And here's chapter 6! Again, big hugs of thanks to all you lovely people who reviewed my story, including Lyssandra, who I did not mention last time (sorry!), and Quill, who sent me a very lovely little e-mail. *big smile*

Once again, I'm sure you're aware by now that I don't own Harry Potter or Sailormoon. Sorry! So why don't you just sit back and enjoy my story, and forget about the legalities?

Notes (7/6): Once again, in the rewrite the length expanded beyond my control. Some interesting new changes, same basic storyline. Sort of.



6. Day One



My first day at Hogwarts, I woke up with a start as icy water poured over me. Beside me, also hit by the deluge, Michiru shrieked once. This shriek seemed to cause a chain reaction in which all the other girls in the room woke up, Usagi from a dream of Crystal Tokyo. I won't let you take them, Wiseman!

Lindsey sat bolt upright, silent, wide scared eyes flashing around the room, and Millicent and Pansy started shrieking even louder than Michiru had--louder and longer. As I looked around, wiping wet bangs back out of my eyes, I noticed the culprit--a bucket that shifted from side to side, almost nervously, and flinched at every new shriek.

Somehow, I had no doubt as to who was behind this . . . stunt. Still, since the bucket hadn't left yet, there might be a way to turn this to my advantage. I rolled out of bed, shaking excess moisture out of my hair, and walked over to kneel next to the bucket. I said softly, trying not to frighten it any more. You didn't like having to endure all this noise, did you? The bucket turned back and forth. No. Well, how would you like to play a little joke on the one that put you in such a spot?

The bucket stood entirely still for a moment and I began to fear it wouldn't work. Then, slowly, it began to bounce. Yes. Well . . . here's what you do . . . I leaned even closer and began to whisper to it. As my plan expanded, the bucket began jiggling even more in excitement.

And don't forget. I finished. Warm water. It bounced up and down one last time before dashing down the hall and down the stairs, off toward the boys' dorm. As it dashed away, it seemed almost as if it was giggling. And myself? I leaned back against my bed and laughed.

* * *

Breakfast was served in the Great Hall, much as supper had been. In a good mood, I sampled a little bit of everything the English ate for breakfast instead of going for the tried and true Japanese foods that also appeared. During breakfast, the mail arrived (by owl of course). Although I had expected that the mail would probably arrive in a large batch at some point, I hadn't expected as large a number of owls as actually appeared.

At practically the same time, suddenly hundreds of owls were swooping down toward the tables, carrying packages in their claws and in their beaks. I chose to concentrate on the spectacle the owls provided instead of looking around at our table for a reason--if I didn't see Draco, with his new hot pink and green striped hair, then I wouldn't have to try to suppress my laughter.

But then again, why bother? I was sure he already knew who had done it to him. I brought my gaze back down and, sure enough, there he was glaring at me. My carefully bland expression yielded to a grin, which soon became a smirk, then full-blown laughter. I like that color on you. I chortled. It brings out the color of your eyes. And it was true, the silver of his eyes seemed much more pronounced--but then, that might just be because he was so angry.

Ten'ou . . . He growled, drawing out each syllable. I know you did it. I may not know how, but I know you did it. And you will pay!

I sniffed and flicked an ice cube his way. Tit for tat, my friend. You get back at me, fine, I have no problem with that. Just understand that I will get back at you, and I'm better than you will ever be.

* * *

My first class at Hogwarts. As I walked into the room, I still couldn't help but snicker every time I glanced Draco's way. He just looked so cute in pink and green . . . I wondered if there was a way to make it permanent.

Anyway. The first class--History of Magic, a required class for all first-years. Well, required for all students, but this level of the class was only for first-years. Taught by Professor Binns who, to my surprise, turned out to be a ghost. School rumor has it that he got up one morning to teach and left his body behind, that he never even noticed the transition. I could believe that he had been dedicated enough to his job that he continued to teach even after death . . . but I rather doubted that he hadn't noticed the change.

He may have droned on and on about history so ancient that no one really cared--especially not anyone in our class--but I think he noticed more than he let on. I meant to pay attention--history actually is one of the subjects that I truly do enjoy--but his voice was so monotonous, I just couldn't. It reminded me of a Japanese teacher I had had once in . . . eighth or ninth grade, I think it was . . . except worse, because at least in that case, I didn't feel the need to pay attention.

But here . . . I had never heard of Uric the Oddball or Cedric the Constipated. How Emeric the Evil had tried to take over the world but failed. Legends of a magical kingdom that ruled the stars from its beautiful capital on the Moon. When that last one came up, I jerked out of the self-induced note-taking trance that I had fallen into, my pen (a quill pen, even!) inscribing a jagged line across the paper.

The wizarding world actually recalled the time of the Silver Millennium? Although only in legends, that was still far more than the ordinary, Muggle' world remembered. Suddenly, all of my previous lethargy disappeared, and I listened closely to his descriptions of a peace-loving empire ruled by the beneficent Queen Serenity. How, on the eve of her daughter's coming-of-age ball, the empire had been destroyed, its adherents eliminated or exiled to Earth, all planets but this blue-green orb razed to the ground, Queen Serenity's special crystal shattered along with the magic it possessed, all by the malevolence of Queen Beryl, leader of an insignificant country on Earth.

No mention was made of Metallia, of course. The exact events of the fall of the Moon Palace--the way the Four Generals had been turned against the people and the empire they had once loved, the tragic deaths of the Inner Senshi, the princess and prince--were still shrouded in mystery. Then again, that's not so very surprising, considering that I sincerely doubt Beryl's invasion forces left any witnesses.

Tears trickled silently down my cheeks and I made no attempt to stem their flow. I mourned the fall of an empire the likes of which the world has not seen since, the death of a queen I had admired greatly. Since my reawakening as Sailor Uranus, I had been too busy and preoccupied to properly mourn all we had lost . . . but now, now in a class of eleven people, most of whom would never understand . . . I remembered how regally beautiful Queen Serenity had been, how just and fair, everything a queen should be and more, and how happy I had been then.

What's wrong, Ten'ou? For a moment, those words almost fooled me into believing that the pink and green-haired boy felt some . . . compassion. Not for long, though. Crying over some long-dead queen? How pathetic. She was probably really awful, too.

I snapped. Turning, I picked up the boy with one hand and held him, his suddenly wide and frightened eyes only inches from mine. You can make fun of me. You can deride my parentage as long and as widely and as obscenely as you want. But no one insults the people I care about. I hissed. Queen Serenity was loving and fair and wise, everything you are not. She was worth ten of you or more, so don't you dare think you can get away with putting her down while I'm around.

But she's dead. Why do you care? He choked out. Through the red haze covering my vision, I absently noted that he was beginning to grow purple.

I dropped him to the floor. I care because she was the greatest ruler this system has ever known, and possessed probably the largest heart. She died tragically, defending her people with everything she had, and in the end she sacrificed herself, that the rest of us might live our lives in peace. When you can say as much of yourself, then and only then can you pass judgment on her actions.

I turned and stalked those steps back to my seat, disgusted with him and disgusted with myself for allowing myself to react to him. Draco was--or should have been--nothing to me. Why should it matter to me that he made such comments about Queen Serenity? I should have been able to just let that sort of thing slide. But . . . I couldn't let that sort of slander stand. Not about anyone I knew otherwise about, and most especially not about my former queen.

I was surprised to notice that Professor Binns had actually stopped lecturing while I . . . confronted . . . Draco. Just went to show that he wasn't as completely oblivious as he seemed. As soon as I took my seat (and, presumably, Draco stumbled back into his), though, he immediately took up where he left off.

Before I allowed myself to surrender to semi-oblivion, though, I noticed the ghost was throwing several odd looks my way. Belatedly, I realized that going on about Queen Serenity like I actually knew her (even though I had) might not have been the brightest of ideas. As soon as class ended I was out of there like a shot--not so much because I really wanted to leave, but because I didn't want to give him a chance to ask any questions I felt honor-bound to not answer.

* * *

Transfiguration, our second class of the day, was more of the sort of class I had expected at a school of magic--the art of changing one thing into another (without the use of Serenity's Disguise Pen). Knowing that, I had expected to enjoy it. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall seemed to have something against us. She's scrupulously fair, I'll admit that much, but even if she treated us no differently from any other class, her unspoken attitude still made the atmosphere of the class uncomfortable.

Later, I learned why she took us in such a dislike--she's the head of Gryffindor and Gryffindor, even more than the rest of the school, cultivates an intense hatred for all things Slytherin, much as Slytherin does towards all things Gryffindor. From what explanations I had gathered from my fellow Slytherin (biased and littered with insults to Gryffindor as they were), the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry had been going on practically since the school was founded and seemed to have only gained in strength since then.

If I hadn't thought the entire deal was nonsense, I would have admired her simply for her determination to treat us as fairly as anyone else. As it was, I just wished she'd forget about all this rivalry nonsense. But then, perhaps I was looking at it differently than normal--after all, I counted Harry, Ron, Hermione, and even perhaps Neville as pleasant acquaintances if not friends, and I detested Draco Malfoy . . . yet Draco was a part of my house and the other four were all nasty, evil Gryffindors. Tends to give a person a different outlook on the whole rivalry setup.

Even at the beginning of class, it was obvious her similarities to Suzuki-sensei went deeper than mere looks. This, as with my second-grade teacher, was most definitely not a woman to mess with. She expressed perfect willingness to dismiss any of us permanently from her class if we yielded to the urge to mess around. While I think she was probably a bit more enthusiastic about the notion of dismissing us, I felt sure that warning applied to all houses equally.

The first thing we did in this class, as in History of Magic, was to take quite a few notes. These notes, however, seemed to fulfill more of a practical purpose than those in our morning class, being as they were definitions of Transfiguration terms, tips as to how to accomplish our tasks successfully, and long lists of things not, under any circumstances, to do. Unlike in History, though, the notes came to an end before class did and we were set our first assignment--to turn a match into a needle.

Not surprisingly, it's harder than it sounds. Michiru already had her copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration out and we both had our individual sets of notes stacked neatly on opposite sides of the table--with room for three to four students--that we had managed to claim as our own. Having been in public school for most of my previous life (no clue about this one--probably the same), being part of a class of only eleven was different and a little unnerving. But at least it ensured that there was more than enough room for everyone, in a room that looked like it could sit at least thirty comfortably.

A scraping sound brought my attention forwards; Usagi stood in front of our table, chair in hand. Hi. Mind if I join? I nodded, gave a brief welcoming smile, and went back to sifting through my notes. She sat down and brought out her own notes, flipping through them as Michiru and I were.

The most useful tips seem to be near the end, right before the warnings. All three of us looked up toward the quiet voice. Lindsey stood there, notes and book in hand, blushing. Um . . . would you mind if I join you? I'm not quite sure how to begin.

The three of us exchanged brief looks, arriving quickly to the conclusion that none of us minded. Sure. We can all just muddle through together. Usagi replied. Pull up a chair, make yourself comfortable, and let's see what we can figure out.

I examined the match. You'd think it wouldn't be so hard to effect such a change. Needles and matches are more or less the same size and shape, after all--I think the main problem is with transmuting the wood to silver, and molding it so that the needle has an eye.

I wonder where the excess mass goes? Or where it comes from, if you're changing something into something larger? Usagi asked. Well, I suppose we don't really have to deal with that yet, since if we gain or lose any mass with this transformation, it won't be much.

Transfiguration takes a lot of concentration. The wand is a helpful aid; it streamlines the purpose somewhat, but only if you make the correct motions. If you have no idea what you're doing with the wand, it can actually do more harm than help. The main aspect is the use of the will, to convince the object that it really is something else. Matches, it seemed, needed a lot of convincing.

My vision had focused in on the match until I saw nothing else. Was it growing pointed on one end? Perhaps a bit more silver than it had been? I didn't know whether I was actually making progress, or just imagining things.

An explosion of breath to my left disrupted my concentration and I turned my head to glare at Lindsey. She put a hand to her mouth. Oh. Sorry! But look, don't you think it looks pointed now?

I picked up her needle and examined it more closely. Hm . . . you're right. The point looks just about the way a real needle's does. That's good! I handed it back to her. I wish I could say as much about mine.

Let me see. She snatched my match and subjected it to an inspection quite similar to the one I had just given hers. What are you talking about? This is great! It's a lot more silver than mine, even if the point is kind of blunt, and the match head is completely gone! How did you manage that?

I looked. I hadn't realized I had done that. Perhaps I am getting the hang of this after all.

Please . . . Michiru didn't even look up from where she bent over her own match.

. . . shut up. We're trying to concentrate. Usagi finished, absently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Lindsey chimed in less than a second after me, and we shared equally abashed looks.

My resolve strengthened now that I knew I really was making a difference, I went back to work with a vengeance. Then, suddenly, Professor McGonagall was walking around picking up match/needles, assigning us a short essay due next class (the following Tuesday), and dismissing us. I looked at the clock in disbelief, sure that the hours couldn't have passed that quickly.

I suppose we should probably get to work on our homework. Usagi sighed. So we don't have to rush later.

Later' being defined as Monday night? Lindsey popped up behind us, a grin accompanying her remark. That sounds like a really good idea to me. Any idea where to go? She paused. And can I come along?

Sweet. That would be nice. Usagi seemed to be our main spokesman where Lindsey was concerned. As to where . . . library? We'll probably have to go by there to get resources anyway.

Michiru and I in chorus. Too many other people are likely to have that idea. I added. Certain people in particular . . .

I don't know about you, but I'm not all that excited at the prospect of returning to the Slytherin common room. Michiru said dryly. Why don't we see if any of these stairs exit to the roof? That would give us plenty of room to spread out, and less chance of an interruption.

I extended mental feelers upward. There isn't too much of a breeze up there, so we probably won't have to worry about our books blowing away. I noted. I like that idea.

Lindsey seemed to shrink in on herself briefly. I . . . all right. You're right, it's better than the common room. Just . . . can we go back by our tower first? I need to get a hat.

With skin that pale, you must get really bad sunburns. Usagi said sympathetically. If it's better, we can find someplace inside. Maybe we'll stumble on an empty room somewhere.

She shook her head. I can't hide inside my whole life. I'll have to get used to the sun eventually. The roof it is--assuming we can find a staircase to get us there.

At the end of this corridor, there were at least ten or twelve staircases, only one of which I had any idea where it led--the one we had come up. I can see why that might be a problem . . .

* * *

Although it took a great deal of trial and error (and three separate attempts that led us to the right-hand side of the third floor corridor, somehow), we finally did find that staircase to the roof. As I had sensed, there was nothing more than a light breeze blowing--seemed like my range was growing greater, as we ended up being higher up than I thought. I intercepted a curious look from Lindsey but ignored it, and thankfully she didn't press. I didn't feel like trying to explain my growing abilities to a non-senshi . . . or to another senshi, for that matter.

So we sat and worked and chatted and took breaks and worked and talked some more. All in all it was a very friendly atmosphere, although it was rather hard to see Lindsey's expression under the broad-brimmed straw hat she wore. Work did get done, if not as much as we had expected. But . . . hey, we had an entire week. We could afford to slack off at least a little.

Did the three of you grow up together? Lindsey asked at one point. You seem to know each other so well, like you've been friends forever.

It does seem like we've known each other forever. Usagi agreed, But really, it's only been . . . what, two years?

I tallied dates mentally. Closer to three for Michiru and myself. I finally said. But then, we met each other before we ever met any of you. From what I've heard, we probably met a little after you dropped into the others' lives.

And then there were the fights . . . and it seemed like you had finally mended things with the others. Then you disappeared for a while . . . and then, suddenly, you were back with Hotaru, and Puu . . . I thought she had died. She made a face. And then I had to leave . . . of the time since we've met, we really haven't known each other for all that much of it, have we?

One or the other of us always seems to be disappearing. Michiru agreed amiably. Speaking of Setsuna, have you had a chance to talk with her yet?

The pink-haired girl made a face. Well, let's see. I slept, got up, ate, went to class, ate, went to class, spent way too long trying to figure out the stupid stairs in this place, and then came up here. I haven't had any time to find her. She picked up a piece of tile and chucked it over the edge. I wish I knew why she sent me here in the first place--although I bet it's because of what has happened since Galaxia. Michiru and I winced at the name. You are all different now, and who knows what sort of effect that has had. At this rate, I may never return home!

You'll find a way home. Michiru said. And until then . . . you can always find a home with us. She winked. Just . . . don't try to make my mother think you're my long lost cousin.

Usagi stuck her tongue out and grinned. Okay. I promise. And . . . thanks. It means a lot to me.

That conversation died, and for a time we all worked in silence. I glanced at my nearly blank piece of parchment. The only thing written there was the prompt for my History of Magic essay: Did the Silver Millennium really exist? Defend your assertion. I growled. I knew it existed, but all the evidence seemed to point to it being nothing more than a myth.

I could just imagine. The Silver Millennium truly did exist. I know because I was a prominent member of Queen Serenity's court in my past life, although I didn't visit court very often. I had a more important job, you see--not only did I have to guard the outer solar system from outside invaders, but I also had my duties as Princess and Heir Apparent to the throne of Uranus.

I slammed my book shut and lay back, resting my head on bent arms. Not only was it completely breaking my cover, it was also completely ridiculous. In this Western world, how many people would I meet that even believed in reincarnation? Especially since I claimed to remember parts of my past life.

The Moon Kingdom offends you? Lindsey's voice, with a lilt of humor. I would have rather liked to have lived there, myself.

You actually believe it existed? I came up on one elbow to regard the other girl with an expression akin to disbelief. When nearly all the evidence points the other way?

Yes. Call me silly and romantic . . . but I truly believe, here, she put a hand to her heart, that it once existed. Her eyes narrowed, a calculating expression appearing. And, despite your protestation just now, you obviously believe so, too. There's no other reason why you would have defended Queen Serenity so vehemently in front of the entire class. She smiled. You know, I think you're the reason we got this essay. Until you blew up, I think he was going to assign us something on Uric the Oddball.

I winced. Although I had known it was futile, I had rather hoped that the incident in History of Magic would just blow over. I really shouldn't have lost my temper like that, especially since it's not like anything that boy said could hurt her now. It was very unwise, but . . . oh, who am I kidding? I don't regret it at all and I'd do it again in a minute if given the chance.

She looked back down at her copy of A History of Magic, then turned to her parchment that was nearly as blank as my own. Her pen poised over the paper for a long moment, she finally put it down in the textbook and closed it with a definitive snap. I do not feel like doing this right now. She sighed. I suppose I had better go ahead and write up the bad news. If I don't send a letter off to my parents soon, they'll come up here themselves to find me.

What bad news? Chibiusa asked.

Lindsey looked up with a start. That's right. I keep on forgetting that the three of you weren't raised as witches, spoon-fed Hogwarts lore practically since birth. The bad news is that I was Sorted into Slytherin, the one House that no one in their right mind wants to be a part of.

What's so bad about it? I asked. That's the part that I never quite caught. Michiru's parents both refused to tell us anything about any of the Houses.

It has a horrible reputation. Evidently Salazar Slytherin, the man who created this House and who the House is named after, broke with the other three over who should be accepted to Hogwarts--he wanted to only accept students that came from pureblooded background.

Too bad he's not around now. I studied my fingernails. I wouldn't mind . . . persuading him otherwise.

Lindsey giggled, but quickly returned to sobriety as she continued her explanation. So from the beginning the other three have always been somewhat wary of Slytherin. In addition, it tends to attract ambitious, ruthless types--not your typical sweet young child. Then to top it all off, nearly every truly Dark wizard--and all the ones who were actually in charge--that went gone to school at Hogwarts has come from Slytherin. Up to and including You-Know-Who.

She looked down. And it's doubly annoying because my father really wanted me to go to Durmstrang instead--it's in Belgium, much closer--and since I am pureblooded . . . more or less . . . I would have had no problem getting in. My mother was so sure, though, that I'd get into one of the good houses--all except Slytherin, in other words--that she suggested I come here instead.

You know, I think that's unfair. I said. That Slytherin is maligned so badly, I mean. Sure, the Sorting Hat said something about how the quality of Slytherin students had really deteriorated recently, but this is absurd. You know why so many Dark wizards come from Slytherin? Because those in Hufflepuff are so loyal to their causes that they aren't willing to strike out on their own. I thought of Setsuna, drunk, sobbing in her room because of the terrible burden she had taken up and sworn never to put down.

Because Ravenclaws are so wrapped up in learning that they often neglect to take any notice of the real world. I thought of Ami, always wrapped in some book or another, finding solutions only through deep and careful thought when sometimes, the best thing to do is to act.

And because Gryffindors are so brave and honorable and good that they couldn't possibly conceive of doing such a thing. I thought of Serenity, who always insisted a solution could be found that needed no sacrifices (except, perhaps, her own), and who time after time managed to find that solution only because of the sheer immensity of the power she held.

In that one, brief moment, I hated them all. We are Slytherin. We are Slytherin because we have the drive, the ability, and the willingness to do what needs to be done, regardless of the price. Or we can choose to regard the price, and choose which price is too high for us to be willing to pay. We are the only ones capable of taking over the world or destroying it because we have a different set of priorities. That is why the Dark wizards come from Slytherin. Because they have a spark, a possibility, a thirst that is not present in the other Houses.

Lindsey laughed a little, clearly nervous. You sound almost as if you admire them or want to be one of them.

I laughed a bittersweet laugh and sat back down. Me, take over the world? Hardly. Not only would it be far too much work, but then I'd have to go to the bother of either ruling or destroying it. I've already had my taste of dark power . . . and that was more than enough. Sure, if I gave myself over to evil, I could become more powerful than I could ever dream of, otherwise . . . but for what? I already have all I want. I reached out my hand and found Michiru's.

I smiled at her and she smiled back. I could see she didn't quite understand what had prompted my outburst of sudden House pride, but I didn't mind. She was here and I was here and we were together and, in the end, that's all that really matters.

* * *

I've never heard Slytherin described like that before. Lindsey looked from the blonde to the teal-haired girl, neither of whom was paying much attention anymore to anything but each other.

That may be part of the problem. Usagi's gaze was abstract. Think about it. If everyone thinks you're more than half evil already and goes out of their way to avoid you, wouldn't you be tempted to turn evil if only so you could show them'? I wonder how many of the Slytherin Dark wizards became such mostly because they felt they were expected to, and because they thirsted for revenge on the people who snubbed them, never bothering to even try and find out if they were worth something.

I suppose . . . but does it really make that much of a difference?

More than you could imagine. Once . . . there was this very evil man. He managed to suppress all my good memories, twisting them to make it seem like no one cared. He convinced me that everyone hated me and that no one, not even my parents, cared at all. Then, he offered me power. Dark power. Power I could use to get back at them all for the slights I thought they had given me, power enough for revenge. She leaned back, eyes shadowed, and said simply, I accepted the offer.

You know what? Lindsey said suddenly. Slytherin may have the worst reputation in the wizarding world, but I'm glad I'm here. Because if I had gone on to Durmstrang like my father wanted, or been shuffled off unoriginally into Gryffindor like my mother was hoping, I never would have met and become . . . friends, I think . . . with the three of you.

She smiled, a ray of sunlight from behind a cloud that lit up her face, and tipped her hat back, staring up into the sky. And if I hadn't met you, I never would have questioned all the slander of Slytherin. But now . . .

Now I know that Slytherin is no better and no worse than any other House. And I think we should prove it to everyone else, once and for all. Let's clean up Slytherin's reputation!

A lofty goal. Haruka had turned her attention away from Michiru to catch the tail end of Lindsey's announcement, eyebrows raised but an approving smile on her face. Count me in.

And me. Michiru nodded emphatically.

Usagi grinned. Trying to erase centuries, perhaps even millennia worth of dislike and distrust? Well, we've only got seven years to do it in. I suggest we get started!



* * *

As the sun brushed the tree-line, by common consensus we packed our stuff up and headed for the stairs. Checking my watch (one of the more mundane aspects of my wristband communicator), I noted out loud that we'd have just enough time to get back to our dorm and deposit our books before the call for dinner. As if on cue, my stomach vocally reminded me that food would be welcome at some point in the very near future.

Walking beside me, Michiru giggled. Lindsey, however, was looking at my communicator with a curious look on her face. Funny. I was under the impression that Muggle electronics didn't work on Hogwarts grounds. Is it magical?

Ah . . . something like that. It was a gift. I had heard that Luna gave the Inner Senshi theirs. Michiru's and mine just appeared out of thin air one day, much like my (and presumable her) henshin rod did. I sometimes wonder if Pluto had anything to do with that--the old Pluto, before she was reborn in our time.

Climbing down all those flights of stairs was enervating, especially since once we reached the common room on the dungeon level, we'd have to climb back up another seven flights of steps--we first years had been placed in the uppermost level of dormitories. We gave the password and passed through the common room, headed towards the girls' tower, when one of Draco's ugly henchpeople (Crabbe or Goyle. I never could tell them apart) stepped forward to block our way.

Ah. Ten'ou and her little group of friends. How nice of you to join us at last. A smooth voice (of which we are all so fond) drawled. Three guesses as to who, and the first two don't count. I suppose you think you are too good to associate with the likes of us. His voice was heavy with irony--perhaps I don't give him enough credit. I wouldn't have expected him to know irony if it whacked him upside the head. Speaking of whacking . . . he now had a nice purple bruise covering about half his right cheek, probably where he had fallen when I dropped him earlier today. It clashed nicely with his pink and green hair.

Not especially. I answered with the best indifferent tone I could manage. Just wanted to get away from this place. It's like a dungeon in here--now all that's missing is torture instruments. Honestly, how do you people study with so little light?

Are you objecting to the way we have chosen to decorate our common room? A much larger body unfolded itself from a chair over in the corner. He was tall, with strawberry blond hair, and had enough presence for someone twice his size. He looked a bit familiar, but I couldn't place from where. Do you think you could do better?

I flashed a quick glance to Michiru--she is the true artist of the two of us, after all. She nodded slightly, and I turned back to the tall boy with a cocky smile on my face. Chosen not to decorate it, you mean. I don't just think I could do better. I know I could.

Prove it. He leaned in close.

Name your terms. I kept the cocky smile in place.

He rocked back on his feet, contemplatively, and surprised me with a short laugh. You interest me, little girl. How can you be so completely unafraid?

I hate this. If there is one thing I absolutely hate about being eleven again, it is that people insist on treating me like a helpless, cute, little girl. I hate it! My name is Haruka Ten'ou. Please do me the honor of using it. I gritted out. You call me little girl or child again, and I will show you just exactly why I am not at all afraid of you.

Michiru, looking weary. Chill. Please.

My fists relaxed, and I sighed out most of my aggression, forcing the cocky smile back into place. I repeat. Name your terms.

I find this quite intriguing, so I'll give you full reign. You can have the aid of anyone who cares to help--but not teachers, and no one who is not Slytherin. And you can't slack your homework to work on this little project at any time. As for a time limit . . . how about, say . . . two months. I give you until Halloween. He smirked. Little girl.

I punched him in the gut--the easiest and closest target--as hard as I could. He crumpled to the floor, wheezing, and I loosed a malicious smile of my own. I have been told that, in the flickering firelight that was this room's main source of light, I looked positively evil. I bent over. Be glad I didn't aim lower. I turned and brushed Crabbe--I think it was Crabbe--aside. Come on. Let's put our stuff up before dinner starts. I swept from the room. A pretty nice exit, I think.

* * *

Was that really necessary? Lindsey asked as she put her books on a table beside her bed. I mean, what if he tells one of the teachers? You could get into trouble.

I laughed. He looked like he was at least fourth year, and he's a boy. I sincerely doubt that he'd be willing to tell anyone that he was hurt by a little first year girl. He'd become a laughingstock! I stretched, admitting, You're right, I shouldn't have done that, but I just get so tired of people calling me little girl' and child'. Especially when he did it that last time solely to see how I'd react.

If you had held back, he probably would have thought you were all talk. Usagi interrupted, from her seat on her bed. Despite the possibility of getting in trouble, I think hitting back was probably the best thing you could have done if you wanted his respect. Now he knows that you're not just messing around. She crossed her legs and leaned forward. About the redecoration . . . I assume I get to help.

He said any Slytherin who's willing, and I'll hold him to it. I grinned. So, any ideas to toss out before we go down to supper?

Well . . . the first thing we'll need is a lot more light. Lindsey began, then found herself the focus of all our eyes. What? Of course I'm helping too.

* * *

Dinner turned out to be somewhat less formal than the feast the previous night--or even breakfast that morning--had been. Even as we entered, a large clump of younger Ravenclaw students were leaving--I assumed that tonight was their night stargazing, ours was Thursday (I had already checked). The area in front of our places was full of food already, but all of the heated food was still steaming, so it couldn't have been standing out for long.

Back at the dorm, we lit some candles and worked more on our essays, occasionally pausing and throwing out new ideas for ways in which to brighten up the common room. It was obvious that it would most likely end up with a green and silver, serpentine theme--only appropriate for this House, after all--which thought reminded me of Keldir. I hadn't seen or heard from him since I let him go shortly before the Sorting and, truthfully, I was beginning to get a bit worried.

Still, what could I do? Searching this monster of a castle for him would be worse than useless, especially if he had decided he didn't wish to be found for some reason. Besides, I was pretty sure he could take care of himself as long as he didn't wander someplace that contained something more dangerous than a roomful of children or adults. He'd show up eventually. Knowing him, probably at the worst moment possible.

Something nudged against my elbow. I turned, and saw the bucket from that morning. Hello. What are you doing here?

It just snuggled up closer to me. Do you want to stay with me? A shy bounce. Okay . . . I suppose it would get kind of lonely, being an intelligent bucket that can't communicate too well. Another, more emphatic bounce.

Suddenly, I had an idea. It had been able to understand and, as far as I could tell, create hair dye . . . I sat up, turned, and gave the bucket my full attention. Tell me, bucket-chan, what do you know about paint?

* * *

Eventually, Millicent and Pansy arrived from wherever they had been keeping themselves, oddly enough together. Cut out the lights. Millicent grumbled. I want to go to sleep.

Pansy looked at the way we were spread out, undignified, all over the center of the floor, and sniffed. And clean up that mess, would you? I don't want to trip over anything. She then caught sight of the bucket and screeched. The bucket cowered in my arms and I rubbed its metal side soothingly. What is that . . . that thing doing in here?!

I narrowed my eyes. The bucket, I informed her, is a friend of mine. Do not worry, there will be no repeat of this morning's events, as the bucket has been reformed. And please do not shriek. You're scaring it.

She tossed her head. Just keep it away.

Don't worry. I replied dryly. I doubt it has any intention of coming anywhere near you. Now that the other two were back and would probably continue to bother us until we did as they asked, by consensus we went ahead and cleaned up, got ready for bed, and blew out the candles. As soon as darkness descended, all my weariness suddenly seemed to catch up as well. It had been a long, tiring, but overall enjoyable day.

I slid into bed next to Michiru, pulling up the covers with a contented sigh. For some reason, the bed felt . . . bigger than I remembered it being the previous night. Then again, it could have just been my imagination. I scooted a bit closer to Michiru, fidgeted a little, and finally found the perfect sleeping position. Contented and relaxed, I slipped into a deep sleep quickly and easily, not quite noticing as I passed the boundary between the waking and sleeping worlds.

* * *

Beside the bed in which two sleeping figures lay, the shadows seemed to draw in on each other, to be darker there than elsewhere in the room. Cloaked in the darkness, it stood silently over the two for a time, then sighed sharply, once. I don't know why . . . but I find I trust you. Each of you has already felt the touch of darkness . . . yet somehow managed to escape its taint. There is something you hide, I am sure of it . . . but then, who doesn't have a secret or two they'd rather not have come to light?

A pause, then, in a lighter, more humorous tone, After all, I have several secrets of my own. You who escape the darkness . . . I doubt I will be so lucky, carrying as I do my own private darkness within me. It turned away. In the end . . . who can tell? All I know is that you . . . It seemed focused, briefly, on another bed, this one with only a single occupant, before returning that focus to the doubly-occupied bed, . . . you are a light to me. Perhaps . . . just perhaps . . . I will be able to keep the darkness at bay.

The shadow turned back and bent over the bed, touching the face of first one, then the other. One stirred, briefly, but no greater reaction was induced. And for that . . . for that, I thank you. The shadow slid away, leaving no indication of its presence at the side of the bed beside which it had stood. Gliding past the window it paused and looked briefly upward. Turning away, the cold silver moonlight glinted off short blue-black hair.



6/10/2001
8/1/2002