The Snake-who-lived

"Get to that snitch before Malfoy, or die trying, Harry because we've to win today, we've got to."

"So no pressure, Harry."

Oliver Wood, Fred Weasley, From VMorticia's edition of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, page 126

Chapter 9: Bloody Bludger

His life was in danger. He knew it all too well, and he had known it even before he had thrown himself imprudently in the jaws the lion. Speeding ahead, feeling the air whip against his face, his ears were open for the tell-tale sound of his enemy's weapons, his body tensed to dart away at the slightest signal.

*Viiizzzzzz*

His body twisting on its own volition, he barely avoided the deadly attack thrown at him, in the form of a six inch wide iron ball.  Once again, he wondered what had possessed him to do such a foolish thing, to agree to what was certainly the most assured chance of losing a limb, whether it be an arm, a leg or, should he be lucky, a head.

Harry Potter was practicing Quidditch, Slytherin style. 

Flint's latest idea was giving fruits, now. After being rammed into a thousand times by those lord-blasted Bludgers, Harry was starting to instinctively avoid the iron balls. It wasn't enough for Flint, however, who seemed to want them to avoid them before their minds even located them.  As it was, the team was averagely successful, apart from Draco. The unlucky boy, who had just joined the team a month ago, was now forced through a training regimen that even Adrian Pucey, who had four years of experience as Chaser, struggled through.

The only ones who were thoroughly enjoying this were Derrick and Bole. In fact, they were enjoying this a bit too much and tended to get very much enthusiastic about it. Considering it made their training harder, Flint encouraged them – as long as he wasn't targeted too often or too hard.

Harry, however, enjoyed it. Not because he was masochist, or because he was weird, but because Quidditch was the perfect escape from the hellish two days he had gone through.

November first had been hard to take for his mood. As he had feared, most of the student population of Hogwarts believed him guilty of petrifying Mrs Norris. However, nobody acted – outside of faint, yet annoying whispers – as, quite frankly, everyone was grateful. Filch, having lost his better half, was nowhere near as efficient as usual, a fact that the Weasley twins enjoyed thoroughly – for once being able to drive the caretaker crazy by pulling off two messy pranks simultaneously at different places, confusing him just enough so both got out unharmed – even though everyone knew it was them.

November second had been hard to take, this time, for his nerves. Lockhart had given them a particularly painful lesson, the events of the previous Saturday having 'suddenly' reminded himself of an adventure he had lived a while ago – the date varying between "right before receiving Dumbledore's offer" and "a couple of years ago, when I had just started traveling.".

It was a play. A horrible, full-class long play, which the Slytherin class only managed to survive through by either thoroughly riffing it or by thoroughly fancying Lockhart. A story about a village, who's location was set as somewhere, "deep in the jungles of Transylvania", who was being terrorized by an old hag, who had for sole pleasure in life of petrifying one member of the village each month and hang them over her doormat.

It only got worse once the roles were distributed by the grinning idiot. And the following words within the quotation marks are what Lockhart's own words were.

Draco was stuck with "despaired, yet hopeful mayor glad to finally see a true hero come into his town"

Harry had received the unenviable role of being the "clumsy, yet useful sidekick, awed of being in my presence"

Pansy and Millicent both were "villagers who dearly hope for peaceful days"

Crabbe and Goyle ended up being "slow and dim-witted minions of the old hag"…

…and Blaise was the hag.

She was not happy.

Especially not when Lockhart had stuck his handheld mirror in her face and she had been forced to "recoil in terror of her own hideousness"

And certainly not when Crabbe had messed up and told her she was a good actress.

His voice had had an odd, soprano sound to it for the rest of the day. And his steps still held a strange, inexplicable limp that had nothing to do with his legs. 

Unfortunately, Blaise's irritated mood had proven infectious and soon, Harry and Draco both found themselves dearly wishing the day ended quickly.

No such luck, they had history, next.

And now, here he was, on November third, in the bitter cold, icy and wet air, suspended from a potentially fatal fall only by a thin wooden broom handle, dodging iron balls aimed at his head, trying to find a small golden ball with wings for the third time in half a hour so his fanatic-of-a-Quidditch captain didn't break his poor, poor voice yelling at him…

…and feeling the best he had in three days.

The practice ended after Flint was caught by two Bludgers at the same time. Dismissing the rest of the team, he went berserk on Derrick and Bole, berating them for "trying to take one of our star players a week before the game against Gryffindor!"

The said rest were quite grateful, however.

"I have no idea how you managed to survive last year." Draco moaned as he crashed down on their sofa.

"Honestly, me either." Harry replied flatly, imitating his friend. "Though, Flint wasn't as bad last year."

"Tough practice?"  Blaise asked with a smug grin, an open box of Bertie Bott's beans in her left hand. Ginny was sitting beside her, chewing with gusto on a bean with an odd look on her face, as if trying to decide if she liked the flavor or not.

"Flint's trying to kill us." Harry replied simply. "I reckon he thinks we'll have less to worry about during the match if we're ghosts."

"Well, yeah," Ginny slid in. "you won't have to worry about dodging the Bludgers if you're ghosts."

Harry turned to Ginny, who had settled her decision by swallowing the offending bean. He was a bit surprised; this was the first time she had actively got into one of their conversations. Taking this as a good sign, he allowed himself a smile.

"It'd be a tad harder to throw the Quaffle, though." Draco mused.

Harry blinked and looked at Draco. He had expected the prideful Malfoy boy to ignore the Slytherin Weasley, as he had done since she had been sorted. He gave a look at Blaise, but apparently she hadn't noticed – or perhaps it was because she was currently busy trying to get rid of the fire in her mouth, induced by a red pepper bean.

Harry hadn't seen Hagrid much, since the start of the year. In fact, apart from their timely meeting at Diagon Alley and the short peek at the Hogwarts express station, he hadn't seen him at all since last end of term. So, the next morning, he was surprised when an owl came in for him, dropping a small note written in a large, barely readable scrawl on a rough, uneven bit of parchment.

            Harry,

I want to see you sometime today. Come at Dinner time.

                        Hagrid

Naturally, he had agreed.

Perfectly knowing what Hagrid's idea of cooking was, Harry stuffed himself at breakfast, until he felt his stomach would burst. His Transfiguration class afterwards was rather tough to bear. He was grateful, however, that they didn't have to use magic that morning – he felt that, should he dare open his mouth, his food would see the light of day again.

During the break between classes, Harry, Blaise and Draco stumbled onto Ginny, Xu and Emma. 

"Are you all right, Harry?" Emma asked. "You look a bit pale."

"He ate too much." Blaise replied.

"Why?" Xu wondered.

"Going to Hagrid's at Dinner. No way I'm eating his food." Harry replied as best as he could.

"Hagweed? Big bea'ded man on boat?" Xu asked again. "Why you… a' you seeing Hagweed?"

Harry paled. Draco snorted. Blaise turned green. Ginny and Emma both slapped their foreheads at their friend's mistake. Xu, at their reaction, was understandably confused.

"Why everyone react like that?"

Ginny whispered something in the Asian girl's ear, prompting her to suddenly blush and splutter. "No mean you dating!!" She practically shrieked, bowing at Harry. "Dui Bu Qi!!"  

"It's… err… ok." Harry replied, not quite knowing what she had just said, while trying to get rid of the very disturbing image. Once again, he wondered how and why she had entered Hogwarts, if she barely spoke English.

"Harry!!" A girl's voice called.

It was Hermione, who was waving at him from a distance, holding Ron by the sleeve. The red-haired boy was scowling at her angrily, trying to get free.

"Leggo!" He snapped, tearing out of her hold.

"Ron, stop being such a git!" She snapped back, reaching for him again.

Moving out of her range, he shot the Slytherins a final dark, hateful look and strode away, leaving a fuming Hermione behind.

"I swear, that idiot!" She growled.

"He'll come around eventually, Hermione." Blaise reassured her, walking up to her friend and patting her on the back. "And if he doesn't by the time the year's through, we can always hex him."

Hermione shot her a warning look then turned to Harry. "Sorry about that. I've been trying to get him to apologize…"

"No need." Ginny sadly said. "I don't need him."

Harry noticed, however, that her eyes were unusually shiny.

"Come on, let's go or we'll be late for PRAT."

"Oh, joy." Xu deadpanned as they walked away.

"Professor Lockhart is not that bad!" Emma protested. "He's just not used to teaching yet!"

The three older Slytherins could only sigh and shake their heads.

"Denial." Draco said. "Sad."

Herbology class was rather… exciting. The mandrakes, going through their childhood, had absolutely no wish to sit still and remain potted. Twice, Harry's plant managed to get an arm out of the dirt and attempt to grab the closest thing – once, Harry's green and silver necktie.

"Little brats!!" Blaise snapped in righteous anger, pointing her wand at her cracked pot. The mandrake inside had apparently decided that trying to go out through the top was impossible, and was trying to break its 'prison' in pieces. "Reparo! Reparo!!"

Finally, they were allowed out. Everyone was rather worn out, and looking forward to dinner. But Harry had agreed to see Hagrid that day. Surprisingly, however, Blaise had caught up to him on his way to the small wooden hut, claiming: "What, he's my friend, too!"

Unsurprisingly, however, Draco refused to go, muttering something about a mutt. He had developed a fair dislike for Fang ever since he had first set foot in the gigantic man's house. The fact that a pair of his expensive robes still bore some stains of saliva from that day had perhaps not helped.

Harry knocked on the door, although he was sure Hagrid probably wouldn't mind if Harry just opened it and walked in. It was the polite thing to do, and he had been raised to be polite – it was that, or the cupboard. The giant opened the door for them and welcomed them inside with a large, warm, beard-hidden smile.

Hagrid's hut hadn't changed… much. There was no dragon present, as Harry's initial look around the house reported. He felt immensely reassured. An impressively-sized crossbow stood by the door, beside Hagrid's 'magical pink umbrella'. Harry didn't know how an umbrella could have the same focusing power as a wand. However, he knew, from Ollivander, the wand merchant, that Hagrid had been expelled and that his previous wand had been snapped.

"Eh, Blaise! Wasn' expectin' yeh." Hagrid said upon spotting the girl entering his hut. "Good thing I made extras!"

He brandished his secret weapon on a circular metal plate; cookies. Black cookies. Black cookies appropriately called Rock cakes.

"Ehh… I think I'll pass, thanks." Blaise said. "I'm not very hungry… mandrakes and all…"

"Ah, yeh, never liked those things. 'tleast yeh didn't hear one of 'em screamin'." The man gave a shudder, then sat down on a chair beside the only table in the house, while pushing a dead rooster out of the way. "Not a fun thing teh do."

Blaise simply nodded and sat on another chair.

"What did you want to talk about?" Harry asked, imitating his friend.

Hagrid gave Harry a grin. "What, need a reason teh talk teh mister popularity now? Heard yeh were givin' out interviews! I'm kinda jealous I didn't ge' one…"

"N-NO!" Harry protested loudly, before realizing Hagrid had only been joking. "Stupid Lockhart."

"Yeah, sure is a pain, that guy…" Hagrid agreed.

"What was Dumbledore thinking?" Blaise added. "If we learn one bit of defense against the dark arts from him this year, I'll… eat that rooster raw."

Hagrid snorted and nodded. "I'll take yer word on that."

"What happened to it anyway?" Harry asked, pointing at the fallen fowl. 

"Ah, dunno. Found it dead yesterday, still haven't found deh time teh talk 'ta Dumbledore 'bout it." The huge man shrugged. "Busy man, that Dumbledore. 'specially lately. Dun' wanna disturb him jus' fer replacin' a rooster."

"The chamber business?" Blaise asked.

"Yeh, that… dampenin' everythin', stoppin' the story from getting' teh da Daily prophet and start a scandal… while tryin' teh figure out who dunnit. Talkin' 'bout that, Harry, I heard it was you."

"Well it wasn't." Harry growled, crossing his arms.

"Ah, I know that." The man replied with a smile. "Jus' lie low and don't get attention teh yerself – I knew yeh can do it if yeh try! The whole thin' should blow over before yeh know it."

Attracting attention was easy, for him. Not attracting it was the challenge, especially when there is, at the same time in the school, Gilderoy Lockhart – always eager to higher his popularity by posing with the boy-who-lived – and Colin Creevey – the groupie. And it was practically impossible when, on the morning of Saturday, a Quidditch match against Gryffindor was scheduled.

Flint's pep-talk had been a short, calm, gentle and encouraging: "Win or die."

Well, in more words… and a bit more aggressive. And perhaps more personalized, which included having Bole and Derrick shoving their Bludgers in Macdonald's – the Gryffindor seeker – and Wood's – the Gryffindor keeper – faces or else he'd shove their brooms up holes normally used for evacuating waste, Draco and Pucey to fly in team with him or he'd kick them out of the team and down the astronomy tower, a warning not to let anything pass through the hoops – not even air – to Bletchley, along with a threat of not having any air passing through his lungs.

And finally, to Harry:

"If you catch the snitch too early, you're dead. Catch it after MacDonald and you're dead. Don't catch it and you'll wish you were dead. Fall off your broom and I'll kill you. Is that clear?"

Honestly, what can you say to that?

The sky was cloudy and the wind was strong. The air felt heavy and smelled of ozone. A storm was coming and everyone knew it. It did nothing to make him less nervous – it wouldn't be the first time he had flown during a storm, but it would be his first actual match in one. His role, catching the snitch, would be all the more complicated if it would start to rain. And somehow, he didn't think the snitch would come to him like during his first match ever.

"I will not tolerate any cheating," Madam Hooch was saying to both captains "so make sure your players fly safely and follow the rules!"

Flint was clearly annoyed, but his glaring eyes were staring at Wood, who was staring back in pure hatred.

With an audible sigh of deject, she kicked the box containing the balls open, threw the Quaffle up, then released both Bludgers and the snitch, which vanished immediately. The match was on.

            After the first minute of play, it became obvious what the Gryffindors' plan for victory was. It all depended on MacDonald catching the snitch quickly. The three red chasers tried to stop their opponents as much as possible, only attacking when there was an obvious opportunity. Fred and George were duking it out with Derrick and Bole, preventing both Slytherin beaters from breaking the Gryffindor defense. It was a remarkable example of defensive play…

…but it didn't stop the superiorly-equipped Slytherin team from scoring twice in the first ten minutes.

Lee Jordan was once again up to his biased commenting, while McGonagall barked whenever he got out of line – which was about once every minute. Not once did she really act, though. She wanted the Slytherins to be down as much as everyone in the other houses – with the exception of Hermione, who was calmly reading a book, last time he had seen her in the stands.

"Harry! Look out!!" Derrick called.

*ZZZZIIII*

The training kicked in and Harry executed a flawless overturn, letting the Bludger fly harmlessly over him. The beater flew over and whacked the offending ball away.

"Thanks." Harry said.

"No problem." The boy said, before frowning. "It's weird though, it just veered out of the way and went straight at—"

*VIZZZZZZ*

Once again, Harry found himself twisting in mid-air before he could properly realize the danger. The Bludger scratched Harry's arm as it passed. Once again, Derrick sent it away.

"What the…"

The iron ball flew about ten feet, before suddenly veering back and charging at Harry again. This time, Derrick get it a whack in the direction of MacDonald, who stared at it like a deer caught in the headlights… before it went straight back toward Harry.

"Someone rigged this thing!!" Derrick grunted, whacking it.

'Why me?!'  Harry wondered, flying forward, searching for the snitch. A sudden cold wetness on his hands betrayed the oncoming rain. The storm was about to fall any minute now.

"Bell throws and… block from Bletchley, it was close, though. Better luck next time. Pass to Flint, to Malfoy, back at Flint, Pucey, intercepted by Johnson… Bludger in the face, ouch, Malfoy takes the Quaffle. He flies, flies… come on, Wood! He thr—feints, Pass to Pucey and score!! Damn! Fourty to ten, Slytherin."

Harry smirked at Draco's maneuver. Even if he hadn't seen it, he knew his friend was doing well. Using the fact that everyone thought he had got on the team because he was friend with the seeker and because his father had given the team new brooms, he made the competition believe he was a poor player during the whole time, only showing he was good when it counted.

*VIZZZZZZZZZ*

This time, Harry veered to the left and the ball flicked his ear as it went, nearly knocking his glasses off.

'That darn ball's been tempered.' Harry frowned, looking at the Bludger. Then, looking at MacDonald, he smirked. Maybe he could turn this to his advantage.

Pointing himself directly at the bigger seeker, who was holding onto his broom for dear life, stuck in a wind pocket, Harry pushed his broom at full speed. The Gryffindor quickly spotted him and started to look around him, thinking Harry had seen the Snitch.

*VVVVVIIIIIIIIIII*

Harry could hear the Bludger accelerate behind him, trying to keep up. He smirked. So far, so good.

MacDonald had guessed incorrectly that Harry wanted to ram into him and take him out of the game. Quickly, he… did nothing but stare, a bit like a bunny under a large, large, falling rock.

At the last second, Harry twisted upside-down and barely avoided colliding his broom with the other seeker's. Twisting himself upwards again, he gave a look behind…

"OUCH! MacDonald's been hit, hard! He's falling… but who… What the… that Bludger is tailing Potter! Wood calls for a time-out, accorded. Somebody better check that Bludger before we get a boy-who-got-killed!"

The Slytherin reassembled in the air. Harry's eyes searching the sky the whole time, while the rigged Bludger was held back by both Slytherin beaters. By now, it was pouring. The rumbling of thunder shook the wooden stadium ominously. Harry supposed there were protection wards against the weather in the stands, since it wouldn't be very safe to sit on elevated seats during a thunderstorm.

"That was a nice move, Potter." Flint congratulated. "The Gryffindors are playing it defensive, so unless we take out MacDonald, they still have a chance to win. Malfoy, that was a nice feint, but you won't get Wood twice with that trick, so stop trying."

The platinum-haired boy nodded.

"Derrick, keep protecting Potter—"

"I won't be able to see the snitch if he keep hanging around me." Harry interrupted, removing his drenched glasses and wiping them on his equally drenched robes. "I can hardly see as it is."

"…very well. Potter, you can catch the snitch. We'll catch something and miss practices if the game doesn't end. Derrick, Bole, you both try to take down MacDonald, and Wood when we're about to score. I want that seeker out of the sky—"

"MacDonald is up!" Lee Jordan cheered over Flint's voice. "He's not out of the game!"

"Yet." Bole added with a smirk, holding the rogue Bludger on himself. The ball apparently struggled at his captor, still trying to ram into Harry.

"Can someone do something about my glasses?" Harry asked, frowning. "I can't see a thing with them, and even less without them."

"Here." Pucey said, taking out his wand and tapping it on the seeker's glasses. "Impervius."

The water on the glasses suddenly vanished with a puff of vapor that slid down and fell to the ground in a couple of drops. Drops of rain now magically twisted out of the way, as if a bubble of wind protected his glasses.

"Thanks." Harry said, putting them on.

Hooch blew her whistle and the match was on again. Bole let go of the Bludger and gave it a powerful whack in the opposite direction while Harry flew away, eyes darting everywhere, hoping to find the golden ball.

*VIZZZ*

While dodging that bloody rigged Bludger.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt grateful for the hard training Flint had pushed them through. At the smallest sound of the Bludger, his body moved practically on its own, avoiding the iron ball – though, twice, it hadn't moved correctly and he found himself still getting hit, but not nearly as badly as he would have, normally.

Twice, he attempted to take out MacDonald in the same way as he had before. However, the Gryffindor Seeker was now wary of his tricks. The technique, however, worked wonders on the chasers, forcing them to duck out of the way from the barging Bludger.

Finally, Harry spotted the Snitch, fluttering about the Gryffindor goals. Eager to end the match, Harry turned and pointed himself at it…

*VIIIII* *CRACK*

Only to recoil in pain as the Bludger rammed directly on the side of his ribs. He felt two of them crack from the impact. Partially blinded by the pain, he forced the broom to accelerate before he lost track of the snitch. He gave a look behind him and saw MacDonald had also spotted it and was flying as fast as his Cleansweep 7 could go.

The Bludger was also coming for a second blow. Smirking a bit, Harry veered across the path of MacDonald. Just as he had planned, the Bludger followed, ramming against the inferior broom's tail twigs, sending it into a wild spin. Harry turned back to the snitch, which had barely changed location since. Stretching his arm, his leaned to catch it…

…his hand closed around the small golden ball and the crowd went wild.

"Harry Potter catches the Snitch!" Lee Jordan shouted, sounding rather disappointed. "But only thanks to that rigged Blud—LOOK OUT!!"

Harry blinked, looked behind him…

*WHAM*

He woke up on something soft. It wasn't a mattress, however, since it was wet. The rain was still falling on his face.

Sand

He was laying down on the sand, just below the goalposts.

Ah. That's where he was. Now, how was he?

As he concentrated, one word came to his mind.

"Ow."

His body felt like it was broken, all over. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, even twitch. The beating of his heart was painful; never mind thinking. He felt like one giant cracked bone.

"He's awake!" A voice said.

"Out of the way, please, let me through…" He heard what was unmistakably Lockhart's voice say "Well, don't you see he's hurt? I can help him, please get out of my way—"

"Move." A sharper voice ordered. He recognized Snape, almost immediately.

He felt someone touch him and groaned as intense pain coursed through him again. Weakened, tired, in pain, Harry mercifully fell unconscious.

When he woke up, he felt much, much better, although extremely fuzzy and quite unable to move. His thoughts were halfway coherent, as if he was extremely tired, or under the effect of a sleeping draught. He could feel something in his hand. Something alive. With great difficulty, he looked down and saw Blaise, sleeping soundly, her head on the mattress, her hair a mess and spread all over the white drape. Her hand was holding his.

Smiling at his best friend, he prepared to give in to the urge to sleep when the door of the infirmary opened. Struggling to keep his eyes open, Harry looked as Dumbledore, wearing a night robe and a long hat, walked in, wand in hand, a statue floating behind him.

Behind him, the tiny form of Flitwick walked in. Harry heard him sniffing sadly.

"Get Poppy, Filius." Dumbledore whispered, floating the statue down on a bed.

The teacher nodded and walked into the nurse's office.

"Whut'z gwin' on…?" Blaise mumbled, waking up. Harry shushed her and pointed at the statue, using a lot of his energy in the move.

The girl gasped in horror, but her hands blocked her mouth before it came out.

"What happened?" Madam Pomfresh asked, walking out of her room.

"A new attack." The headmaster said ominously. "He was found near the Ravenclaw common room. There was a bunch of flowers on the floor nearby. I believe he wanted to apologize to his ex-girlfriend."

Curious, Blaise bent around the curtains and took a peek. This time, she didn't manage to block her gasp.

"Percy?!" she gasped.

Author's notes:

This version is MUCH better than the last one ^_^. Yup, losing my fics was a good thing after all, in a weird, roundabout way.

…I kinda wrote this thing in about four days. I just couldn't believe it. Most of it (From Hagrid's hut to the end) was in a few hours. I'm really on a roll, that day... (*wishes he was always on a roll, like that*)

I've edited the first two chapters of the Snake-who-lived, book 1. It made me realize just how… rushed, it was. Although, back then, it was only an experiment and not something I was going to upload. And I was still writing my Digimon fanfic. (Which I should finish, one day, dammit). Expect those edits to be up sometime soon.

ANSWERS TO THE PILED-UP, SMOKING REMAINS OF THE CARS OF THE REVIEWERS (AND APOLOGIES TO ALL THOSE WHO REALLY DID LOSE THEIR CARS):

Congratulations to RaistlinofMetallica who found last chapter's Anime cameo. Brownie points!! *buries him/her in brownies*

VMorticia: Doing my best to please you demanding lot ^_-

Flummox: (another long review) Yes, Mrs Norris. Now, read the other chapters and count the number of times I made fun of that name ^_^. You'll hate (or love) Peeves later, in this… *crackles* Err, I'm not about to make this a Self Insertion, apart from the author's notes. My FISHER PRICE VOICE THINGY(tm)… I'd almost want to put in somewhere, lol. I'll see if I can. *snigger* No big loss if you didn't find the cameo, only the person cited in bold above did.  Actually, I don't have a 'resurrection' spray. What I do have, however, is the 'not-so-alive-but-not-quite-dead-anymore" spray. Doesn't work as well, but it's more economic. The problem comes with spraying it on myself once I'm dead… oh well.

Jordan: Ah, ok, I though you were talking in "chat mode".  As for not telling Snape, well… he's only human. Memory lapses happen. Like how he forgot about the spiders. (Which he STILL doesn't remember yet)

Mystic(French): C'est chien, oui, mais c'est pas si pire. Ce chapitre-ci avait mal sorti. La version 2 est, comme j'ai dit, BEAUCOUP mieux que la dernière. C'est gossant, j'avoue.

RaistlinOfMetallica: AND WE HAVE A WINNER!!! Yup, it's Sailor Moon, even though it's one of the only three animes I can't stand. (along with Pokémon and Bayblades) It's unavoidable for any Ranma Fanfic reader, though. *sighs at the SHEER NUMBER of crossovers*

BF110C4: Weird name… anyway. *Wipes sweaty brow* Whew, thanks. I was a bit scared of my characterization of Snape. It's not as rock-solid as I'd want it to (like Harry's or Hermione's). Thank you!

ChrismKing208: Yup, he is being evil with her… As for the snake… wait a short while, it'll all become clear soon.

Blackheart Syaoran: Hehehe… you raise a load of points… most of these I won't answer – either they're extreme foreshadowing, or they're easy enough to guess. *shrug* I guess I write a lot, it's part of my style. Personally, I like it better than short, cliffy chapters that update once a week or so. *Blink* Heh, I feel kinda bad for leaving such a small answer to such a large review, but hell…

To Simply Myself: Check your mail, please…