Wow, it's been, what, two months? Don't worry, I wasn't dead. Or at least, I don't think I was. But I was busy. Very, very busy with schoolwork, sports, and emotional drama. I also had to go through nearly all my chapters and revise, tweak some plot details here and there, fix spelling errors, and, oh yeah, changes Kate's last name. Because apparently I subconsiously named her 'Kate Walsh' after a famous actress. ASDFGHJKL! And I really liked that name too, it flowed...

But I'm back, and updating like crazy. You can expect another update before Monday too, since I'm free to write for the next four days.

Since I haven't updated in forever, this chapter is extra long. Hope ya'll can forgive me for disappearing like that.

Thanks to Panthera-Kaia-Lily, who was the only one to review last chapter. Guys, remember, review=love.

Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I'm not J.K. Rowling. I'm not a genius, I'm not British, and I'm not as great a writer. Kate belongs to me. Rachel belongs to the wonderful Panthera-Kaia-Lily. Selene belongs to my best friend, Kagihana (who is a nun. *inside joke*)

Dedication: To Mickey D's. Because fries=love too.


"Kate, get your lazy bum over here!"

Liana's face and comments about my 'lazy bum' isn't exactly the way I planned to spend my morning. But here she is, standing in front of the door leading to the Great Hall with her arms crossed and a determined look on her face.

"Um…" I pause to look around. None of my Gryffindor classmates are around, but neither is anyone else that can save me from this possibly dangerous first confrontation with my sister since I was Sorted. I mean, Lia isn't known as 'Lethal Liana' for nothing (read: "My sister is very kind when she's not cursing people's buttocks off. But that doesn't mean she isn't above hexing mine.")

"Can this wait?"

Liana rolls her eyes and grabs my arm, leading me out of the Entrance Hall and into the Viaduct Courtyard. There's barely anyone out here, but she still lowers her voice when she whispers, "Is it true that you threw a rock at Draco Malfoy?"

I'm sincerely surprised that she's heard about that. Most anyone talked about yesterday was how lucky Harry Potter was to not be expelled – what McGonagall decided was his punishment is yet to be known, but I didn't think anyone had even given my rock-chucking a second thought. "Where did you hear about that?"

"I have my sources," Liana replies, which means that she probably quizzed every first year to see if really had fallen off my broom until Draco told her I had tried to increase his already present brain-damage. "So is it true?"

"Er…yeah, he was being a git, so I chucked a rock at his head. Is there a problem with that?"

"Do you normally chuck rocks at people's heads?"

"Only if they're being a git."

"Draco Malfoy is not a git."

"Says you."

Liana sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose impatiently. She looks at me, disappointment apparent in her green eyes. I feel a bit of shame for a second, then remember that she's been ignoring me for close to two weeks.

"How do you expect to make friends if you use such violent tactics?" She demands, placing one hand on her hip. Says the girl who sent four kids to the Hospital Wing last year when they breathed too loudly in the library while she was studying. "Draco Malfoy is a respectable person, someone that Mum and Dad would rather you hung around than…who are you hanging around, anyway?"

When she wants something, my older sister is determined and stubborn. Really, I'd much rather be in the Great Hall right now, eating breakfast (and watching the interesting things that happen at breakfast –two days ago Seamus Finnegan blew up a cup of water trying to turn it into rum) and waiting for the mail, but obviously I'm not there. Instead, I'm freezing my 'lazy bum' off being interrogated by Liana.

Why is she interrogating me?

"Did Mum put you up to this?" I ask curiously, a thousand suspicions running through my mind.

Two small pink spots appear in Liana's cheeks, and she shakes her head too quickly, her blonde hair flying. "No! Can't I check up on my little sister?" She plasters on a cheesy smile, assumes a new, friendly tone, and tucks some stray hair behind my ear. "So, have you made any friends?"

I frown, and back away, leaning against one of the walls of the courtyard and looking out towards the lake. I haven't explored every inch of the castle yet (I'm only in my second week of term anyway) and I haven't been out onto the grounds at all, save for the disastrous flying lesson. But today even the lake looks inviting, birds flying across its inky depths and the wind ruffling the trees around it.

"Hermione Granger," I say without thinking, immediately regretting it when I see Liana's face fall.

"You're talking about that Mudblood know-it-all?" She practically spits, disgust written across her face. "You're kidding me, right Kate? Don't tell me you've been hanging around Mudbloods, you can do better than that! You were raised better than that!"

"I was raised the same way you were, weren't I?" I shoot back, my face burning as my sister chastises me. "But I was put in Gryffindor! How do you explain that, huh?"

Liana goes silent, thinking it over, before letting out another impatient sigh.

"Who else?" She asks, almost afraid of my answer. I swallow and think, trying to come up with something that won't get me another Howler.

"Um…Neville Longbottom?" I think he's a pureblood, and I did alert him when he was on fire the other day, but obviously it's another wrong answer, as her eyes widen in shock.

"Longbottom? Longbottom? Are you insane? He's worse than the Mudblood!"

"He's a pureblood," I point out, wondering what has gotten into my sister. Neville may be a few napkins short of a picnic, but he's an okay guy.

"He's basically a Squib," She scowls, glaring down at me. "No magical talent at all. Can't remember a spell to save his life. Besides, he and the Mudblood are troublemakers anyway. I caught them wandering around with Potter and that Weazelby or something last night."

This is news to me. True, Hermione was late coming back to the dormitory last night, but I figured she was pulling an all-night study session or something. Not all that important. But what why would she be wandering around the castle in the middle of the night, considering the fact breaking a rule is one of the seven deadly sins, in her book?

"You caught them?"

"Nearly," Liana scowls. "But they got away before I could find Filch. But really, you don't want to hang around that kind of riffraff. Anything else?"

How many friends does she expect me to have? I'm not exactly the most outgoing person, in case you haven't noticed. "Uh…Rachel Zytera?" I shrug, thinking of the third-year girl from the other night. "She's a pureblood. Her father owns Zytera Candy & Jokes."

Liana raises an eyebrow. "The Zytera Candy & Jokes? You serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious." I reply, getting slightly annoyed. First she insults my choice of companions, and now she doesn't believe me when I come up with a slightly acceptable choice. There's no pleasing her, is there? "Now can I please go back inside? It's freezing out here!"

Liana shakes her head. "No. I'm writing a letter to Mum about exactly what you have been up to. She'll put a stop to this. It's for your own good."

She starts to walk away, swishing her cloak behind her (Liana's always been rather dramatic, as am I) but I am fuming inside. Who does she think she is, deciding who I'm allowed to have as friends? I quickly run after her.

"No, you won't," I nearly shout, anger laced in my voice. "If you send an owl to Mum, I will tell her about how you and Adam Kerrington were snogging in the Charms classroom last week!"

Her face goes ghostly white at the mention of her and the other Slytherin prefect. Her hands start to tremble, and her green eyes flicker with something like fear for a moment.

"You wouldn't," She whispers, and I mentally congratulate myself for my luck – I know she fancies him, but I didn't know she was with him already. My older sister works fast, I guess. "You saw that?"

"I don't think Father will appreciate that you're snogging boys in empty classrooms, even if they are Slytherin," I reply as coolly as possible, enjoying the fact that for once, I have the upper hand. "You'd better pray that he's a pureblood, Lia."

She glares at me with so much venom that my first instinct is to back off and apologize. But I suppose being around Gryffindors has hardened my resolve. At least, I don't flinch when her voice drops to a frosty tone. "Are you blackmailing me, little sister?"

I gulp, starting to shake in my shoes. I keep one eye on her wand hand, just in case she decides to hex my mouth shut or wipe my memories or something.

Suddenly, Liana's face breaks out into a grin, and she lets our something like a giggle. "You're learning, Kate! There's hope for you after all!"

She pulls me into a crushing hug, completely unexpected. When she lets me go, I immediately check my pockets discreetly to make sure my wand is still there (wouldn't be the first time she used affection to try and steal something from me). Liana is beaming at me like I'm the best person in the world, before skipping (yes, actual skippage) towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

I stare after her, bewildered.

And people say I'm the weird one.


"What's she doing here?"

I glare at Fred and George Weasley, considering chucking the school broom (first-years aren't allowed their own broomsticks, which is such a shame) at their heads. But that really wouldn't help my non-violence reputation, and it would be almost impossible to hit both of them, so I decide against it.

"I'm trying out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team," I reply matter-of-factly with as much civility as possible. Today is Friday, the second week of term, and that means Quidditch trials. Technically, first years aren't allowed their own broomsticks, and rarely get on teams. But that doesn't mean they can't try out, can they? And I've heard Harry Potter, as punishment (punishment?) for stopping Draco with the Remembrall was made the Seeker of the team, so if he can be on the team, so can I, right?

Unfortunately, I'm the only first-year that thinks this way, apparently, and the rest of the team-hopefuls are giving me doubting looks. A broad-shouldered fifth year, apparently the team captain, takes one look and gives me a flat-out, "No."

"No?" I shout. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Try out next year, okay?" The team captain waves an airy hand, about to mount his broom. "For now, we've got all the Chasers we need. Rachel, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia as a reserve." He points to each girl as he says their name, three third-years and one second-year.

I scowl, crossing my arms, trying to hide my bitter disappointment. I've been dreaming about joining the school Quidditch team ever since I was six. Liana's never been on a Quidditch team – in fact, she hates the sport, but that's another story – and I've been looking forward to doing something she hasn't.

"Oh, come on Wood, let's at least see what she can do," One of the third-years, a pretty looking black girl with braids, shrugs. "Maybe we can make her a reserve if she's good."

"Well…" Wood looks hesitant. Rachel Zytera nods as well.

"Yeah, we could always use some new blood on the team. Let's see how she flies."

"Straight into a tree," Fred Weasley whispers to his twin. I shoot him a glare, which only earns me an infuriating smirk before Wood finally sighs, "Okay, fine. Let's see what you can do."

I smile at Rachel, who winks at me, and mount my broom. Please, please, please don't fall off… I beg, concentrating on holding on tight as I kick off the ground, and the next thing I know, I'm flying.

I soar up to about a hundred feet in the air, grinning. I feel weightless, completely free. So far, so good. I'm actually doing really good, actually. Maybe I can do this…

I lean forward a little, urging the broom to go faster. It's reluctant. Liana told me school brooms usually have slight malfunctions, and this old Shooting Star is very slow. Too slow, and I grit my teeth, willing it to go faster, until finally it gives in, shooting so fast my eyes begin to tear up from the cold wind in my face.

In fact, I'm going so fast I can't see the…

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT-"

CRASH!

"…tree."


"You're lucky, you only got a broken nose," Rachel comments as I sit up in the Hospital Wing, holding a cloth to my bleeding nose.

"Yes, I'b doe lucky." I mutter, breathing through my mouth as Madam Pomfrey shuffles around the many beds lining the very white, very clean room. She mutters things under her breath like, "Quidditch trials", and "What were they thinking, letting a first-year try out!"

"Hold still, dear," She says, pointing her wand at my nose. "Episkey." My nose feels rather numb and hot, but when I pull the cloth away, I find its fixed, as if it had never been broken at all.

"Thanks," I say, finally speaking normally. "Can I go to class now?"

Madam Pomfrey clucks impatiently. "Very well, but be careful on that nose, it's still tender. And try not to sneeze."

Rachel leads me out of the Hospital Wing, before stopping outside the History of Magic classroom and asking me where my next class is.

I blink. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I'll get there alright. Thanks for taking me to the Hospital Wing."

"No problem," Rachel replies nonchalantly. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay. You hit that tree pretty hard. Sure there's no brain damage?"

I giggle despite myself. "Yep. No more than I already had, anyway." I glance out a nearby window, where I can still see the Quidditch pitch, and feel my heart sink. "Guess my Quidditch career is over."

"Cheer up, I'm sure you can get better over time," Rachel shrugs, heading towards the Grand Staircase. "Besides, Quidditch isn't everything. There's a lot to do around here without having to fly."

"I suppose," I mutter, watching as she walks away before turning back to the window and watch Harry Potter and Oliver Wood toss golf balls back and forth. Wonder if something interesting will ever happen to me without crashing into a tree.


Time passes. We learn the basics in almost every subject, and begin on the real magic. I avoid Liana as much as possible, trying to salvage whatever's left of my reputation and turn it into something less pure-blood perfect and more likeable. You could say it works, sort of. I'm nobody's best friend, but I'm nobody's enemy either.

Meanwhile, I'm exploring the castle as much as I possibly can. So far I've found three secret passageways in two months. None of them lead out of the castle, but it ensures that I always get to class on time, if not early. It's kind of fun, knocking on door to see it they'll talk or tapping statues with my wand and muttering nonsense words.

On Halloween morning, I wake up before my roommates and head out of the common room, determined to check out a possible new passageway near the Entrance Hall, behind the portrait of Elizabeth Burke. I've seen older students disappear behind her portrait, but I have no clue where it leads to or what the password is.

"Excuse me?" I ask as politely as I can to the snoring red-haired woman in the painting. The Entrance Hall is rather empty, as mostly everyone is sleeping in. "Could you possibly tell me the password for the passageway you guard?"

Ms. Burke wakes with a grunt, and glares at me. "You nasty little girl, couldn't you see I was sleeping? Honestly, children should be seen and not heard!"

I take a step back. Luckily, portraits can't curse, but there's something about the woman that reminds me of my aunt Regina, who was always quick to remind me that a lady of breeding ought never to raise her voice any louder "than the gentle hum of a whisper in the wind." Rawr.

"Facta, non verba." A voice from behind me states, and the portrait grumbles before swinging open to reveal a narrow staircase going up.

I turn around to face a Ravenclaw first-year with wavy black hair and glasses almost too big for her head – indeed, they fall off as I oh-so-gracefully knock into her, causing both of us to fall to the ground.

"Oh!" I exclaim, quickly snatching up the glasses and holding them up to her face, unfortunately only succeeding in poking her in the eye. "I'm so sorry! Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?" I hold up a random amount of fingers.

The girl frowns, her eye watering. "Three."

"Oh, really?" I quickly check my hand to count that there really are three before standing up. "Gee, I'm really sorry about your glasses."

The girl stands up as well, waving an airy hand. "It's fine. I don't really need them, they're supposed to make me look more intelligent." There is a faint yet recognizable Irish lilt in her tone that makes everything she says sound rather pleasant. "What's your name?"

"Er…Kate Progers." Funny, I had to think about that. Usually whenever I introduce myself, I have to say, 'I am Katelyn Progers, pureblood.' Being independent is new and weird to me. "What's yours?"

"Selene," The girl replies, holding out her hand. "Selene Carmical. I'm in Ravenclaw, and based on your tie, you're in Gryffindor, right?" It doesn't sound much like a question, more like restating a fact. "You're that girl who wanted a reSort, right?"

"Um…right," I really hope my poker face is working and I'm not the hue of a tomato. "Actually, that was my sister, I'm perfectly fine being a Gryffindor. And um, you were, uh…" I try to think back to the Sorting, but can't recall anything that stands about her.

"Oh, I was Sorted very fast," Selene comments off-handedly. "The Sorting Hat seemed sure I would be in Ravenclaw. I suppose it's because my grandmother was in that house. My father was in Hufflepuff, though, so my chance of being in that house was about 46%."

She apparently calculates percentages. Okay. Not weird at all.

"What house was your mother in?" I ask curiously, and notice the way Selene's face seems to fall at that comment.

"She…she's a Muggle. I haven't talked to her in six years. She left when I was five."

"Oh…" So Selene's a half-blood. It feels horrible that that's the first thought that reaches my mind, when Selene's obviously upset about her mother. "I'm sorry."

Selene shrugs, obviously not willing to divulge more of the story.

Elizabeth Burke is getting impatient. "Are you two going to make me hang open all day?" She snaps, and I turn back to the passageway, which looks rather dusty and depressing, especially with the smell of breakfast wafting in from the Great Hall.

"Facta, non verba, right?" I ask Selene, slamming the portrait, causing Ms. Burke to stumble out of her portrait, swearing loudly. "What's that mean?"

"Deeds, not words," Selene replies, heading towards the staircase. "And older student told me. It's Latin," She adds slowly, seeing my confused expression. "It's sort of my motto, actually. Actions speak louder than words do, you know."

I nod, not exactly understanding but not wanting to appear ignorant. "Oh…yeah, I totally get that," I say, not getting it at all. Selene, however, beams, obviously thinking she has found a kindred spirit.

"And of course, there's the whole idea of body language in comparison to what you actually say. You do know that body language makes up 70% of what you say rather than the actual words?"

I blink. What? She is speaking English, right?

Selene watches me closely, as though expecting an answer to a question she did ask. Slightly disappointed, she folds her arms over her chest before pointing at a bit of parchment sticking out of my pocket. "What's that?"

I pull it out of my pocket, wondering the same thing. Must have put it in my pocket last night without thinking. When I unfold it, I find it's a sketch I drew a few weeks ago, after my disappointing Quidditch try-out. It's a picture of me on a broom, soaring high above the Quidditch stadium, probably how I looked before I fell off – er, crashed into a tree (I do that previous quite a bit too, though).

Selene holds it in her hands, examining it closely. "Wow, you're really good," she remarks, pointing at certain details, like the shading of the trees or the movement of my hair. "Of course, you could use some improvement," she adds.

I scowl at this comment, grabbing the parchment out of her hands and heading towards the Great Hall. Who's she to judge, huh? I'm really getting sick of people judging me for who I am. Wish they'd all just leave me alon –

"Hey, Kate!"

I turn around for a second. Selene is rushing to catch up with me as I put one hand on the door to the Great Hall, pulling something out of her pocket. It's a small Muggle notepad, with half the pages filled up. She stops in front of me and hands it to me.

"Here," she says, flipping to a page. "I write poetry, and I was wondering if you could read a bit of it," She's talking very fast now, her face flushed and exited. "And, you know, if you like some of them, maybe you could draw a few? Please?"

I stare for a second at her, before glancing down at a few of the poems. They're very good, actually, and some of them do inspire pictures in my mind. I particularly love this one:

My heart soaring

The lights of the sky

My only destination

And yet forever I fly

Slowly, I nod, trying to keep a cool face. "Yeah, I'll take a look at them. Have you shown anyone else? They're really great."

Selene beams at my compliment. "Nope, haven't shown a single soul. Not even my father. It's my secret project, you see." She lowers her voice to a whisper as students begin making their descent down the stairs and past us, looking for breakfast. "I was afraid that they would be, you know, rubbish. But I'm glad you don't think they are."

I smile back, putting the notepad in my pocket to read later. "No, definitely not. You have real talent."

"Really?" She's positively grinning now, and other students are giving us weird looks as they pass, but Selene pays no attention. "Oh, that's so nice of you to say! Really!" Before I can say anything, she hooks her arm through mine. "I'm so glad to have a friend like you."

I stutter a bit, "W-Wait, what?" but maybe I'm so caught up in the idea of making another friend that I don't protest. My friend list has just moved up to four, a new record for me.

As we walk into the Grand Hall, I can't help but keep a grin off my face as well.


"Today we will be using the flying charm!" Professor Flitwick squeaks on that same morning, standing on his top of books to see everyone like usual. "Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing! Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important too – never forget Wizard Barrufio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Is that supposed to be encouraging?

Soon, the Charms classroom fills with shouts of, "Wingardium Leviosa!" and plenty of wand waving, but none of our feathers float up towards the ceiling the way it should be.

"Wingardia, no, sorry, Wingardium Leviasa, whoops, Wingardia, Wingardia…" I stumble over the words, excitement getting the better of me. After all, this is the first time we get to try making objects fly, and today is Halloween. So excuse me if I'm a little overexcited.

Lavender Brown, my partner for this current assignment, sighs and leans her chin in her hand.

"It's hopeless, none of us are going to get it right!" She declares. At that moment, Ron Weasley and Hermione are having an intense argument – excuse me, discussion.

"Stop, stop, You're going to take someone's eye out," Hermione says impatiently, watching as Ron waves his arms around like me when I'm trying to smack a fly. "And you're saying it wrong, it's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, not Levi-o-sar, and make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it then, if you're so clever," Ron grumbles angrily, putting down his wand and glaring at her. "Go on, then."

By now, half the class is staring at them, and Hermione rolls her eyes as she flicks her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Just Professor Flitwick had stated, her feather begins to rise up towards the ceiling, out of reach, directed only by her wand.

"Oh, well done!" The small teacher exclaims. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger has done it!"

Ron is looking incredulous. Hermione looks smug. I am rather impressed, until a loud explosion from one corner of the room catches everyone's attention.

"Er…Professor?" Harry Potter calls, sitting next to Seamus Finnegan, whose face is covered in soot and staring at his terribly burned feather. "I think we're going to need another feather."


"That was really good," I say as class is dismissed and we grab our books to head to our next lesson. There is a hint of jealousy in my tone I hope she doesn't hear. Wish I could have done that. I mean, the girl comes from Muggle parents who don't know a thing about magic, and she can do it better than me, and I have lived my entire life in the magical world.

"It was a very simple spell," Hermione shrugs, but she cannot stop a small smile from crossing her face as we walk across the stone bridge towards Transfiguration. As we walk, we come closer to a knot of boys from our class, where Ron Weasley is telling an apparently amusing story.

"It's Levi-o-sa, not Levi-o-sar," he drawls dramatically while all the other boys laugh. "Honestly, she's a nightmare, no wonder no one but that Slytherin prat can stand her."

I glance over at Hermione, whose face has changed dramatically. She bites her lower lip and starts walking even faster, being sure to knock into Harry Potter as she passes the boys.

Harry watches her retreating figure, rather embarrassedly. "I think she heard you."

"Of course she heard you," I snap angrily, running to catch up with the group, glaring at Ron. They stop in their tracks as I face Weasley, rage boiling in my veins. "You're the prat, Ronald Weasley, not me!"

"Oh yeah?" Ron's face turns near the same color as his hair, matching my furious gaze. "Who asked you to butt in anyway?"

I clench my fists, opening my mouth to speak but no words come out. I'm so angry I'm choking on my own fury. Finally, I lower my eyes to the ground, swallowing painfully.

"Just because you're incapable of performing adequate magic, Weasley, doesn't mean you should take out your immaturity on those better than you," I say in a steady voice, turning around before I change my mind and decide to deck the rodent. The weasel looks on, half-shocked and half-furious. I can hear as he attempts to think of a clever comeback, but, obviously thinking it's not worth it, stalks away, followed by the other boys.

What. A. Loser.

See, Lia? I can keep my anger in check.


"Hey, Kate, you seen Hermione?" Parvati Patil asks me later as we head to the Great Hall for the Halloween Feast. Hermione hasn't been seen all afternoon, missing all of the classes, which is definitely a first for her.

"I heard she's been in the first-floor girls' lavatory, crying," Lavender adds, walking besides Parvati. "It's really horrible, isn't it?"

I nod, glancing around to see who can hear me. When I catch sight of Potter and Weasley (really, can you find one without the other?) I add in a very loud voice, "Yes, she's been feeling miserable all afternoon. I feel really bad for her. Can you imagine how sad that must be, being bullied that much?"

Weasley's face turns pale, muttering something under his breath, but Potter looks rather worried. Maybe they do care after all.

I turn to Lavender. "Hey, how much time do we have until the feast begins?" I ask. Lavender looks at her watch. A fascinating watch, that is. I mean, instead of planets moving on the outside, there are numbers and they remain stationary the entire time. And there's only three hands. It's bloody weird. Fascinating, but weird.

"Um…about ten minutes. Why?" She asks, but I'm already heading back up the stairs to the first floor.


"Hermione? Hermione, please come out of there!"

No answer. I knock on the door harder.

"Please? Come on, the Halloween Feast won't be as fun without you!"

Sniff, sniff.

"I need someone to tell me about the history of pumpkins!"

"Used to send away witches on All Saints Day. Please go away." Her voice cracks at the end of the sentence (a rather ironic sentence, considering the fact that the Great Hall is full of jack-o'-lanterns at the moment).

"Don't listen to what that Weasley toad said! He's just a dragon dung-licking git, he is."

"Excuse me?"

I turn around, scowling at the Weasley twins again, who are looking rather amused.

"I hope you aren't talking about us," One of them says in mock-sternness. Phoenix feathers, I can never figure out which is which.

"Mind your own business, George," I guess, trying to scowl as best as I can under the circumstances. The twin that spoke grins.

"I'm Fred."

"Oh, shut up and leave me alone!" I glower at the both of them before turning to the door again. "Hermione, open up!"

"Leave me alone!" She cries, voice half-muffled.

"But I have to go!"

"Then leave!"

"No, I mean…" I trail off, suddenly turning the hue of a tomato as the Weasley twins snicker. "Seriously, come on, we all know Ronald's a…a…"

"A boggart-baiting-"

"Quaffle-dropping-"

"– stubborn little git?" The twins add at the same time. I stare for a second, wondering if they have to practice that or it just comes naturally. Either way, it's still pretty cool, and I find myself envious for the second time today.

I shake off that thought and turn back towards the door. "Yeah, what they said, kind of. Only what I had in mind had more words that shouldn't be used around teachers –"

"Wh-what a-are you three d-doing away fr-from the f-f-feast?" A new, stuttering voice comes from down the corridor. I step away from the door to face Professor Quirrell, looking very lost and terrified. More than he usually does, anyway.

"Oh! Professor, I, uh…" I put my hand behind my back, trying to think of an excuse. Why would I be out here anyway, except to help my friend? But this is a private matter – I don't want to get a teacher involved. Hermione would be very embarrassed, plus I may have planned a few unexpected surprises for Weasley once we get back to the common room. Surprises that may or may not get me in detention.

(Hey, I'm a Progers. Viciousness runs in my family. Can't help it if I have particularly wicked genes.)

Before I can think of an adequate excuse, Fred (or is it George?) steps forward. "Sorry Professor, we were just showing Kate a new passageway. You know, since she's always late," he adds, and I mentally roll my eyes. Always late, what a load of boggart-bull.

Professor Quirrell, however, seems to believe this outright lie, and nods, his turban looking like it's going to fall off. He really does look quite frazzled, actually. More nervous than usual. I suppose it's because it's Halloween, and he's sort of what I always considered a Hallo-weenie.

"W-Well, as ad-admirable as that m-might b-be, I s-suggest you all g-get up the feast, yes?" He finally manages to say (well, stutter), moving out of our way so we can walk down the stairs to the Great Hall.

I exchange looks with the twins before moving towards the door to the first-floor corridor, casting one last glum look at the bathroom door. Poor Hermione. Missing her first Halloween feast because of some stupid comment made by an idiotic boy.

"Aren't you coming, Professor?" George (unless it's Fred) asks Quirrell, looking over his shoulder at the tense teacher standing in the middle of the hall.

Quirrell flinches, despite George's tone being conversational and not at all reprimanding. "What? O-Oh, oh no, I-I have business t-to attend t-to. I'll j-join the f-festivities l-later," he smiles sheepishly, and waves us off. "G-go h-have fun."

And with that, he practically shoves us out of the corridor and onto the staircase landing, closing the door behind us.

"I must be going mental," I remark to myself after a few moments of silence. "I was actually able to understand half of what he said."

This makes the twins smirk, and I remember that I'm not the only one out of the Great Hall. I turn to them, one hand on my hip, blocking the way down the stairs, even though I'm pretty sure one of them could knock me down the stairs with one hand. "And speaking of which, what were you doing up there?"

"Could ask the same for you," One of them replies, exchanging a look with his twin. It's painfully obvious – should we tell her? Can we trust her? Should we just push her down the stairs and pretend like this never happened?

On second thought, maybe I shouldn't be standing so close to the edge. I back away a bit, leaning against the banister. "I was providing moral support for a friend," I say in the most confident voice I can muster. "However, I have a feeling what you were going was slightly less ethical." And illegal.

The twins exchange looks one more time, before coming to a silent agreement. "We were planting a Dungbomb for Filch," One of them finally says, deciding honesty would be the best approach. "To get back at him for giving us detention last Wednesday. And if you tell anyone, I swear –"

"I won't."

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and yet, they are true. I won't tell Filch or a teacher. Because, thinking about it, I wouldn't like it if I told someone a secret only to be snitched on. I don't want to be a little goody-two-shoes.

I want people to like me. Me, who comes from a family of some of the snarkiest Slytherins ever (save for the Malfoys).

So it's true, then, when I say, "I won't tell a soul," because I won't. I'm so happy, actually, that they think I'm someone worth trusting after all the things I've said.

That, and Filch made me clean the trophy room last Friday for attempting to get into the third-floor corridor. (You know, the 'forbidden' one which happens to look precisely like the corrdior to Transfiguration. Hmph.)

The twins look slightly surprised, before breaking out into identical grins. "Great," they say at the same time.

"See, Fred, told you she wouldn't be such a stick-in-the-mud." George says as we head towards the Great Hall and slip into our seats just as the feast begins. The Great Hall looks spectacular, with pumpkins floating over our heads and bats swooping in every now and then. The ceiling reflects a stormy night outside – perfect for Halloween.

"A stick-in-the-mud?" I frown, sitting down next to Lavender Brown, who is preoccupied with a pork chop. "That's so nice." I mutter sarcastically as I reach for my goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Well, now we know better," Fred shrugs, helping himself to some steak and kidney pie. "Besides, if it makes you feel any better, I'll tell you about the Skele-Gro we put in your pumpkin juice."

This last comment causes me to unceremoniously spit out the said juice, right into the face of Neville Longbottom, who looks too shocked to be angry. Indeed, even as the entire table begins to laugh, he still wears a surprised look, juice dripping off his face.

"S-Sorry Neville," I apologize, standing up and handing him a few napkins. Neville mutters an "its okay," before giving a small, nervous smile. It was kind of funny.

"We were joking, by the way," George says as I sit back down. "We don't have any Skele-Gro."

"And if we did, we wouldn't use it on you," Fred adds casually. "No, we'd set our sights on even bigger targets." This is followed by a pointed glance at Professor Snape.

I allow myself a tiny smirk, even though Snape doesn't really deserve it. No one does. I've heard Skele-Gro is one of the most foul-tasting potions in the history of forever. But I'm still bitter about the non-consideration of my house transfer, I'm willing to agree, even if it isn't right.

The feast goes on, and I'm actually enjoying myself. The Weasley twins are quite popular in Gryffindor, and being on their good terms puts me on good terms with most my house. I'm joking and laughing and talking and overall having a good-time. I even forget how Hermione must be feeling, alone and miserable in the girls' first-floor lavatory.

Just as Neville is telling the story of the time his grandfather played a trick on his grandmother by putting a fanged gerbil in her handbag, the doors to the Great Hall burst open, and in runs a rather pale-looking Professor Quirrell – or at least, more pale than he usually looks.

For once, Quirrell isn't stuttering. In fact, he's screaming at the top of his lungs, looking utterly terrified. His turban is flying behind him, perched on his head at an odd angle. It's hard to understand what he's saying, until he's yelling it for the second time.

"TROLL! TROLL, IN THE DUNGEONS!"

Everyone looks up from their dinner, shell-shocked. Professor Quirrell stops right in front of Professor Dumbledore, eyes wild and terrified, before whispering, "Thought you ought to know."

He then proceeds to fall to the floor in a dead faint, sprawled out in the middle of the aisle.

A troll.

In the dungeon.

On Halloween night.

…Gee, Professor, anything else you forgot to tell us?


Thank you so much for putting up with my long absences!

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Mischief Managed!