All right, all right, so technically, last night was the full moon. However, number one: it was a full eclipse (which I didn't know about so I never got to see it! D:), so no moon was actually out (if you stretch things a little whole lot...). Eheh. And B, since it's the night after, dear James is still susceptible to change. Weee.

Thanks to everyone for all the sweet reviews! Hugs to all! (now if only I could get as many reviews for my other story. I guess that one just isn't nearly as good XP)

Of Fears Unknown: Chapter Nine

James peered cautiously out of Hermione's bag, hoping not to be seen. If only the door were ajar another inch or so, he might make a run for it. However, it was not so. If he were to risk himself now, he would certainly be discovered. That Malfoy chap was not far off, either, and he would surely want a repeat performance upon discovering the ferret. And this time, said ferret would find out the rest of that unfinished spell. Anyway, he would naturally have made a break for the professor—they would know him—had said teacher not been one Severus Snape. He did not feel that he could trust the man. In fact, he occasionally let himself think that the dangerous-looking wizard was out to get him.

All around, students were carefully measuring and weighing ingredients, and with utmost care adding them to cauldrons and mixing them in. A strange mixture of aromas permeated the air. Some were sweet and came from the successful cauldrons, where puffs of pink smoke, shaped like butterflies, rose from their contents. Others smelled horrid, their descriptions too disgusting to relate, the cauldrons filled with grey-green bubbling sludge, as like ground slugs.

There were two explosions in class that day—James knew there had to be one some time. The first, predictably, was Seamus, whose measurements had been inaccurate, and proportions nonexistent. "Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape had declared in his monotonous purr.

As for the second... "Right, I'm done," Ron said, drawring his stirring instrument from the potion. "Why isn't it doing that smoke trick?"

"Ron, you need Ptolera," Hermione reminded him.

"Where's it say that?"

"Right there," she pointed. Ron scowled. "It's in the cabinet over there. And Ron, you're welcome."

"Yeah, yeah..." He stalked off, to the far corner of the dungeon. Unseen, as Harry and Hermione continued with their work, a blonde head peered over the side of the tale, and an attached arm reached over and dropped a pinch of dark green powder into the unattended mixture before quickly withdrawing out of sight. At once, the lightly simmering, translucent magenta liquid began to boil, and changed to an angry shade of red. Ron returned with a small glass jar filled with what looked like dried flower petals. He took a pinch, looked at the recipe in his Potions book, then ground them in his palm and dropped them into the bubbling mix.

"Ron!" Harry and Hermione both exclaimed as the potion glowed and growled. Before he could get away, it exploded, and the redhead was thrown back, crashing into the table behind. James and everything else sitting on the table, aside from the cauldrons, were blown off. With a squeak, the ferret hit the floor first, the textbooks and other belongings within the bag piling on top of him.

"What is the meaning of this, Mr. Weasely?" Snape demanded, gliding over to the table. He hauled the redhead roughly to his feet by his robe, the student clutching his arm in pain. Hermione, watching the two, stooped down to pick up her bag. She carefully lifted the books off the weasel, checking to make sure he was all right. James gasped in relief as the pressure was removed from his lungs. "What did you put in the cauldron?" Snape demanded in little more than a hiss, after examining the remnants of the mixture.

"He put in all the right ingredients," Hermione told him. "I was watching him."

"Assisting a classmate on an individual assignment," Snape observed, "Five points from Gryffindor." He turned back to Ron. "You have obviously injured yourself in your idiocy. Go and reacquaint yourself with the hospital wing. And for making this mess and breaking school instruments, another twenty-five points from Gryffindor. Be here at seven o'clock tonight for detention, Weasely."

Sulking, though knowing better than to argue, Ron picked up his things with his good arm and headed out. "See you later, Ron," Harry assured him as he passed. "We'll come visit you." Ron grunted a response and disappeared through the door.

"Well what are you all standing around for? Get back to work," Snape snapped. The awed trance that had fallen over the class was broken, and students bustled around, frantically tending to their neglected potions that had been left to boil for too long.

I don't very much like this Professor Snape, James thought with a sniff. His little ears pricked and he looked to see a familiar blonde sniggering with his cronies. Wait, scratch that. Even Snape is not so detestable as this devil.

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"I can't believe he did that!" Hermione fumed, dropping her bag in a red lounge chair in the vacant Gryffindor common room.

"Who, Ron?" Harry asked, setting down his own. They had some free time before their next classes.

"Malfoy," she corrected him.

"What's he done how?"

"He put something into Ron's potion."

"How do you know it was him?" Hermione gave him a look. "I hate Draco just as much as you, but we ca't blame him for everything that goes wrong."

Yes you can, James thought from his place on a table near the armchair.

"Well who else would do it?" she countered.

A moment's thought. "You're right; Malfoy did it." James smiled inwardly in amusement. Hermione grinned at the black-haired boy, and went up one of the two flights of steps, which wound up into towers. "At least Ron is all right," he called up.

"Yeah. But I don't think that Malfoy would do anything that dangerous in case he gets caught."

You're right, James thought, rage swelling inside his tiny body, He saves the lethal pranks for ferrets.

"Still, Ron could've been hurt worse. We've got to get Malfoy caught some time."

Can I help?

"And get caught ourselves, without a doubt," she replied as she descended the steps, carrying a great, fluffy ginger-tabby cat.

"For pranking Ron and each other all the time? That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does the combination of Snape and teaching, but that hasn't stopped him." It was at this moment that James wisht he could laugh. "Look at the fuzzy little ferret, Crookshanks," Hermione crooned to her cat.

A witch with a cat. How fitting.

"Now Crookshanks, you're going to have to be nice to this one. You can't hunt it like Ron's rat, all right?" She set the feline on the table beside the ferret; James scooted a few steps back as the cat pushed its smashed face in his own, yellow eyes glaring into his.

How wonderful, he thought bleakly. The dog and I got along famously. Now I get to socialize with something ten times less cowardly. This should go rather well. Crookshanks raised a forepaw, staring thoughtfully as the weasel backed away a few more paces. The paw reached out and padded him in the side. It drew back, and the feline stalked closer, regardless of personal bubbles and boundaries. Here it comes... He braced himself. The cat's face leaned closer and closer. And then he was pinned under its paws as it happily licked the top of his head, purring contentedly.

"Oh look, Crookshanks likes him."

"That's a relief," said Harry, letting out his breath.

Hey—get your paws off of me! The feline continued to groom him, regardless. Your tongue does notbelong there!

"He's cleaning him like a little kitten."

"You're sure Crookshanks is a boy, Hermione? He's actung awful motherly."

"He just really likes this ferret," Hermione replied knowingly.

You know, this is actually quite soothing...

After a few minutes, both animals were placed on the floor, and Hermione and Harry took turns dragging a piece of string back and forth before them. Crookshanks playfully pounced on it and chased it. James sat out of the way, watching with half-interest, more consumed with figuring a plan of escape. Not wanting him to be left out, Harry dangled the string before his nose. James instinctively sniffed at it, but that was all. The end of the cord was left to sit "temptingly" before him. He watched it move back and forth with no more interest than before. "What's wrong, little guy?" Harry asked. "Don't you want to play?"

James sniffed indignantly. Play is for children.

"Here, let me try." Hermione kneeled down beside him and took the string. She dragged it to and fro, just the same, but now, each time she changed direction, she flipped her wrist so that the end curled up and flew at his face. He continued to resist, although now he was beginning to get very annoyed. At last, he swatted it away when it whipped his little nose, pinning it under his paw. Hermione smiled in triumph and began to pull it ever so slightly.

James looked up into their expectant faces. You really want me to do this, don't you? He batted awkwardly at the fraying end of the string.

"He's still not interested," Harry sighed. "It's like he doesn't know how to play."

Sighing himself, and feeling very, very immature, James rocked back on his little haunches and sprang, pouncing on the string and gnawing at it with his sharp little teeth. There. Satisfied? Hermione pulled the string out of his grasp and resumed pulling it back and forth. What? Again? James sighed in despair. How many times are you going to make me do this?

Thankfully, around the seventh or eighth time around, Crookshanks came to the rescue, leaping over Harry's arm to catch the cord as Hermione dragged it near. The students laughed. "I suppose we were neglecting Crookshanks."

"I guess so," Hermione grinned back.

"Is it time to go yet?"

"I think so. We should get ready." Hermione was to have Ancient Runes as her next class, and Harry was off to shudder Divination (although he insisted that it really wasn't so bad...as least while Ron was there...) As they made ready to leave, the lass petted the ferret and the cat. "Now take care of him, Crookshanks," she said gaily, tapping her cat affectionately on the nose. They went to the hole that was blocked off by the back of a great painting, on the other side of which was a rotund, portly lady (who moved, as did all the other paintings in the castle, so Norrington had previously noted with some alarm) and said, "Butterbeer." The painting swung open and they walked through. James raced toward his only means of escape, but the 'door' was already closing. He narrowly evaded breaking his nose. With surprisingly minimal frustration, he turned to the tabby as it padded up beside him and squeaked once. So now what?

All right, there you have it, folks! I'll try to keep it up, so see you next time the moon is full. XD It's like organizing a Gathering, except for pirates and witches instead of cats. Ha.

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