chapter she's assigned us to read from Defensive Magical Theory, but the writing is dull and tedious, and I spend the rest of the period surreptitiously playing tic-tac-toe on a piece of parchment with Cassie and Mad, under the pretense of taking notes.

"That was the worst class ever!" Cassie complains as we leave the room and head towards History of Magic. "Can't blame Harry Potter for picking a fight with her, bet it at least livened things up a little."

Madeleine and I nod our agreement, though I privately think there is more to Dolores Umbridge than meets the eye – and not in a good way. "You may have spoken too soon, History of Magic can give that toad a run for her money," Madeleine says dejectedly as we enter the classroom, an hour and a half of Professor Binns' boring, monotonous lecture stretching before us.

Saturday morning dawns fresh and clear, the sky a cloudless, bright blue. The beautiful weather lifts my mood considerably; I can't remember the last time I've had such a terrible first week of classes. "Perfect Quidditch conditions," Madeleine says happily at breakfast, scooping some eggs onto her plate.

"Maddie, are you actually going to go through with this?" Cassie asks, chin in her hands. She's studying her reflection in the back of a spoon. "Slytherin hasn't had a girl on their team in years. And Montague's the captain. The only way he'll let you on the team is if your muscles are bigger than your brain."

"Don't listen to Moneroy, Abgrall, I'll put in a good word for you," Draco interrupts, dropping into the seat beside me. Crabbe and Goyle sit across from him and immediately begin piling their plates with food.

I roll my eyes. "There's no guarantee you're automatically back on the team, Draco."

Draco grins and throws his arm over my shoulders. "Oh, Ara, trust me – there is," he says wickedly, his pale eyes gleaming. Before I can snap at him to get off of me, he removes his arm and stands up. "See you on the pitch, ladies." He grabs a piece of toast and heads off towards the entrance hall, Crabbe and Goyle following him, their arms still laden with food.

Cassie stares after him with disgust. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Who cares," I retort. "He probably paid off Montague to let him back on the team without having to try out again. I wouldn't be surprised."

Madeleine bites her lip and a greenish tinge comes over her features. "Don't worry, Mad, you're a great Chaser," I tell her encouragingly. "Don't worry about Draco or Montague or anyone. You'll be fine."

Madeleine rests her forehead in her hands. "I hope so."

We finish breakfast and head back up to our dormitory so Madeleine can retrieve her broom. She doesn't speak as we make our way to the Quidditch pitch, her expression turning more and more somber with each step. "Come on, Lady Marianne, you're gonna blow them out of the water," Cass encourages her, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. "Or air, I guess, would be more appropriate."

"And we'll be here the whole time," I promise as we reach the stands, our point of separation.

Madeleine nods and even manages a small smile. "Thanks, guys." She takes a deep breath and glances over at the other hopefuls already surrounding Montague. "Well…here goes nothing." She marches off toward the crowd.

Cass and I climb to the top row of the stands, wanting to have the best view possible. A few other spectators are also present, though I don't recognize them from Slytherin. Two of the group sport red and gold ties, identifying them as Gryffindors. "Why the hell would they come to watch our tryouts?" Cassie asks suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at them.

I shrug. "Probably for the same reason Draco goes to watch the Gryffindor tryouts – to make fun of us."

Cassie snorts and slumps down in her seat. "Pathetic."

The tryouts begin with the Keepers. Five sixth year boys take their turns at the position, and though they all perform rather well, the spot goes to Miles Bletchley, the same Keeper Slytherin's had since I was a first year. "How surprising," I mutter, watching as the Beaters take their turns next. Montague ends up choosing Crabbe and Goyle to fill the vacant Beater positions, mainly for their gorilla-like statures, and despite the fact that neither one seems able to tell one end of the broomstick from the other. The Seekers don't even get a trial; Draco watches smugly as the disappointed candidates leave the pitch. Finally, the Chasers are up; Madeleine lines up at the edge of the pitch with seven others, all of them male and much taller and broader than she. "You think she can do it?" Cass murmurs concernedly.

I hesitate. "I don't know," I say finally. "They all look like they could knock her out of the air just by chucking the Quaffle at her."

Montague already takes up one of the Chaser's spots; therefore, there are only two left, and the competition is visibly fierce. Calvin Warrington goes first, weaving up and down the field and pelting the Quaffle past Bletchley. The next three are absolutely dreadful, the following two are average, Adrian Pucey is just as good as Warrington, and then finally, it's Madeleine's turn. "Go Mad!" Cass yells, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Show them what you can do!"

Madeleine glances up at us, obviously irritated at Cassie's outburst, before mounting her broom and soaring into the air. Montague tosses the Quaffle to her and she catches it easily, tucking it under her arm and dashing swiftly towards the goal posts.

In a matter of moments, Madeleine has proven herself better than both Warrington and Pucey combined; she flies as if it's the most natural thing in the world and sends the Quaffle whizzing past Bletchley four times. The Slytherins watch with their mouths open, their eyes wide and disbelieving. "That's my girl," Cass says proudly, grinning broadly at the looks on the boys' faces.

Montague instantly names her the second Chaser and then dismisses five of the other candidates, his final decision now between Warrington and Pucey. "I told you, Mad!" Cassie yells excitedly as we dash down the aisles and onto the pitch. "Congratulations!"

Madeleine's face is flushed pink; she smiles widely as she pulls off her gloves. "Merci beaucoup, mes amies," she replies blissfully, tucking the gloves into the pocket of her robes. She lets out a tiny squeal. "I can't believe I actually made the Slytherin Quidditch team!"

"We're so happy for you!" I tell her happily, gripping her in a hug. "And if Draco gives you any crap, Mad, you just let me know –"

"BUT SHE'S A GIRL!"

Adrian Pucey is right up in Montague's face, his expression furious; Montague has obviously chosen Warrington over him. Montague scowls and pushes Pucey away from him. "Shove off, Pucey," he snaps. "I don't care what she is, she and Warrington both outflew and outscored you, get over it!"

Cassie frowns and crosses her arms. "Looks like it's not Draco she'll be taking crap from."

Pucey's face is beat red, his eyes wild. "You can't do this to me, Montague, I've been on the team for three years!"

"Get out of it, Pucey, there's always next year," I answer scathingly, narrowing my eyes at him.

Pucey rounds on me, his anger practically palpable. "Shut up, Lestrange, nobody asked you," he spits rudely.

Instantly, Draco draws his wand, brandishing it at Pucey. "Don't talk to my cousin like that, Pucey," he warns, his tone venomous.

"Oh, stop it, all of you!" Madeleine cuts in angrily, hands on her hips. "This is so incredibly childish –"

At once, several voices ring out, and it's a number of moments, a few shrieks, and a loud bang before I realize what's happening. Cassie is clutching her shoulder, her robes torn and blood leaking between her fingers; Draco and Pucey are locked in a duel, screaming curses at one another while Warrington and Montague attempt to separate them; Crabbe and Goyle are standing away from the action, appearing clueless, and Madeleine watches the scene with wide eyes, unwittingly digging her nails into my arm. "Cass, are you okay?" I ask hurriedly, kneeling next to her.

Cassie grimaces with pain but nods. "I think so." She removes her hand, revealing a smoking wound in her flesh. "Hurts like a bitch, though."

Madeleine crouches down to her level too while I stand, making my way over to the dueling boys. "Quit it, you bloody idiots, look what you've done to her!" I bellow, pointing at Cass.

"I was aiming for that bloody tramp over there!" Pucey roars, indicating Madeleine.

Anger as I've never known it courses through me. "Furnunculus!" I scream, pulling out my wand and sending the spell in Pucey's direction. Warrington manages to push him out of the way of the hex while Montague restrains Draco. "Ara, get out of here!" Draco snarls, fighting against Montague's grip.

"Yeah, Ara, get out of here," Pucey mocks, straining against Warrington's hold. "And take your pathetic, worthless little friends with you –"

"Impedimenta!" I cry, wanting so badly to cause him pain, but Warrington once again throws Pucey out of harm's way. "Come on, Ara, let's stop this," Warrington pants as Pucey, laughing loudly, pushes himself to his feet and points his wand at me.

"If you hurt her, Pucey, I swear to God – !" Draco screeches, still struggling helplessly against his captor Montague.

Warrington draws his own wand, brandishing it at Pucey, but Pucey is quicker than he is and one "Expelliarmus!" later, Warrington is disarmed and powerless. "Impedimenta!" I scream again, hoping to catch him off guard, but he blocks my hex deftly and opens his mouth to serve me with a return curse –

"WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON HERE?"

Pucey freezes, lowering his wand at once: Professor McGonagall is all but running across the grounds toward us, her expression livid, her stride forceful. "Impeccable behavior!" she screams sarcastically, coming to a stop in front of us, her glasses askew. "A fine example of maturity you've set here, I must say!"

"Professor –" Madeleine begins, her voice pleading.

"Be quiet, Miss Abgrall, I'm not interested in excuses," McGonagall barks. "Escort Miss Moneroy to the hospital wing. You two," she snaps at Montague and Warrington, "Get back to your common room. Now!"

Montague and Warrington scatter immediately. Madeleine helps Cassie to her feet and gives me a despairing look before heading off to the castle. McGonagall watches them with a forceful eye; the moment they're out of earshot, she speaks: "Malfoy, Pucey, Miss Lestrange – I am sorely disappointed by your rash behavior and lack of judgment! Fighting, whether it be physical or magical, is absolutely disgraceful and, I feel compelled to remind you, totally unacceptable conduct at Hogwarts. Rest assured I will be speaking to Professor Snape about your reprehensible actions. Fifty points from Slytherin and detention for each of you!"

My mouth drops open. "Professor, please, I didn't -"

"I saw the entire thing from my office, Miss Lestrange, don't try to deny your involvement," McGonagall cuts me off waspishly. "I don't care what anyone said to provoke you, the way you handled it was despicable." She points towards the castle. "Back to your common room at once, and I hope I never witness such a disgusting display from the three of you again!"

I spin on my heel and immediately head back to the castle, waiting for neither Draco nor Pucey. Anger bubbles inside of me, and it takes all the self-restraint I possess to keep myself from turning around and throwing another hex at the wretched boy. No one speaks until we reach the castle, and McGonagall holds the heavy oak doors open for us, ushering us inside ahead of her.

I enter first and turn to wait for Draco. "You'd better watch out, Lestrange," Pucey hisses as he passes. "You and your thieving friend."

"I'm shaking, Pucey," I taunt, folding my arms, as Draco comes up beside me.

McGonagall steps in last and waves her wand, locking the doors. She gives us a look deadly enough to shut us up and send us scampering for the common room.

The perfect end to an utterly perfect week.

At five to eight on Sunday night I head over to Professor Snape's office for my detention, per the owl Professor McGonagall had sent me earlier that morning. Mad and Cassie were sympathetic to my case when I informed them of McGonagall's punishment, but Madeleine couldn't deny that I deserved it. "You shouldn't have gotten involved, Ara," she had said over dinner Saturday evening, shoveling a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"He called you a tramp, Mad," I'd answered hotly, glaring down the table at Pucey. "What was I supposed to do, let that go?"

Cassie spears a piece of roast beef on her fork. "Honestly, Mad, the guy's a pig. Ara was doing you a favor."

"Yeah, and she's landed herself in detention," Mad had retorted. "With Snape, too, of all people."

"We're Slytherins, Maddie, Snape loves us," Cass had responded, sipping her pumpkin juice. "Ara will be fine."

I'm not sure "loves us" is the correct term, but Snape does tend to favor his own House above others, and it's this thought that gives me hope of a somewhat bearable detention as I knock on the Potions Master's office door. "Enter," Snape calls coldly, and with a deep breath I push open the door.

Snape is sitting at his desk, marking essays with a red quill. "Good evening, Miss Lestrange," he greets me briskly without looking up.

I slide quietly into the chair in front of his desk. "Good evening, Professor."

There's an uncomfortable silence in the room as Snape finishes the essay he's grading, the parchment practically drowning in red ink. "What will I be doing tonight, sir?" I ask apprehensively as he sets down his quill and places the stack of essays to the side.

Snape observes me intently for a moment, his fingertips pressed together. "Retrieve your traveling cloak from your dormitory, Miss Lestrange."

I'm not sure I've heard correctly. "Sir?"

"Do not question me, Miss Lestrange," Snape says softly, his voice dangerous. "Retrieve your traveling cloak from your dormitory and return here as quickly as possible." He stands, taking his own cloak from the stand next to his desk and pulling it on, all the while taking in my thoroughly confused expression. The next words out of his mouth only serve to perplex me further:

"You will not be serving any type of detention tonight."

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