The school awoke the next morning to find the grounds a great bit wetter,
as the sky had finally decided to unleash its massive supply of rain. Great
droplets of moisture fell from the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall,
only to disappear a few feet above the heads of the students who had
congregated there for breakfast.
"You know, it ought to be a crime to be so damn cheerful this early in the morning," Draco grumbled, watching a group of Hufflepuff girls walk by giggling.
"Maybe we should write the Minister, have him make it a law," I said boredly, watching as Draco repeatedly opened and closed his right hand, as if testing it. "How's your hand?"
"Not perfect, but it'll do," he said. "I reckon I can still get Snape to think I'm disabled enough to warrant a partner-switch, though."
I laughed. "Draco, even if he doesn't believe you, he'll still let you switch. You're his favorite, remember?"
"Am not," Draco said indignantly. "If I was he wouldn't keep sticking me with Goyle." The boy in question looked up from his eggs, but quickly returned to them when it became evident he wasn't about to receive an order.
"Honestly, Draco," I said, shaking my head, "You really are thick sometimes."
Draco was about to argue when the post arrived. There were a few moments of organized chaos as hundreds of owls dropped packages and letters to their rightful owners, then left as quickly and silently as they'd arrived.
I was pleasantly surprised when a long envelope fell onto my sausage, addressed to me in my grandmother's elegant script. I skimmed over the letter, which contained the customary warnings to stay out of trouble (even though it's entirely not my fault that I'm one of Trouble's favorite people and he seems to have taken up permanent residence in my dorm) and queries as to how I was getting on. Gran also advised me not to bother Fae (as if I needed her to tell me that). I smiled slightly, refolding the letter and slipping it into my pocket. Really, that woman worried too much.
For lack of anything else to do, I turned to Draco, who had just unfurled a copy of the /Daily Prophet/. "Anything interesting?"
Draco shook his head. "Just the usual rubbish. Vigilantes and coups to overthrow the government. I don't think even Rita Skeeter wrote anything /that/ far off." Noticing my doubtful look, he amended, "Well, maybe she did, but then it wasn't the whole bloody paper."
"Too true," I said, taking a sip of my pumpkin juice. "And people are so dependent on the press, they'll believe anything the papers feed them."
"Well, they haven't got much of a choice, do they?" said Draco blandly, turning the page. "Where else are they supposed to find news?"
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "That's the problem with having just one news outlet to cover an entire country. You don't know what's real and what's not because you haven't got a separate view of things."
"Blaise, I think you need to stop reading so many books on politics," Draco said bluntly. "They're addling your mind."
"For the sake of our friendship, I'll pretend you didn't say that."
Draco grinned, but chose not to comment. He continued to scan the paper in front of him, then frowned. "Huh. That's weird..."
"What's weird?" Draco passed the paper to me, indicating a short article between an interview with a man allegedly attacked by a lethifold and an ad for Flourish and Blotts.
/MINISTRY WORKER FOUND DEAD IN LONDON HOME/
I looked up sharply at Draco, who beckoned me to continue.
/Zachary Warren, an Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic, was found dead
in his London flat yesterday afternoon. Colleagues had gone there to check up
on Warren after he'd missed work that day. They found the home in shambles
and Warren dead.
/"It wasn't pretty," one said. "Looked like he'd let a dragon loose in there. He
wasn't in much better shape, mind, and it's not a sight I'll soon forget."
/Many speculate Warren's death was the work of vigilantes who Warren may
have been trackingdown. When asked if this was plausible, Michael Franks,
Head of the Department of Mysteries, angrily replied, "I can't say either way
if he was working on that or not, nor can I comment on who may have been
behind this. This is the Department of Mysteries, after all, and we can't go
spouting our projects to every nosy reporter who comes along."
/If it is found that vigilantes are indeed at fault, this will be the third attack in six
weeks. This reporter sincerely hopes that those responsible will be found before
any more tragic deaths occur./
"I take it this wasn't Death Eaters," I said, letting the paper fall to the table.
Draco shook his head, looking troubled. "Father would have told me if something like this was happening. Besides, it sounds a bit messy to be them, don't you think?"
"Yeah, it does," I said distractedly, skimming over the article again. Zack Warren... where had I heard that name before?
*******
"Why do they insist on putting us with the Gryffindors all the time?" Draco complained as we joined the other Slytherins outside the Potions classroom. "They do know it's a disaster waiting to happen, right?"
"I suppose they're trying to improve Gryffindor-Slytherin relations," I mused. "Besides, if it weren't for people like you, the situation wouldn't be nearly as volatile."
"If they weren't all arrogant gits, I wouldn't be /forced/ to bother them," Draco said, playing the part of the unaccredited martyr. "Imagine how big their heads would get if I wasn't here. It's my /duty/ to keep their egos in check."
The other Slytherins, who had been listening in on the conversation, burst out laughing. It was at this point that the Gryffindors arrived, with Potter and his sidekicks bringing up the rear. Never one to miss the opportunity to harass the Boy-Who-Refused-to-Die, Draco called out, "Back again, Potter? Here I thought you'd be too /traumatized/ from last year to return."
The response was instantaneous. Weasley immediately seemed to develop a bad sunburn over the course of three-point-four seconds, Granger directed her most deadly glare at Draco (which, I might add, wasn't nearly as potent as Pansy's), and Potter assumed a very unflattering scowl.
"I'm surprised /you're/ here, Malfoy," Potter spat. "I thought you'd be off torturing Muggles with your father."
Draco's eyes narrowed, but then he smiled coolly. "Why would I do that when it's /so/ much more fun torturing /you/?" The Slytherins sniggered behind him.
"Sod off, Malfoy," Weasley growled.
"Language, Weasley," Draco chided, smirking. "/Entirely/ inappropriate. I should take points for that, you know."
"And /I/ should take points from you for being an obnoxious prat," Granger said angrily.
"Still can't control that temper, I see," I said lightly, unable to resist. "I don't see /how/ you ever got to be a prefect when you snap at people for no reason."
"And /you/," Granger snapped, rounding on me and earning surprised stares from Potter and Weasley. "You're just as bad as he is!"
"Why Granger, I'm flattered."
If looks could kill, I'd be dead a hundred times over. "I ought to--"
"Yes, you ought to," I said silkily. "But you're not going to, are you, Granger?"
For a moment I thought she might slap me--the incident with Draco in third year was legendary--but she simply growled, "Don't /presume/--"
"Is there a problem here?" I turned to Snape, who was watching the exchange with a curious expression.
"Of course not, Professor," Draco said in a not-very-innocent tone. "We were just welcoming back our classmates."
"Indeed," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, please refrain from blocking my doorway as you do so. The bell is about to ring and I do not believe you want to be late for my class."
Potter and his friends were limited to trying to kill us with death glares as the students filed into the classroom and rushed to their seats to avoid incurring Snape's wrath.
"You know," I said quietly as Draco and I claimed a desk near the front, "I think I understand why you like taunting them so much, now. It's just so /easy/."
Draco clapped a hand to my shoulder and grinned. "I'm glad you've finally seen the light, my friend."
We turned our attention to the front of the room, where Snape was explaining Engorgement Draughts and what they're good for.
Professor Snape is one of those teachers that has very few fans, if any. Strict, irritable, and biased to a fault, he's earned the hatred and malice of almost the entire student body. Even the Slytherins know not to screw around with him, as he is a force to be reckoned with.
Once Snape had detailed how he would personally see to the expulsion of anyone who blew up his classroom, we undertook the task of brewing our own Engorgement Draughts. This was unusually easy, but since my regular partner was only slightly more intelligent than a dust bunny, it wasn't that surprising. I must say, it was a bit distracting to have half a dozen people shooting glares at Draco and me (curiously, many of the Gryffs didn't seem to care that we had insulted their poster boy), but it wasn't unmanageable. You have to get used to these things when you're a Slytherin.
Class was disrupted half-way through by an ominous hissing from Longbottom's cauldron, from which green smoke was billowing and rapidly spreading across the ceiling. Nearby students rushed to get out of range in case it exploded, or perhaps it was because Snape was approaching, looking rather unstable.
"Did you lose what little brains you possessed over the summer, Longbottom?!" Snape said acidly. "Did I or did I not tell you to stir in the moonlilies /before/ adding the beetle eyes?"
Ignoring a cringing Longbottom and several students choking on the smoke, Snape reached into his pocket, pulled out a small spongy-looking item, and tossed it into the offending cauldron. There was a loud crack and a puff of smoke, then the air cleared to reveal a watery, acid-orange liquid that was fizzing slightly.
"That can't be good for Longbottom's grade," I muttered, watching as Snape turned to the Gryffindor, who looked as though he was about to be torn to pieces by a pack of rabid wolves.
Draco snickered.
*******
Longbottom got off easy, considering that Snape seemed intent on making him (and the rest of the Gryffindors, for that matter) fail miserably. He only lost twenty points, bringing the grand total for the period to fifty. We Slytherins, of course, gained a few, even though most of us hardly did a thing. That's the great thing about being in Snape's House; you're pretty much guaranteed to pass his class, even when you're abysmal at it, and you'll probably even gain some points.
The day progressed rather dully after that, the only high point being in Charms, when the raven Goyle was supposed to make sing suddenly and inexplicably began to swell. It had grown to the size of a retriever by the time Flitwick finally noticed and put it right.
I was more than happy when the last bell rang, signaling the end of classes. Only one day to go 'til the weekend. Unfortunately, the teachers also seemed to be thinking along those lines, except while students see weekends as time off, teachers see them as an opportunity to pile as much homework as humanly possible onto their classes.
Thus, even though it was Thursday evening, which is so close to the weekend you can almost taste it, I was back in the library with a grumbling Draco.
"Is there a point to giving us so much homework?" Draco asked peevishly as he attempted to do his Arithmancy. "I mean, we'd learn just as much with half the amount they give us."
"I suspect they're trying to turn our brains to useless mush," I said, tapping the end of my quill to my forehead as I tried to think of how to start my essay for McGonagall ("Explain, with examples, how partial to complete transfigurations are useful in everyday life."). "They're succeeding quite nicely in my case. I'm drawing a complete blank here."
"That's because you're trying too hard," Draco said matter-of-factly, reaching over and swiping my quill. He grabbed my parchment as well and scribbled a bit on it, then pushed the lot back to me.
"'Partial to complete transfigurations are useful because'..." I read, then gave Draco a scathing glare. "What the hell is this?"
Draco grinned. "It's the beginning for your essay. Now you can stop wracking your brains and actually get something done."
"You've got to be kidding me," I said indignantly. "You just switched the assignment into the topic sentence!"
"So?"
"It's the most boring and unimaginative thing you could possibly do!"
"I repeat, 'so?'"
I stared at him for a moment, at a complete loss. "Honestly, I thought Slytherins were supposed to be ambitious. How did you ever get in?"
"Hey, I'm ambitious," Draco said, not offended in the least. "I intend to be the world's best professional slacker."
I raised an eyebrow. "How is that even remotely ambitious?"
Draco gave me a pitying look. "You can't possibly understand how hard it is to slack off, Blaise," he explained, as if speaking to a small child. "You have to make people think you're busy, when in reality you're not accomplishing anything at all."
"Oh, you mean what you do every day in class."
My friend nodded. "Yes, but on a much larger scale. I have to perfect my art before we graduate so I can continue once we have actual jobs."
"Right," I said, scratching out the opening to my essay and replacing it with something more original. "Good luck on that. I, however, will be making an actual effort on my homework so I can get something resembling an interesting job."
Draco rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless."
*******
A/N: Wow, that was kind of a weird chapter, huh? Hopefully all of you begging for Slytherin-Gryffindor action will be happy with this, though there should be more in the next chapter (unless I get really, really long- winded).
Next chapter: Magical creatures. *gasp* More Gryffindors? Possible discussions on family relations.
Gkey: I agree that Pansy is very hateable. If I had my way, she'd be packed in a crate bound for the North Pole. Anyway, I'm glad you liked the chapter and Ryan. The main reason Draco even speaks to him is because Blaise thinks he's funny. Draco may be Slytherin to the extreme, but he will make reasonable concessions for his friends.
JeanB: I agree, the book was pretty dark, but it made me love it more. :-D I hope we won't have to wait so long for HP6, but I won't mind if it's as good as this one. I'm glad you liked Hermione in here, and the Herbology class. I wasn't sure how that would come off, but it just seemed /wrong/ if I took those scenes out. Have no fear, my plot bunnies are running rampant with ideas for things to happen later, though I really don't know how many I'll actually use.
stubbornarse: Thanks for putting me on your favorites. It does an author good to know people like their story that much. Thanks again for reviewing!
Porphyrophobic Grape: Yeah, I thought Harry was kind of mood-swingy too, but I suppose if I was stuck with people I hated for 3 months with no information about a risen dark lord, it would get to me too. But hey, it's funny when he yells at people. Anywhoo, I'm glad you like how this is going (though WHERE it's going is a mystery... dun duh DUNN!) and thanks for reviewing.
Faxton: The need to get back to HP5 is perfectly understandable, especially considering that I'm nowhere near as good an author as J.K. Rowling. I'm just glad you took time to check if I'd updated or not. I don't think I'd have been able to pry myself away for very long if it was me.
meishame: Wow, that was a long review. Lessee, five words maybe? ;-) Still, thanks for reviewing. It means a lot to me.
Again, I can't thank you enough for reviewing. You are the reason I stay up 'til four in the morning writing this thing, and you keep my plot bunnies alive and well. Thank you!
"You know, it ought to be a crime to be so damn cheerful this early in the morning," Draco grumbled, watching a group of Hufflepuff girls walk by giggling.
"Maybe we should write the Minister, have him make it a law," I said boredly, watching as Draco repeatedly opened and closed his right hand, as if testing it. "How's your hand?"
"Not perfect, but it'll do," he said. "I reckon I can still get Snape to think I'm disabled enough to warrant a partner-switch, though."
I laughed. "Draco, even if he doesn't believe you, he'll still let you switch. You're his favorite, remember?"
"Am not," Draco said indignantly. "If I was he wouldn't keep sticking me with Goyle." The boy in question looked up from his eggs, but quickly returned to them when it became evident he wasn't about to receive an order.
"Honestly, Draco," I said, shaking my head, "You really are thick sometimes."
Draco was about to argue when the post arrived. There were a few moments of organized chaos as hundreds of owls dropped packages and letters to their rightful owners, then left as quickly and silently as they'd arrived.
I was pleasantly surprised when a long envelope fell onto my sausage, addressed to me in my grandmother's elegant script. I skimmed over the letter, which contained the customary warnings to stay out of trouble (even though it's entirely not my fault that I'm one of Trouble's favorite people and he seems to have taken up permanent residence in my dorm) and queries as to how I was getting on. Gran also advised me not to bother Fae (as if I needed her to tell me that). I smiled slightly, refolding the letter and slipping it into my pocket. Really, that woman worried too much.
For lack of anything else to do, I turned to Draco, who had just unfurled a copy of the /Daily Prophet/. "Anything interesting?"
Draco shook his head. "Just the usual rubbish. Vigilantes and coups to overthrow the government. I don't think even Rita Skeeter wrote anything /that/ far off." Noticing my doubtful look, he amended, "Well, maybe she did, but then it wasn't the whole bloody paper."
"Too true," I said, taking a sip of my pumpkin juice. "And people are so dependent on the press, they'll believe anything the papers feed them."
"Well, they haven't got much of a choice, do they?" said Draco blandly, turning the page. "Where else are they supposed to find news?"
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "That's the problem with having just one news outlet to cover an entire country. You don't know what's real and what's not because you haven't got a separate view of things."
"Blaise, I think you need to stop reading so many books on politics," Draco said bluntly. "They're addling your mind."
"For the sake of our friendship, I'll pretend you didn't say that."
Draco grinned, but chose not to comment. He continued to scan the paper in front of him, then frowned. "Huh. That's weird..."
"What's weird?" Draco passed the paper to me, indicating a short article between an interview with a man allegedly attacked by a lethifold and an ad for Flourish and Blotts.
/MINISTRY WORKER FOUND DEAD IN LONDON HOME/
I looked up sharply at Draco, who beckoned me to continue.
/Zachary Warren, an Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic, was found dead
in his London flat yesterday afternoon. Colleagues had gone there to check up
on Warren after he'd missed work that day. They found the home in shambles
and Warren dead.
/"It wasn't pretty," one said. "Looked like he'd let a dragon loose in there. He
wasn't in much better shape, mind, and it's not a sight I'll soon forget."
/Many speculate Warren's death was the work of vigilantes who Warren may
have been trackingdown. When asked if this was plausible, Michael Franks,
Head of the Department of Mysteries, angrily replied, "I can't say either way
if he was working on that or not, nor can I comment on who may have been
behind this. This is the Department of Mysteries, after all, and we can't go
spouting our projects to every nosy reporter who comes along."
/If it is found that vigilantes are indeed at fault, this will be the third attack in six
weeks. This reporter sincerely hopes that those responsible will be found before
any more tragic deaths occur./
"I take it this wasn't Death Eaters," I said, letting the paper fall to the table.
Draco shook his head, looking troubled. "Father would have told me if something like this was happening. Besides, it sounds a bit messy to be them, don't you think?"
"Yeah, it does," I said distractedly, skimming over the article again. Zack Warren... where had I heard that name before?
*******
"Why do they insist on putting us with the Gryffindors all the time?" Draco complained as we joined the other Slytherins outside the Potions classroom. "They do know it's a disaster waiting to happen, right?"
"I suppose they're trying to improve Gryffindor-Slytherin relations," I mused. "Besides, if it weren't for people like you, the situation wouldn't be nearly as volatile."
"If they weren't all arrogant gits, I wouldn't be /forced/ to bother them," Draco said, playing the part of the unaccredited martyr. "Imagine how big their heads would get if I wasn't here. It's my /duty/ to keep their egos in check."
The other Slytherins, who had been listening in on the conversation, burst out laughing. It was at this point that the Gryffindors arrived, with Potter and his sidekicks bringing up the rear. Never one to miss the opportunity to harass the Boy-Who-Refused-to-Die, Draco called out, "Back again, Potter? Here I thought you'd be too /traumatized/ from last year to return."
The response was instantaneous. Weasley immediately seemed to develop a bad sunburn over the course of three-point-four seconds, Granger directed her most deadly glare at Draco (which, I might add, wasn't nearly as potent as Pansy's), and Potter assumed a very unflattering scowl.
"I'm surprised /you're/ here, Malfoy," Potter spat. "I thought you'd be off torturing Muggles with your father."
Draco's eyes narrowed, but then he smiled coolly. "Why would I do that when it's /so/ much more fun torturing /you/?" The Slytherins sniggered behind him.
"Sod off, Malfoy," Weasley growled.
"Language, Weasley," Draco chided, smirking. "/Entirely/ inappropriate. I should take points for that, you know."
"And /I/ should take points from you for being an obnoxious prat," Granger said angrily.
"Still can't control that temper, I see," I said lightly, unable to resist. "I don't see /how/ you ever got to be a prefect when you snap at people for no reason."
"And /you/," Granger snapped, rounding on me and earning surprised stares from Potter and Weasley. "You're just as bad as he is!"
"Why Granger, I'm flattered."
If looks could kill, I'd be dead a hundred times over. "I ought to--"
"Yes, you ought to," I said silkily. "But you're not going to, are you, Granger?"
For a moment I thought she might slap me--the incident with Draco in third year was legendary--but she simply growled, "Don't /presume/--"
"Is there a problem here?" I turned to Snape, who was watching the exchange with a curious expression.
"Of course not, Professor," Draco said in a not-very-innocent tone. "We were just welcoming back our classmates."
"Indeed," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, please refrain from blocking my doorway as you do so. The bell is about to ring and I do not believe you want to be late for my class."
Potter and his friends were limited to trying to kill us with death glares as the students filed into the classroom and rushed to their seats to avoid incurring Snape's wrath.
"You know," I said quietly as Draco and I claimed a desk near the front, "I think I understand why you like taunting them so much, now. It's just so /easy/."
Draco clapped a hand to my shoulder and grinned. "I'm glad you've finally seen the light, my friend."
We turned our attention to the front of the room, where Snape was explaining Engorgement Draughts and what they're good for.
Professor Snape is one of those teachers that has very few fans, if any. Strict, irritable, and biased to a fault, he's earned the hatred and malice of almost the entire student body. Even the Slytherins know not to screw around with him, as he is a force to be reckoned with.
Once Snape had detailed how he would personally see to the expulsion of anyone who blew up his classroom, we undertook the task of brewing our own Engorgement Draughts. This was unusually easy, but since my regular partner was only slightly more intelligent than a dust bunny, it wasn't that surprising. I must say, it was a bit distracting to have half a dozen people shooting glares at Draco and me (curiously, many of the Gryffs didn't seem to care that we had insulted their poster boy), but it wasn't unmanageable. You have to get used to these things when you're a Slytherin.
Class was disrupted half-way through by an ominous hissing from Longbottom's cauldron, from which green smoke was billowing and rapidly spreading across the ceiling. Nearby students rushed to get out of range in case it exploded, or perhaps it was because Snape was approaching, looking rather unstable.
"Did you lose what little brains you possessed over the summer, Longbottom?!" Snape said acidly. "Did I or did I not tell you to stir in the moonlilies /before/ adding the beetle eyes?"
Ignoring a cringing Longbottom and several students choking on the smoke, Snape reached into his pocket, pulled out a small spongy-looking item, and tossed it into the offending cauldron. There was a loud crack and a puff of smoke, then the air cleared to reveal a watery, acid-orange liquid that was fizzing slightly.
"That can't be good for Longbottom's grade," I muttered, watching as Snape turned to the Gryffindor, who looked as though he was about to be torn to pieces by a pack of rabid wolves.
Draco snickered.
*******
Longbottom got off easy, considering that Snape seemed intent on making him (and the rest of the Gryffindors, for that matter) fail miserably. He only lost twenty points, bringing the grand total for the period to fifty. We Slytherins, of course, gained a few, even though most of us hardly did a thing. That's the great thing about being in Snape's House; you're pretty much guaranteed to pass his class, even when you're abysmal at it, and you'll probably even gain some points.
The day progressed rather dully after that, the only high point being in Charms, when the raven Goyle was supposed to make sing suddenly and inexplicably began to swell. It had grown to the size of a retriever by the time Flitwick finally noticed and put it right.
I was more than happy when the last bell rang, signaling the end of classes. Only one day to go 'til the weekend. Unfortunately, the teachers also seemed to be thinking along those lines, except while students see weekends as time off, teachers see them as an opportunity to pile as much homework as humanly possible onto their classes.
Thus, even though it was Thursday evening, which is so close to the weekend you can almost taste it, I was back in the library with a grumbling Draco.
"Is there a point to giving us so much homework?" Draco asked peevishly as he attempted to do his Arithmancy. "I mean, we'd learn just as much with half the amount they give us."
"I suspect they're trying to turn our brains to useless mush," I said, tapping the end of my quill to my forehead as I tried to think of how to start my essay for McGonagall ("Explain, with examples, how partial to complete transfigurations are useful in everyday life."). "They're succeeding quite nicely in my case. I'm drawing a complete blank here."
"That's because you're trying too hard," Draco said matter-of-factly, reaching over and swiping my quill. He grabbed my parchment as well and scribbled a bit on it, then pushed the lot back to me.
"'Partial to complete transfigurations are useful because'..." I read, then gave Draco a scathing glare. "What the hell is this?"
Draco grinned. "It's the beginning for your essay. Now you can stop wracking your brains and actually get something done."
"You've got to be kidding me," I said indignantly. "You just switched the assignment into the topic sentence!"
"So?"
"It's the most boring and unimaginative thing you could possibly do!"
"I repeat, 'so?'"
I stared at him for a moment, at a complete loss. "Honestly, I thought Slytherins were supposed to be ambitious. How did you ever get in?"
"Hey, I'm ambitious," Draco said, not offended in the least. "I intend to be the world's best professional slacker."
I raised an eyebrow. "How is that even remotely ambitious?"
Draco gave me a pitying look. "You can't possibly understand how hard it is to slack off, Blaise," he explained, as if speaking to a small child. "You have to make people think you're busy, when in reality you're not accomplishing anything at all."
"Oh, you mean what you do every day in class."
My friend nodded. "Yes, but on a much larger scale. I have to perfect my art before we graduate so I can continue once we have actual jobs."
"Right," I said, scratching out the opening to my essay and replacing it with something more original. "Good luck on that. I, however, will be making an actual effort on my homework so I can get something resembling an interesting job."
Draco rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless."
*******
A/N: Wow, that was kind of a weird chapter, huh? Hopefully all of you begging for Slytherin-Gryffindor action will be happy with this, though there should be more in the next chapter (unless I get really, really long- winded).
Next chapter: Magical creatures. *gasp* More Gryffindors? Possible discussions on family relations.
Gkey: I agree that Pansy is very hateable. If I had my way, she'd be packed in a crate bound for the North Pole. Anyway, I'm glad you liked the chapter and Ryan. The main reason Draco even speaks to him is because Blaise thinks he's funny. Draco may be Slytherin to the extreme, but he will make reasonable concessions for his friends.
JeanB: I agree, the book was pretty dark, but it made me love it more. :-D I hope we won't have to wait so long for HP6, but I won't mind if it's as good as this one. I'm glad you liked Hermione in here, and the Herbology class. I wasn't sure how that would come off, but it just seemed /wrong/ if I took those scenes out. Have no fear, my plot bunnies are running rampant with ideas for things to happen later, though I really don't know how many I'll actually use.
stubbornarse: Thanks for putting me on your favorites. It does an author good to know people like their story that much. Thanks again for reviewing!
Porphyrophobic Grape: Yeah, I thought Harry was kind of mood-swingy too, but I suppose if I was stuck with people I hated for 3 months with no information about a risen dark lord, it would get to me too. But hey, it's funny when he yells at people. Anywhoo, I'm glad you like how this is going (though WHERE it's going is a mystery... dun duh DUNN!) and thanks for reviewing.
Faxton: The need to get back to HP5 is perfectly understandable, especially considering that I'm nowhere near as good an author as J.K. Rowling. I'm just glad you took time to check if I'd updated or not. I don't think I'd have been able to pry myself away for very long if it was me.
meishame: Wow, that was a long review. Lessee, five words maybe? ;-) Still, thanks for reviewing. It means a lot to me.
Again, I can't thank you enough for reviewing. You are the reason I stay up 'til four in the morning writing this thing, and you keep my plot bunnies alive and well. Thank you!