First of all, huge apologies for the equally huge delay. You probably all thought I'd died or something. :P School has been kicking my ass - thus no updates last semester. I'm sorry about the hiatus. I'll try to update as much as I can, though!

And by the way, some of my character's opinions on the wonderful J.K. Rowling do not reflect my own... just so you know. (coughs)

Now, on with the chapter!

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Breakfast the next morning was more pleasant than breakfast the morning before had been. At dinner the previous evening, Ethan had been very careful to put nothing on his plate that he didn't plan on eating, and as such there were no disgusting leftovers to offer. His knife only twitched morosely as he grabbed two slices of toast with a tiny smirk.

"Today's schedule," Nicholas read aloud as Edward focused on slathering his eggs in a horseradish sauce that practically made Ethan's eyes water from across the table, "Transfiguration this morning, then Herbology, then lunch, then Potions. And flying lessons are every Wednesday afternoon."

"Oh boy," Ethan muttered, suddenly plagued by visions of his broom whomping the snot out of all the first years. That twiggy menace probably needed lessons at least as badly as he did, Ethan reflected as he grabbed his sulking knife and smeared some peanut butter on his toast.

"Oh, lighten up," Fawkes coughed from his customary perch on Ethan's shoulder. "You've flown before and you didn't make a bloody hash of it! You're a natural, like I said!" He took a long, sanctimonious drag of his cigarette.

"Why is that bird smoking?" Annabelle asked from the other side of the table, watching Fawkes with some concern.

"Why not?" Edward asked, wide-eyed and baffled as if there was nothing more normal than a bird lighting up at the breakfast table.

"He's kind of bitter because of..." Ethan looked nervously up the table at Harry, who was talking with Ron and Hermione and facing away from them. Drawing courage from this, Ethan continued, "Well, because of the whole Chamber of Secrets ordeal."

Nicholas and Annabelle immediately leaned in, intrigued. Edward continued to look politely baffled. No doubt because he was a badger when the whole thing happened, Ethan thought to himself before continuing in a low voice.

"Fawkes feels bitter because he says he did all the work, but Harry took all the credit," Ethan explained, glancing periodically up the table to make sure he wasn't being overheard. "I mean, Fawkes blinded it, and brought the sorting hat, and healed Harry's arm, and carried them all out of the Chamber... but Harry got most of the glory, didn't he?" Something about bad-mouthing Harry was giving Ethan a grim little thrill. The waves of approval and occasional muttered "you tell 'em" or "represent!" from Fawkes probably had something to do with it. But there was something more as well. Ethan was so used to viewing Hogwarts through Harry's eyes. But this, he realized with a rush of empowerment, was his story. He could think what he liked. And if Harry disliked him for whatever reason... well, maybe that didn't matter.

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The Gryffindors managed to be on time for Transfiguration as well, using the same traveling en masse technique from the day before. They slid into their seats, shooting half-curious, half-knowing glances at the tabby cat sitting on McGonagall's desk.

Once everyone was seated and had fresh parchment set in front of them, the cat leaped off the desk and transformed in mid-air into Professor McGonagall, who landed with only the tiniest of stumbles. No one batted an eye, much to the Professor's disappointment.

"Well," McGonagall said icily, "you students just get harder and harder to impress! Good thing that Rowling hack didn't copy down every incantation, or I suppose I'd have nothing to offer you!" She glared over her spectacles at each student individually, then snapped open a roll of parchment and began barking out roll call in clipped, angry tones. The students exchanged frightened glances. They were thirty seconds into class, and already their house leader despised them.

"Welcome to Transfiguration," McGonagall said in the same tone as before. "Here you will learn the subtle art of transforming - or transfiguring - one object into another." She flicked her wand, and a raven turned into a writing desk and back again with a squawk of protest. "Though," she added with a trace of sarcasm, "I'm sure you all knew that already."

"I didn't!" Edward said happily. An expression of deepest distaste flickered across the Professor's face.

"You may have read the books," she continued as if she hadn't been interrupted, "but do not let that make you complacent! In fact, to ensure that you do not leave this classroom with inflated egos, we shall all do an activity that will illustrate just how little you do know." This idea evidently pleased her, as the corners of her mouth twitched upward in something like a sadistic smirk. She swished her wand viciously through the air, and the students found themselves looking down at a bunch of fuzzy, yellow ducklings - one for every person. Several girls squeaked with delight as the ducklings nibbled at the parchment, peeped at one another, and attempted to waddle across the slippery wooden desks.

"You shall all attempt to turn these ducklings into draclings," McGonagall said triumphantly. "The incantation is Anatidracus!" She waved her wand at one of the ducklings, which leaped into the air and sprouted scales. By the time it had landed, it was a twelve-inch baby dragon with large, startled green eyes. The class clapped dutifully; McGonagall waved the gesture off. "Go on, you know the spell!"

Ethan held out his wand and looked dubiously at his duckling, which to his ears was babbling baby nonsense, the bird equivalent of "goo goo ga ga." His stomach lurched unpleasantly. He couldn't transfigure a baby.

Nicholas waved his wand uncertainly and said, "Anatidracus?" His duckling sneezed out a single puff of smoke, but other than that, there was no change. Ethan found this encouraging, so he screwed up his courage, waved his own wand, and repeated the incantation. He got a step farther than Nicholas; his duckling's tiny baby wings went from downy to leathery and bat-like. The duckling looked back at its new wings in bafflement and flapped them a few times, peeping in shock.

To McGonagall's delight and Ethan's relief, no one made much progress with their ducklings. Unless you counted Edward, who decided he'd get further making up his own incantations and wound up turning his duckling into an aerosol spray can of room deodorizer ("Mountain Breeze"). McGonagall looked like she couldn't decide whether to be impressed by the neat job or stern because it was nothing like what was supposed to happen. But the rest of the ducklings were either completely normal or only bearing a few vaguely draconian characteristics, like tiny horns, patches of scales, or longer tails. A few were shooting sparks every time they peeped, which alarmed them and caused them to peep more often, creating a cycle of flying sparks and duckling distress.

With another violent swish of her wand, McGonagall turned most of the ducklings back to normal. The sparking ones she put in a box, instructing a house elf to take them to Hagrid. "I daresay he'll get some enjoyment out of them," she said with the barest hint of amusement in her voice before turning back to the class. "Your assignment for next class is to read chapter one of your textbook, and write a twelve-inch essay on what you think those miserable Harry Potter books have honestly taught you. Class dismissed!"

The students swarmed gratefully out into the hallway, not even daring to groan at the homework assignment. What, Ethan wondered, had that all been about?

"Someone seems just a little bitter, wouldn't you say?" Annabelle muttered under her breath to Ethan and Nicholas as they walked up to Gryffindor tower to get their Herbology supplies.

"Just a bit," Nicholas rolled his eyes. "Who shoved a broomstick up her arse?"

"Well, she'd been teaching here for years before the books were written," Ethan reasoned. "And now suddenly Hogwarts is famous, she's even famous if you want to get technical... and she's all old and stuff. Maybe she couldn't handle the change. Oof," Ethan added as Fawkes flapped down from out of nowhere and landed heavily on his shoulder.

"What were we discussing?" Fawkes asked, folding his wings and hacking delicately.

"McGonagall," Ethan said simply. "We just had our first Transfiguration lesson."

"Oh, that old broad." Fawkes laughed. "She's pushing senility. The combination of the books and that whole sex scandal..."

"Sex scandal?" Ethan interrupted shrilly. Nicholas, Annabelle, and Edward watched in fascination, not having any idea what was being said.

"Did I say that?" Fawkes blinked innocently.

"Never mind. I don't want to know." Ethan shook his head briskly.

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"So, what did Fawkes say?" Nicholas whispered to Ethan half an hour later as they were trooping down towards the greenhouses.

"That McGonagall's pretty much crazy," Ethan said after a moment's deliberation. He decided not to mention the 'sex scandal' bit. He very much just wanted to forget Fawkes had even said it.

The greenhouses were arranged numerically, with Greenhouse One being closest to the castle and Greenhouse Eight being farthest away. As Ethan looked curiously down at Greenhouse Eight, wondering what could be inside, a harried-looking wizard with what appeared to be a dead Mersheep flung over his shoulder walked up to the greenhouse and nudged open the door. A deafening, "FEED ME!" blasted the man's hair back, but he steeled himself and stepped inside. The door shut quietly, but a moment later a loud crunching sound emanated from Greenhouse Eight. The students exchanged nervous glances.

"Never you mind that," a squat witch who could only be Professor Sprout said, ushering the students towards Greenhouse One. "Come on, there's nothing to see..."

"What was that?" Annabelle asked as the professor walked past her.

"Audrey III," Professor Sprout explained. "Nothing for you to worry about, anyway. Into the greenhouse, come on!"

Herbology was second only to History of Magic when it came to uneventful first days. Professor Sprout gave an overview of the sorts of things they would be doing over the course of the year, and then set the students to doing the mundane task of filling pots with dirt for later use. It gave Ethan, Nicholas, and Annabelle a chance to chat idly, but other than that, it was terribly dull work. Edward didn't join in the conversation, as he was thoroughly absorbed in pawing through the dirt.

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It was with a feeling of dread that Ethan trooped down to the dungeons for double Potions with, ironically, the Slytherins. He had hardly touched his lunch. While the rational part of his brain reasoned that Snape had no particular cause to hate him as he did Harry, the rest of his brain was terrified that the Potions Master would simply find a reason. There were enough to choose from. Ethan wasn't from Britain, he was in Gryffindor house, he wasn't astoundingly talented in anything magical as far as he could tell (if you didn't count the fact that he was a parrotmouth, which was really beyond his control). And he was the main character. It was a widely known fact that had helped him often, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't get any brownie points from Snape. He really doubted that the Potions master gave brownie points to anyone who wasn't a Slytherin.

The dungeon classroom was Snape-free when the students filed into their seats. Well, everyone except Edward. The boy was peering intently at the various creatures - or pieces of creatures - that the professor kept on shelves along the walls of the room.

"I think this one's still alive," Edward observed a moment before professor Snape silently entered the room.

"Sit down," the Potions Master ordered as he swept up to the front of the room like a large bat. Edward slid into an empty seat with just one backward glance towards the jars.

Snape turned around and regarded the class with dark eyes. Ethan resisted the urge to sink in his seat, especially when he saw that the Slytherins were (for the most part) looking perfectly relaxed. There were a few that looked a tad apprehensive, which was comforting (Ethan thought he recognized them as being from that questionable stretch of eight Slytherin students in a row during the Sorting). So Ethan sat up straight and did his best to look studious, but not like a know-it-all.

Snape snapped open a piece of parchment and began roll call. Like Flitwick, he paused after Ethan's name. But unlike Flitwick, it wasn't to beam happily.

"Ethan Williams... our new protagonist." He regarded the boy with an expression Ethan couldn't read. "Let us hope that you don't turn out like the last one."

Ethan recalled the unfriendly look he'd received from the Boy Who Lived. I don't plan on it, he thought but didn't say. As if reading this thought, Snape raised an eyebrow very slightly, then snapped the roll of parchment shut and tucked it away.

"Assuming," Snape said quietly, "that you are not all surrounded by the aura of glaring ineptitude that most of my other students have possessed, this could be a productive year." He looked over the class and sneered slightly. "But I will not get my hopes too high." Nicholas looked at Ethan with raised eyebrows; Ethan shrugged very slightly. "The headmaster of this fine institution," Snape oozed on, "has put you all here so that I can teach you the subtle, complex art of potion-making. I expect that very few of you will have the patience to excel in this class... or the appreciation of the subject to care. However, rest assured that I will push each and every one of you to perform to the best of your ability." He paused and sneered again. "Regardless of how deplorable your 'best' may be." Ethan looked discreetly around the classroom; everyone looked terrified except for Edward, who was smiling somewhat vacantly. He found this slightly worrisome. In his mind, there was a time and place for vacant smiling, and Potions class was not it.

"Those of you who have read the books," Snape continued, "will have some idea of what we shall be doing in this class. In fact, those of you who read thoroughly may expect to be paired off shortly in order to brew a simple spell that cures boils." He smiled dryly. "If that sounds right to you, I am very pleased to tell you that you are quite wrong. We will not be brewing any medicinal spells in this class. I don't suppose anyone can tell me why." He raised an eyebrow.

Silence reigned.

"I thought as much," Snape said. "I suppose I shall have to tell you. We will not be brewing anything medicinal in nature because it would be pointless. If any of you managed to brew something satisfactory-and that's a large 'if'- it would still be useless because you are students. The Ministry won't risk anyone getting ill off of a student-made potion; everything in the hospital wing comes from certified potion providers."

Edward raised his hand. "What will we be making, then?"

"Until I get the list of acceptable potions from the Ministry," Snape said with a trace of bitterness, "we shall not be making anything." He glared at his podium for a moment, his mouth a thin, angry line. Then he looked up. "However, our time shall not be wasted. There is no substitute for experience, but in this case, it appears I shall be forced to make one. Open your books to page 112; we're going to start with potion theory."

After an hour of studying the various methods of stirring (of which there were far too many, in Ethan's opinion), the class was finally dismissed. Their homework was another twelve-inch essay, this one on how a wizard would theoretically brew a simple potion to cure boils. "Pay particular attention," Snape said, "to the direction of the stirring and the angle of the spoon." He spoke as if each word was painful.

The students streamed gratefully out of the dungeon.

"I thought that was going to be terrible," Annabelle said, looking relieved.

"And instead, it was dead boring," Nicholas finished, rolling his eyes. "I think I'd rather have Snape breathing down my neck while I do something productive than have him breathing down my neck while I do something bloody pointless." He wrinkled his nose. "I mean, really. Spoon angles?"

"I think it's interesting," Edward said in his eternal quest to disagree with everyone, particularly Nicholas.

"And it isn't his fault," Ethan added. "I mean, you could tell he didn't want us to get into all of this theory stuff... at least, not yet."

"There's my liddle protagonist!" Fawkes landed on Ethan's shoulder. "How did you like the bat-cave?" He hacked vigorously into his wing.

"It was pretty boring, actually."

"Well, that's to be expected." Fawkes ruffled his feathers. "Ever since they found out Voldemort was back, the Ministry's had a broomstick up their arse about everything. They're not going to let Snape teach the students to brew anything that could conceivably be used for evil."

"Curing boils is evil?"

"No, but brewing a potion that should cure boils but instead causes slow, painful death would be." Fawkes shrugged. "Don't ask me how those buggers think, kid, 'cause I don't know."

They reached the portrait hole. The fat lady took one look at Ethan and Fawkes and swung open without question. "Well," Fawkes said, producing a cigarette from somewhere and lighting up as Ethan trudged up to the first-year's dormitory, "now that you've gotten your second day under your belt, what are you going to do?"

Ethan threw his bookbag on his bed. He was about to say that he had no idea when Nicholas walked into the room behind him.

"Hey, Ethan, you ever play football?" He held up a soccer ball and twirled it between his fingers.

Ethan nearly said, "That isn't a football," but stopped himself just in time. "Yeah, a little," he said with a smile.

"We were going to go out and play a bit," Nicholas said, gesturing over his shoulder to David and a few second-years that Ethan didn't know. "Want to come? You can show us what you Americans can do."

"You humans and your physical activities," Fawkes grumbled, blowing a stream of smoke out the window.

"Okay," Ethan grinned, shrugging off his robe so he was just in jeans and a t-shirt. "Let's go."

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There you have it! A nice, long chapter, eh?

I know that I normally do review responses, and I know that you all look forward to them. But I've been harassed by a troll lately-some jackass who seems to be taking credit for the recent removal of my Mary-Sue Mockfest. And I have heard that reviewer responses can be considered "interactive" and grounds for removal. Personally, I think that's bullshit, and multiple readings of the FFN guidelines have not turned up any rule that forbids responses but since this person has been hanging around lately, I'm going to play it safe and not do responses this chapter.

This doesn't mean that I don't appreciate every single review I receive! And if any of you are still reading this, thanks for being patient. Hopefully updates will be more frequent, as my course load this semester isn't as bad as last semester. I love you all! Giant, man-eating, talking plants for everyone!

Platy