HPFF2

Phebe sighed exasperatingly when she realized she had forgotten her Divination books in the seventh-years' lounge. She searched the halls desperately for some animate object to transfigure into temporary Divination books. (She was also simply too lazy to go all the way back to the lounge to get her real books.) Phebe knew from experience that animate objects (vegetables or rodents worked best) lasted roughly an hour.
        Then Phebe spotted a half-eaten apple behind a statue. It was brown and slightly dry. It also struck her as mildly disgusting but she had no choice. She picked the rancorous thing up anyway.
        "Transfiguris Librum Divinaris!" she said. +POOF+ The apple had turned into a nice fat stack of provisional books that smelled a little strange but would have to do. She was already half past late. Wera Ghrandol caught up with her as she was about to enter the classroom. Wera was breathless. And it didn't seem to be because of her running.
        "Have you seen the new DADA teacher?" Wera gasped. Phebe shook her head. "He is absolutely adorable!"
        "Is he?" Phebe asked disinterestedly and climbed the steep attic-like stairs to Professor Trelawney's classroom. She pushed open the trapdoor, thus putting an end to Wera's raving and ranting.
        Divination passed, as any other boring class did, without any major glitches, except for the fact that Phebe's Guide To Palm Reading sprouted worms halfway through the lesson. Wera and Phebe decided to meet in the seventh years' common lounge to spend their free hour studying. A Potions quiz was inevitable.
        Once out of the Divination classroom, Phebe transfigured her impermanent books (whose pages were beginning to look a little brown) back into the apple and disposed of it with a simple Disposiaris charm.
        Ungracefully, she wiped her hands on her robe, walked hurriedly around a corner and nearly collided head-on with an elvish-looking stranger. His hair was dark and cropped stylishly short and his face was a long, pale oval adorned by fashionable facial hair. His ears were pointy and decorated with several silver earring studs.
        "Sorry," he said, smiling shyly as his dark eyes traveled and gave Phebe the proverbial "once-over." They stopped once they reached her own, dark eyes and Phebe felt like she was sinking profoundly and deeply into his soul. At that moment Harry Potter appeared. He did not seem to be very fond of the figurative chemistry that his girlfriend was sharing with the dark stranger.
        "Phebe," he said, sounding annoyed, "Don't you have a free hour now? Let's go to the common lounge." He gently took her arm and pulled her quite un-gently out of the foreigner's path, who walked on like nothing had happened. (Or maybe like it happened every day.)
        "Who was that?" Harry asked, a trifle suspicious, and glanced over his shoulder. "I've never seen him before."
        "I don't know," Phebe said, wondering who indeed this dark stranger was. Somehow, he seemed familiar.
        In the seventh years' lounge, Phebe and Harry headed for a secluded corner where they always sat with their friends. Hermione, Ron and Linus, as well as Damian Carrel, a Hufflepuff acquaintance of Linus's, were already there and had cleverly occupied the most comfortable chairs. Cerise Snape and Draco Malfoy were, of course, not there. Without a doubt, they were out frolicking in the summer breeze (despite the fact it was autumn and bitterly cold – unquestionably, they were frolicking nonetheless).
        Linus Stripes, a short, pretty Slytherin, was part Chinese and favored bright colors. Today she was wearing a black standard issue Hogwarts robe and a scarf, striped black and bright green.

"Wait a second," Harry said, pulling Phebe behind a bookshelf and locking his arms around her waist. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away," Phebe sighed. She tickled the back of Harry's neck.

"Do you feel up to practicing some magic with me tonight?"

"You know what, I've had a very stressful week," replied Phebe curtly. "I've slept about 12 hours in the last 72 and – " she paused, seeing the hurt expression on Harry's face. "You could practice with Mione, if you like," she suggested gently.

"Ah, that's not quite the type of magic I had in mind, Phebe." Harry's eyebrows shot skyward and his lightning-bolt scar flashed at her.

"Oh.." she mouthed, finally getting the picture.

"Phebe!" Linus called from around the corner. "Oh Pheebee!!"

"Yes?" Phebe yelled back. Harry loosened his arms and Phebe broke from his grasp to join her other friends.

"I thought you were going to help me with my Divination homework," Linus said crossly.

"Uhm, yes," stuttered Phebe, "I need to find my Divination books first." drawing her wand from the folds of her unshapely Hogwarts robes, she began to chant. "Montras librum!" The table in front of her shuddered. "Librum leviosa," she continued and the heavy dark wood table rose to eye-level. Ron and Harry chuckled. Phebe sighed, irritated, when she realized that her friends had used her Divination books as extended table legs.

Once her precious books were back in her arms and the table stood safely on the ground, she sat down and asked to borrow some parchment from Hermione.

"Ecritus carmosi," Phebe told her wand and began a letter to Sabrina Lefler. Sabrina was a fellow Ravenclaw who was on a four-month exchange at the Stuyvesant School of Magic in New York City. Another of her friends, Vanessa Precious, was also in New York City, however, she attended Saint Mary's Witchery Academy, an all-girls school. Phebe missed both of them terribly.

She was not in any mood to study and she wanted to tell Sabrina, someone who was a lot less rambunctious than her other friends, about the elvish man she had run into just minutes before. Her wand spilled her thoughts onto her parchment in the form of purple ink.

Meanwhile, Wera had arrived and continued to rant about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to anyone who would listen. Phebe was so engrossed in her letter to Sabrina that she did not take much notice. She did not even realize the gong that signalized the end of class had sounded until Harry laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Phebe, don't you have Deeay-deeay now?"

"What? Oh yes, with that new teacher Wera is so fond of .." Phebe smiled, put down her wand and stretched. A little stream of violet ink trickled onto her parchment. She reached up and hugged Harry tightly.

Harry returned her smile. "Think about tonight. We haven't spent much time together lately," he lowered his voice, "or at least a lot less than I would like."

"I'll think about it," Phebe said, nodding thoughtfully. Harry left and she gathered up her books. She hoped her new DADA teacher wasn't so strict. Merlin knew there were enough malicious teachers at Hogwarts already.

*                     *                          *

Phebe nearly dropped her books in shock when she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and found the pale elf-man beaming at her class.

This year, she had enrolled in Advanced DADA. It was a small, intensive course with only 14 Ravenclaws in it. A good number of them were female.

"Hello," said the cute elf, "I am here to teach you Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name is Connolly Finstad. You may call me Professor Finstad." He flashed a shy but winning smile at the class. One pointy, elvish ear glinted with a studded earring when it caught the light. Wera sighed audibly.

A blond boy named Donny Thistle raised his hand. "I'm sorry, but did you say Advanced Defense?"

"Yes," Professor Finstad nodded proudly.

"I believe I am in the wrong class," Donny explained, collecting his books and making for the door.

"It's ok, it can happen to the best of us," Professor Finstad smiled graciously. "By the way, Professor Snape will be teaching the regular course."

There were a few chuckles.

"Oh, great," exclaimed Donny sarcastically.

"Yes, he is quite a splendid teacher," the elflike lecturer confessed, but Donny didn't hear him as he had slammed the door upon hearing this unwanted knowledge.

"Didn't I tell you he was a cutie?" Wera whispered smugly into Phebe's ear when their elvish teacher tuned to write the year's curriculum on the chalkboard. Phebe reminded herself to add a postscript to Sabrina's letter.

*                     *                          *

"Oh, I have sooo much work to do!" exclaimed Vanessa Roche. Phebe felt very sorry for her. "Advanced Herbology is a horror!" The part-Fijian Ravenclaw sighed. "And Advanced Arithmancy! I really had no idea it was so hard."

"Van, who teaches Ad-Rith?" Phebe wondered.

"Professor Finstad," Van said, looking glum. "I swear he hates me."

"Hey! He's my ADADA teacher," Phebe informed her.

"Ay-dee-ay-dee-ay. That sounds like a cheap Muggle song," Van remarked complacently.

"Van-Van!" Phebe reprimanded her. "That was not very nice of you at all."

"I'm sorry," Vanessa began, "but how can you expect me to be a happy flower person to everyone when I am so loaded with work?"

"Reee-lax," Phebe said, placing a calming hand on Vanessa's arm, "I heard that they don't actually give that much homework in your courses."

"Pshh, it's not the homework, it's all the college forms and applications I have to fill out!" Van plunked into a nearby chair. "And Ella always wants me to help her with her work and she says she'll send an owl to Mom and Dad right away if I refuse! I love her dearly but she can be such a brat sometimes." Vanessa sighed.

"Hmm," Phebe brooded. "I heard little sisters are the worst. I'm glad I only have brothers."

"Is Shawn as aggravating as Ella?" Vanessa asked.

"Well, no," Phebe shook her head. "He pretends not to know me. You know that fifth-years are too cool to acknowledge their older siblings."

"That depends," conflicted Van.

"True," agreed Phebe, "Shawn can always ask for money. Have you heard from Haven lately?"

"You don't hear from your own brother?" asked Van in disbelief.

"Rarely," shrugged Phebe. "Ever since he left for college .. what was it called again?"

"Parsons," Van filled in.

"S'right." nodded Phebe. "Anyway, it's not my fault you're drowning in papers. It's no reason for you to come down with such a case of Hermionitis like this. Your moods seem to be getting kind of contagious."

"My moods?" Vanessa scoffed with disbelief. "You mean you're feeling bitchy lately, right?"

"Oh, no, it's not me," Phebe said quickly. "It's just that Harry's been acting a little strange recently."

"Could it have something to do with this?" Van suggested and smartly plucked a crumpled copy of the Luckfaker, the Hogwarts school newspaper, out if her immense pile of folders.

"P-O-T-T-E-R Spells Trouble!" the title page screamed.

"Can I have this?" Phebe gasped and eagerly yanked the paper from Vanessa's hand.

"Sure, one less thing to carry," said Van cheerfully, "I'm off to Ad-Herb!" she announced and dashed out of Phebe's sight.

Phebe retreated to the secluded corner in the seventh-year common room to read the article. It ran as follows:

"The one, the only, the legend, Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived – is he the source of trouble that was brought to Hogwarts in the last six years? The year Potter arrived at school was the year things started to go bad. We-ALL-Know-Who regained his power that year and put all of Hogwarts in peril because he wanted REVENGE on Potter. Then in Potter's second year, numerous students found themselves stunned nearly to death in these very hallways! If it wasn't for orphan Harry's return to Hogwarts in his third year, campus would not have been swarming with Dementors, whose mere presence was a very trying epoch for many a student. Who is this Potter anyway to smuggle his name into the Goblet of Fire in his fourth year, although he was much too young to even dream about –" Phebe looked up abruptly to find Harry staring at her, his face a mask of rage.

"Enjoying it?" He spit the question fiercely at Phebe.

"It's definitely trash," said Phebe resolutely, aware that Harry was very disappointed to find her reading such a hateful piece of pseudo-literature as this. She put the Luckfaker gently down on the table in front of her and folded her hands.

"If it's such rubbish, why were you reading it so avidly?" Harry's voice was remarkably cold.

"I was just .. I want to know why you've been so .. angry .. lately," Phebe stuttered.

"Angry," Harry mused, his green eyes sparkling with fury. "Angry? Like how?" He shook his head. "You could have asked, you know, paid a little attention to me now and then."

Phebe was silent.

"Don't you care?" Harry questioned.

"Yes. I do. Care," Phebe tried to find the right words. "Is any of it true?"

"Why, yes, Phebe, I compact with Voldemort," Harry hissed sarcastically. Phebe winced. "Ignito!" In a flash, Harry had pulled out his wand and set the Luckfaker on fire. "How's that for angry?" he huffed.

"Harry!" Phebe cried, "What are you doing? Have you gone insane?! Aquatico!" commanded Phebe and a bucket's worth of water rained on the burning tabloid.

"I thought you'd side with me on this." Harry said quietly.

"Venta," ordered Phebe and flicked her wand at the table. The wind that flowed from her wand dried the wet paper and table instantly.

"Obviously I was wrong," Harry stated and turned on his heel.

In no time, the Luckfaker was wet again, but this time the soggy, charred paper was salty. Cerise found Phebe collapsed and crying on the table when she and Draco made their way other to the usual corner. Draco tactfully left the two friends alone and instead went to search for Harry.

*                     *                          *

There was a House Meeting in progress in the Ravenclaw common room. It was impossible to describe just how much Phebe detested House Meetings. And the House Captain.

Cho Chang, who was repeating her seventh year at Hogwarts on account of a, ah, chemical addiction that had put her on the verge of O.D.-ing and the subsequent therapy, that kept her out of school for three-quarters of the school year.

"Ok, listen up!" Cho yelled, trying to get the entire present party's attention. She marched around the crowded room, pushing people aside right and left, telling them to shut up and generally making herself unpopular. Her getting voted as House Captain had been an act of pity on behalf of the Ravenclaws.

"Whoa! Hot and sleazy coming through!" Phebe whispered to assorted cronies as Cho badgered her way through their part of the crowd.

"We're behind in points again!" Cho cried, finally succeeding in temporarily getting the room's attention. "Even Hufflepuff has more points than us! This is a disgrace to the house of Rowena Ravenclaw!"

"Disgrace, my face," Wera sniffled, "I think the Hufflepuffs deserve to have more points than us for once."

"Right. Nobody except the Slytherins and Gryffindors really care about House points anymore," Van agreed. Phebe flinched. It was true. The two most competitive Hogwarts Houses were Slytherin .. and Gryffindor. They really cared. Harry cared.

"As if she could read Phebe's mind, Van whispered, "By the way, how is ..? "

Phebe shook her head no. They were still in a fight. Neither had relented and apologized yet. She blinked back tears. Cho's voice droned on and on, condemning the Ravenclaws for letting even the lowly Hufflepuffs get a 20-point lead.

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room, Ron was giving his speech. He was a far more respected House Captain than Cho was.

"The Slytherins are 50 points ahead!" he shouted enthusiastically, "Are we going to let them win?!"

"NO!" yelled the Gryffindors.

"That's right!" Ron exclaimed. "Keep up your spirit! We need this! The Gryffindors deserve this!

I want to win, Harry thought, I want to win!

"YEAH!" cheered the Gryffindors.

"Right then! I hope I'll be seeing everyone at the Quidditch meet against Slytherin next month!"

"YEAH!" his happy followers crowed.

Draco slicked his tousled blond hair back with his left hand. "Drat!" he said, remembering the Slytherin meeting in the common room. His outburst echoed through the empty classroom.

"What?" asked Cerise's voice in his ear.

"House Meeting," Draco sighed.

"Great," Cerise rolled her eyes. She buttoned up her garments and attempted to smooth down her disheveled hair. "Let's go."

They arrived in the Slytherin common room late, of course, but Blaise Zabini did not seem to mind. Neither did the other Slytherins.

"Draco!" a few yelled, "Our man!"

Draco smiled emphatically. Things had been like this since he had joined the Slytherin Quidditch team as a seeker in his second year.

"Sauntering in late as usual," the House Captain scolded him good-naturedly.

"I do prefer fashionably late entrances," Draco replied suavely, taking Cerise's hand and walking towards a large armchair, which was cleared promptly.

Out of respect, Draco thought.

You mean out of fear, Cerise's voice echoed in his head. They had learned to read each other's thoughts a year ago and were steadily improving. Draco took a seat in the armchair and scowled at Cerise, who had nestled herself in his lap.

"So, a little recap for our untimely hero: we are fifty points ahead of Gryffindor!" Blaise boomed. The Slytherin common room trembled with the noise the crowd emitted. Slytherin had never been so close to regaining the House Cup, not since Draco's fourth year, when Harry Potter and Ron Weasley won it from them at last minute. "The House Cup," Blaise predicted, "is as good as ours! Keep up the good work!"

The Hufflepuffs were no less enthusiastic than their three fellow Houses.

"Good job, Hufflepuffs!" crowed a cheerful seventh year, a pretty Australian girl called Chauncey Hallows, "We're twenty points ahead of Ravenclaw! I'm very proud of you – ALL of you!"

The Hufflepuffs roared. Finally they were being granted the recognition they deserved.

The various House Meetings were dispersed and hundreds of students crowded through the hallways to polish up their inter-house relationships.

"Hermione!" Vanessa Roche called. Hermione turned.

"Oh, hi, Vanessa! How are you?" she asked cheerfully.

"I'm fine," Vanessa answered. Hermione smiled. "Phebe is not."

"I know," Hermione said sympathetically, "It really is a shame, but I cannot go about solving everyone's problems all the time."

"Please, just help me with this," Van pleaded. "I know you and Phebe have never really been friends .. but do it for Harry."

"Oh, I suppose .." said Hermione, who was on the verge of relenting.

"Ok, here's the plan," Vanessa cut in, "Ron confiscates Harry's wand and Wera will get Phebe's – and then we'll clear the common lounge, lure them in there and lock it." Vanessa took a deep breath. "I have to go to a Diggory Memorial Fund meeting. I'm counting on you. Put a locking spell on the doors for two hours. That should be enough."

"Oh, alright," Hermione shrugged.

"You, Mione, are an absolute dear. Thank you." Van hugged Hermione and ran off.

"Hey Mione!" said Ron, who had appeared as swiftly as Vanessa had vanished.

"Ron," Hermione said, sounding quite miserable, "Harry needs our help."

"You're right!" Ron cheered, ever the enthusiast, "He needs all the help he can get to train before the match!"

"Not. That. Ron." Hermione spelled it out for him, nice and slow.

"Right," agreed Ron sheepishly, "I'll get his wand."

"Meet you at the lounge in ten minutes?" asked Hermione.

"Sure," Ron nodded and went on his way.

*                            *                          *

"Alright!" Cerise yelled, "Everybody out!" The seventh-years in the lounge stared at her. Puzzled was an understatement.

"Ah, yes .. out!" Draco joined her. "We just heard a complaint from someone .. that there's a couple of .. ah–"

"Coyrunners!" Cerise interjected.

".. in here!" Draco finished.

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Billy Craven, a Gryffindor, sneered. "You just want this place as a make-out den."

Summon a coyrunner, he though to Cerise, then I'll stun it. "There's one now!" Draco yelled.

"Creaturo Coyrunner!" Cerise shouted at the exactly moment Draco chanted, "Stupefy!"

A stunned coyrunner thwacked Billy on the head with a satisfyingly hollow thud. Billy yelped. The rest of the seventh-years fled their beloved lounge. Cerise and Draco grinned at each other and felt like they were witnessing a genuine high-five-moment.

*                            *                          *

"Say, Harry," Ron cleared his throat, "Can I see your, ah, wand, please?"

"Sure. Here, why do you need it?" Harry asked dubiously, handing his best friend his wand.

"Mine's, ah, well, come to the lounge with me, will you?" he said, tucked the wand safely in to his robe and changing the subject, ushered Harry towards the seventh-years' common room.

*                            *                          *

"Heya Pheebs, hand me that there wand before you poke someone's eye out," Wera plucked the wand from Phebe's fingers. "Let's go and relax a bit in the lounge, ok?"

"Phebe sighed. "Ok – wait! No! NO! I don't want to go after all!" Phebe protested, trying to snatch her wand back.

"Why ever not?" Wera moaned. She had been THIS close.

"He is going to be there," Phebe croaked and choked back a sob.

"Naw, forget it!" said Wera to bide some time. She needed an excuse, fast. "Harry'll be practicing for Quidditch every waking minute. I can almost guarantee .."

"Quidditch has always been more important than me," Phebe sniffled, "that and saving the damn world." She paused. "And Her-miiiii-one, of course."

"So, anyway, there's no danger in going to the looooounge," hinted Wera. She had to get this over with. She had her own rendezvous to attend to.

"Let's go to Hogsmeade," suggested Phebe. "Shopping always cheers me up."

"Pheebs, I don't have all day," said Wera impatiently, "I'll walk you to the lounge. Hey, Cerise wanted to tell you – she has to talk to you."

"Oh yeah? What about?" Phebe pulled a tissue from her robes and blew her nose audibly.

"Didn't say." Wera congratulated herself. Mention of Cerise had finally awakened Phebe's curiosity. Then she added, "She did say it was urgent, though."

"Okay," Phebe said and let herself be led to the lounge.

*                            *                          *

"Hi Draco, hi Cerise," Harry said to the pair that looked almost as though they were guarding the lounge. Ron steered him inside. "Why is it so quiet? Why is it so empty? Ron?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. Wait here. I forgot something." Ron raced out the doors.

"Cerise, you wanted to talk to me?" Phebe asked her friend. Wera nodded hectically behind her.

"Oh .. yes .. right," Cerise took Wera's hint and Phebe's arm and guided her into the empty room. "In here."

Phebe's gaze fell on Harry Potter, who was busily trying to act busy looking at some random books on a shelf.

"Be right back," Cerise lied.

"No!" Phebe whispered pleadingly, "Don't leave me!"

"Just for a second," Cerise pried Phebe's hand off of her arm and joined Ron, Draco and Wera outside. Hermione had arrived.

"Is the lounge cleared?" she asked, assuming authority.

"Yes," answered Draco.

"Are they in there?" Hermione proceeded.

"Sure," chorused Ron and Cerise.

"Got the wands?" Hermione inquired. Ron and Wera held Harry's and Phebe's wands up for Hermione to see. "Good," she said, nodding approvingly. "Here goes. Fermera!" Hermione chanted. The doors shut and clicked.

"Oh crap," Phebe and Harry said in unison.

"A job well done!" they heard Wera's muffled voice exclaim.

"It's up to them," a muted Hermione said wisely.

Harry and Phebe heard their friends walk away. This was for real. Neither spoke for a minute.

It was Phebe who broke the uncomfortable quiet. "Shouldn't you be at Quidditch practice?" she said coldly, more to spite Harry than out of personal interest.

"I haven't been in the mood to play," answered Harry curtly.

"Why?" Phebe scoffed.

"I suppose that a flu is going round," Harry retorted, sniffing arrogantly.

"Idiot," coughed Phebe. (It's like a Loser-Sneeze except that it's an Idiot-Cough.)

"What did you say?" asked Harry suspiciously.

"Ah, nothing," Phebe said dismissively.

"Oh, no, I heard you," Harry smirked.

"Oh yeah?" asked Phebe mock-belligerently. "Then what did I say, smarty-pants?"

Harry grinned. "You Idiot-Coughed me."

"No," Phebe insisted, smiling back. "You must have misunderstood me. I did not Idiot-Cough anyone."

"Oh yes, you did," said Harry triumphantly.

"Did not!" Phebe walked up to him and gave him a little push. "That should learn ya, accusing me of Idiot-Coughing."

Harry pushed Phebe back. Phebe pushed Harry harder.

"Hey!" said Phebe, laughing and shoving him again, "You shouldn't pick fights with girls!"

"Girls pick fights with me!" persisted Harry, scooping Phebe up, who was almost a head shorter than him, and dumping her on the ratty old couch that sat in the lounge.

"Argh!" screamed Phebe, as they started to wrestle. Then they both grinned at each other when they remembered what their little wrestling games usually led to..

"What was this all about again?" Harry asked sitting up and turning serious.

"It was that article," explained Phebe, out of breath.

"In the Luckfaker," Harry finished, nodding.

"I had a bad day," she confessed, motioning for Harry to sit down facing to her. He did.

"I had a bad week. When I saw you reading that load of crap, you didn't even look a bit shocked. And when I said your name, you didn't notice me." Harry took Phebe's hand but avoided her eyes. "You used to notice me."

"Well, I still do, it's just, I .. I care for you, very much." Their eyes locked. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Harry said, pulling Phebe close and whispering in her ear, "I missed you." Phebe blinked back tears. She heard Harry's breath catch in his throat. "Hey!" he jerked away. "What is that?"

Harry pried himself from their embrace and stared wide-eyed at the stunned blue creature about the size of a bludger that lay on the floor of the lounge. It was remarkable he had not noticed it before.

*                            *                          *

"So, for how long did you lock the lounge?" Ron asked Hermione, his arm slung casually around her waist, as they trudged down the hallway with Cerise, Draco (inseparable as ever), and Wera close behind.

"Oh, I didn't," Hermione replied calmly. The others halted.

"What?" asked Cerise and Draco.

"You didn't?" Wera inquired with disbelief.

"B-b-but you said that whole Fermera charm to lock the doors, I heard you," Ron stuttered.

"Oh that," Hermione dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "Fermera closes a door. Locking is another charm." Her friends stared at her skeptically. "Just think of the fire hazards!" Hermione exclaimed. "What if there had been a fire? They would have been trapped in their, wandless."

"She's right," Ron admitted reluctantly.

"Besides," Hermione added, "I think they just needed to be alone – together – to sort things out."

*                            *                          *

"I believe it is a coyrunner," Phebe observed. A small, mischievous creature that is roughly a combination of a coyote and a rabbit, she quoted her Guide to Magical Creatures in her head. It has sharp fangs and is only dangerous when its fur is not a primary color. Luckily, this coyrunner seemed to be not only blue, but also stunned. A particularly harmless combination. Nevertheless, she was slightly pissed at it for having disturbed their privacy.

"Why is it here?" Harry specified his question.

"Search me," shrugged Phebe, looking the other way.

"I think I will," Harry said, suddenly finding the coyrunner much less interesting than his girlfriend. He was getting reading for a full body frisk when –

Vanessa burst into the lounge and cheered, "Yay!" then stopped dead in her tracks and stared. "Where is everyone?" she asked.

"Search me," said Harry, untangling himself from Phebe.

"Ooopsy," Vanessa said, remembering, "I forgot about that. They decided not to lock the doors, as I have noticed. It seems to have worked anyway." Her left eyebrow rocketed skyward. "And you seem to have been taking full advantage of it anyway."

"They – they weren't?" Harry stuttered.

"Locked?" Phebe sputtered.

"No," Van said. "At any rate, I came here to tell you that the Diggory Memorial Fund has decided to hook Hogwarts up to the International Wizard Network!" There was no response. "It's like the Internet," Van restated.

"Yay," said Phebe dryly.

"What's Internet?" Harry asked.

"Oops," Vanessa said, noticing the coyrunner, "Evaporis!"