A/N: This was a really hard chapter to write, in terms of keeping going and not deleting everything I wrote because I didn't feel it was good enough. It may just be me, but I find this chapter too ambling, too somehow domestic. Maybe that's just the action hound in me getting keyed up for 24, the first couple episodes of which premier this Sunday (finally! Jack is BACK!), and – er – maybe not, but that's how I feel about it right now, as I take a break from finishing off the link between the two last scenes.

Maybe it's also a bit of an odd time for me as concerns my RL, because I'm all tired and bored of college and wondering if there's really a reason my poor parents are paying for me to learn Plato and vectors and forget them after the semester ends, but – gah. I sound so darn emo right now…yech. At least Antares doesn't, in this chapter. His behaviour may surprise you at points, I think. Feel free to comment on how I dealt with his first day in your reviews – I'm especially ready to answer any questions I get about this chapter, so…yeah.

Funniest moment for me to write? "Er – the wand movement doesn't require much of – well, it looks like this…" Why? Because that is just so damn real and so damn eleven-year-old all over, I think. It reminds me, E.M. Pink the Smartypants, of demonstrating stuff in school. My hands always felt like chalk, even when I was doing the right thing…Okay, enough talk, more chapter.

In which Antares has his very first day at Hogwarts, only it goes…unexpectedly…


Chapter 9: First Impressions

If there was one thing Antares would remember about that first, rather horrid morning at Hogwarts, it would be that Draco Malfoy was quite a horrible little boy.

No, scratch that.

Draco Malfoy was a fiend in human flesh, sent to torture Antares for being alive.

It began with the simple act of waking up, something Antares was used to doing early and quietly. Fine, so he tripped over something in the dark as he fumbled his way out of his curtained four-poster (colour scheme of which he had in mind to change as soon as possible, as he hated that sickly shade of green), but still, no one else had been disturbed. No one else, except for –

"What in the blazes are you doing awake?" Draco's voice was at once plaintive and bossy, a really odd combination that made Antares feel like saying something very crass and very un-Malfoy, just to get the irritating blond sop's back up.

"Preparing to murder you all in your beds," was the only answer he found inoffensive enough. "What the fuck do you think I'm doing, eh? Grave-robbing?" Poncy piece of shite

"Do you know just how loud you're being?" Antares sighed, feeling just the slightest bit guilty – he knew he woke really early, especially by these soft kids' standards.

"Fine, I'm sorry. You only had to say – "

"And why should I?" Malfoy cut in belligerently. "You should know not to stamp about in the morning like some daft Muggle – "

" – and that," Antares said, turning on the blond fool, "is where comments like that end. I won't have you – "

"You're really stupid for an apprentice, you know," Malfoy remarked, crossly tossing aside the covers on his own bed. "Just because you're some halfblood doesn't mean I can't say anything I like about Muggles whenever I like, especially when you're behaving like one."

Antares, for a long moment, thought of several things.

Asking the idiot if he'd ever met a Muggle –

Simply walking up and giving him a sharp box on the ears –

Or – he swallowed angrily – just letting it go, just this once.

"I don't have time for this," he said, trying to sound strong as he left the room, heading for the showers. It was probably better this way – may have been what Snape had meant. But it was galling to see Malfoy roll his eyes at him as he left, and even more galling to hear him arguing that Muggles were lower than animals next door.

Antares slammed the shower cubicle door in frustration. It wasn't like he particularly cared about Muggles all that much. It was just – his mum had thought like that, and Snape had thought like that. That was what the – the Dark Lord was all about, to hear his mum tell it (even though he sometimes thought Bella might be exaggerating, because what sort of Dark Wizard would waste time on slaughtering Muggles when they could rob Gringotts? Or take over the Ministry? Didn't quite make sense). And yet, there Draco was, talking about them like they were human rugs or whatnot.

Antares sighed and turned on the water, wondering for the first time if he was really ever going to fit in here – especially with people like Draco Malfoy.

Then again, the real talk with Snape being – what, almost two hours into the future, Antares firmly decided he could afford to feel a bit optimistic. So he washed his hair thoroughly, had a nice, long, piping hot shower, and got dressed behind the protection of his bed curtains, argued to himself that his hair had a little less than – well, quite a bit less than one and a half hours to dry, and his drying spells weren't that good yet anyway, then spent those two hours playing something that had been his private, favourite game since he'd been three or four years old.

Apart from stealing, of course, but – still. Juggling objects in the air was a surprisingly calming thing to do of a morning, and Antares put effort into it this morning, making complex patterns, striving not to let the six tiny juggling-balls touch his hands more than once, trying hard to do that double-twist-thing he'd seen some Muggle juggler do –

"Hey, Antares, you'd better wake up pretty soon," a voice suddenly said, close enough to the barely-open curtains to the left of him that he actually jumped and almost lost control of the damned balls. "You said Professor Snape'd be here at seven, and it's almost that – "

"I'm fine, I'm ready," Antares called out crossly, carefully snatching the balls from the air – he had to do it fast, since he couldn't suspend them like that for very long if they weren't moving – and stowing them away. "Coming through…" He stuck his slightly damp head through the curtains, gave Blaise – because it was him – a half-smile, and tumbled messily out of the bed.

"What, you can't walk anymore?" Draco said snidely from across the room, peering at himself with a mirror as he smoothed his hair down with some sort of gelly substance.

"Piss off," Antares returned easily, so that almost all the boys gave him incredulous looks. "Yeah, I know I've got a foul mouth, but I'm here and it's not going away. Deal with it." He reached under the bed for his shoes, knowing his wand was within reach and everything, but deciding it would probably be a good idea if only the teachers who tested him that day knew he could – what did they call it – Accio things. "And if you think that's swearing, well – "

"Oh shut up, Black. We already know you come from the gutter, no need to rub it in, all right?" Draco's eyes sparkled with amusement and malice even as those two human mountains standing near him chuckled nastily, along with the tallish, scrawny boy in the next bed.

Antares' eyes narrowed as his cheeks grew hot, the impulse to say something fought back by the thought of how stupid it would be to get in a fight on the first bloody day at Hogwarts, and how much stupider it would be to get firmly on the wrong side of someone who'd have the opportunity to hex him in his sleep until he learnt how to protect his bed and belongings. Which, going by the talk he'd had with Adrian and Charles, wouldn't be very soon.

So he gritted his teeth as inconspicuously as he possibly could, and gave Draco a level look before turning back to Blaise as if nothing had happened, no matter how much he seethed to just put a fist, a fist into that face.

Then some male prefect ducked their blond head in and curtly told the first year boys to get out immediately, because Professor Snape wanted to talk to them and talk to them now, and Antares found it a whole lot easier to just pretend he hadn't heard what Draco said.


The talk was short, to the point, and scathing enough that all four of the girls (who had also been summoned) looked upset enough to cry, and most of the six boys were some fetching degree of red. Even Draco looked far from pale, and that was despite the almost – almost fatherly way Snape had looked at him when he'd trailed those intimidating black eyes over them all. The speech left Antares just as red and just as fiercely determined to prove he wasn't some weak little first year with brains as good as a faulty sponge, more because he couldn't pretend very much that what Draco had said hadn't affected him than because he couldn't think to remember that spectacular sight of Severus Snape snoozing with his mouth embarrassingly open on the couch at the house on Spinner's End that had kept (and, if remembered, would forever keep) him from ever appearing really scary.

Breakfast was an early, slightly subdued affair for the first years, or at least until the Gryffindor first years began to trickle in. Draco's pale eyes seemed to take on the same malicious sheen they had when insulting Antares and he announced his plan to leave, practically ordering Greg and Vincent The Mountains to follow him. Which, to Antares' utter surprise, they did.

"Do they not have brains or something?" he found himself quietly inquiring of the girl beside him – that bushy-eyebrowed one. "Honestly, I thought they were just big for their age – "

"They've got brains, I assure you," Blaise cut in, a disdainful look coming over his face. "Their dads usually stick around his dad, so they're doing the same. Carrying on the family tradition, I should think."

"That's a hell of a legacy to leave your kids," Antares remarked, rolling his eyes as he thoughtfully buttered another piece of toast. "I mean, I'd rather have no parents than have to follow him around."

"I don't suppose they have brains, then," the girl beside him suddenly remarked, blushing as if the thought of speaking embarrassed her, but holding her chin high all the same. "You'd really have to not have any to do that without being paid, I think – "

"Spoken like a true Davis, then," Haircut girl broke in, her tone smug and reeking of condescension.

"Pansy, we're eating breakfast, no one has the energy to put up with your snobby nonsense," broke in one of the other first year girls – one Antares found he hadn't noticed the last night. She seemed to remind him of someone –

"Sorry, what's your name? Didn't catch it last night, my head was aching…?"

"Daphne," she said simply, shoving curly blonde hair behind her ears as she reached out to shake his hand over the table (and around all the food on it). The large, sulky-looking girl beside her gave Antares something that seemed to be half warning glass, half glare, and he decided at once to ask after her too. Not that he could see himself wanting to be friends with her or anything, but she looked like the type of girl who'd be strong enough to hit him and really hurt him. Or close enough, really.

"And your name is?" Strong Girl scowled, but looked oddly pacified enough to reply:

"Millie Bulstrode, full name Millicent. Only grownups are allowed to call me Millicent, mind – call me that and I'll kick your head in."

"Fair enough," Antares immediately agreed. "Oh, and – thanks for reminding me, actually, because I just wanted to say my name's Antares, and not Tares or Tars or Tar or something stupid like that. Only person that gets away with that's my mum, and she's quite obviously stronger than me and that. Only other name I'll accept is Terry. Any – er – deviotions," he said the word hastily, hoping he'd not mispronounced it, "will end up with me kicking your head in, just like Millie would."

The skinny boy and Haircut girl and Millie all snorted, but it was Millie that actually said something, or tried to.

"You'd kick someone's head in?" She looked him up and down derisively, before turning her attention back to her plate. "Like I'll believe that – you're even smaller than Tiny Theo here – " The stringy boy bristled, eyes narrowing as he replied indignantly.

"Don't call me that – "

"Make me, Tiny," Millie retorted, not even bothering to look up. And perhaps things would have gone a lot more – interestingly, just then, if something hadn't caught Blaise's attention at that moment.

"Would you look at that," he whistled suddenly, causing the boy and girl to stop glaring at each other. "Over there – last table – "

Antares gave a negligent glance, and felt his eyebrows rise involuntarily. Draco, Greg and Vincent were there, all standing at the end of the table and arguing heatedly – at least, Draco was – with a flushed, angry-looking Neville Lupin. It went on for long enough that more students than just the more impressionable first years to sit up and take notice, and, quite suddenly –

Bang. All three boys flew apart with a bright flash, people close to them swearing and scooting away as they picked themselves up off the floor. Anger seemed to pulse off the three Slytherins, but the Lupin kid was absolutely furious, and the argument took an abrupt turn for the extremely loud.

"…DISGRACE to the wizarding world – " Neville yelled, shaking his fist in Draco's direction in a manner that was just the right side of threatening.

"…you take that back!" Draco's furious rejoinder came, just as two teachers stood at the head table, pointing wands in the direction of the fight just as the two boys seemed to go for each other, and –

"Oh, for crying out loud," Antares burst out irritably, throwing his roll down onto his place. "Adults ruin everything sometimes – "

"You mean you'd have just watched them hit each other?" Bushy-Eyebrow-Girl said sharply, looking oddly affronted.

"Yeah," Antares replied, giving her a confused look. "Would've been funny seeing Malfoy get his arse handed to him, but…" he shrugged. The girl seemed to be torn between laughing at him and frowning at him, but his attention was diverted from the situation once again as a disgruntled-looking Professor Snape appeared at their end of the table, silently distributing timetables with an occasional word for a few of the Slytherins. Antares sighed with relief, as did the other first years, when their dour Head of House simply thumped down their timetables and moved on to the students – probably second years – on their left. Everyone grabbed one except for Pansy, who took four with a very earnest look on her face that amused Antares no end when he deigned to follow the focus of her gaze. It was a flushed, sullen Draco Malfoy, who was being berated by Professor McGonagall and a sleepy-looking Professor Sinistra. "Ooh, we've got Charms this morning, that's nice – "

Everyone oohed and aahed over the timetable, which, apart from one or two exceptions, looked truly interesting. It went something like this:

MON... Charms w/Hufflepuff, morning; History of Magic, Afternoon;

TUES... Transfig., morning; Herbology w/Ravenclaw, Afternoon; Astronomy, midnight

WED... DADA, morning; APP-S/Astronomy theory, Afternoon

THUR... Charms w/Hufflepuff, morning; Transfig., Afternoon

FRI... Potions w/Gryffindor, morning; Afternoon off.

The Potions class, which would be taught by Snape, would undoubtedly be the hardest class to get through, with all the insulting that would probably go on between Lupin and Malfoy, and there was also –

"What's APPS?" Daphne muttered. "I didn't know Hogwarts offered anything else – "

"Oh no, ignore that," Antares said hastily, gesturing to everyone. "It's just my Apprenticeship study period thing, no one else's got to take it – "

"But when'll you do your Astronomy theory?" Blaise asked, looking bewildered. Antares sighed – this was probably the one thing he'd never understand about the bloody Apprenticeship thing. Adrian and Charles had warned him he'd have to work harder than the rest of his year to keep up with everything, and that he'd occasionally have odd classes like this in his timetable.

"I'll make it up on my own, I'll be fine," he muttered, even as Pansy frowningly pointed out the Potions class to everyone.

"But what are you going to do in the class?" Blaise persisted, looking confused. "Do they teach you something else, or – "

"They teach me extra stuff so I can help with class demonstrations," Antares said, mind groaning as he suddenly remembered that odd little session he'd had with that – the really goblin-y teacher – Professor Flitwick.

"So, this morning in Charms, you'll probably help Flitwick teach us something?" Blaise finally said, hitting the nail on the proverbial head and making Antares blanch and cough on a piece of bacon.

"Oh – egh – I really, really hope not," he volunteered, heart plummeting within him. Surely Flitwick wouldn't make him get up before just over half of his year and make him do that stupid charm he could hardly even remember the bloody incantation for. Blaise shrugged and checked the time, and as they all rose from the table, meaning to start for class, the same male Prefect that had scowlingly fetched them to talk to Snape stopped just in front of Antares. "Erm – excuse me – "

"You're the apprentice, right?" the Prefect said impatiently, ignoring the fact that he was blocking Antares' path to the double doors of the Great Hall, as well as that of Blaise and Bushy-Eyebrow-Girl. "Good – the Headmaster'll see you just after lunch in the antechamber behind the head table, all right?"

Antares' shoulders sagged. How much more of this was there? He just knew it – he could just see that horrid old man forcing him to try on the Sorting Hat again, until it ripped his bloody head off, and –

"Are you moving at all?" Bushy-Eyebrow said sharply. "Else we'll be late for our first class – "

Antares scowled after the Prefect, who had swiftly made his way over to the Ravenclaw table in order to talk to someone there. If only he could somehow fall asleep and wake up in fifth year in Slytherin, and not have to just deal with anything right now –

He sighed, shouldering his tatty bag as the chattering group of Slytherin first years walked to the Charms classroom, guided by the sketchy map he'd begged off Charles after getting lost heading in from the greenhouses to fetch something for Professor Sprout the other day. He just hoped Professor Flitwick wouldn't be very interested in demonstrations this morning…


"Good morning, class!"

"Good morning, Professor Flitwick," the mixed class of Hufflepuff and Slytherin first years said back enthusiastically, many of them openly staring at a nervous Antares as he hurriedly distributed feathers to each shared desk, feeling unable to handle the whole situation. He should have known – the Professor had accosted him almost before he'd even set his bag down, merrily requiring his help in demonstrating in such a friendly way that he'd been unable to say no. He heartily wished he'd not had time to learn any of the new spells that Flitwick had looked so eager to teach him yesterday, but there was nothing he could do, now. His hands prickled with the warning of sweat, and he felt like throwing the feathers into a pile and trying to hide behind them, there were so many people looking at him. But, as Flitwick went through the roll call, wobbling oddly on his stack of books, his anxiety diminished somewhat. He even sent a covert stabilising spell (a tiny thing Bella had had cause to use on him rather more times than he liked to remember) at the precariously tilting pile of books to keep them from moving, and received a beaming smile for his pains just as the Professor announced busily that Antares would demonstrate the first spell they would be learning.

This, of course, was about when his stomach sunk to his feet.

"Wingardium leviosa is the incantation – I trust you know the wand movements, Mr. Black. Off you go…"

Antares blushed, tightened his grip on his wand, which was comfortably warm – almost reassuring – then somehow stumbled to a start.

"Um – Wingardium leviosa is a levitating charm, and is very easy to do," he said slowly, trying not to redden any more as everyone looked expectantly at him. "But, as with lots of spells, the wand movements are just as important as – er – the spell – no, the incantation itself. How I learnt it was – "

"Professor Flitwick, is he going to teach us the charm?" came the unpleasantly smug interruption of Draco Malfoy. "Because really – "

"If you'll be quiet, young Mr. Malfoy. Apprentices are not to be disturbed or interrupted during demonstrations," the Professor said easily, cutting him off then nodding at a (rather relieved) Antares to carry on.

"Er – the wand movement doesn't require much of – well, it looks like this," he swished and flicked his wand rapidly. "And you say the incantation as 'Win-GAR-di-um – "

A few anxious minutes passed as Antares attempted to guide the entire class through the spell, all to the backdrop of funny comments from Professor Flitwick, and robust attempts by the tiny, excitable teacher to stop a shy-looking Hufflepuff with brown hair and a scared, confused sort of look on her face setting her desk on fire. After what seemed like hours of flitting here and there, dousing flames from the Hufflepuff, whose name he noted for further reference as Megan Jones, Professor Flitwick nodded at Antares to start cleaning up as he rounded up the lesson in the background. Salvaging the few undamaged feathers, Antares finally had the chance to really look at what his classmates had been doing, and, for some of them, still were.

It surprised him – more than half of the class were either dejectedly listening to Flitwick's closing speech or engaging in frustrated jabbing at their feathers before sullenly giving them up to the dirty, slightly sweaty Antares. In fact, he thought incredulously, he could probably count on one hand how many students had actually gotten some sort of good reaction apart from himself. It perplexed him, really – he'd always been able to learn little spells like that without much of a problem, and supposed everyone would be just the same.

Then again, he thought privately, stuffing all the rather sorry-looking discarded feathers into a paper bag that Flitwick had just Conjured for him, maybe that's why I'm an apprentice, and they aren't…

"All right, class – dismissed – "

Everyone exited the Charms classroom almost at once, all chattering excitedly about their next class. Antares made sure he was near the back as the Slytherin first years went down to the Great Hall in a group, and was mildly surprised that Blaise lagged with him, asking all sorts of questions as they approached the double doors they'd just come through that morning.

"I saw you do some spell on his books, by the way," Blaise said easily, just after Antares had gone through a lengthy explanation of how he'd learnt the Levitation Charm the previous day. "That was actually nice of you – in a sort of teacher's pettish way – " Antares pinked a little. No one had been supposed to see that –

"What? I didn't – "

"Look, I'll just say it, all right?" Blaise insisted, his dark face sobering all at once. "I'm glad you're in Slytherin, Antares. Draco might say – "

"I don't care what he says," Antares said calmly, under his breath so that the blonde little biddy, who was just two or three seats away from him and groaning copiously about how his own feather had only risen a little way from the desk in Charms, would be unable to hear him. At Blaise's sceptical look, he opened his mouth again, but was cut off by the other boy's quiet comment.

"I don't care if you do, you know. He's that kind of person." Blaise eagerly seized the plate of potatoes as it was passed down to him by Bushy-Eyebrow – no, Tracey, he'd seen her answer to that – "Potatoes?"

"Please," Antares said, trying not to scowl as he heard Draco say something about how poor people stank. He tried not to attack the first piece on his plate, he really did –

"So. We're friends, then?" Antares half-choked on his very nice piece of chicken, and, wiping his mouth a little shakily, avoided Blaise's expression of curiosity, trying hard not to think about anything but swallowing and – oh no, the Headmaster had just left the head table, and that had to mean –

Right. Antares realised he'd spoken aloud as Blaise raised his eyebrows at him, oddly hopeful. For a long moment, he wondered why on earth the dark-skinned boy was still bothering to even talk to his – he resisted the urge to scowl again – poor, shabbily dressed self. Then he realised that Professor Dumbledore had actually darted back into the Hall again, looking expectant, and he was suddenly on his feet, heart beating a hard tattoo in his skull.

"Yeah. Got to go – meeting with the Headmaster about his bloody hat – "

For some reason, Antares thought, chancing a quick look back as he determinedly threaded his way to the door of the ante-room, Blaise looked awfully surprised he'd said yes. He shrugged helplessly, now steeling himself for what seemed to present itself as another, also inevitably horrible encounter with the Sorting Hat.


Thankfully, he was quite wrong.

"Take a seat, Mr. Black." Professor Dumbledore's voice seemed to suggest kindly things, and not tying Antares to the chair and dragging the bloodthirsty Hat over his aching head, and it made him relax against his will into one of the chairs around the small round table in the room, at which the professor was also seated. "Now, I had a nice long chat with the Sorting Hat last night, and – "

"I'm not ever putting that thing on again," Antares found himself saying shakily, hands balling up by his sides almost involuntarily. The Headmaster looked thoughtful and – odd – a little startled by his daft outburst, but inclined his head slightly, as if he was taking note of it.

"I did not bring you here to force you to be re-Sorted, Mr. Black, or indeed try on the Sorting Hat again in any way," he said easily, blue eyes conveying, once more, the sense of calm that had temporarily seemed to leave hold of Antares' system. "I simply wished to inform you of something I discovered last night, with the Hat's help." His gaze seemed to demand some sort of acknowledgement, so Antares nodded jerkily, hands still balled up into fists. "It is," the old man leant forward slightly, "to do with your biological parents."

Antares felt himself still with shock and not a little curiosity. He could count on one hand how many times Bella, or, indeed, anyone else, had ever talked about his real parents, and wondered hard what on earth could be important enough for the bloody Hat to try to squeeze his head off. Dumbledore seemed to understand, somehow, what he was thinking, because he continued by saying:

"It is very simple, very sad, and looks to be, unfortunately, rather true. You understand your biological parents are dead, don't you?" Antares nodded sharply, mind racing back to his mum, heart suddenly aching with the need to see her, or – "I see. What you do not know, of course, is how they died." The Headmaster rose slowly from his chair, face a mask of uneasy sorrow. "They were murdered, Mr. Black, by a wizard the Wizarding World dreads to this day."

"The Dark Lord," Antares muttered under his breath, almost failing to see Dumbledore's expression tighten somehow, as if he wasn't quite comfortable with the name.

"Voldemort," the old man said suddenly, firmly, almost…fiercely. Antares looked up, heart quite free of anything but a longing to see his mother again, and held back his question. He did have a class to go to after this, didn't he, and asking anything would just stretch this sorry thing out – "I am sorry, Mr. Black." Dumbledore sat down heavily, his lined old face such an odd mixture of anger and sorrow that Antares felt a little afraid, and – foolishly, of course – a little sorry for the Headmaster. "The Sorting Hat deduced this by the memories you seemed to possess – memories of a struggle, of – of a green light. You understand, that was the sign, the colour of the Killing Curse…?"

"Yeah," Antares replied, his voice cracking now, with surprise. "But sir – if you don't mind me asking – why would the Dark – erm, Voldemort," he forced the name past his teeth, somehow, despite the odd, daft fear that Bella would find out, "want to kill my parents? My other parents, I mean," he added uselessly, even as the Headmaster's expression darkened further.

"I am afraid I do not know," Professor Dumbledore finally replied, after staring unnervingly at some point above Antares' head. "He was mad, you know – it might have been anything." Antares' heart contracted slightly, with fear and an odd sense of regret, and – "Anything at all." Dumbledore rose again from his seat, his face now calm, free of the oddly strong emotions that had chased across it just now, blue eyes strong and fiercely reassuring. "You need not worry, of course," he continued, softly moving over to stand by Antares' left side, robes whispering comfortingly. "You may go to your next class, Mr. Black. Tell Professor Binns I apologise for keeping you."

And with that, the Headmaster of Hogwarts had left the ante-room, and Antares was mechanically rising to his feet, head a whirl of – of Voldemort and his mother and that burnt, charred place on her left arm, and why on earth madmen like him were allowed to just ruin things for people. He'd never known his parents, and though he had his mum, and she was enough, sometimes –

Sometimes, he wondered. Wondered who they were. What might have been, really.

Antares sighed, rubbing at an itchy spot on his back, ignoring the dark looks a couple of Ravenclaw girls gave him as he pushed rudely by them on his way to the History of Magic class, occasionally stopping to get his bearings or politely ask a painting if he wasn't going in the wrong direction. Then, all too soon, he was apologising as he walked into the class, and noting with shock that their teacher was a ghost and avidly discussing it with an excited Blaise, before succumbing to the drone of the introductory class notes that Professor Binns felt obliged to give them.

And that was how the better part of his first day at Hogwarts went.


A/N: So…you like?

As I said, I had a bit of a time writing this chapter, but I hope it's been worth the wait. I know you'll have questions and complaints and error notes and (hopefully) blatant squeeing, so – er – get on with it. Please. ;)

The next chapter's tentative title is Chapter 10: Various Doings, and is probably going to be from Bella's POV unless I change my mind. Which I'm thinking of doing right now, as I've just considered something I didn't think about before, so…yeah. Till then.

Oh, and check out my LJ poll, please – just wanted to find out what your crazy reading patterns are for my work in general. It's here (http/www. livejournal. com /users /uchethegirl /21403. html), and I've also posted a direct link in a short, short journal entry on my LJ along with this chapter's update link, so poll away! Thanks…