A/N: Hey everybody

A/N: Hey everybody! Here it is, chapter three! Aren't you all just so excited? I was going to make this chapter really long, but then I realized that I haven't updated this story for over a month! *gasp* So, I just split what I was going to have happen in this chapter in half, and you'll see the second part in the form of chapter four. I hope you like it and, as always, please review!!!

The Child's Aim Must Miss, Chapter Three:

Horror Films Can be Educational

"Do you see the table with the yellow cloth, second from the left? That's where you'll be sitting," says Sirius. His eyes are darting nervously around the deserted hallway. Apparently, according to Professor Dumbledore, Sirius cannot be seen by anyone. I have absolutely no idea why, he's pretty good looking. Bad pun, I know. My butt doesn't hurt anymore, but apparently my puns are suffering as always. Stupid bird....

Sirius is pointing into an immense room, filled with kids wearing long, black robes just like Sirius'. Stylin'. The delicious smell of food is wafting through the doorway, making my mouth water. Dinner time already?

"Do not speak of me amongst yourselves. Walk straight to the very end of the table. Do not attract attention to yourselves. I don't want to start a panic…" Sirius continues, his last sentence trailing off into nothingness. Then he gives me a rough nudge, forcing me into the room. The others trail behind, as nervous as I am. I mean, the way Sirius was talking, you would have thought we were secret agents on a mission to save the world.

"Yes, Sirius! My name is Bond, Drake Bond," murmurs Drake under his breath. I guess he was thinking the same exact thing.

"Shut up! You heard what he said!" hisses Heather.

"You are such a goody-goody!" Drake retorts, his voice positively dripping with contempt. I swear, one of these days…Let's just put it this way, at the rate he's going, he'll lead a shorter life than Fawkes.

"Well, it just so happens that the 'goody-goody' has a point, so shut your yap!" I say.

"Yes'm Mr. Quacky-Pants."

I roll my eyes and walk to the end of the yellow table, just like Sirius said to do. The other kids at the table look mostly younger than us, in their early teens. There are a few other sixteen year-olds, but they don't even look up when we sit down. It doesn't surprise me; when was the last time I went out of my way to greet a new kid?

"Roll out the welcome wagon, why don'tcha?" cracks Roger in this hillbilly voice. We all laugh softly, each one thinking his or her own thoughts. Heather looks up at the ceiling, her eyes glazing over. I follow her gaze, and gasp. The ceiling is a dark, velvety shade of black, dotted with tiny pricks of light. A huge silver orb sits in the center of the display.

"Holy…if only NASA could see this…" I murmur. Heather tears her eyes away from the ceiling and nods at me. We don't tell the others about our discovery.

"What the hell is that?" asks Roger, distracting me and Heather. He's poking some sort of dark brown substance with his fork. It jiggles. "It's ALIVE!!!" he says, in a distorted Bill Cosby voice. We all laugh, and agree silently not to eat that freakish Jell-O experiment gone wrong. In fact, we don't eat anything at all. Why? Well, a combination of factors. First off, English food is notorious, to use a vocabulary word, for being nasty. Second, we all have other things on our minds.

"Okay. Time to get serious," Drake says in a hushed voice, obviously trying not to be heard by the kids in black robes sitting all around us.

"Serious about what?" I ask. He looks really nervous.

"Serious about what is going on here! I mean, this is crazy! I think we should escape; just blow these weirdoes off," he replies.

"You have been reading too Christopher Pike books, my man. Let's just chill for a while. See what the old guy has in mind, ya know?" Roger says. He looks calm, laid back.

"Yeah. Like, he hasn't tried to hurt us or anything," Heather chimes in.

"Ahem," I say, and she looks my way, blushing.

"Well, if you don't count Henry's accident," she replies, giggling. Roger snorts, but Drake still looks edgy.

"Listen, Drake. She's right. Nobody has tried to hurt us. Sides, this isn't some horror flick. Trust me, ole buddy. There is no killer lurking in the bushes with a knife, just waiting for someone who forgot the rules," Roger says.

"Rules? What rules?" asks Drake. Roger and I roll our eyes, but Heather looks confused as well.

"Didn't you two see Scream, only the best splatter movie ever made?" I ask. "He's quoting number one."

"Number one? There is only one, man. Two and three sucked."

"Nah. Two definitely sucked, but three wasn't that bad."

"Oh please. I am a purist. I believe that sequels can never live up to their originals."

"Would you two please tell me what you're talking about, or at least change the subject?" asks Heather impatiently.

"Okay, I'll explain. There are three basic rules that you must abide by in order to survive a horror movie," I answer. "Rule one: you cannot have sex." At this, Roger boos loudly. "No sex! Why? Well, who is it that always survives the huge chase scene at the end? The virgin! Okay, rule two: you cannot drink or do drugs. This is an extension of rule one, the sin factor. And rule three, the most important of the lot: Never, under any circumstances, leave a crowded room and say 'I'll be right back', because you won't," I finish.

"Very useful, very useful," Drake says rolling his eyes.

"Is this what boys talk about? God…" Heather teases. We go back to sitting in silence for a few minutes, Heather looking up at the starry ceiling, Roger using his spoon to catapult the giggly brown substance into the air, Drake simply staring into space, and me simply staring at Heather. Hoo boy, I've got it bad.

"Aw, here we go. Now that's what I'm talkin' about," Drake says. He points at a tall, slim girl that has just entered the huge room. She has long, shiny black hair and almond shaped eyes. "Does rule one still stand?"

"Not with her. Yikes," says Roger, his jaw hanging somewhere down around his feet. Heather rolls her eyes and goes back to staring at the ceiling; I can't say I blame her, it's beautiful. Roger and Drake, the expert observers they are, haven't even noticed it yet. Besides, they're just a tad busy right now. Wonder Girl has taken a seat at the table next to ours, the one with the bright blue table cloth. Heather starts humming absentmindedly. I recognize the tune as that bubble-gummy pop song "Summer Girls" by some boy band (who can keep them all straight?) Last summer, that was The Song.

"Oh yeah, Heather. Sing it!," Roger exclaims. Then he bursts into song himself. "I like girls that wear black robes that fit!"

Drake jumps in, this time hissing at Roger so he won't be heard. "In all the right places, if you know what I mean." He has this devilish grin on his face, and he keeps leering over at Wonder Girl. I told you I don't think much of this guy. Him and Roger slap hands while they snigger.

"Please, Roger. I expected more from you!" I scold, wagging my finger in his face. We all burst out laughing, causing some of the younger kids sitting a few feet down from us to look up. One little boy-he might be about twelve- stares open-mouthed at me, before whipping his head around to look at the table on the far right with the dark red table cloth. "You guys, I think we've been spotted," I say, pointing at the little boy, who is now frantically talking to his friends and nodding his head in our direction.

"Eep. Should we go find Sirius?" asks Roger, after which he is promptly shushed and scolded for saying Sirius' name. "Well, sor-ry!" he says, sticking his lower lip out as far as it will go and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I think that we should just go back to Professor Dumbledore's office," says Heather, always the voice of reason.

"Yeah. Good idea," I say, and start to get up out of my seat. Heather and Drake follow suit and we start to leave when we hear a sulky voice from behind us.

"I don't wanna! You can't make me!" says Roger, pouting for all he's worth. Under normal circumstances, I would find this situation hilarious, but that little boy has a big mouth; now the whole table is staring at us and pointing. I grab Roger's elbow and steer him out of the room.

"Come on, Roger. We. Have. To. Go," I say, jerking on his arm to punctuate each word. He comes along, grumbling softly. As we wind our way through the chairs and students, we get a lot of funny looks. This day just gets better and better.

We finally go through the huge doors that lead out of the packed room and into the cool, silent hallway. I lead the way, wandering through the immense, stone halls. The sun has set, so the huge windows no longer let in any sunshine. The halls are lit with torches attached to the walls. It looks medieval and menacing, not to mention creepy. I really hope I know where I'm going...

***A conversation from the other side of the Great Hall…..***

Colin: Harry! Harry!

Harry: Yes Colin?

Colin: How'd you get here?

Harry: What do you mean, how did I get here? I've been sitting in this same spot all through dinner.

Colin: But…but…I saw you!

Ron: I see him every day Colin. So does Hermione. It's not like the kid is invisible."

Harry: Shut up Ron. Now, what do you mean you saw me?

Colin: I mean that I just saw you! You were sitting at the Hufflepuff table with Ron and Hermione and Draco.

Harry: Why on earth would I be sitting at the Hufflepuff table, with Malfoy no less?

Colin: I don't know, but I saw you!

Harry: *silence*

Colin: I did! I know I saw you!

Harry: *more silence*

Colin: I did!

Harry: *even more silence*

Colin: Fine then. *walks away, shaking his head*

Ron: That was…odd.

Hermione: Yeah.

Harry: Really odd….

Thank You's:

To Lindsay Beth, thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!!! Oh, did I forget to mention thank you?!

Gratitude to Zed, lunakitten, Caro, Zelda, and everyone else who reviewed. Thank you soooo much for the support.

Next order of business….

PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I would appreciate feedback so much!!! *Plz?*