Hey everybody!

I just had a LONG AND HORRIBLE day of Driver's Ed – the woman who teaches the class is seriously La Diabla, which is fitting seeing as she's the Spanish teacher. (Thank God I take French.)

I wanted to thank my wonderful reviewers – Aniron (as always), classica – I wrote you a big long email! Thanks so much for your response! I have always preferred constructive criticism to any other kind of review. (HINT HINT.) Mitie mouse – I tried to email you, but my stupid email sent a letter back saying that the message had been returned. Aww! I wanted to thank you for awesome constructive criticism as well.

If you're considering reviewing my fic, do tell me if anything's wrong with it! I can't make it better if I don't know what's wrong! As it is my brainchild, I believe it can do no wrong. However, this is NOT true, it has its flaws, and I'd like to know what they are so I can make it a better fic. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, PEOPLE! I can take the pain!

Is it just me, or is it sometimes impossible to get onto ff.net, much less read anything or do any updating?

Cheers!

-Elemmírë

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Disclaimer: If someone offers me a large sum of money (hint, hint) I will be more than happy to spew characters off the top of my head. Until then, I'm just borrowing from JK Rowling.

CHAPTER NINE: Suspicions

After helping "Mr. and Mrs. George Weasley" (as Fred called them) find each other, Riley thought that the hard part of her job – adjusting to a new school – was over. Unfortunately, the real work was just beginning. Professors in every class decided that early October was an ideal time to pile on the work, making Riley's shoulders appear lopsided as she carried her gargantuan bookbag from class to class. Ron Weasley almost cried in History of Magic when Professor Binns stated that to complete their latest essay, they would have to read "Hogwarts, A History". Hermione looked very pleased; from what Riley gathered from Harry and Ron, she'd been trying to convince people to read it for ages.

Quidditch practices grew more and more strenuous, as Katie worked the Gryffindor team hard for the upcoming match against Ravenclaw. With every physically exhausting practice, the team grew more disgruntled. Finally, George broke.

"Katie Bell, I don't know what you've been drinking lately, but it has obviously gone to your head. We've got an immaculate team this year! If you keep pushing us, we're going to become so tired we won't be ready for the Ravenclaw match. I mean, we know it's important to train hard, but don't you think this is becoming a little ridiculous? And look at you, Katie, you're a mess. Up all night every night, working on strategy and surprise formations, you're practically failing Arithmancy. Katie, this needs to stop."

To the great astonishment of the entire team, Katie slumped onto the bench. "I – I know. I can't help it. I just feel like I'm being compared to Wood all the time. God only knows how he did it, but – but I just, I just can't. I know I'm letting everybody down," a lone tear trickled down Katie's cheek. She put her face in her hands and began to cry. The rest of the team stood there uncomfortably until Fred sat down and put his arm around her, patting her back awkwardly.

"There, there, Katie . . . you go on and have a good cry. We'll work something out. Alicia, take Katie back up to the dormitories and PUT HER IN BED. She needs rest more than anything right now. In fact, you'd best sleep through lessons tomorrow, Katie. We'll tell Dumbledore what happened." Katie nodded and stood up, allowing Alicia to slip a supporting arm around her.

"Look, guys, I know it's been tough lately." Riley made herself comfortable; Fred was giving one of his "speeches".

"The teachers aren't helping matters," Seamus added glumly.

"Yeah, the teachers aren't helping matters," agreed Fred. "We're wearing ourselves too thin. So, this is what I propose: we take the rest of the week off. Get some sleep. Pass a test. Hell, let's all go down to The Three Broomsticks and get drunk, for all I care. But take this week and recuperate. We need to be our best for the Ravenclaw match, we're no good to Gryffindor if we're falling off our brooms." He looked around, but no one challenged his words. "Right, then. One week, and then it's back to training like madmen – and women. Until then . . . let's just have fun, shall we?"

One by one they all nodded, then gathered there equipment and headed back to the castle. Riley trudged between Harry and Seamus, then new Gryffindor Chaser.

About halfway to the castle, Seamus looked at Harry, who then cleared his throat and said, "Ah – Riley?"

"Yes, Harry?" Riley replied, curious to find out why he was suddenly so tense.

"I was wondering – well, I know it's none of my business, but –"

"Harry." He looked at her. "Spit it out."

"Well, I, erm, heard from Ron – who heard from George – that you and Malfoy were, er, out together. After curfew."

"After – oh. Oh, poor Harry." Riley laughed. "Poor Fred, too. No wonder he's been acting so cold to me the last couple of days. I'd forgotten all about that."

"Now listen here, missy," Seamus started in sternly. "No self- respecting Gryffindor goes sneaking around with any Slytheri – "

"Hold on a second, Seamus," Harry interrupted. "Forgot all about what?"

So Riley explained to the two boys about setting up George and Sabrina, bumping into Malfoy, and Filch's intrusion. Seamus had a few choice words about both Malfoy and Filch, but for the most part both listened quietly. By the end of Riley's monologue, Harry looked heartily embarrassed.

"Sorry, Riles, really. When we heard about –"

"WE heard?" Riley asked disbelievingly. "How many people did George tell?"

"It's not important, Riley, really it isn't. The point is, Draco Malfoy isn't exactly the sort of person we'd expect you to be, ah, you know, with."

Riley tilted her head to one side and fixed them both with a piercing gaze. "Explain."

"Malfoy's always been prejudiced against Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards. His father, Lucius Malfoy, is a Death Eater. Volde – I mean, You-Know-Who's second-in-command. His family's got a long history of involvement with the Dark Arts. Not a savory type, really."

Riley scoffed. "You think Malfoy is a Death Eater? Oh, come on! Somehow I have a hard time believing that. I mean, sure he's rude and egocentric, but he never really struck me as Death Eater material."

Harry looked serious. "You've got to be careful, Riley. You only met Malfoy a month ago; you don't know what he's capable of. Stay close to the Gryffindors, Fred and George in particular. They might be irresponsible at times, but they care for you. I don't know anyone more capable of protection. And steer clear of Marcus Flint, too. Word has it he's got it in for you, wants you out of commission before the first match."

"Thanks for the concern, Harry." Riley sighed. "I appreciate it, really I do, but honestly I don't think it's anything I can't handle. Don't worry," she flashed a cheeky grin, "If I need help I'll ask someone. Look, it's Lavender. Go on, Seamus, your girlfriend's waiting. Harry, you too."

The next day Riley discovered that Fred and George had attached themselves to her as her unofficial bodyguards. It was very trying, dealing with two very tall and mischievous extensions of herself; Riley missed the first half of lunch that afternoon attempting to explain to the Weasley twins that they did NOT need to accompany her into the girls' bathroom.

Riley was thankful when her next class, Care of Magical Creatures, began. Hagrid looked very pleased with himself, and ushered the students into his cabin, looking for all the world like an enormous sheepdog.

"That's it, Neville, just keep moving . . . Crabbe, Goyle, you'd best not open that or you'll all be sorry." Seated quite comfortably on Hagrid's giant oak kitchen table was a rather large cardboard box. Inside the box were several dozen –

"Kneazles!" cried Parvati Patil ecstatically. "Kneazle kittens! Look at those cute little furry paws! Oh, Hagrid, they're just babies."

Hagrid nodded enthusiastically. "Thought you'd like them better'n the blast ended-skrewts, they started getting out of 'and round the middle of last summer. 'Ere, we're al going to take them out for a little walk . . . two to a Kneazle, c'mon now . . ." To Riley's great surprise, she found herself paired with Malfoy. Hagrid smiled and, when Malfoy wasn't looking, whispered, "If 'e's with 'Arry or 'Ermione or Ron, 'e'll be sure to make trouble. Just keep an eye on 'im, will you?"

"Alright, Hagrid," said Riley cautiously. She picked up their green- and-gold striped Kneazle and followed Malfoy outside. Or, tried to: Malfoy got his sleeve caught on Hagrid's door and Riley walked straight into him, effectively knocking him down Hagrid's front stoop. "Oops."

Malfoy's robes had been knocked awry. He pulled on his left sleeve, trying to hide – well, whatever it was. A lone smudge of something stood out on his deathly pale skin.

"Malfoy, you've got something on your arm." Riley pointed, illustrating what she meant.

"Er, thanks." He rubbed self-consciously at his sleeve again, then looked around. "Where'd that little Kneazle go off to?"

It was too late. Malfoy and Riley quickly realized that the green-and- gold blur was heading straight for the Forbidden Forest.