In the Lap of the Gods

(Summary: When the Room of Consequence shows two Hogwarts students their destinies, they both attempt to deny what they've seen. Can they deny fate?

Disclaimers: Oh, I forgot to mention, I don't own any of the crew that JK Rowling created. *whistles innocently* Did I fool you?

Pairing: Harry/Draco, perhaps others

Author's Thanks: Sorceress, Kimmy, esaure, beautifulelf, Tsuyuno, blade- princess, Death, Lee-chan, Nikki, AnaRae, chibidark angel, Alura, Rue, sie, Stephanie, Marsky, and Dia for reviewing.

Author's Notes: I just wanted to thank Sorceress for her lovely review. I work hard on characterization, and I like putting in little twists into their personalities that stick out to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter. *grins* For those who don't study Greek mythology, Hypnos is the god of sleep and Morpheus is the god of dreams. Also, to give you an update on the time: between chapter two and three, the Hogwarts students had lunch and returned to their common rooms. Needless to say, those in the Hospital Wing are going to be starving when they actually remember to ask for meals.

~Cinaed)

In the Lap of the Gods

Chapter Three: I am the master of my fate

Draco felt himself sink into the warmth. Yes, he'd definitely live in a tropical paradise after Hogwarts. The final conclusion of his consciousness fled from him as sleep overtook the blonde, and then Hypnos cradled the golden child in his arms. For a moment, the Slytherin was gently embraced, before he was passed along to Morpheus, who eagerly awaited the boy.

And so the blonde dreamed. Scattered sensations teased him, offering hints of soft declarations whispering about devotion, of mild caresses lingering upon his cheeks, and of loving fingers running through his flaxen tresses. His lithe frame twisted and fought against the coverlets that suddenly trapped him. To no avail, he struggled to capture the tantalizing allusions of love that the Room tormented him with.

Full lips opened in a soundless cry of anguish before the blonde jerked out of the inaccessible reveries, tearing himself from Morpheus' grasp. His entire frame seemed to be drenched with sweat, and the moisture quickly grew cold upon his trembling body. Shivering even while he regained his composure, Draco lifted his head and gazed blindly forward.

The noises and aromas of the Hospital Wing flooded his senses just in time for the Slytherin to hear Pomfrey say, not unkindly, "You can't visit Longbottom, Weasley. Both of my patients are sleeping. I'll ask them if they want to receive visitors later, but you all will have to wait until tomorrow morning."

"We can't even talk to Seamus?" Every muscle in Draco's frame locked in place at the voice, and all tranquility fled once more. A mental ramble that went along the lines of 'Damn the Room, damn /Him/, damn the Room, damn /Him/!' filled the blonde's head as he was racked with uncontrollable shivers.

"No, Potter. He's actually sleeping as well. I'll leave your presents by Longbottom's bed, but you nine cannot come in right now. Also, it's almost time for dinner, so you all need to leave."

"Well, all right-"

"-Can you give this note to Seamus?" Thomas' query contained a slight tinge of anxiety.

Draco didn't notice, too busy scrambling from the bed and fighting the blankets to escape as a wave of nausea washed over him. Every time Potter was mentioned, the memories of that fateful day overcame him and threatened to make him relive his ultimate consequence. Damn Potter-

// Severus! Why are you just standing there? You said you knew where Harry was, we have to go there! Where-oh fuck! Albus! Albus, look out! Look out, you damned old fool! Look behind-oh shit, oh- Severus! Wait for me! //

* * *

Dean swallowed as Pomfrey glanced at the note skeptically. The witch stood in the doorway of the infirmary, blocking any entrance. He didn't see why the witch would refuse the simple request, but nevertheless, his fingers trembled, and he hastily jammed his free hand into a pocket to hide the tremor.

Ron glanced at him when he made the hurried gesture, and the boy felt his face warm in embarrassment as he recalled his earlier rant. He'd have to ask for forgiveness later. Offering the redhead an apologetic look, Dean returned his attention to Pomfrey. Not realizing that his dark eyes were burning with intensity, he fretfully studied the woman's face. However, he had never been any good at reading faces, and so Dean was clueless as to what Pomfrey was thinking.

The nurse opened her mouth to respond, and the Gryffindor felt his heart leap into his throat. She /had/ to give the note to Seamus. She /had/ to! Before the woman could speak, however, she frowned, as if she heard something behind her.

* * *

Draco's gray eyes were blind to anything other than what he had seen within the Room as his thrashing form wrenched free from the blankets. He toppled down to the floor, helpless to avoid his plummet. The violent impact sent agonized waves of pain through the blonde's frame (he had smashed his head upon the nightstand beside his bed), but all Draco could mumble was a weak, "Wait," as the Room's recollections claimed his perceptions of reality.

// Severus! Severus, wait-damn! Damn, damn, damn! /Avada Kedavra/! Watch your back, Severus! He nearly got you! Severus! //

* * *

The sound of a quiet thump reached Poppy's ears. The witch blinked before glancing over her shoulder into the Hospital Wing. Not seeing anything suspicious, she returned her attention back to the anxious Gryffindor students. It must have been her imagination.

She gazed sternly at the group, taking in their earnest appearances. The dark boy (she vaguely summoned the name Thomas) was staring at her with a frightening passion in his dark brown eyes. Absently wondering what was written on the paper he dangled in front of her, she took a deep breath. It was such a pity that these children had been born in such troubled times. Brown and Patil looked ready to collapse from agitation, and all four members of the Weasley brood were fidgeting with anxiety. Well, she'd have to reassure them, and remember to suggest to Albus that they bring in someone from one of the medical colleges. Hogwarts needed someone who would know how to speak to students one-on-one without being distracted like the Head of Houses undoubtedly were.

"Look, Thomas," she began in a gentle tone, "I-"

* * *

The blonde couldn't help it. With a surge of adrenaline, he attempted to crawl upright. The movement seemed to drive a nail right through the area near his left eye, and Draco cried out in agony, even while his knees buckled and sent him back to the floor. His hands flailed out blindly, searching for something, anything substantial. Where was Severus? They had to save Albus, they had to-

* * *

The sound of a choked, desperate cry made Pomfrey jump, and she dashed back into the infirmary, an apprehensive expression on her face. The assorted Gryffindor glanced at one another in worried bewilderment before following suit.

The scene that met Harry's eyes made the brunet do a double-take. Pomfrey knelt beside a shivering Draco Malfoy. Intense green eyes took in the gash running down the left side of the blonde's face. Blood trickled from the wound, crimson upon porcelain. Malfoy had a stunned, horrified look on his delicate features even while he ignored Pomfrey's inquiry upon whether or not he was all right. In fact, he didn't even seem to hear her question.

"You damned old fool. You damned-" The shaky, pained tone was a far cry from his normal attitude of drawling superiority. Gray eyes, glazed over with mental and physical pain, closed for a moment before a look of wrath contorted his features. "They'll all die for that, Albus! Do you hear me, you damned-" His attitude had hardened into a lethal need for vengeance.

"/Malfoy/!"

The blonde's head snapped towards Pomfrey, and then Malfoy blinked. His hand trembled when he moved to touch his injury, but a glare from the witch froze him in place. Now the Slytherin looked bemused and weary, the expression foreign on the Malfoy's visage.

* * *

"Is it over, Poppy? Did we win?" The hopeful whisper escaped his lips before Draco regained full control. Instantly, the blonde scrambled for the scattered pieces of his pride. His lips curled into a sneer. "Would someone kindly explain to me why I'm bleeding?" The blood felt wet and slick as it trickled down his cheek, and he raised his hand once more to catch a droplet before it could stain his robes. The gash stung even while the left side of his face began to ache. He didn't doubt there would be a bruise later.

"It seems you fell out of bed, Malfoy." The witch's tone was calm.

"How lovely." Putting the drawl back into his words, Draco forced himself to keep from gazing up at the bloody Gryffindor who now cluttered the room. Hadn't they heard Pomfrey's order for them to go back to their House? Idiots.

"Hold still, and let me get something on that cut," he heard Pomfrey instruct, and obeyed her even while she spun and snapped at the owners of the eighteen feet that Malfoy now stared at. He didn't dare glance up into the curious gazes of the Gryffindor gaggle. He might accidentally catch Potter's eye, and he'd be damned again if that happened. "Get out before I take ten points each from Gryffindor!"

"Could-could you give this to Seamus when he wakes up? Please?" One set of boots shuffled forward, and Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he studied the leather. Pathetic Muggle-born. He didn't know that dragon-hide was the only type of leather to use for boots.

"Of course, Thomas. Now, leave. You're going to be late to the evening meal."

* * *

Dean smiled slightly as the folded note was accepted. He had labored for thirty minutes to word everything exactly right. Although he had wanted to give the letter to Seamus himself, the wizard knew that Pomfrey wouldn't read it. That's why most students trusted her.

"How did Seamus and Neville /not/ wake up?" Ron's incredulous question seemed too loud when compared to Pomfrey, Malfoy, and Dean's hushed words, and Pomfrey immediately glared at the redhead. The Weasley grimaced and then looked sheepish. He shuffled in place for a moment before stating in a quieter tone, "And, um, why are they in the same bed?" The ensuing flush turned Ron's face a brilliant red that almost matched his cerise locks.

Dean blinked. He had been so focused on the unusual sight of Draco Malfoy that he hadn't noticed the sight of the sleeping bedmates. Dark brown eyes lingered on the duo, and the Thomas flinched a little at the pang of jealousy that pierced him through. He /shouldn't/ be envious of Neville! It would be wrong to be, after what the near-Squib went through.

"It's a side-effect of the Room. Dumbledore told me about it," he informed the others, trying to ignore the fact that his best friend wore a contented smile on his Irish countenance, and that the Longbottom's head rested on the other boy's chest. "Since Seamus was the first person that Neville saw when he came out of the Room, he's the only person Neville trusts-"

Pomfrey glanced up from dabbing a bubbling purple liquid on the blonde's wound, and scowled at them. "Ten points from Gryffindor, and if you all don't leave right now, I really /will/ make it ten points /each/! Go to dinner!"

The Weasley twins quickly bolted after they set their presents down on the stand next to Neville's bed. They'd been in the Hospital Wing enough times from their numerous escapades to know when the witch was being serious. As the others followed suit, Dean cast a last glance towards Seamus. A lock of sandy brown had fallen in front of the Irish boy's handsome features, but the Finnigan didn't seem to mind while he dreamed.

Reassured that Seamus was all right, Dean turned and followed after Ron's only sister, Ginny. He'd give Neville his present (some of his favorite Muggle chocolates) once the boy had eaten most of the candy the others had left behind.

* * *

Despite the fact that points had already been taken from Gryffindor, Harry couldn't keep from lingering in the infirmary. The purple liquid on Malfoy's visage was already smoking into oblivion, revealing the now- unblemished flesh. Tracks of scarlet still stained his cheek, but otherwise, the blonde looked healed.

During the entire exchange between Pomfrey and the Gryffindor group, Malfoy had kept his gaze directed towards the floor. Now, however, his cold gray eyes rose to land upon the Boy Who Lived. Instantly, the orbs flashed with a dizzying whirlwind of emotions, and the blonde glared at him. Delicate features sharpened as Malfoy poured his hatred into a venomous look.

Inwardly, Harry was startled. Of course, he and Malfoy had always glared at each other, but it had never been with the loathing that the brunet had always reserved for Voldemort. Usually, it had been childish resent that had fueled their antagonisms, immature grudges over House points and Quidditch matches. Now, however, it seemed as if Malfoy had a real reason to despise him and want him dead. Still, Harry couldn't help but wonder about the blonde's incentive. Outwardly, he arched an eyebrow and kept a neutral expression on his face.

"Want another ten points taken from Gryffindor, Potter?" The inquiry dripped with malice. "I'm ever so certain it can be arranged.."

A scowl twisted his lips and ruined his attempted aloofness as Harry snapped, the insult automatic, "You're such a bloody git, Malfoy!" Why couldn't Malfoy act like a mature teenager for once? The brunet had thought that the Room might have changed his deposition a little, but it seemed that the Slytherin was the same arrogant bastard as before.

The blonde's malevolent look shifted to a contemptuous smirk. "And you're an idiotic Gryffindork, Potty. Of course, those two usually go hand in hand." Derision colored every word as Malfoy added, "Get out of here, Potter."

The Potter fought back a wave of anger. Why did the Slytherin always get under his skin so easily? "Bugger off, Malfoy," he snapped, glaring at his archrival before he turned and stormed from the infirmary. He didn't even bother to acknowledge Hermione or Ron, who had been waiting outside for him.

* * *

As soon as Potter stomped from the room, Malfoy visibly slumped, his face draining of color. Poppy found herself watching the blonde in concern, noting that all of his anger had vanished and had been replaced by exhaustion.

"Does Potter bother you that much, Malfoy?" She kept her inquiry as straightforward as possible. A Slytherin, and especially a Malfoy, was a proud soul, and she had to word her next few sentences carefully.

Malfoy scowled in her direction, his face an ashen hue. "Yes." The biting response filled the air as the blonde visibly shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment.

"I'll put a charm around your bed whenever he comes in to visit Longbottom," she found herself promising. It was obvious that Potter, whether or not he knew it, made Malfoy experience the side-effects of the Room. She would have to keep the Gryffindor far away from the blond Slytherin. And inform Dumbledore, of course.

"That sounds like it would work." The implied thank-you was offered in a grudging way, as if the blonde wasn't used to being grateful. After all, she mused, being a Malfoy, he probably wasn't.

"You're a patient, Malfoy. Whatever is in my power to make you comfortable, I do," Poppy said simply, offering him a hand so that he could get to his feet. "Now, do you need anything to eat? More blankets?"

* * *

There was a hint of irony in Pomfrey's words at that point, and Draco rolled his eyes. He couldn't help if the chill of the Room stayed with him. Nevertheless, he accepted her hand, and slowly stood, trying to keep his natural grace.

Attempting to hide the fact that his heart still skipped a beat every few seconds and that the memories of the Room still whispered faintly in the back of his mind, he arched an eyebrow towards the nurse. "Another blanket would be cracking," he drawled, enjoying her look of exasperation. He would conquer the damn Room, and resume his old persona. They would see. They would /all/ see. After all, he was Draco Malfoy, and he was the master of his fate! He would have asked for food, since he hadn't eaten since breakfast, but the experience with Potter had left him feeling nauseous, and a Malfoy did not throw up in front of the Hogwarts' nurse.

Another blanket, this one thicker than the rest, was thrust into his arms, and the blonde blinked. As soon as he realized he'd been gazing off into space, he nodded towards Pomfrey and sauntered back to his bed. It took only a moment to notice that the blanket was rather pretty. It was pure white with a lithe, crimson dragon curled upon it; an image of a blood-red ruby set down amidst unsoiled snow. Sliding back under the other layers, he draped the final blanket over the rest. Maybe the dragon would bring him good luck.

It took another minute for Draco to realize that this was no ordinary blanket. As a muffled profanity escaped his lips, the magically-induced lethargy swept through his frame in an unhurried, taunting progress. It wasn't that the dreamless state soon to come would be unwelcome; it was that the nurse had thought he had needed it! The pleasant warmth spread through his frame, lulling his breathing into a slower process until the Slytherin yawned.

"Good night, Mr. Malfoy. You'll wake up feeling quite refreshed in the morning," he heard Pomfrey state, but her voice seemed to be far away.

"Did-did you give one of these to Finnigan?" Draco labored to enunciate every syllable correctly even whilst his eyelids fluttered and began to close. A mischievous chuckle was Pomfrey's only response, and then Hypnos carried the young man away to a faraway land of lost dreams and forgotten memories.

* * *

Poppy couldn't muffle the quiet laughter that escaped her lips as the Slytherin drifted off to sleep. The displeased expression on the blonde's face was almost comical. Although she couldn't guarantee that Malfoy and Longbottom's sleeps would be dreamless, she had been assured by Dumbledore that the magical blankets were perfectly safe. They certainly made her job easier. Softly humming to herself, she flicked her wand. At once, Malfoy's visage was spotless, the dried blood gone. Any trace of sweat had vanished along with the blood. Still smirking, Poppy went to check in on Sibyl. The Divinations professor would probably like something to eat..

Her hand had just reached the handle that would lead her into the private room when she heard the door leading out into the public corridor open with a quiet creak. Gritting her teeth as frustration welled within her, she turned and began a sharp tirade that died on her lips. "For the final time, Mr. Pot-"

Zabini raised an eyebrow towards the nurse, his expression puzzled but respectful. "I thought Draco would like a few trinkets, ma'am, so I brought one. I can leave it on his bed stand, if you'd like." His polite, straightforward words made Poppy fight a blush.

"Of course, Zabini, I'm certain your friend would appreciate that." She smiled at the fifth-year before adding, "Just close the door on your way out. They're sleeping thanks to the magical blankets Albus provided, so don't worry about waking them." Still smiling, she whisked her way into Sibyl's room. The Italian Slytherin was very well-behaved, unlike the majority of the Gryffindor group. Besides, Finnigan, Longbottom, and Malfoy wouldn't rouse until the blankets were pulled away from their frames.

* * *

"Whatever gave you the idea that Draco is my friend?" The soft inquiry went unanswered as dark brown eyes watched the nurse disappear into another room. Shaking his head, Blaise surveyed the room with an aloof gaze.

The sight of Finnigan and Longbottom was for the most part ignored, although he made a mental note to scribble that interesting fact into his observations later. His eyes focused on the motionless form of a certain blonde, and his lips tugged into a half-smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. Of course, not many of his expressions actually lit up the dark orbs.

"Well, well, Draco, today hasn't been your day, has it?" The low comment was murmured almost to himself while he approached the bed. As it always was, the Slytherin's tone was polite and detached. The gold flecks in his eyes blazed while the orbs studied his roommate's face, but that was only the light from candles lit nearby. He made a silent comment to himself that Draco seemed to be radiating irritation. Then again, when did the Malfoy not seem angry about something? "I thought you'd want one of your trinkets, and I knew that Vincent and Gregory were too moronic to remember it."

Ignoring the fact that he was speaking to himself, the Italian smirked, the expression pure Slytherin. A graceful movement of his hand revealed what he had brought to the unconscious blonde. "I knew you'd want this." The common, chestnut box seemed even more ordinary when it rested in that delicate palm. "Don't worry, I didn't look in it. I seem to recall when Gregory tried to.. He was quite lucky that Snape had a potion for burn marks when the anti-theft curse reacted." He paused, and added in an almost thoughtful tone, "I don't think I want to know what's in it, actually. Some things are more interesting if they remain mysteries."

He placed the mundane box on Draco's bed stand and regarded the blonde for another moment. Quelling his inner curiosity, he spoke once more, letting his Slytherin mask fall away for a moment. It was only then that Blaise smiled a mild grin, the look filled with impish mischief, mischief which hinted at the fact that the brunet had been a hellion as a youth. His eyes glowed, and this time they did so without the aid of candles.

"Don't bother thanking me, Draco, though Merlin forbid that you'd even ponder the idea. It's just a thank-you for keeping our fellow Slytherin year-mates' attention off me for all these years." Without another word, the façade slipped back onto his face, and the Italian looked bored. "Well, I'm off to see if I can take any points off a wandering Gryffindork. I'll be back in the morning, Draco, with some more of your precious trinkets." His quiet words echoed faintly in the otherwise silent room long after Blaise Zabini had fingered his prefect badge and then strolled out of the infirmary.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry stalked down the corridor. Both Ron and Hermione had to jog to keep up with him. He knew that they were regarding him anxiously, but he didn't care. Adrenaline surged through his veins, and he quickened his pace. He stormed by the twins, ignoring their curious looks.

Malfoy was such an obnoxious git! Remembering the superior smirk that the blond Slytherin had worn only a few minutes earlier, Harry muttered something under his breath. He would find out what Malfoy had seen, no matter what! He /had/ to know what had made the blonde so vulnerable in the Divinations classroom.

Glittering verdure blazed in the midst of ivory flesh as the Boy Who Lived vowed to learn the Slytherin's fate, even if it meant Harry learned that he himself died at the hands of a triumphant Voldemort.

* * *

Dean watched Harry's back as the brunet stomped away from the rest of the Gryffindor. Ron and Hermione were nearly jogging to keep up with the dark-haired boy. Raising an eyebrow and wondering why Harry was so annoyed, he mentally shrugged. The brunet's problem was no matter of his. It was Seamus he was concerned about.

"Hey, Dean?" The quiet whisper tugged his attention away, and he glanced over at Virginia Weasley.

"Yeah, Ginny?" The dark-skinned boy kept his tone casual, although he had no idea how to talk to girls. They mystified him, and frankly, he didn't want to be bothered to unravel the enigma. They could go off and flirt with whoever they liked, as long as they didn't pester /him/.

"What kind of candy does Seamus like?" As soon as the words left her lips, Ginny flushed hotly and glanced downward. Inwardly, Dean flinched and felt a little ill. He had realized that Ron's sister was finally losing her infatuation with Harry Potter, but he hadn't realized that she might turn her attention towards Seamus. Couldn't she just fall in love with Colin or someone in her own year? He hurriedly revised his opinion of girls. They could go off and flirt with whoever they liked, as long as they didn't pester him /or/ Seamus. "I mean, it, well, looks like he'll be with Neville in the Hospital Wing for a little while, and we all know his reputation with sweets. I was just, well, thinking of bringing him some."

"I pity Neville then," Dean couldn't help but remark dryly, earning a startled look before he explained. "I would pity anyone that was trapped in a room with Seamus after he's eaten even a single piece of candy."

Ginny giggled, her cheeks still tinged red with embarrassment. Did all girls become self-conscious this easily? Being an only child, the artist had no experience with them, even if he'd been around Lavender, Hermione, and Parvati for the past five years. "You'd have to pity Malfoy then."

Dean smiled crookedly as the image of Malfoy's anguished visage and the sounds of desperate cries of 'Never!' filled his head. "Somehow, I think I already do." The Weasley looked puzzled, and the dark boy smiled enigmatically at her before quickening his pace to walk with the twins. At least they didn't blush all the time.

* * *

Virginia Weasley stared after Dean, feeling bemusement muddle her senses. Were all boys that odd? Shaking her head and running a hand through her long scarlet waves, she decided not to wonder about the dark boy. After all, he was an artist. They were supposed to be eccentric.

She suddenly realized that Dean had never told her what Seamus' favorite type of candy was. Pouting, the fourth-year glanced in his direction just in time to catch him wearing a troubled expression. What was his problem /now/?

"Hey, Thomas, are you almost done with that painting of Oliver we asked for?" Fred asked. She could tell it was the younger of the identical duo because George had magicked a parchment on his twin's back that flashed, 'I am Gred, kiss me,' every few seconds. Naturally, someone else (probably their best friend, Lee Jordan) had added onto the joke so that after the first message, there was a second note of, 'Only a Knut a kiss.'

Dean shrugged. "I'm almost done. I'm running low on supplies, so I'll have to write my mum and ask her to send me a couple shades of paint. Also, do you two have any more photographs of him? I need to check on the color of his eyes."

"Why do you guys want a painting of Oliver?" Ginny asked, and sighed at the identical smirks of roguish evil. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Oh, his eyes are sepia-"

"-like the faintest hint of rich strawberries submerged in darkest chocolate," added George, obviously quoting from something he'd read, and the Weasley twins snickered together.

Ginny was glad to see that she wasn't the only one giving her brothers an odd look. Dean's dark eyes looked absolutely baffled and even a trifle mistrustful. "I'll still need a few more pictures," the artist murmured, obviously trying to be polite, "despite that, um, /poetic/ description."

"Naturally!" The twins probably would have tormented Dean further, if Fred had not noticed the parchment on his back at that moment. Hazel eyes widened in surprise as he exclaimed, "What the hell's on my back?" Those same eyes narrowed when he read the flashing words. "Bloody hell, I'm worth more than a Knut a kiss! I'm worth at least a Sickle!"

George immediately burst out laughing, and bolted down the corridor. Mumbling profanities, his doppelganger drew a wand and raced after him, swearing vengeance. Unsurprisingly, the parchment was still on Fred's back.

* * *

Dean watched the Weasley pair bolt down the hallway, and sighed to himself. Sometimes, he was very glad that he was an only child, even if Seamus always assured him that having tons of siblings was a good thing. However, he still wondered why the twins had commissioned him to paint a large portrait of Oliver Wood.

// "Hey, Thomas, you're an artist, right?" The upcoming fifth-year blinked, and did a double-take. Literally. He had thought himself alone within the bookstore at Diagon Alley, so how had the Weasley twins snuck upon him? He quickly hid the book he had been glancing at behind his back, hoping they wouldn't notice. Dean would never hear the end of it if they saw what book he'd been glancing at.

"Oh, hi, Fred, isn't it?" His voice cracked on the final word, and the dark boy fought back a flush. He really prayed that his voice would be done changing by September 1st. "Yeah, I'm an artist. How are you both doing?"

"George, actually. We're doing great-"

"-but we've found that we need the services of an artiste-"

"-and since you're the only one we know-"

"-could you paint a portrait of someone for us?"

Dean stared at them both for a moment, deciding that twins were very bizarre. "What type of portrait?" he inquired cautiously. Knowing the Weasley duo, it could quite possibly be someone naked, and Dean didn't particularly want to paint that sort of thing.

"Just a heroic painting of our beloved Oliver Wood," George and Fred assured him in one breath, sounding all-too-innocuous.

"Why do you two want a picture of Oliver?" His voice broke again, this time on the word two, and he was glad that his dark skin hid his blush. The book trembled behind his back, but luckily neither Weasley noticed.

The twin he figured was George snickered, and looked unbelievably innocent. "No reason, just to have a portrait of a soon-to-be famous Keeper- "

"-and tease one of his fans with it," the other one added, actually sounding honest as a mischievous grin split his face.

"Who?" Instead of answering, the two produced several photographs of the former Quidditch Keeper, and asked how much the portrait would cost. //

He still hadn't found out who this fan was, but Dean figured that he would find out when the twins presented the visual rendering to their latest victim. The artist was so lost in thought while he turned a corner that he didn't notice the other person until it was too late.

"Oh!" To his utter mortification, his voice cracked on the word. Damn his hormones! His voice hadn't cracked in weeks, and today it decided to start up again. Well, at least it hadn't cracked in front of Dumbledore. From his position on the floor, he struggled not to blush as he glanced up at the person he'd slammed into.

"Daydreaming, Thomas?" The soft drawl held no malice, only a vague hint of emotion that the Gryffindor couldn't quite name.

"You could call it that, Zabini," Dean agreed, nodding as he scrambled to his feet before the Slytherin could offer his hand. "What're you doing, wandering out in the halls?"

"I could ask you and Weasley the same thing."

Startled, the Gryffindor glanced around and realized that only he and Ginny were left of the nine who had hopefully knocked on the infirmary door. "We were at the Hospital Wing, trying to visit Neville and Seamus, but they were asleep, so we're headed back to the Gryffindor Tower."

"That makes sense," mused Zabini, as if he didn't quite believe the Gryffindor. His dark eyes flickered towards Ginny for a brief moment before he offered them a mock-smirk. "Just make certain you have a similar 'excuse' for any teacher that comes by, Thomas. We wouldn't want you to lose any /precious/ Gryffindor House points."

* * *

"Of course not," Thomas agreed, and actually smirked. His eyes danced amidst his dark chocolate flesh, revealing his amusement. His lean frame was relaxed as the Gryffindor arched an eyebrow. "Try not to lose any House points for Slytherin, Zabini."

"Oh, I won't." Blaise resisted the urge to smirk back and instead let his expression shift to one of languor. "See you during classes, Thomas." Ignoring the Weasley girl, he turned and sauntered in the direction of the Slytherin dormitory. He didn't think anyone would be out in the halls after what had happened to Longbottom and Draco until it was /actually/ time for dinner. Besides, he needed to update his notes on numerous Gryffindor and a single Slytherin. If some of the new observations made his stomach twist uncomfortably, the Italian didn't acknowledge that fact.

* * *

Dean found himself watching the other boy walk away and wondering what went on in the Slytherin's head. Now that he thought about it, Zabini was even more of an enigma than any girl he knew. After all, at least girls actually revealed their emotions. Only the Italian's eyes gave away any sentiment he felt.

Shaking his head, Dean glanced over at Ginny just in time to watch her blush and glance away. Had she been staring at /him/? The thought muddled his senses, and he blinked at her. Perhaps she didn't have a crush on Seamus. Maybe she was simply enamored of any boy she spotted at the moment.

"Um, Dean?" The dark boy looked over at her once more. "You never told me what kind of candy Seamus likes." Her royal blue eyes darkened to lavender as she blushed again.

Dean mentally sighed. He'd been hoping to get away with not answering her question, but he didn't see any way to distract her now. He glanced at her for a moment, watching her face tilt towards him expectantly. "Well, his favorite type of candy is Peppermint Toads, actually. One of his deep, dark secrets," he said at last, before winking at her. "Of course, there's also a rumor that he likes blood-flavored lollipops."

Ginny laughed and shook her head. "Peppermint Toads it is then," she declared, a dimple appearing on her cheek as she smiled at him. "Thanks, Dean." She turned to hurry in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower before she paused. "Oh, and what's Neville's?"

Yes, she definitely had a crush on Seamus, if she had forgotten about the Longbottom. Hadn't she gone to the Yule Ball with him last year? Poor Neville. He deserved a girl that would /remember/ him when a cuter boy walked by. "I think he likes éclairs, but don't quote me on that."

* * *

"Thanks. I think I remember him having a few éclairs at the Yule Ball," Ginny said once more, smiling at him. She probably looked like an idiot, thanks to her pale Weasley coloring that so easily betrayed her embarrassment, but at the moment she didn't care. She had a few Knuts and perhaps even a couple Sickles saved up from gardening at some Muggle homes near the Burrow over the summer. Ginny could buy Seamus and Neville some candy, and still have a little money left over for Christmas presents, if she planned carefully and found some good deals in the thrift store in Hogsmeade.

"No problem," Dean assured her, winking once more. She couldn't help but blush. He really was quite handsome, now that she wasn't blind to everyone but Harry Potter. Of course, the Boy Who Lived still held a part of her heart that would always mourn the unrequited love of her first crush, but now she could actually notice that Dean's dark eyes were smoldering with a foreign emotion, and that that was /very/ sexy. And of course, now Ginny was flushed again, a coral pink hue accenting her light tan. She sometimes wished she hadn't been born a Weasley.

"Yes, well, I'm going to go get ready for, well, dinner," she murmured, suddenly aware that Dean was watching her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Smiling at the dark boy, she lifted a hand and wiggled her fingers in a good-bye signal that she had adopted from the twins.

As the Thomas' good-bye drifted to her ears, Ginny gathered her robes to her and quickened her pace. Colin was Muggle-born, and he had mentioned that his father had been taking evening classes about psychology. Maybe he'd be able to help her figure out if her hormones were flaring and if that was why she kept staring at every single boy in her year and up.

* * *

Collapsing boneless against his pillows, Blaise glanced down at the notebook in his hands. It was so amusing, really, that such a simple object held the psychological information of nearly every Hogwarts student that he had ever met. Especially since he had penned the data down himself. The small book had an ebony-black leather covering, inscribed with the bronze words, "The Observations of Blaise Zabini, Slytherin at Hogwarts, 1991- 1998."

Several strands of sable had slipped from his ponytail, but a careful flick of his wand and a soft spell had his hair perfect once more. If he prided himself on one thing, it was the fact that he managed to look as well-groomed as Draco without having to use hair products. Just magic. Blaise drew a quill and an inkwell (charmed not to leak or break) from the fathomless depths of his robe and arched an eyebrow. It had become a habit, over the years, to speak out loud to himself even when it wasn't needed, but this was a rare moment when it was. Still, Blaise glanced around to make certain that Vincent and Gregory were still occupied down in the common room.

"It's me, my notebook. If you would be so kind as to open?" He had slaved away for months to create this seemingly harmless tome, and so he was always pleased when the ebon book flashed golden before it opened to a blank first leaf. He paused, his quill hovering over the blank page. "I think we'll start with Draco Malfoy, at the moment."

The clean page seemed to shimmer for a moment, before his handwriting appeared on the crisp white sheet. The elegant, artistic style with which he looped his letters could be called feminine, but he /had/ learned to write by copying his mother's text. The content detailed every fact he knew about the blonde: his name, age, birth date, family members, identified romantic liaisons, known friendships and/or alliances, physical description, emotional description, and history. He skimmed the beginning, but paused at the last two sections. He'd have to alter the emotional description /and/ the history. Well, that was as annoying as hell.

Blaise leaned back and tapped his quill upon the sheet. "I'm going to alter the emotional description," he informed the book, which immediately made the rest of the precious information vanish. That left him the entire page to pen down these new developments. Frowning for a moment, he dipped the quill into the inkwell and meticulously began to write this fresh occurrence and the blonde's current emotional status. After that, he'd rewrite the history, but he knew that there would be more to notate in the next few weeks. Much, much more.

* * *

Dean mumbled the password to the Fat Lady, but it had been a waste of breath. As soon as the portrait swung aside, a wave of Gryffindor students swarmed through the exit, smiling at him as they hurried off to eat. The dark boy sighed. He rather thought he'd skip dinner today. It would mean extra time to figure out how to word his apology to Hermione, Ron, and Harry..

"Hey, Dean!" The cheerful timbre filled the artist's ears, and he mentally groaned. He'd also rather hoped that Fred would launch into a full- scale 'war' with his twin and leave him some free time..

"Yes, Fred?"

"S'George, actually," stated the twin, smiling up at him. A good- natured smile toyed with the redhead's chapped lips, and Dean was immediately suspicious. "You wanted some more pictures of Ollie?"

"Well, yes, but how-" The artist cut himself off and sighed when no less than ten photographs were thrust into his hand. Why were the twins so obsessed with Oliver Wood? He assumed that they knew someone who had a crush on Oliver, but who? Ginny? Dean doubted that. "Er, thanks, George. Did Fred ever catch you?"

"Well.." The hazel-eyed Weasley hedged around the question, offering the Thomas an almost sheepish smile. "Not yet, which means I'd best be dashing off to supper. I hope the photographs help!" Without another word, the seventh-year vanished into the horde that made its way towards the Great Hall.

Dean sighed and shook his head, glancing down at the photographs. He might as well go back to the boys' dorm and work on the portrait of Oliver Wood. Painting always helped him clear his head and think things through. Still shaking his head, the black boy squeezed through the hole.

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been about to follow after their housemates and go to the meal when Dean appeared, looking skeptical over something. When the brunet caught sight of them, however, the dubious look was replaced by a self-conscious one.

"Oh," the artist declared, shifting uncomfortably. "Um, listen, can I talk to you three after dinner? I want to, well, apologize for being such a prat." The smile he wore was nervous at best, but to Hermione Granger, it did seem that Dean was truly sorry.

She smiled at him, relief moving to the forefront of her mind. "Of course, Dean." The prefect couldn't help but add, her mothering instincts surging after the ordeal the fifth-years had gone through, "Aren't you coming to dinner?"

Her fellow Muggle-born shook his head in a negative manner, looking rueful. "The twins are anxious about a commission they're paying me for, and I should probably work on it. I'll see you all after the meal."

"What sort of job?" Ron asked, a note of curiosity coloring his inquiry.

Dean sighed. "Believe me, Ron, you probably don't want to know. Your brothers are extremely odd."

"Naturally, but-" Whatever line of reasoning the Weasley had been about to launch into was cut short as George scrambled through the portrait hole and fell onto the ground with a loud thump. The older of the twins was clearly disheveled, his carmine locks falling in front of his pleasant visage.

"Oh, hello," he said airily, noticing their stares. "Got any idea where I can hide from Gred? He's rather angry-" A furious yell drifted through the exit of the Gryffindor common room, and George paled.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Hermione noticed that Harry and Dean were both biting back their laughter. Both boys shook with the strain, their eyes dancing. Ron, however, wasn't quite as inhibited. His cerulean eyes were filled with tears of mirth as he howled in amusement.

"He /finally/ noticed the parchment?"

George shot his youngest brother an affronted look before bolting for the safety of the dormitory. As soon as he vanished up the stairs and out of sight, his doppelganger tumbled through the hole, wand clenched in a shaking fist. Fred was obviously quite out of sorts, with his hazel eyes blazing and his tanned flesh turned rosy red.

"Where is he? I'll show him I'm worth more than a bloody Knut a kiss!" The twin brandished his wand for emphasis, and frowned at Ron when the boy doubled over, chortling even harder. Fred seemed to gleam something from Ron's mirth, however, because his eyes abruptly widened. An evil smirk crossed his face, reminding Hermione of Malfoy, before the redhead began to saunter towards the stairs. "I think I'll just grab something from the dorm before I look for Feorge some more.."

The quartet watched as Fred marched up the stairs, obviously prepared to deal out revenge to his older brother. Dean and Harry both began to chuckle while Ron shook his head and muttered, "I almost pity George."

* * *

Dean couldn't help but nod in agreement, even while laughter slipped from his mouth. The mirth seemed to bubble up from somewhere deep inside him, a place that Seamus often tapped into. The stress that had been tensing his muscles ever since Neville had stumbled into the Room of Consequence was momentarily eased as the amusement rattled his frame in the form of soft chuckles.

"Listen, go on and eat." He flicked his fingers at the trio, still smiling. "It won't do you all any good if Pomfrey decides to let us in to see Neville and Seamus and finds that you've forgotten to eat and fainted in the middle of the common room."

"Wouldn't we be /in/ the Hospital Wing with Neville and Seamus then?" Harry pointed out, his emerald gaze sparkling. His ivory flesh was stained pink as the brunet flushed with amusement.

Dean paused before he arched an eyebrow towards the Boy Who Lived. It was nice to see the Potter so carefree. When they had spoken on the train, Harry had seemed tired and almost forlorn, even with Ron and Hermione sitting beside him. It also appeared that his fellow Gryffindor had gotten over what had made him so furious earlier. "Touché, Harry!" He managed an elegant bow towards the green-eyed boy, keeping the bright smile on his face.

"We'll talk to you after supper, Dean," Hermione commented, the prefect smiling at him. "Maybe we can look at the summer work for Potions, Herbology, and Charms, since we missed those classes today." She sounded disappointed over the fact that they wouldn't get to have the three classes until Thursday. Beside the bushy-haired girl, Ron rolled his eyes and mimicked gagging.

Fighting back a grin that would reveal Ron's actions to the Granger, the black boy nodded. "Sure. I was a little confused by Snape's assignment, so maybe we could collaborate on the six-foot essay he had us write?"

Hermione beamed. "Of course!" Ever since the prefect had discovered Dean was in the top ten of their year, she had become intent on dragging him to library whenever she could. Which Seamus found hilarious, naturally.

"Do you want us to bring anything back for you?" Harry's green eyes surveyed him carefully, but Dean obstructed the gaze with a lopsided smile. It was a grin that he'd perfected from Seamus.

"No, just go on and gorge yourselves." His lithe fingers moved in the direction of his fellow Gryffindor, pointing them all in the direction of the still open portrait hole. The Fat Lady could be heard grumbling about the slowness of children. "I have some candy in my trunk; if I get hungry I'll eat some."

The trio offered him different reactions to his comment before they disappeared through the hole. (Harry chuckled, Ron grinned knowingly, and Hermione sniffed in faint disapproval.) Watching as the Weasley's fiery mane disappeared from view, Dean ran a hand through his locks, glancing down at the photographs still in his hand. The top one had Oliver Wood standing in his Quidditch uniform, beaming proudly at someone behind the camera.

"Well, Mister Wood, I hope your admirer enjoys the portrait-" he began, when a loud explosion rocked the Gryffindor Tower. It had come from the room that the Weasley twins slept in. Rolling his eyes and not bothering to react to the howls of mirth (most likely from Fred the Avenger), the artist began to climb the steps towards his nice, safe, and /empty/ dormitory.

* * *

"I wonder why Fred and George want a painting of Oliver Wood," Ron remarked, his tone curious. He glanced at Harry and Hermione to see if they had any clue, but both were off in their own worlds. The Weasley sighed. He supposed he'd have to figure that one out on his own. He glanced over at his two best friends, wondering what they were thinking about.

Hermione's hazel eyes were clouded, and Ron smiled slightly as she bit down on her lower lip. It was an unconscious habit she and Harry had both developed in their first year at Hogwarts, but the Weasley always found the involuntary gesture amusing. Waves of light sepia tumbled wildly around her visage, but the prefect didn't seem to notice, too lost in her thoughts. Ron's fingers itched to brush a few of her tendrils away from her face, but he pushed that thought into the farthest reaches of his mind. She was probably thinking about what books would have information about the Room of Consequence.

His eyes flickered towards his other best friend. Clear-cut gems of purest dark green had unconsciously darkened in thought as Harry frowned in an absent way that assured the Weasley that the Boy Who Lived was confused over something. His thick glasses had slid down his nose, but the brunet had yet to notice the precarious situation. Though he wasn't biting his lower lip, Harry instead was squinting into the distance, towards something only he could see.

Shaking his head, Ron decided not to pry. If Harry and Hermione wanted to tell him what they were thinking about, he'd listen, but he was too hungry to squabble about how they never told him about anything.

"Harry! Hey, Harry!" The high, piping call filled the corridor leading to the Great Hall, and Ron mentally groaned. Colin Creevy had such horrid timing. Well, all right, any occasion was horrid timing when it was Colin.

"What- oh, hi, Colin." To anyone save Colin, it was obvious that Harry was distracted and not in the mood to talk. Of course, the photographer had always been oblivious, and even now the short fourth-year bounced on the balls of his feet and beamed up at his idol.

"Hi, Harry! How're you doing? Do you know if Neville's all right?" Ron was surprised to note that Colin's voice had lowered over the summer, but it was still high compared to the other fourteen-year-olds. His wavy locks of light brown had grown out a bit, but that didn't make him seem any older.

Only Ron noticed the flicker of impatience in Harry's eyes before the Potter smiled in Colin's direction. Always the valiant Gryffindor, his best friend was. "I'm fine, Colin, and Dumbledore said Neville will be all right. Madam Pomfrey told us that she'll allow visitors starting tomorrow."

"That's great!" the Muggle-born squeaked, glowing as he gazed up at the brunet. "I'll have to give him his present tomorrow then!"

"His-his present?" Harry's tone betrayed his bemusement, and the Creevy's light brown eyes brightened. It was obvious that Colin was proud of whatever he had accomplished as he straightened to his full five-foot height and grinned up at his hero.

"He asked me to make him a photo album of Hogwarts. He's been helping me with Herbology, so I told him I'd do my best. Neville's a great guy, isn't he, Harry? A really great guy! My Herbology grade-" Suddenly, Colin fell silent. Then the younger boy shuffled for a moment, looking almost sheepish. "I'm-I'm babbling again, aren't I? Ginny said that you all think I'm too loud, and she's /really/, really smart so she's probably right. I'm not /bothering/ you, am I, Harry?"

* * *

Harry gazed into Colin's hopeful brown eyes and fought back a sigh. He knew that the Creevy was trying to be more mature, but he didn't know how to be diplomatic about that question. Luckily, Hermione was there to rescue him.

"Of course you're not bothering us, Colin! We agree with you about Neville. He's sweet," the prefect stated, smiling at the photographer. In a softer, more curious, tone, she added, "Do you think we could see the album, or it is private?"

Colin frowned for a moment, his brow wrinkling in contemplation. "Well, Neville never said that it was private, so I guess you can see it," he declared at last, flashing them all a pleased smile. Blinking, Harry realized that he'd never asked Colin about any of the photographs he'd taken over the years. What had happened to the countless photographs that had been taken of him? "Here."

A thick, rectangular object was suddenly pressed into his hands, and Harry glanced down at the photo album, with its plain brown covering. No one glancing at it would realize what a keepsake it was. Maybe Neville wanted it that way?

He realized that Colin had started speaking once more, and actually listened, just in time to hear, "-ten, Harry, if you want, I can tell you how I got some of the pictures. Some of the stories are really funny!" The eager-to-please, almost wistful note still lingered in the fourth year's high-speeded words.

"Sure Colin, but where's Dennis?" Ron had decided to speak up, and the redhead sounded surprised to see the boy without his younger brother. Ever since Dennis had arrived in Hogwarts, he had shadowed his older brother, his idol second only to Harry.

"Oh, he /fancies/ someone and he's off mooning over her," Colin declared, rolling his eyes. "He's too young for that of course, but he won't listen to me. Even Ginny's tried to convince him, but he won't listen. He-"

"Hey, Colin," Harry interrupted quickly, realizing that the boy was about to launch into another long ramble, "how about you tell us some of the photograph stories while we're eating?"

"Oh, oh sure!" There was a note of almost ecstatic happiness in Colin's voice. With a twinge of guilt, the Potter realized that he had been rather cold to the Gryffindor for the past few years. Of course, no one could blame him for not wanting someone around who prattled about how everything you did was perfect and took pictures of you while you weren't paying attention...

"C'mon, then," Ron declared, jolting the Boy Who Lived from his thoughts. "I'm starving!" Harry glanced over at the redhead in time to see the Weasley force a smile on his face. It was obvious that Ron was a little wary of Colin's abrupt realization of his maddening habits, but it was also evident that the fifth-year would go along with whatever Hermione and Harry wanted. "I'm starving!"

Colin flushed and looked to be on cloud nine. His light brown eyes glowed as he bobbed his head up and down. "So am I. Let's go tuck in, Harry!" Those trusting eyes turned towards the aforementioned Gryffindor, and Harry suddenly had to swallow against a lump that had lodged in his throat. Colin had the same blind faith in him that Hagrid did. Of course, it was only because he was the Boy Who Lived, while Hagrid believed in him because he was simply Harry, but still..

He forced a smile. "Yeah, let's go."

* * *

As soon as they sat down and began to eat, Hermione studied the brown album that rested by Harry's elbow. The words 'Neville Longbottom's Album of Hogwarts' was pressed in, the pale gold text glittering among the ordinary brown color. Wondering what sort of photographs Neville had asked for, she set her pumpkin juice aside and asked Colin.

"Oh, photographs of everyone and anything we thought was interesting. He only asked that I didn't make the album into a shrine for Harry," the Creevy stated, glancing over at Harry and smiling brightly as if the brunet might find that amusing.

Of course, Harry did, and chuckled. "I'm assuming you didn't?" His bright eyes glinted with amusement. It seemed that her friend thought Colin was much more amusing when he wasn't nattering on and on about how Harry was marvelous and perfect.

Colin, who was sitting across from the trio, grabbed the book and opened it up to the first page. "I had to ask one of the sixth years who's also a photographer for some pictures of your first year," he explained, noting their looks of surprise.

The threesome gazed at the first photograph in amazement. It was a picture of them, as first years, shuffling into the Great Hall right before the Sorting. Under the photograph, someone had penned in careful print, 'Before the Sorting, 1991.'

"Blimey, we all look like we're about to faint!" declared Ron. Hermione secretly agreed. The first year Ron had an expression on his face that suggested he was about to vomit, while Harry and Hermione's faces were drained of any color while they stumbled into the Great Hall. Neville was clutching Trevor to his chest as if the toad would protect him, his eyes as wide as saucers as he glanced around wildly.

"Look at Seamus!" Harry suddenly declared, jabbing a finger towards the Irish lad, who had suddenly tripped over his own feet and had clutched at Dean's robes for support. His sandy brown locks fell haphazardly over his eyes as he silently began to apologize to the Muggle-born.

Smiling with pleasure at their interest, Colin flipped to the next page, and Ron gave out a loud shout of laughter. "Look at Lavender!" The photograph, in which Lavender's head was enveloped by the Sorting Hat, was dubbed, 'Lavender Brown, being Sorted into Gryffindor, 1991.'

"What about me?" The aforesaid witch glanced over from chatting with Parvati. When they showed her the photo, she blushed in embarrassment. "Why does anyone have a photograph of me being Sorted? I look so silly!"

"Neville wanted a photograph of all the Gryffindor's Sortings and some of his other House friends," Colin explained, looking shell-shocked that Lavender had actually spoken to him.

* * *

"Potter?" Harry glanced over his shoulder and blinked in confusion.

"Yes, Professor?" He noticed Hermione and Ron were gazing at McGonagall in bewilderment, the photograph album momentarily forgotten. Returning his attention to the Transfiguration teacher, he was relieved to note that she didn't look annoyed. That meant he wasn't in trouble, right? Her following words made him rethink the hopeful thought.

"You will go to the headmaster's office after you finish dinner," she informed him, her tone as curt as ever. Her eyes flickered towards the album, and something of a smile ghosted upon her thin lips.

"I'm-I'm not in trouble, right?"

"Of course not, Potter." She eyed him shrewdly. "Unless you're done something wrong that I wasn't informed of." There was a slight accusation in the harsh professor's words, and Harry gulped.

"Oh, all right, Professor. Then I'm not in trouble." McGonagall's frame relaxed a little before she nodded and moved away from the table and back towards the high table. Harry's gaze followed her for a moment. What did Dumbledore want?

Well, he supposed he'd find out after the meal. He turned back towards the photograph album, but his heart wasn't quite in it as it had been before when Colin showed them more pictures of the Sorting and a few of the Quidditch games.

(Author's Notes: The title is a quote taken from a poem by W. E. Henley. I thought it was quite appropriate. *smirk* Oh, and I do think someone needs to knock Harry over the head. Really.

Prelude to Chapter Four: Blaise is developed a little more, Dumbledore chats with Harry, Neville's point of view is finally acknowledged, Dean works on his portrait, and Colin's change is explained a little bit more. ~Cinaed)