Ooh! Oooh!

No, I have not got ants in the pants--I am excited because in this chapter things happen! They do, they really do, I promise.

Okay, I guess I'm being stupid, things must have been happening before. But now they really importantly happen. And oddly enough, it is a very short chapter. I'm babbling like a goose; I'm sorry. Also sorry for the long wait. Right. Yes. I've been slightly busy.

Enjoy, my friends! (Thanks for all the reviews, I didn't even notice that I had reached 300. Ah, and I am proud to say that my titchy fanbase has found its way over to the Africas, where the lovely Laura presides. Woohoo.)

Chapter Thirty-Six: Descent

Harry's quill scratched wearily across the parchment as he listened to Malfoy snoring. They'd been in the common room, trying to finish essays for Potions that were already two days late, when Malfoy had fallen asleep of boredom. It had been weeks since his dream of Tom in the golden field, and in every dream since Tom had acted normally, despite the wistful tone his speech often took on. The world outside was resembling that place in Harry's mind more and more as June settled in, and the end of school was approaching quickly.

First, however, came the dreaded O.W.L. exams, which began in the afternoon of the day after tomorrow. Harry was determined to finish the essay that night, because Snape had warned him of a week's detention if it was late another day. Malfoy, of course, got off with a "your father would be displeased to see you tarry on your work, boy." The young man in question, however, was now sprawled over an uncomfortable green armchair and, Harry noticed with amusement, had a slight drool coming on.

The essay took another twenty minutes to finish. Harry rolled it up with a triumphant flourish and left to go downstairs into his dormitory. At the top of the staircase, he bumped into Goyle. The thicker boy, who was sleepy and therefore even less graceful than during the daytime, stumbled and waved his arms akimbo for balance.

Harry couldn't understand what happened next. He had reached out with his own hands to help Goyle up, but all of a sudden those hands had shot out and shoved Goyle firmly to send him jangling down the stairs. Falling, Goyle's hands grabbed at the air, closing over the rolled-up essay in Harry's hand and ripping it in two as the boy continued falling.

Harry gasped a moment later, when Goyle lay motionless at the bottom of the stairs. He rushed down to him, still unable to understand perfectly what had just transpired.

Goyle's expression, Harry was loathe to admit, was as stupid and confused as it was when he'd been alive. He was facing up, and his neck was twisted in an impossible manner, the shredded essay lying next to him. Harry stared in shock, first at the dead boy, then at his own hands.

And then something appeared in the corner of his eye. A flicker in the air, a strange coloration. Harry turned his head and gasped. There, beside Goyle at the bottom of the stairs, was the apparition of Tom Riddle.

"Hello, Harry."

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Ron groaned and covered his head with a pillow. "Hermione, please, no more studying—" They were in the library, cramming for the first exam, Theory of Charms. Then again, one could hardly call it cramming, since Ron had been subject to Hermione's military-like study schedule since May.

She removed the pillows from his ears deftly and chided, "You've got to study, Ron; O.W.L.s start in two days. Just two more weeks left after today—I know you've got in it you."

"Got what in me?" Ron asked miserably. "Is it boredom? There's definitely boredom."

"Got it in you to do well," Hermione said impatiently. "Now, go on, how do you perform a tickling charm?"

For an answer, Ron glared at her and muttered what he thought to be the right incantation. However, the spell that burst out of his wand didn't send Hermione over in giggles; rather, a second nose appeared on her forehead.

"There's definitely room for improvement," she said acidly, gingerly feeling her new nose. "Nice work on the nostril detail, though," the girl commented. Ron sighed and prepared himself for a long night.

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Ginny Weasley had no invisibility cloak, nor did she know how to use her wand to make herself unseen. But in a short month, she'd managed to become a rival in Fred and George's game of sneaking around at night. With Dog prowling alongside her and the Marauder's Map in her hand, she wandered the school every other night, getting to know each hallway and staircase.

She'd nearly been caught by Filch countless times, and he'd succeeded at it about once out of every ten scrapes. Detentions with him had been arduous and horribly boring, and stumbling into her dormitory dead on her feet each morning after wasn't fun, but Ginny wouldn't trade her night-time exploits for clean hands or un-bagged eyes any day.

She'd discovered a portrait of some ancient wizard on the fifth floor that opened up to a tunnel ending in a charming balcony high above the grounds; a room that she only found after several tries and changed each time she visited, though she had yet to understand its purpose; a tapestry concealing a door which guarded a very beautiful chamber, filled with strange musical instruments that even a born and bred witch like her had never seen.

Her dorm-mates guessed that she had a secret boyfriend, or some sort of pet in the Forbidden Forest. Laughing, she encouraged these rumors, confiding to some people that the secret boy was a tall and dashing Ravenclaw whose family couldn't stand her, and at other times that the pet was in fact a Chimera to whom she was feeding the House-elves. The ruse was delightful, and also helped conceal her real purpose, even if very few people probably believed it.

Part of her knew she was going to get into trouble. Nothing good comes of sneaking around, poking your nose where it doesn't belong, that part whispered.

But she ignored it. Really, what was the harm in indulging a little curiosity?

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