First of all, the idea for this fic came to me about a month before Book 5 was released, but I didn't start writing it until after I had read the latest installment and made slight changes to the plot of my story based on what I had read.
Secondly, the fact that I use French is not vital to the story; it could have been any language, but I picked French because I had the most experience with its grammar, usage, etc. I sincerely hope that I'm not insulting and French readers out there (as my teacher is so sure I will be doing); if anyone spots any glaring mistakes with the French, by all means, send me a note! I don't want to look stupid.
Thirdly, I estimate that this part of my fic will be anywhere from 10-20 chapters, possibly longer in the second book. I don't have any strict outline, but I do know the main events that will take place.
Also, so far I have not felt the need to put any French/English translations when posting my chapters; I feel that the minimal foreign language I use is easy to figure out, as words such as "édification" are easily recognizable cognates. If you would like me to put the translations after each chapter, I will be happy to do so. No one has asked for them yet, so I haven't bothered.
And finally, thanks to my beta Corazon for helping with this chapter. (I didn't actually reread it after I typed it, and there were tons of stupid mistakes.) Without further yapping, here's the next chappie!
Chapter 4: Apprendre
Hermione left the Hospital Wing a week later, still a but shaky, but otherwise fully healed. Within an hour of being back in the mainstream school, she sorely wished that she was still lying in bed, completely cut off from the rest of the other students again. The school itself was rather subdued; no one had entirely recovered from the attack. The teachers were also acting oddly; it was rumored that even mild little Professor Flitwick had put a student in detention for dropping his quill in class. The student, with the exception of the poor boy forced to bear Flitwick's wrath, were considerably quieter than Hermione had ever seen them. Just in the journey from the Hospital Wing to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione was immediately reminded of the time during her second year when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Except this time, she noted with a mental sigh, they're all acting like I'm the freak, not Harry. Of course, they do have a reason to be wary.
Indeed, during her long stay under Madam Pomfrey's care, Hermione had had plenty of time to think about her current predicament. Ever since she had read the excerpt from Dumbledore's book, she had found it almost impossible to sleep at night. Instead, she had lain awake staring into the darkness, trying to make sense of her life; often she wound up with massive headaches when she pondered her questions too deeply.
Questions: her brain was full of them, and everyday she thought of fifty more. When she had tried to go back to the page in the Headmaster's book, she found all the sheets completely blank, their aged yellow hues revealing no written words at all. Hermione thought this extremely irritating; her only source of information, meager though it was, had gone. Dumbledore himself had not come to see her, which also irked Hermione greatly. In fact, not one person had come to see her since the appearance of the book; by the end of the week, Hermione was cringing openly when she recalled her snaps at Harry and Ron.
The actual reason that her friends were so upset was a topic that Hermione avoided thinking about; every time she remembered that Ginny was dead because of her rush to save Harry, something in her stomach pushed to male a guest appearance. But she couldn't control her dreams. The few hours of sleep she took when utterly exhausted and unable to stay awake for a moment longer were always filled with the same dream of the Death Eaters, Ginny, Snape, and Draco Malfoy. The dream came so regularly that Hermione took to dumping the bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion Madam Ponfrey left at her bedside in the toilet; apparently, the potion no longer had any effect on her traumatized mind, and Hermione found it easier to just avoid sleep completely than to thwart the dream in her potion-induced slumber.
Running on practically no sleep made Hermione jumpy and nervous; sometimes in the dead of night she would lie on her back and her pulse would begin to race in fear; Hermione was more terrified of performing the same, seemingly Dark form of magic that she had done in the Great Hall. More than that, she was afraid of killing another classmate. Although she had not fully convinced herself that she was solely guilty for Ginny's death, she had not been able to shake off the perpetual feeling of having betrayed her friend. The lack of contact with the rest of the school only multiplied this fear; she figured that Dumbledore had forbidden anyone from seeing her until she was well, lest she kill them, too. Thus, she took all her medicinal potions (except for the Dreamless Sleep) without objection, having convinced herself through the ongoing solitude that once she returned back to classes she would be fully healed.
When Madam Pomfrey had pronounced her cured, Hermione could not wait to get back to her studies. Aside from her fears, the tedium of staring at the same four white walls day in and day out had made her thirsty for intellectual stimulation. But her first class back with her peers quickly quenched that longing.
It is so typical, Hermione thought darkly, that I have to walk back into the middle of a Potions class. She stood in front of the dark dungeon door for a full minute before she steeled herself and pushed it open to reveal her busy class.
At first, no one noticed the small form illuminated against the door frame by the dim light of the corridor, but heads turned as Hermione, keeping her eyes trained on the worn stone floor, crossed the room and took her usual seat across from Malfoy. For five seconds there was absolute silence, then Snape, who had been eying Hermione like everyone else, snapped, "Get back to work!"
Hermione unpacked her cauldron and ingredients, never looking up or showing any sign that she realized she was in a room full of gaping people. As she commenced to chop her knotgrass, the students once again returned to their projects, only to glance at her out of the corners of their eyes every few seconds and whisper behind their hands to their neighbors.
Malfoy, on the other hand, felt no need to keep his thoughts private; as Hermione began searching for a quill in her bag, he leaned over, sneered, and said in a mock whisper, "Pity you couldn't save your friend... Oh yes, you did manage to save one of them, but the other, well, I guess Potter was a better catch than Weasley, although I suppose a Mudblood like you would actually go for trash like Potter... "
Hermione was almost awed by how quickly her anger surfaced. As Malfoy continued to put her down, her vision literally went red. She tried unsuccessfully to calm her racing heart, but as she glanced at Malfoy and saw his sneer, his bigotry presented in such a plain fashion, something inside snapped. Hermione looked at Malfoy's cauldron, where purple fumes were wafting from its surface, and, to Hermione's anger-impaired brain, curling like hands in the air, beckoning her to take action....
A second later, the potion had exploded all over its maker. Malfoy screamed in agony as the boiling liquid made contact with his skin. Hermione blinked once. The commotion of the room became distant and muted, and Hermione's feet took control of her body over her stunned mind. The last thing she remembered clearly was Snape's deep voice booming over the hubbub in the dungeon, shouting for order, contrasting sharply with Malfoy's high-pitched yells.
Without quite knowing how she got there, Hermione found herself walking around the Entrance Hall like a caged animal in the zoo. She paced in circles for another minute, when a quiet voice calling her name from the stairwell caused her head to snap up.
Professor Dumbledore stood halfway up the staircase, leaning on the banister and watching her with a very serious expression in his eyes. "Miss Granger," he said in that same quiet voice, "would you care to join me for a cup of tea?"
Hermione heard his offer but did not process it for a long moment. Snapping out of her trance-like state, she blushed and hastily nodded her head. Dumbledore beckoned for her to follow him up the stairs. Feeling slightly perplexed and more than a little anxious, Hermione walked behind the Headmaster with her heart beating extremely fast; finally, she thought with a bit of a mental scream, I'm going to get some answers.
* * *
Dumbledore busied himself with preparing the tea, and Hermione settled her now-shaking body into one of the chairs by Dumbledore's desk. She closed her eyes and tried to take in deep, calming breaths, but her lungs didn't seem to be obeying her and every intake of air was alarmingly shallow and quivering. With her eyes closed, she didn't see the amused glance Dumbledore sent her way as he conjured a tray to carry the refreshments. "Really, Miss Granger, " he said in a soothing voice, "you have nothing to be afraid of. I simply want to talk with you."
Hermione opened her eyes and looked at the Headmaster; his back was turned and she couldn't see his expression, yet she sensed that he was telling the truth. Allowing herself to relax slightly against she back of the chair, she surveyed the office as Dumbledore poured boiling water into the cups. Not much had changed since the last time she had been there in her fifth year. All the paintings were watching her with mildly pleasant expressions, although the man she recognized as Phineas Nigellus was scowling at her rather fiercely. Hermione hastily looked away from the painful reminder; another death, she thought morosely, and Sirius was just trying to save Harry, like me. Only he didn't make it. Her chin shuddered dangerously as she remembered Black's final moments, or at least what she could picture from Harry's belated description of his fight with the Death Eaters in the Ministry; as she had been unconscious when Sirius had died, she could only guess as to the horror Harry had faced.
Dumbledore, finished making the tea, turned around to face Hermione for the first time since they had arrived in his office, causing Hermione to immediately feel like a bug under a microscope. The Headmaster had set his light blue gaze upon Hermione's apprehensive face, and his oddly pensive expression was making her squirm. She had never felt this way before; it seemed like the Headmaster was reading her thoughts. Well, duh, she thought sarcastically, he's a Legilemens, and you're probably broadcasting this idiocy to him like some sort of mental weakling. As the harsh words popped into her brain, the Headmaster glanced away and asked quite calmly, "Sugar, my dear?"
Hermione almost cried out with the absurdity of his statement, but remembering that getting hysterical over Dumbledore's geniality would not help the situation, she bit her lip and nodded once more. Dumbledore handed her a cut of steaming tea, and Hermione wrapped her shaking hands around the hot china, grateful for something to occupy them.
Dumbledore opened his mouth to begin the conversation, and before Hermione knew it, a string of words had popped out of her mouth: "Sir, do you usually read minds to get information?" Horrified at asking such a rude question in front of Dumbledore, of all people, she looked at the floor and blushed furiously.
The headmaster only chuckled. "No, my dear, I was simply trying to find out why you are so very nervous. We have very serious things to discuss, things involving your future at this school."
Hermione's teacup shook dangerously. Surely, surely he wasn't going to expel her for killing Ginny! She would have to explain, and do so calmly, but her voice caught in her throat and she could do nothing but trace the grain of the wood on Dumbledore's desk with her eyes.
Dumbledore held up a hand. "First of all, I want you to relax, because you must be able to think clearly." Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to look up; at the commanding expression in Dumbledore's eyes, she nodded, finally ready.
Dumbledore reached under his desk and pulled out a large book, which Hermione recognized as the very one he had left at her bedside. "I trust you read the excerpt?" he inquired. "Yes, sir," Hermione said.
"Then I suppose I should start there. Simply put, my dear, you are an éclairée. I felt it would be wrong to withhold this information from you as you lay secluded in the Hospital Wing, for I know that sometimes suspense is too much to bear, especially after dealing with an event of the magnitude with which you were forced to face."
Hermione nodded; she knew all of this already. What she really wanted was to discuss the contents of the book in further detail, and as she formulated an innocent way of asking in her mind, Dumbledore continued on.
"I myself have never dealt with an éclairée on a long-term basis, so I know little more than you do about the gift. But I will tell you what I do know, and we'll see if it answers some of those burning questions.
"Like the book says, édification noire is a very rare thing. Most wizards don't even know about it, and almost no research on the subject has taken place since Monsieur Rousseau's discovery. This book," he gestured to the now-open pages before him, "this book is the only documented source of édification noire I could find, and as you saw when you read it, the information is limited at best.
"Not knowing much about the subject myself, I wrote a letter to a friend while you were still incarcerated in the Hospital Wing. He wrote back promptly, and I wish to share his letter with you, because it is more informative than this old book is." Dumbledore reached into a drawer and pulled out a scroll of parchment. He unrolled it, scanned it for the part he was looking for, the said "Ah, here it is. 'If you have truly found an éclairée, and judging from our Floo conversation, you have, I suspect she will be rather tired and extremely volatile around magic for a while, at least.'" Dumbledore looked up at Hermione for confirmation. She nodded and he read on. "'I would keep her away from the other students for a few days, and I would tell her upfront that she is in for a bit of a lifestyle change.'"
Hermione's eyes spontaneously filled with tears as she heard that line. Hasn't my life changed enough over the past week? she thought angrily. Screw this édification noire, I want to be normal again!
Dumbledore surveyed Hermione over the top of the parchment. "Perhaps that is not the best way to do this," he said quietly, more to himself than for Hermione's benefit. "Well then, Miss Granger, why don't we do it your way and you can ask me questions, which I will answer as best as I can."
Hermione drew a shaky breath and said, "How can you be sure I am an éclairée? I mean," she added hastily, "Harry's done advanced magic too, and he's not one, is he?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "It is true that Mr. Potter knows some advanced charms, but there is a big difference between creating a Patronus and doing what you did."
"But that's what I don't get!" Hermione cried. "What did I do? I remember a lot of black light, if that's even such a thing, and I remember... Ginny." She shuddered.
Dumbledore put his hands to his temples and sighed. "I suspect you don't understand the power it took to do what you did. Perhaps you would like to see it from another viewpoint?" He got up and walked over to a cabinet where he carefully removed a shallow basin with runic designs engraved on its sides. "Pensieve," he said, for Hermione looked rather confused. She nodded her understanding; though she had never seen this instrument, Harry had told her what is was and how it worked. Dumbledore carried the basin to his desk and set it down. Hermione leaned forward and saw a swirling mess of some milky-white substance, but it was like nothing she had ever seen before. Neat, she thought, this stuff is thoughts? Dumbledore placed his wand to his forehead and removed a long string of the white stuff; Hermione watched in fascination as he transferred the strand of thought to the bowl, and she was startled to see her own face, white and ghostly, appear on the surface. "On the count of three, dear, stick a finger in the bowl. I'll come with you and explain as it unfolds." Hermione gulped. "One... Two.... Three!" Both she and the Headmaster dipped a finger in the Pensieve and Hermione felt a jolt as they were transported into his memories.
* * *
"You'll forgive the haze, Miss Granger, but I was rather occupied as these events were going on, " said Dumbledore from her left. Hermione looked around in wonder. She was standing behind the High Table, and Dumbledore was standing at her side, surveying the scene calmly. Hermione gasped out loud; on her other side stood a second Dumbledore, frantically giving orders to the other teachers, who were running around and shooting spells at a thick fog hovering in front of them.
With a start, Hermione realized that the fog was actually the wall of energy that had prevented the teachers from interfering in the battle. It looked remarkably benign from this side though, and Hermione figured that this was intentional, for it confused the teachers because they could not figure out what it really was. The Dumbledore on her left stated with a faint trace of disappointment, "I realize now what the spell was... clever of the Death Eaters to confuse us so... I might have been able to help had I known..." He shook his head as if to clear it, then pointed out through the wall towards a small figure dueling with two Death Eaters.
Hermione gasped again. The figure was none other than herself, and she was fighting vigilantly, when she saw herself turn and run away. Embarrassed, she looked away, but Dumbledore caught her arm and said firmly, "Sometimes the valiant gesture is best saved for when it is needed. You did nothing wrong by running away."
Hermione forced herself to look back at her memory-self. She watched solemnly as the girl in front of her disappeared from view; she now vaguely recalled trying to use the Disillusionment Charm. Suddenly, the memory-Hermione reappeared and Stunned the Death Eaters. Hermione felt a surge of pride at that. I guess running wasn't such a bad idea after all, she thought.
The feeling quickly faded, though, when Hermione watched another Death Eater sneak up behind her distant form and place a hand on her shoulder. Feeling sick, she watched her memory-self fend off the lusty Death Eater, and then run away again, also disappearing again with the use of the charm.
As her fighting body vanished, Hermione remembered how Snape, using the same charm, had prodded her to rejoin the fight. She tried to recall exactly where she had been standing, but all she knew was that is was somewhere near the closed doors. Craning her neck around Professor McGonagall, who had just rushed in front of Hermione and began shouting incantations at the wall, Hermione felt her breath hitch as she saw herself reappear, knowing what was coming and wishing she had never agreed to replay this scene, this horrible video that had started all of her problems....
Hermione watched herself turn back around to see the Death Eater cast the Killing Curse at Harry. She almost shouted out loud, then realized that she was in a memory, not the actual event. Horrified once more, she saw her feet begin to pick up an incredible pace; from this point of view, it really looked like she was flying. She watched as a dim light radiated off her body, and watched as it grew stronger as she ran towards Harry. She watched as her memory-self, now radiating full beams of pearly light, smacked into Harry and narrowly avoided being hit with Avada Kedavra herself. And she watched, utterly transfixed, as the light hit Ginny Weasley in the back, at which point she nearly started screaming out loud.
She couldn't watch; she couldn't relive it anymore. Hermione put her hand to her eyes, but no sooner had her fingers touched her face than her hands were wrenched off and her head was forced to turn back to the scene. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, "said Dumbledore's voice in her ear, "but you must see this. It is very important."
Crying softly, Hermione watched as the white light pouring off her body changed to scarlet, then, just as she had unknowingly described in Dumbledore's office, went black. The light seemed to grow like it was alive, and Hermione's head began spinning. Then, when it seemed like the black light could not swell anymore or it would swallow her memory-self whole, it exploded into thin slivers, which, seemingly guided by an outside force, shot into the stomachs of every person in the hall. A resounding BOOM echoed through the cavernous room, and the memory-girl fell to the floor. After a moment, she stirred and crawled, very clumsily and almost like she was crawling to her death, towards the still body of Ginny Weasley.
As her memory-self bent over the dead girl, the Hall began to dissolve around Hermione, and she felt a pressure under her arm; Professor Dumbledore's hand was holding her elbow, dragging her back into his office.
* * *
Neither Dumbledore nor Hermione said anything once they were back in their respective seats. Hermione sat still, tears streaming down her cheeks but not bothering to wipe them away. Dumbledore was avoiding her gaze, she figured, to give her some time to compose herself. Still sniffling, she turned her face up towards Dumbledore, and said in barely more than a whisper, "It looked different from there."
Dumbledore looked up at her and murmured, "Indeed...."
"It was, I mean, it felt much slower when it actually happened, and I don't remember all the bits about the light, I suppose I was out of it by then...." She trailed off.
Dumbledore gazed at Hermione piercingly for a long minute. Finally he said, "You asked me how I knew you were éclairée. The memory is the answer. That stuff that looked like light- it wasn't really light. Magic in its purest form resembles light to the human eye, but it also manifests itself in other ways- through the use of spells in transfigured items, in potions ingredients, etc. What was coming off your body was a very elemental form of magic, and it was only spurned by your desire to protect Harry." He paused to let the words sink in, then continued on. "I myself never realized the power that you possess- and Hermione, this power is nothing more than that- power- and it can be molded and shaped into anything. Don't let yourself think for one instant that you are turning to the Dark, because you're not. Saving Harry was the most noble thing a Gryffindor could do in a situation like that, and Ginny's death was no more your fault than it was Harry's."
Hermione remained silent for a minute before responding. "I feel so guilty though... and Harry and Ron are, er, avoiding me..." She sighed and ran her hands through her messy hair. "I didn't mean to be so harsh...."
Dumbledore interrupted. "You were sick in the Hospital Wing at the time, and Harry and Ron couldn't understand why you had forgotten about Ginny's death. I'm sure they would forgive you if they knew."
Hermione frowned. "But why was I so sick? As far as I can tell, I didn't do anything more than unconsciously perform a spell back there in the Hall...."
Dumbledore shook his head. "What you did was much more than a simple spell. Wandless magic, though useful, is very difficult to manipulate. Most wizards don't even attempt to perform spells without a wand, and you did it without even knowing it." He eyed Hermione over the desk; she was sitting still and staring out the window, a very faraway look in her eyes. "Hermione, you know what a wand is for?"
Hermione answered, still gazing out the window. "It concentrates the spell, like a laser, and enables us to direct the magic at someone or something without being affected ourselves...."
"Exactly. Magical power cannot be measured like Muggle electricity, because magic depends on intent, and vice versa. When you realized that Harry was in danger, your magical alert system immediately went into overdrive, and it began putting out massive amounts of power to help you save him. You didn't realize it at the time, of course, but you must have noticed something odd about your surroundings as you ran. Am I correct?"
Something dawned on Hermione. "Time.... I felt it slow down.... I was racing the green light from the Death Eater's wand...."
Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "Yes, I realized afterwards when I watched you in the Pensieve that something of that nature must have happened. As you saw when you visited my memory, you appeared to be running very fast from my perspective, but from yours you must have felt like things were going slower than normal." Hermione nodded. "Well then, that explains how you got to Harry so fast. But you saw the white light coming off you... what happened as you watched Ginny being hit with Avada Kedavra?"
"I.... I felt angry.... but it was angrier than I had ever felt before... and then it just seemed to grow out of control.... I couldn't control it..."
Dumbledore didn't answer right away. "I know, because when the light, er, exploded, shall we say, you fell to the floor. After I had dealt with the Stunned Death Eaters, I carried you to the Hospital Wing and checked you magical reserves.... You gave me quite a fright, my dear. I didn't know if you would make it through the next hour."
Hermione looked into Dumbledore's eyes, shocked, and then said, "But sir, if I was so close to death, how did I manage to recover? Harry and Ron- when they were still speaking to me- said I'd only been up there for a little while, and I don't remember anything else about the time immediately after the attack-"
Dumbledore looked faintly amused. "Well, of course you don't. Believe me, you had us worried like I'd never been before. Even Professor Snape didn't know how to cure you, or bring you out of the coma-"
Hermione interrupted this time. "Snape tried to save me?" she asked, incredulous.
"Professor Snape, Hermione, and yes, he was the one who made the potion which revived you, and he also brewed the other medicinal potions that kept you alive those first few days."
Hermione digested this information with a fair degree of apprehension. Snape, the old bat, helped keep her alive? It didn't seem possible. She exhaled in resignation, then turned back to Dumbledore. "Professor, what does this all mean? I... I don't have to go away, do I?"
A long pause followed that question. Dumbledore gazed into the firs and seemed to phrase his sentence very carefully. "Hermione, now that your power is exposed, I fear that we must make the most of it." Hermione began to protest, but Dumbledore gave her a look and she quieted. "As I was saying, it would be a crime not to train you properly, and there are... other circumstances to consider...." He sighed. "I will not make the decision for you; I only ask that you hear me out before you make up your mind."
"Lord Voldemort has been gaining strength over the past year, regardless of what the Ministry will tell you. The Death Eaters who attacked Hogwarts... They were new recruits. He is gaining followers, Hermione, and our side has not made any progression in the fight. You read the description in the book. " He pointed to the old tome, still sitting open on the desk. "What did the last line say?" He answered the question himself. "'An éclairé(e) will make a powerful foe to a Dark wizard."
A very pregnant pause hung after this sentence. Hermione whispered, "So... So I have to face the Dark Lord?"
Dumbledore hurriedly shook his head. "No, no, that job rests with Mr. Potter. Er...." He looked uncomfortable at Hermione's confused expression; apparently, Harry had not told her of the prophecy. He gave her a highly edited version of his and Harry's conversation at the end of last year, then continued with his original point. "Although it is Harry's job to defeat Voldemort, that's not to say he can do it alone. I know that he has always managed to avoid being killed, but don't think for one second that he will be able to defeat all the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord single-handedly. No, if it comes down to the Final Battle, Harry will need support....
"Miss Granger, if I could, I would train you myself. However, I am not éclairé and I would have no idea how to best harness your strengths. The friend I told you about- Mr. Nye is his name- is the only person I can think of who will be able to help us. Please consider it, Miss Granger..." he asked pleadingly.
"Consider what?" Hermione asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
"Mr. Nye works at a school in France- perhaps you've heard of Barnabie Institute? No? Well, it is a very famous, prestigious school. They only teach the very best at Barnabie. I think that it would be in your best interest to go there for a while and learn to use your power. We may have need of it before long."
"But what would I be doing there?"
"I'm not entirely sure, as their curriculum is not made public. I suspect Mr. Nye would teach you himself...." He paused, as if hesitating to reveal something important, then, throwing caution to the wind, said, "Mr. Nye is éclairé also. He would teach you. You would be under his expertise which, unfortunately for us, is far superior to my own. I'm sorry, Hermione, I don't want you to go, but I think it would be best." Dumbledore averted his eyes.
Hermione remained surprisingly calm. "What would I have to do in the meantime?"
Dumbledore sighed. "They do not accept transfer students, especially so late in your educational career. You would have to take your NEWTs this year and score quite high to even be considered for admission a year early. But Miss Granger, I have no doubt that you could do that. I know you're far more advanced than you let on."
"Sir, I'll need to think it over first.... I'm not sure if I want to go quite yet...."
Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. I've invited Mr. Nye to see you tomorrow; perhaps he will provide some more answers for both of us. In the meantime, I ask you not to discuss this with anyone."
Hermione agreed, then, noticing how late it had gotten, quickly bade the Headmaster good-bye and walked back to Gryffindor Tower, feeling like she had not gotten the answers she had craved, but hopeful that tomorrow would bring more information.
A/N: Phew, that was my longest chapter yet! A quick note- I read somewhere that Rowling herself said that there were no Wizarding colleges, but hey, this is my story, and if I want Hermione to continue her education, I'm sure J.K. won't care. Besides, I think Barnabie will be a bit different from the typical Wizarding college in most other fics. Not that my ideas are anywhere near the level of greatness of some fics, but oh well. By the way, "Barnabie" was originally spelled "Barnaby," but I figured that because the school is in France, I might as well give it a sort-of-French name. Stay tuned- the next chapter will be up soon! Also, I love getting reviews; hell, I'd even take a flame.